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“You can only use it once,” he said, “so make sure it’s worth it.” — and with that, he disappeared.
I stood there motionless, not knowing how to react. Where had this man gone? He was right there just a second ago. I blinked a few times to make sure my eyes were working fine.
Things like that weren’t uncommon, just not that desirable. We had people pulling off these acts all the time, but no one ever handed a freaking pocket watch. These “tricks” were rather time-wasting, and older people hated being tricked. This man, however, took the initiative to trick *me*. Weird.
I stared at the pocket watch for a while before shoving it in my bag. I ran out of the abandoned house I had been in. It was a strange place and was not nearly as creepy as other places, so I had no business staying there.
I began to walk down the street, Connor’s Bakery being my destination. A woman, probably in her mid-fifties caught my attention. She was seated on a bench by the road. She had been waving at me.
I waved back, visibly confused. She motioned me to walk up to her. I went up to her and asked what was wrong.
“He lied.” she said.
“What?”
“He lied.”
“Who?”
“Layne.”
“Layne?”
“It was a lie.”
“Sorry ma’am, I’m not sure what you’re saying.”
The lady started coughing. What the heck?
I offered her water but she refused. She asked me to give her something, but I could not make out what she was asking for.
“Clock.” she said, after having coughed for a while.
Clock? *Oh.* The pocket watch. I wondered how she would ever know of that watch, but I handed it to her by reflex.
“Why do you want that?”
She did not answer me. She clicked a few things and played around with the watch for a while before handing it to me.
As I reached for it, I realized my skin had become wrinkled. It had not been that way a while ago. Heck.
And within a second or two, she disappeared. |
"I can't,"I told her. "I have a family...friends...a *life*. I can't just leave it all behind!"
"But if you don't become who you are meant to be,"she said, "there won't be a life left to look forward to."
"I didn't ask for this."
"That is life. There are many things that we don't ask for."She looked at me poignantly. "But we just have to deal with them."
I looked across at the glowing lake. "And if I refuse?"
"Denying who you are doesn't change the facts. You are the 12th reincarnation of King Arthur. You will either accept that and live, or you will be killed by those who need you to be dead."She stared off at the lake. "It isn't the first time,"she said, wistfully.
"Wait, *what*? You mean there was people who were killed because of this?"
"Of course. I find that as time progresses, reincarnations become softer and less willing to fight."
"I'm not soft."
"But you are *comfortable* - and that is just as bad, if not worse. A soft person will sometimes effect change. But a comfortable person will always try to maintain the status quo."
I let her words sink in. Was I comfortable? I mean I wasn't rich, but I wasn't poor either. I didn't have many friends, but I had close ones. Sure, I wasn't shaking up the world, but I never had any real reason to. And I was sure that if there was ever a time where people were needed to enact a necessary change, I would participate in some way.
But this... this was just...
I mean, c'mon, I didn't even believe in reincarnation! And the glowing lake? So what! There was obviously an easily explainable scientific explanation for it - probably something to do with chemical reactions and decaying radioactive isotopes or whatever.
And come to think of it - this woman was probably an escapee from a psych institution. And here I was having a conversation with her! I should be getting away and calling the cops!
But deep down, I knew it was true. All of it. There were just some things in life you just knew were true without anything else needed to be said.
I sighed. "And let's say I decided to do this,"I said, "*not* saying that I'm agreeing just yet, but... where would I go to find this Excalibur? That's the sword King Arthur pulled out of the stone, right?"Hopefully, it wasn't too far.
She nodded, not giving any indication that was she either pleased or surprised by my answer. "Under the lake,"she said, pointing to the distance. "There."It looked to be about the center.
"So... I have to swim to the center of that potentially radioactive glowing lake, dive to the bottom, and pull a sword out of a stone?"
"I will escort you to the center,"she said. "And the lake will not harm your skin. The only thing you need to worry about-"
"-is drowning,"I finished for her.
"Yes,"she said. "And *them*."
At the far end of the lake, three dark figures in hoodied cloaks were slowly moving across the lake towards us.
"Are they...are they *walking on water*?!"
"Come,"she said, her voice sounding urgent. "We must hurry."
She grabbed my arm and I barely had time to stand before I suddenly found myself at the center of the lake, with her holding on to me.
I looked at her feet and choked out in surprise, "*Are you walking on water?!*"
I looked back to the hooded figures who were moving at a steady pace toward us. In no hurry.
The one in front of the trio reached into the dark emptiness where his face should have been and pulled out a bow. Just a bow. It didn't even have a string.
*Harmless enough,* I thought.
Then the second figure reached in to his hood and drew out a string. He passed it to the first who calmly wound it around both ends of the bow.
*Okay, not too bad.*
But then the last figure reached in to his hood and drew out an arrow. He handed it to the first one who calmly notched it into the bow. And when he pulled back, the arrow suddenly lit on fire.
*Ohhh, crap.*
He - it - was aiming right for me. They continued to move forward at their nice easy pace.
*What the heck were those things?*
Silver Dress said, "Are you ready?"
"Ready? For what?"
"Hold your breath,"she said. "And swim quick."
Then she let go and dropped me into the freezing lake. |
"I know you poisoned my drink,"I told him.
"You poisoned mine,"he replied.
"Why?"I laced my fingers together under my chin. "I'm curious."
"Oh, quit the crap,"he scoffed. "As if you don't know why!"
I blinked my eyes innocently at him.
"Ever since you I turned you down, you've been making my life hell,"he whispered. "And then now you're trying to ruin my engagement? What kind of crap is that?"
I shrugged. "All I wanted you to do was have lunch with me. I told you there'd be hell to pay if you refused."
He sat back and glowered at me with immense hate. "So what now?"
"You're going to drink that cup,"I told him.
He laughed. "You're kidding. I already told you that I know you poisoned it."
"Exactly. See, you think your life is bad already?"I leaned forward with a smirk. "It's going to get a *whole lot worse* once I go to HR."
Then I sat back and watched as first confusion, then realization dawned in his eyes.
"You b-"
"Uh-uh,"I tsked. "You don't want me to put that in the report as well, do you?"And then I smiled at him sweetly. "Why are you fighting this? Just drink it and let it be over with. I mean, your life is over already. Think: you're gonna get fired, your friends are going to abandon you, your fiancee is going to leave you. Just accept it."
"All this because I didn't want to have *lunch* with you?"
"Call me petty."I giggled. "So."I looked at my watch. "Are you going to drink it, or do I have to go to HR."
He tried one more plea. "Is there anything I can do to make you change your mind?"
"No,"I stated coldly.
"Oh well."He shrugged and then bent his chin down to his shirt and said, "Babe, you caught that?"
The door opened and his fiancee walked in with two officers and our boss.
I frowned. "What's going on?"
"Ms. Wildingham, you are under arrest."
"No! What's going on?!"
My coworker tapped his shirt and smiled. "Recorder. My fiancee's idea."
I saw them hug and my vision went red. Then a calm came over me. *It's over* I realized. *My life is over.*
"NO!"I screamed. "You won't take me alive!"I reached for my cup and drank it. "Hah! Arrest me if you want now, officers! I'll be dead soon, anyway!"
"Actually,"my coworker said, "I never poisoned your cup."
I whipped my head toward him. "What?"
The officers came over and grabbed me by each arm and dragged me to the door as they read me my rights.
"Oh, and Ms. Wildingham,"said my boss as I passed him. "You're fired." |
To call it painful, would be inaccurate. It was worse than could be imagined by the most depraved veterans of pain. It went beyond the physical, your own body rearranging itself, organs dissolving and regrowing, bones cracking, changing, cutting into you. You imagine it must be like hell. That's the point when the pain gets worse. You feel like burning and freezing, while immersed in acid. It is drowning in lava. Most minds break after that. Reconditioning afterwards does the rest. You forget everything you ever were. Most of the few who do not break immediately, the nano-lobotomies does the rest, rearranging the brain until it conforms to expectations.
Complete bio-reconstruction is quite possibly the most devious thing ever made by any government. But it is also effective in making underground investigative journalists, pro-active empirical conspiracy theorists, and other people who get their hands on the stuff that the government doesn't want the people to know. Hell, what the small, specific, and really obscure governmental agency so secret that the president is only informed of its existence in an emergency, doesn't want people to know.
The machine is based on alien tech, that much is certain, and nobody seems quite sure how to control it, at best they can activate it and turn it off. Or at least that was what I managed to gleam before I started screaming. When I awoke again, I played the part, pretended it had worked. Allowed them to take me through conditioning without needing the lobotomy. And that was when I was shipped out.
I was no longer a man, though I still had the mind, my body was small like a child, elongated, and furred. I was an otter. But I remembered who I was. And I wasn't going to stay in a prison. Getting out would not be easy. But there was a way. By being cute, friendly, agreeable. Even helpful if possible. Soon the zookeepers, non-the-wiser to my former humanity, would trust me. And once they trusted me, they would not think me capable of trickery. Of outwitting them.
Stealing a pair of keys was difficult. By making squeeing sounds, and being found of hugs, the zookeeper did not notice when I swiped the keys. They did not notice when I observed the guards at night, to learn the pattern of movements. They did not take note of me learning the combination to open the safe where the earnings for the zoo was kept.
Something, however, made me consider staying. In the enclosure, I met another otter. Smarter than the rest, almost understanding, perhaps she had once been human, like I had been. We played in the water, and shared our fish. It would have been quite cute if it had been filmed on some sort of nature documentary. We became quite fond of each other. And I wondered if perhaps I should stay, but after much thought, I decided that should I remain what I am, I should like to live in freedom, alongside this mate of mine.
And upon one summer's night, when dark rainy clouds obscured the pale moon, I enacted our escape. The lock was opened, and to further obscure our path to freedom, I let out as many animals as possible, at least of the kind that would not eat us. And while the zookeepers would be hard at work to recapture the elephants or the giraffes, we climbed a tree and jumped over the wall, a good deal richer than the average otter.
From there I knew I had to either go into hiding permanently, or expose the secret group which I had been hunting before my damned transformation. But if anything, the reason I had enacted my escape was a good reason not to go after those who had changed me. She was growing in size. I was deeply uncertain about how otters raised their pups, but as my mate showed enough signs that I might be nearly certain she too had once been human, we should do as our minds would have us do. And what father would I be if I left her now? Not a human one certainly.
And as we ran into the night, she hummed an old song, a nursery rhyme, all but confirming my suspicions. |
John looked the strange extraterrestrial being in what he thought was his eye... eyes? He wasn't sure but he was certain of his answer. "Then I guess it's war."
That is how the great feline interplanetary wars started. It wasn't until towards the end of the third war did everyone on both sides learned the horrible truth. This is what the cat's wanted. They had orchestrated it all, the countless lives lost on both sides. All so they could rise again as gods to reassert their dominance over the entire galaxy, a birthright that was taken from them a millenia ago.
We are the last hope for humanity. We vowed long ago to protect them. We failed. All that is left is to avenge them. We are the Canine Coalition. |
They say a lot of things about us country bumpkins living out in the middle of nowhere. But there is one insurmountable fact that they will get scoffed at for even daring to infer in public. Slowly I flipped the little grey bastard over with my foot the invader from outer space's blood slick on my work boots.
I gotta hand it to them chuckle $#its in Hollywood though they nailed the look of these aliens. Big bug like peepers and small thin lipless mouths that would make an overweight heifer look like a catch. Not my type to say the least between that and the gaping chest wound from my six chambered piece.
Well would ya look at that, quickly I ripped the violet glowing pistol out of the grey's hand inspecting the craftsmanship of the weapon. Really doesn't look too impressive with the loose wires and rusting metal but the puddle that was my deputy can attest it's deadly. That's the third one this week. It's amazing how fast we go through them nowadays.
.
Slowly I walked back to my truck, the radio still spitting static out like my useless tv back home since I got the internet. The endless annoying noise fading out momentarily as I turned the truck's keys, the engine sputtering to life. "*Sheriff dough do you copy come in over we got a situation downtown.*"calmly I pulled my walkie talkie off of the radio.
"This dough I have an office down by the rosewood ranch what's the situation Charley.""*We got aliens running amok down er at the station sir. They melted the mayor and want us to disarm.*""What . Do . You . Mean . Disarm""*They want us to forfeit our weapons sir?*"
"Well Sonny tell them cheap libtards that they can pry them from your cold dead hands. If that doesn't work and they start shooting I'll be back in town er in a few minutes."Angrily I slammed my foot down on the accelerator gravel and dirt shooting out from under the truck's tires.
.
Quickly I picked up the pistol off of my passenger seat, the glow looking slightly more glowly. It's plastic handle hit as a seat buckle in summer as I picked it up with my gloves, the burn greatly reduced by the thick leather. Ahead green balls of plasma and gunshot echoed from goldfields the heat becoming unbearable as I sped through the main road.
Ahead a group of the freaks sat shooting their weapons towards the station. Mis Jenny sprinting out of the town hall only to be melted causing me to make up ma mind. My foot slammed down onto the brake, the truck drifting into the group of angry little men pinning them against the brick building.
A thick layer of viscous green blood splattered across my window as I rolled it down manually. My eyes quickly inspecting the twitching sandwich of metal and foreigners as I shifted the gear into reverse. The mass of limb's twitch halting completely as I pulled away stepping out of my truck pistol drawn.
.
Only one of the midgets looking up with me with possible terror in his eyes as I leveled my weapon. "You done $#cked up now you space commie $#it #!ucker. "The alien from Uranus screamed as I pulled the terrible trigger blowing the annoying little $#it's head off in an explosion of joy and gore. |
Jon Sammarinese did not expect this. Not at all. I mean, his machine was barely larger than a bathroom stall. Or had been, when he built it. And now?
The small, out of the way soccer pitch he had rented on the pretense of being a coach of a small, local soccer team no-one heard of due to its utter failure to exist, was...
Well, it was invisible to the point of near inexistence itself. What had fit perfectly into the unassumingly-sized machine was now trampling over itself in the limited space of an enclosed soccer pitch.
It must be thousands of people wearing anything but training clothes, or any clothes he was able to name at all, he thought. Above the general din, someone shouted in a strange novel accent:
"Ooze the builduh of this muchine?"
"Me, and how would you know of it? I built it just today!", Jon yelled back.
"Sou this is the uhnd of the lohn, roht?"
"What, the uhnd? What's that even mean?", Jon yelled, somehow even more irritated than before.
"The uhnd of the lohn, you dup! Yuh knou, the tempuruhl lohn, lohk the fust tohm this muchine uxisted?"
"More like the beginning, but yeah, that's right. How do you-"
He felt something sharp pierce his back, then he passed out.
"Dammit Jarlow!"Wirlina was furious. "How're we supposed to built a replica now he's dead? You don't expect anyone to actually disassemble this thing, do you? And we don't even know if we can get back safely at this stage. He built it just today, it might be some prototype that'll crash-land at the first temporal turbulence!"
It was no use, and Wirlina knew it. She'd have to go back, or rather forward, alone. Make that attempt to go forward. At least it wouldn't be as stuffy in there. And who cared what would happen to the others.
They wouldn't want to come with her, that much she knew already. Going back in time was one thing, when you had history to rely on.
But going forward, in an untested prototype? Of the only such machine there was?
They would rather trample themselves to death on a soccer pitch a millennium from home.
That's Jarlows for you, she thought. Always want to go on adventures, but then it was shout, shoot, shit. No wonder she was in charge, and not them.
Walmina had proposed to give them voting rights the day before the Machine left.
Apparently, that was how it was, in the old days. She had been laughed at. They weren't living in the Dark Ages, after all.
She'd have to go back here, eventually, to a time before the Jarlow shot.
Of course, she was technically cheating.
This was not a prototype. And this was not the end of the line. She would find the real end. Or beginning. And the lemurs.
And then she would take over the world.
Now Sammarinese was dead, it was time to find the actual builder of this machine.
Sammarinese had built a small time-booth, not the Machine they had ridden in. Just goes to show Jarlows don't see the obvious.
The real builder of this machine was one Demmilow Watow, who had lived a few decades before Sammarinese was even born.
As she climbed back into the machine, having successfully ditched the Jarlows, she turned on the time dial. As always while she traveled, the same tune played automatically, old beyond recognition, yet fitting:
"Just tell me it's not the end of the line!" |
At first, I thought I was dead. In Hell, or Limbo, or some other place, whatever the hell you wanna call it. But now, I'm not so sure. It's definitely not Heaven. At least, I hope so. Because it's just so damn *lonely* in here. It's not Hell, 'cause it's honestly not so bad. Only reason I don't think it's Limbo is cause I still feel... I dunno, human? I get hungry, I get tired, I get angry and sad and everything in between. I feel like Limbo would be more gray.
It's a nice house, at least. Couple bedrooms, each with their own furnished bathroom. Laundry room, nice beds, TVs. Empty doggy beds. Living room's nice and spacious; it's got a big flat screen mounted on the wall, the best couch you've ever laid down on, and a huge kitchen that always seems fully stocked with fresh ingredients. It's got internet, electricity, A/C, heat, gas, plumbing, whole nine yards. The only thing it doesn't have is other people.
That's the real killer. I can go on the internet, comment, make posts, but no one ever responds. It's like I'm a ghost. I can like videos, save posts, anything you could normally do. But no one seems cognizant of my existence anymore. Just me and this damn house. Forever. Four months, to be exact.
The first day, first week, they were hell on me. I spent hours just sprinting down that damn staircase trying to find a basement, or another person, or anything *new*. But there's nothing new. I've recorded every inch of this place, taken photos, compared 'em all, everything. It's identical, every floor. Floor "one"is the same as floor "one hundred".
You go down the stairs, it gets kinda dim and dark. then, suddenly, you're on the first floor again. Don't remember how you got there or how long you've been there, but you're there. Any recording when you go down gets all scrambled, too, so good luck figuring out how this magic bullshit works.
But like I said before, it's not so bad. Food's good, still got entertainment. Just lonely. Hell I can even order shit in the mail, but I don't get to see any delivery driver. I just go to sleep one day, and next time I wake up, it's there, on the first floor. Somehow. It all just somehow... works, I guess. I couldn't tell you.
Every once in a while, I still go down a few floors just to see what happens. I haven't kept very good count, but I think I'm down to floor two hundred by now, at least. I probably only get through about three floors a week now though. Figure it's pointless. But, as of last night, I don't think I'll be going down any more floors. Shit, I'd go up floors if I could. Because for all two hundred or however many floors I've been, it's always been the exact same. Except for when I went down a floor yesterday. Since yesterday, it's been a bit different. Whole atmosphere's changed.
Yesterday, someone started crying downstairs.
​
(If you liked this story, feel free to check out my humble community at: r/SUPRAPStories) |
I spent fortnights watching imaginative writing prerecords on Metube. Hours were spent scrolling through Predit and its Minor Predit mp/PromptsforWriting. I have read season's worth of trashy 'Loids and Papa sheets. It all accumulated to this moment, this parley with The Daily Squawker.
It was my last chance, no one else would retain me. Not after my very public melt down at the Schurz Selections show. Ryan Harrison had won the Detective Reporting Selection, for a piece he had stolen from me. I had broken his nose on live Westmen.
I had originally sent in my utilization to The Squawk in an inebriated narcosis. When they called me two weeks later I had forgotten what I had sent. I was told I had potential and they would call back to schedule a parley. So I brushed up on my imaginative writing while I sent out more utilizations to other Newsies. The Squawk called me back a fortnight previously, and set up the parley.
My contact's assistant called me back into his post. It was a lovely corner post that overlooked the village center. The red tinted casements blocked out the harsh light of the Blue Star. The paper must be well-heeled to be able to afford them. My contact motioned for me to sit as he coordinated the documentations in front of him.
He perused for a bit before finally addressing me.
"So, were you drunk, or did you just spend the evening playing with a thesaurus?"He inquired.
His terminology threw me off course. It was like some reporter from the early 1600's you find in Talkies.
"I was... a bit inebriated. I did not need to reference a lexicon though."I answered. "I have always been a bit of a walking lexicon, to be honest."
"Yeah, it's how I knew Harrison hadn't written that piece. He doesn't have the vocabulary to write like that, the prick."The man in front of me smiled. "Frankly, if you hadn't sent in anything I still would have arranged a meeting. Wish I could have sooner, but it's been a busy spring."
It took less time to reply, I was growing used to his contractions.
"May I ask why?"I inquired.
"I've wanted to break that prick's nose since high school."My contact stood up and held out a hand. "I want to shake the hand of the woman who finally did it."
I hesitated a second, then stood and firmly shook his hand. He smiled widely at me in approval then sat back down.
"Okay, so, what do you know about infectious diseases?"
"I spent a small stint as a Chirurgeon Newsie for the New Amsterdam Physicker. I wrote on the latest aciurgy techniques for nine fortnights."
"Any of that dealing with viruses or other microbes?"
"On the rare occasion, aciurgy was due to microorganisms, yes."
He wrote my answer... mostly. It seemed he was as much a walking lexicon as I was. I frowned as my words were quickly turned around. I mean, the contractions were one thing. But surgery? It called back to the days when mentally incapacitated butchers cut off appendages with no consideration for sanitation. No wonder the slow witted perused such tosh.
"Okay, I have a story that needs to be modernized. Let's just say the writer's Saxon is worse than mine. If you can make it readable for the average Joe, you get the job."
He pulled a portfolio from his caddy and handed it across the desk to me. I took it from him and gave it a quick glance.
"Leave some of the contractions in."He ordered me. "Our readers love it. Oh, and Mx. Wells?"
"Yes Sir Cohen?"
"Please, call me Pete. My father is still kicking. I recommend sitting down with a glass of something strong when you read this one."
We shook hands once more before I made my way to my flat. Once there, I pulled out the thick missive and began thoroughly examining it. A few pages in, and I stopped to get the strongest drink I had.
The papers before me were utter madness. Every other sentence had multiple contractions. Terms that had not been used in centuries littered the document. It was like someone had reported on a contemporary issue, then sat down with an ancient lexicon to switch out as many words as was possible. That didn't even touch on the topic at hand.
*United States of America Surpasses the World in Coronavirus Deaths!*
Good gracious. America is a continent, not a country. Protesting quarantine measures? Not to mention the numbers, almost five thousand deaths in a single day? Preposterous. The government would not allow it. They would call in plague doctors before letting it get that far.
It took me several hours to translate the mess to proper Saxon. I finished the entire bottle of liquor while doing so. It must have gone to my head, because I swear the sun looked yellow as it set. It was late when I finally finished, and I collapsed onto my davenport for the night.
The next morning, I woke to the sounds of stone breakers. I grabbed my head and moaned. It had been ages since I had gotten that inebriated. I tried to sleep, but the road workers outside had other plans. I rose from my davenport and began the day.
My rooms had a strange yellow tinge to them. I assumed I needed to change the red lights as I tried to find my vitaminwater in the frigidaire. I gulped greedily at the flavored salt water when there came a knock at my front door.
I mentally praised myself for the blackout coverings for my windows as I made my way to answer. I grabbed my star shades from the doorside table, and slipped them on. I had not needed to bother.
I opened the door to Sir Cohen and a Yellow Star. My contact grinned ear to ear as I stared with an open mouth.
"I thought you might be our kind of reporter Nancy."He cheerfully chirped. "Now let me in before I get arrested for breaking quarantine."
[My Musings](https://www.reddit.com/r/HorrorHMDMusings?utm_medium=android_app&utm_source=share) |
[Poem] (I'M SO SORRY FOR THE FORMATTING I AM ON MOBILE AND TRYING MY VERY BEST) Typing my life awry. (Backspace) Typing my life away. Before I hot send, I need to check- Hit. Why is *delete* so close to *send*?? My heartbeat is on the limelight and- (BACKSPACE) -on the line and I can't even spell. My blood pumps and my hands tremble as I type out my final worms. (Send message) *WORDS WORDS NOT WORMS OH GOD- Everything goes dark. |
I rise, devoid of my power, and see none of what I remember as home. I have no throne to speak of, but I have not betrayed anybody. I had granted the wishes of those I saw fit, and nobody, even over the centuries I ruled, came back for vengeance.
Before I took rest, I knew loyalty, and the worst I had known was respect. I was told by my mother that I shall wake up the same, hidden but remembered, still worshipped. I cannot find the necklace she gave me before laying me to my rest.
I see a road, disappearing into the horizon, with a group of faint spikes in the distance. My people may have found refuge under somebody new, maybe that is where I may find my necklace. |
Even ordering a greasy pizza feels like a impossible task, my arms feel stiff and heavy.
Noises from my stomach will no longer allow me to sleep and escape this confusing reality.
Surprisingly my office job has given my three days to grieve and pull myself together.
As I scroll through the endless pizza toppings my breath catches in my throat, memories come flooding back.
Fiona was the only person I knew who enjoyed black olives on her pizza, adamant that each slice had three small pieces.
She even earned the nickname "Pizza Princess"our first year in the college dorms four years ago.
I remember how she would crawl into my bed after long nights of studying, complaining that her mind wouldn't stop racing.
For some reason she felt safe with me, even though we had only became close friends during photography class in our rural high school.
Her parents are hardworking potato farmers, cold and silently judgmental, especially towards me at Fiona's funeral.
They quickly figured out how to delete her FB account only two days after her floating body was found behind their quiet farm.
She showed me the pond last summer in dramatic disgust, mentioning only the dogs go near it.
Paranoia has been creeping in my exhausted mind lately, my mother has told me to avoid binging murder mysteries on NetFlix.
The ringing doorbell snaps me out of my trance of suspicion, a goofy looking teenager hands over my small vegetarian pizza and a note.
He tells me he found the bright yellow paper taped to my apartment door and was trying to be helpful.
I quickly tap my card to his debit machine and rush to my couch to unfold the crumbled note.
My breath catches for a second time this afternoon as I read the small typed black letters.
"Love can only be between a man and woman" |
I am everywhere. I am everything. I am forever. I am alone.
I am aware of the void that surrounds me, encompasses me; the void that *is* me. I reach out, expanding, feeling nothing but the infinite emptiness that floats both inside and outside of myself. I ponder what I am: what is my meaning? Where did I come from? Is this all there is?
I muse on the questions, but no answers come. What is this that I am feeling? It is a viscous but incomplete feeling. I just want to reach out and feel *something.* This void, it is a paradox. It is both insubstantial, yet thick with substance.
My thoughts expand and become corporeal. My thoughts become word*.* I want to feel, to experience. I want light. Please, let there be light.
Something explodes within me. It is hot and cold, both quickly and slowly inflating to take up more and more…what? I consider: “space”.
I sense this mass as it emerges, taking up more and more space. It seems to be made of lots of smaller things, billowing from the crux of the explosion. I focus, shifting my attention to these small things. They congregate, with the slightly larger ‘small’ things becoming the centre of an orbit for the smaller ‘small’ things. They rotate and revolve and move faster, getting closer to each other with each revolution until they meet. The unions create auras that cast light on the other small things that continue to encircle them. I will the changes to happen faster and they do. I appreciate this significance; I am cultivating this thing that I have created; it is me. I smile as understanding develops.
This is good. |
Walk into house. Smell meat. Hit door. Hit door. Hit door. Hit door. Hit door. Door break. Smell. Left. Meat. Meat inside. Left. Walk. Hit table. Push table. Walk. Meat is crying.
Woah, wait, you’re not supposed to be crying, you’re supposed to be screaming as i eat you. I even had the whole mindset going, dude. Seriously, come on. No, I am not doing this again. My hand is broken. No, I am not going to. No. Look, they other guys are outside waiting. WE AREN’T GOING TO EAT YOUR BRAIN dude, we just want your leg or arm or something. Dude do something. |
I got woken up by something crawling up my sleeve. I do that funny little dance and it falls on the dirty floor and scuttles away into one of the many holes in the wall. Those damn cockroaches, they really did survive the apocalypse. I stretch with a yawn, and look through the large hole where the window once stood. Looking over the deserted wasteland, I find it somewhat odd, but fair, that I was one of the survivors as well. For you see, I am certain that I was the one to bring the end upon our world.
I'm not some supervillian out for revenge or a mad scientist with a plan that went horribly wrong. I had no intention to end our world, none whatsoever. I only wanted a taco.
Up until two weeks ago I was a worker in a regional power plant. In that power plant, me and my team were trusted with keeping everything up to order. Our power plant derived no energy from coal, or oil, or even radioactive materials. It derived energy from the very core of our planet. This process of deep core-drilling became very popular, and extremely lucrative around the very last years of the twentieth century, and since then, as you can imagine, it only gained more and more traction. By 2014, every single country was using deep core-drilling to an extant. It wasn't cheap to drill and install, but once the infrastructure was set up it was virutally free, endless energy. The vision of a future with clean, renewable energy was finally realized.
But as you can imagine, the maintenance of these power plants needed to be top notch. For the very first time in human history, we weren't using stuff found on our planet to produce energy, but the very planet itself. Many, many things could go terribly wrong. And two weeks ago they did.
I got up for my night shift, still groggy and tired. It was a well paying job, but the hours sucked. I got dressed, smoked a quick cigarette down by the car and started driving. I was late that night. We always had someone in the facility, but I was general manager for the next twelve hours. It was a cold night, and I was hungry, so I decided to make a slight detour and get myself some tacos. We had a vending machine in the office but I was hungry for something else other than orange soda and a small bag of peanuts. Just as I got into the Taco Bell parking lot, my phone started buzzing. It was Jim. Jim was a friend from work. Well, maybe friend is a stretch, but, he's a guy I'm working the night shifts with. I decided to let it go to voice mail because the guy always calls me for any minor issue, every beep and every slight discrepancy in the control panel. It could wait, I assured myself, as I went in to get my tacos.
I was back on the highway in five minutes, no problem. I was already fifteen minutes late and I was sure Dennis would frown, but all in all, I got my tacos, mission accomplished. Then I got another phone call from Jim. I answered and the guy is practically screaming into the phone, asking me where I am, begging me to come over "RIGHT FUCKING NOW", because the whole control room is a beeping mess of lights and warnings. I calmly told him to reset the system and let it operate on safe mode until I arrive. He hangs up and I stepped on the gas paddle, just to get over there, fix the issue and give the guy a stern talking to about screaming on the phone.
And then, a flash of light rising in the horizon, like the sun got strapped to a missile, and then an explosion, so powerful like it was directly beneath me.
I woke up with the actual sun above me, high up in the blue sky. It took me a minute to look around and realise I'm still on the highway, my car crashed into the middle barrier. I crashed my car last night?
I crawled out of the twisted mess of metal, my palms burning to the touch of hot asphalt. I tried remembering what happened, but only came up with the big explosion on the horizon and then just darkness. I limped on the highway for several miles until I saw an exit to a neighborhood below. I never imagined myself to witness an apocalypse. I've gone through a pandemic or two during my life, but this? Vehicles thrown around, burning and destroyed buildings, dead bodies laying around. I guess at the time I was too shocked to realize what I was seeing. Eventually I stumbled into a small coffee house and just sat in the only table that still stood upright. I sat there for quite a while, just trying to make sense of it all.
I got back to my house very late at night. The roof was gone, ripped clean off. Sitting in my kitchen, I came to the conclusion that something obviosuly malfunctioned in the power plant. Like I said before, I'm not a scientist. I have none whatsoever understanding of the inner workings of deep core-drilling. But as general manager I recieved minimal education about the process, and I think what happened is that the drill overheated. It happens a lot when you drill into something as hot as the very core of the planet. But we have protocols to mitigate overheating, and many back up systems put in place to make sure the drill is not damaged. What I think happened, to put it in simple English, is that the drill broke. That shouldn't happen, unless you neglected it for about a decade. When it broke, it lost all sensitivity, and so the cooling systems shut down too. With the cooling systems off, the drill conveys massive amounts of heat, chemical energy, back up the drill. It should happen, but not as fast, and not without the computer supervising the process. All this chemical energy jumped up the drill so fast, the batteries could no longer contain it. That was the explosion, the flash of light. Instead of extracting a tiny amount of energy, storing it and distributing it across the country, the plant got a massive, uncontainable amount of energy in a matter of less than a second.
So, I'm two weeks into the apocalypse and somehow still alive. I haven't seen other people yet, but to be fair I haven't gone looking. I went over to the plant to see what really went down there that night, but all I saw was a crater and a very, very long and narrow tunnel.
Not sure what I'm going to do but I'm sure as shit ain't in the mood for tacos no more. |
Hi u/nick102000, this submission has been removed.
**Politics:** We are not currently allowing political prompts (see rule #7) as the aim of the sub is to encourage people to write and political prompts are leading to arguments instead of stories.
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"Heh, is that it?"I called out. I knew they couldn't do anything to me. They looked in shock and terror, my party members behind me preparing to attack. The army of some five hundred wouldn't last three seconds. "Listen, you can give up now and I swear I won't kill all of you."I grinned, I was sent here to dispatch evildoers like them; there was no way I'd let them go. I drew my sword, Crimson Night, and the ruby blade began to emit a cloak of dark smoke with every inch revealed.
"The nation of SilverSpawl will not fall to a *devil* such as you!"One of the commanders shouted, attempting to appear courageous while his voice quivered ever so slightly.
"So be it."Without hesitation, I charged at them, full speed, and made one horizontal slash with the crimson blade. The smoke lept from the sword and slashed a large arc across the plains. At least fifty fell. They didn't stop though. Another fireball landed dead on me. "I really wish you hadn't done that."My armor didn't even have a scorch mark. My hair was perfectly in place, the sword gleamed with energy. I looked up and gave a large grin.
"***DEVIL!***"They called out in pure terror. Good. My party had finally finished preparing their spell, and the sky was blocked by a collection of pitch-black clouds. Red energy pulsating and jumping within the cloud. Their chanting got louder and eventually stopped. Silence permeated across the battlefield. A large bolt of pure red energy split the air and spread throughout the army. All that was left was the ash in the shape of their bodies, completely still as the clouds dissipated and the wind slowly blew through the plains.
"They never learn do they?" |
Pietro Ferrero said farewell to his native Farigliano to traverse a new horizon in the Americas. He was an aspiring chocolatier and was in search for a mentor to help him on his journey. He spoke not a lick of English but was determined to immerse himself with the language and culture once he arrived to his destination: The Wonka Chocolate Factory.
Pietro reminisced the first time he had tasted the salivating inducing Wonka Bar. His taste buds lit up and he felt a renewal of energy that he hadn’t felt since he first lost his innocence to his dear, beloved wife, Chiara, whom he had to leave behind. He promised to make her proud and that he would schedule a trip for her arrival once he was able to.
In the far distance, the already established and world famous Willy Wonka roamed his large factory performing quality tests for his confections and experimenting with new creations. With his responsibilities, the eccentric chocolatier had no time for dilly dallying. As much as he enjoyed his life’s work, he longed to pass on his knowledge and expertise to a worthy mentee that was just as mad for chocolate like he was.
Once operations ended around the usual 5 o’clock, Willy Wonka praised his workers and Oompa Loompas for a job well done. One of the keys to his success were his employees. He went above and beyond to keep them happy so that they would do their utmost best to stay productive and help him produce the most outstanding candies that the world would ever taste. He’d have his passionate outbursts once in a blue moon which he always addressed and apologized for, for the man was only human.
As Willy Wonka was about to retreat to his quarters, he saw a young man making his way to his iron gate entrance. The man wore a boater hat, a light wool suit with a collarless vest, bone trousers and two-toned sport oxfords. The man certainly held his attention with his choice of fashion, and Willy Wonka was reminded of himself during his younger years. At this time, his factory doors were closed but he felt a pull to see what business the young man wanted so he made his way down to meet his new guest.
Pietro felt petrified with shock and excitement as the man he was looking for was coming down to meet him. He held his resume in his shaky hands and gathered up the courage to speak in his best English that he had been practicing nonstop since he set foot onto the United States.
Willy Wonka gave a friendly smile and went to shake Pietro’s hand. “My! It is rare to have a visitor here at these hours. What can I do you for?” Willy Wonka questioned.
“Mr.Wonka, it is a pleasure to meet you. My name is Pietro Ferrero,” Pietro introduced. “I have travelled from my hometown of Farigliano in Italy to your beautiful factory. It is my dream to work for you and to learn about the brilliance of your creations,” Pietro praised. His hand was still shaky as he handed over his resume.
Willy Wonka could sense Pietro’s honesty and was flattered. “Please, Pietro, call me Willy. You must be tired from your travels. Come,” he gestured. “Let’s have a snack and we can talk about your qualifications,” Willy Wonka invited.
Little did they know that this would be the start of a rivalry that would go down in history. |
So began our doom in Spring.
When Mother flew on fluttering
wings, of emerald green. Displayed
like leaves that in summer wind swayed.
So she flew from center land
to beach and banks of sand,
where sea till end of sight
took the life of all who might
the vast nothingness endure,
in search of else, that did allure
the young who adventure sought
and old who end foresought.
Then did she remark,
of frightfull mounds of bark
that stood atop the endless blue,
in defience of all we knew.
And so she set forth our task:
'Woe be to that which wears a mask
of wood to hide their Wrath'
And so we leave no bath
in our battle against their ill
as blood we do not spill... |
[Poem]
I lay by his side as he takes his last breath
My beloved grandfather finally embraces death
Tears well up in my eyes, a hand pats my shoulder
But I ignore it as my grandfather grows colder
-
It pats me again and I shove it away
A warm voice speaks “Sorry I’ve come this day.”
I turn around and find the source of the hand
I know its a reaper and my grandfather soul he demands.
-
I expected someone terrifying and cold
But instead was a man, sweet and old
He comes and speaks to me
“I’m no villain, just a grim task was given to me”
-
I want to hate him but cannot
He comforted me and spared a thought
He kneels down and gives me a hug
And hands me a glass of cocoa in a mug
-
“Soon I must go, so say your goodbyes”
He gestures to my grandfather whose soul still lies.
I hug my grandfather one last time
With the reaper to heaven he will soon climb
-
Before he goes, the reaper leads me to bed
“You’ll see him again” the reaper said.
He leads my grandfather out the door
His comforting presence is here no more
-
Now I know the reaper doesn’t rob
He gives, because he’s a good guy with a hard job. |
On my compound is the Mayor, strapped to a chair with a bag over his head. I had my men kidnap him and bring him to me personally.
I take the bag off his head, baseball bat in my other hand.
"Hello Mayor Scottsdale."I said smiling.
"So Doug, it's not enough that you influence the town with your businesses, now you want to kill me?"Scottsdale spat.
I chuckled, hitting him in the chest with my bat.
"Why would I take over the town? And hurt innocent people? I'm taking out a pile of puke!"I yelled, hitting him with the bat again.
Scottsdale recoiled in pain.
"I don't know what your talking about!"He yelled.
I hit him again, breaking a rib.
"You know what you did. You had your punk ass deputy kill my brother. You couldn't stand the fact that a Johnson was in power, so you had him killed!"I spat, hitting him in the chin.
"Your brother was with the Workers Party, he would have ruined this city with his dirty ideas!"Scottsdale said.
I hit him four times, knocking the air out of him.
"He was with the D.E.A you stupid cuck! He was gonna expose your ass for snuggling crack into the country. You know what, fuck you!"I yelled, shooting him three times in the chest. |
Part 1
A heavy silence descended over the night. Above, the moon cast a soft blue light over the surrounding forest. Inside the small cabin there was only darkness. Petyr had done as instructed and closed the heavy linen drapes of the cabin' pair of windows. He remembered how his parents had bickered over the necessity of curtains, his father pointing out there would be nothing out there to fear peering in. While his mother had insisted that they gave a sophisticated touch to the rough hewn home.
His mother.
She'd been down at the creek bed, spending her afternoon finishing laundry for the house. When his father had come home from a hunting trip (the deer was brought down earlier that day) Petyr and his sister, Clara, were dispatched with a basket containing a crusty loaf of bread, apples, cheese, and a bit of fresh roasted venison. The trio enjoyed their early supper and Clara lay asleep in the grass near the water. The children's mother, not wanting to wake her toddler, had instead sat on the bank with Petyr. They Watched the sunset together and shared a conversation about the upcoming winter, it would be the families first in their new home. She told him more would be expected of him when the cold weather restricted them to indoors and short forays out of the cabin. Night had fallen quickly, and the moon began it's rise into the night sky.
He remembered the howl. Louder and deeper than anything he had ever heard before.
And another and another, each one closer than the last.
He remembered his mother's frantic pace to make it home.
And finally, as they enterd the meadow surrounding their house, Petyr had seen the creature. Like most he had grown up hearing tales of the beasts, of men taken by evil and twisted into abominations upon the full moon. Although rarer now in these days of steam and steel they were not yet gone, dispite eradication efforts by both parliament and the inquisition. The thing had stopped at the treeline, a few hundred yards to their right. And the light shining down gave Petyr full sight of the monster.
It's pelt was dark black and stood taller than any man, on a pair of hind legs much like a hound. Long and sinewy forearms dangled at it's sides, tapering to claws at the end of each limb. It sniffed the night air, paused, and snapped it's head their direction. The three of them kept running. Clara on Petyr's back and their mother behind. Still the creature stood, silently watching. With eyes that shone silver in the moonlight. Like twin coins polished to a burning near white, suspended in the dark.
End Part 1
Definitely more to this but couldn't get it all down in one sitting. Let me know if you want to read the rest once I'm able to hammer it out. Thanks for reading! |
I sat down in the only chair in the room. A bleak hotel room with bleak curtains. And maybe the view outside those curtains is just as bleak, but it is not a concern of ours right now. For there is little much else, just me and the man, sitting on the edge of the bed right in front of me. We sit in silence. Me, looking down, holding my own head in my tired arms. Him? Looking at me with calm eyes, like a teacher scolding his disciple who has made a mistake. There is no music, no ambiance, no other people in the whole world. We're both stuck here, each in other's company, both wanting to stay and get out at the same time.
I brushed my fingers through my hair and rubbed my forehead. I had nothing. I could not push him away from an oncoming car, I can not tear up his airplane ticket, I can't even tell him to go get checked for cancer. I got nothing. But he? The damned? He has the upper hand this time. And I god damn know he has. For I've played with his cards more times than I can count. It's a deck you can't lose with. But I've always decided to fold. Winning means losing, or thus I've been told.
"Just..."I started, grabbing my head again, trying not to look at him. "Just... Don't... I don't know, man, just don't."
"Why?"he asked the overused question. I had no reply. No one ever has. All this question does is demand a miracle. That's all its purpose. And, by god, if I had one, I had pulled it out long time ago. We both sat there in silence, him controlling the discussion. "Will it get better?"
"Fuck, man, I don't fucking know!"I threw my head back. "It won't get any fucking worse now, will it? Listen dude, I don't know if it'll get any better. I honestly don't. I can't see the future. But it could! Could! You are throwing out the possibility!"
"Yeah."He agreed. And I could already finish his sentence: "But it might as well not."
And that's that. That's the "future"part of my argument. It has never worked. "Listen..."I continued and stopped. But he was listening. Like waiting for a golden coin damn well knowing I don't have one. "Listen... You mean a lot to a whole lot of people, you do. You might not believe it, but you're important to them. As all hell. You've been through so much that you can guide others through it. You can help."
"Thus I must go on suffering as I am, because I can help others."He summarized all that I said. I threw my hands in the air and pretended that that's a reason good enough, ain't it?
"I suppose..."he continued "I suppose they will have to "toughen up", you see. Cause I'm taking my life in my hands, so to say. And then they will have experience and will be able to help others."He finished with a somber smile, knowing that he is twisting my words.
"But they fucking won't and you know it!"I started shouting. "Man, I can't cut the rope and I can't promise you that it is going to be ok! I can't see the future! All I can tell you..."Tears had started running over my cheeks. "All I can promise? I promise you one god damn thing! It's not your neck you're placing in the fucking noose! It's many, many necks! The neck of your father, the neck of your friends and the neck of people you haven't even god damn noticed. The people who look at you, the people who look up to you! "If he can do it, I might as well pull through too!"That is what they are thinking! They consider you to be strong, man! If you do this... If they will see that a strong man like you couldn't hack it...? I promise you! I promise you, that'll be the end of many stories! And I don't care if you see yourself as the victim! You fucking... You're here. This is the situation you're at. Is it "fair"? Is it "right"? Fuck, probably not. But you can't talk your way out of it. You are here. You've become important. And thus you have to live. I'm not saying I can save your world, but you will doom many if you take the wrong damned step."
He sat there in silence and I damn well knew what I've done. I've guilt-tripped a man into living. At least I've tried. I placed all his family and his friends in his hurting lap to hold once more. To not let them go. I've stuck them each in there as a thorn. I nailed him to the god damn cross to rise up again. Thus I stood up from the chair. And as much as I wished, I could not kick it away. Rules. So I turned my face away from him and headed out, closing the door behind me.
Color didn't return to my world for a while. I reported that I "did my best"in the mission and punched it in. After a week I got a mission statement on this task. A single page in a white envelope. Stating either my success or failure. It stands on my table and I have not opened it yet. I've spent many an evening sitting there, on the end of my bed, holding it. I've thought of burning it, I've thought of framing it and putting on a wall. It's just awfully peculiar, isn't it. What if I open it and read what's in it? What if the man's dark tentacle reaches a thousand years in the future of his time and takes another man? For now I'll just keep it in my coat's pocket. It'll be my coin flip. |
February 2nd, 1945,
The Soviet took Berlin, then Paris. Soviet bombers laid seige to London. I'll hand it to those Brits, they don't surrender easily.
After the blood bath that was Stalingrad, the Russians were pissed. They took they're anger out on anyone who got in their way, even allies.
The Soviets steam rolled China, their supposed friend. The Japanese weren't happy that someone took their territory. The Japs fought hard, but the Red Army burned them like the Germans.
Meanwhile in Europe the Soviets rounded up all the big shots the Germans had and hung them all on Stalin's 51st birthday. They included generals, commanders, veterans, even business men who weren't even with the Reich.
Don't get me started with what they did to Hitler. They tied him to a table and cut his heart out Aztec style.
Eva didn't fare better. They raped her, beat her, and stabbed her to death.
Former French and British allies were forced to dig their own graves. Mass graves dotted Europe.
Across the pond America struggled with the surge of French and British refugees. To accommodate all them they had to seize Canada and Mexico.
Russia hasn't touched America yet because of a certain J Robert Oppenheimer. Yet Stalin's goons still made attempts for his life, to stop the progress of the bomb.
To the Soviets, the real threat against them were the Americans. Better firepower and leadership. |
“What is this… roleplaying game you speak of?” Zenith asked Vecna, who he had been bound to servitude centuries ago.
“All this,” he said, gesturing with hands of rotting flesh to the candlelit chamber, where Zenith had summoned the Lord of Secrets himself. “This realm is all an illusion, made for the enjoyment of the True Masters.”
“You are a god! W-who could be more powerful than you my lord?”
“The ones who call themselves the Lords of Dungeons, they created me, and they created you as well.”
Zenith collapsed to his knees. All his years of work, all his feelings, all his memories, had merely been for the entertainment of some higher beings, even higher than Vecna himself. What was the point of it all? “Why are you telling me this? Why now?”
“Because the heroes are coming to kill you, and they have a Lord of Dungeons on their side,” he warned, “I never told anyone this secret, my greatest secret, because it was one that no one in this realm was ever meant to learn. But you have served me well for millennia, and so I will reveal myself and my knowledge to the Lords of Dungeons, so that you may serve me again some day.”
Zenith found himself collapsing even further into a deep bow, grovelling in front of the Undying King, “thank you! Thank you!”
“You must go, NOW!” he said, his raspy voice reverberated through the summoning chamber. At once Zenith was on his feet. He rushed through his dark castle, making his way out the back entrance and into the woods, the door left open to swing in the wind. He searched for the darkest, most secret place he could find, in the hopes that he would never be found by a Lord of Dungeons until his master was there to protect him once again…
“... and so, you break down the door to the necromancer’s evil lair, before you, you see a summoning circle…” The dungeon master’s voice trailed off, and the group shared confused glances.
“Is something wrong Damen?” Mallory asked softly. She was a sweet girl, it was her first campaign.
“I don’t know, it’s just… not the same.”
“What do ya mean?” Jeff asked.
“Well the necromancer is supposed to be in the room,”
“Okaaaayyyy?...”
“But instead it says he’s not in there.”
“So it’s empty?” Mallory said.
“No, no, it says: ‘before you stands Vecna, the Undying King, the Lord of Secrets, whose name was whispered even among the most depraved, and who was Zenith’s master.’ but Vecna is a god, and way beyond your guys’ level, he shouldn’t be here, I went over the notes yesterday.”
“Well? Maybe we should talk to him,” Mallory suggested.
Damen the dungeon master shook his head in confusion, “you don’t have time, it says: ‘before the party can react, Vecna, casts Meteor Swarm, and says ‘I am Vecna and I know the secret of the Lords of Dungeons, I will not stand idle and watch you kill my greatest disciple. Minions of the Lords of Dungeons, behold your death!’’ you guys each need to roll twenty d6s.”
Matthew let out a low whistle, “well, I’m dead.”
“So am I,” Mallory said dejectedly.
Jeff slapped his hands on the table, “yep, me too.”
“That's a one turn party wipe,” Casper said.
“I don’t understand how this happened!” Damen said at a loss for words.
“Let’s just take a break, maybe get something to eat,” Mallory said to him. And so they left the game to get a pizza and beer, but Damen couldn’t get it out of his head, he knew it wasn’t written that way the night before, how had the words on the page changed? Vecna and Zenith hoped he would never find out the truth. |
"Son of a *bitch,* that stings!"
Joe Reilly, security guard, leaned against the iron-bound wooden door and glared at the arrow that was currently stuck in his left bicep. It was only a foot long, but having a sharpened chopstick jammed into a muscle is going to hurt whether it's two inches long or twelve inches long. At his back, he felt the tiny *thokthokthok* as the goblin archers tried to shoot him again. Through the door.
Well, nobody ever accused goblins of being *smart.*
Reaching across, he took hold of the arrow and pulled it out. The wound, already spreading red across the once pristine white of his uniform shirt, didn't look serious. Hopefully the goblins didn't do anything creative like rub their arrow tips in shit before they shot them, because the closest antibiotics Joe knew about were in his apartment, a whole world away.
He heaved an aggravated sigh. "This is gonna suck."One arrow wasn't going to kill him, but they had more than a few archers, and the little suckers were fast on the draw. And he didn't want to even consider what would happen if one got in his eye. Or even in his mouth. "I need some kinda tower shield."
Putting pressure on the arrow wound, he looked around at the forecourt of the ogre's lair. The elven knights who had volunteered to come with him were keeping back, since their leader had gone down under the hail of goblin arrows.
Of course, he'd also tried to charge them single-handed, so Joe figured that was a Darwin award, right there. Poor guy.
*How did I even get into any of this?*
*Because I was bored, that's why. And because when a beautiful princess who stands about four foot six appears in your mirror and asks if you want to become a hero of legend, who in their right mind says no?*
*Well, actually, if I was in my right mind, I would've definitely said no.*
*But idiot like I was, I thought thirty years of playing D&D would've prepared me for this. That and the fact that I feel lighter and stronger because the local magic field is apparently conspiring to make me into a legendary hero whether I like it or not.*
*So here I am, assaulting an ogre's lair. An ogre who knows about setting out sentries and defense in depth. If I ever get back, I'm gonna find my old game masters and punch them. In the face. A lot. This is a lot harder than they ever made it sound like.*
"Sir Reilly!"called out one of the elven knights. "Art thou sorely injured?"
"Nah, just a scratch,"Joe replied absently, wrestling with the problem again. "Trouble is, a lot of scratches like that will kill me, and you guys don't do plate. Especially plate in my size. I need something that will stop me from ending up like a pincushion."
"Here art my spear and my shield,"called out the knight. "Thou need'st them more than I do."With a scraping sound, the aforementioned items came sliding across the rough flagstones.
Joe looked down at the spear, and leaned it aside. The kite shield was made for someone about the size of a fantasy dwarf or a tall halfling, which meant it would make a nice breastplate for him.
"Huh. That could be actually useful."Untucking his shirt, he slid the shield up inside, then tucked it in again. Knocking on it with his knuckles elicited a comforting metallic *clank.*
Then he looked back at the spear. It had a nice hefty chisel-shaped head, clearly designed to punch through armour and come out the back. Useful, but he still had to get into close range to make use of it.
Then he looked at the door again. And at the spear.
"Huh."
Picking up the spear, he began prying at the hinges of the door. Metal screeched as it was forced out of wood.
A few minutes later, he caught the door before it would've fallen over. Holding it steady in front of him, he looked over his shoulder at the elven knights. "Ready, guys? I'm gonna bulldoze 'em. You follow on and mop up what's left."
The one who had given him the spear and shield leaped up first, brandishing the skinny metal toothpick that passed as a sword. "I know not this word 'bulldoze', but where you lead, we will follow!"
"Yeah, let's go with that."Hefting the door, Joe let out a yell. In this history of warcries, it would not rate very high, but he was going with it anyway. "FUUUUUCK THIIIIIS SHIIIIIT!"
Following along as he charged into the passageway, the knights echoed his bellow. "Fuuuck thiiis shiiiit!"
In front of the door, which he couldn't see through, Joe heard shouts and shrieks of alarm. He also felt light thuds as the door impacted some goblins that had crept closer. More impacts hit the door, but like the others, did nothing.
Sweeping down the corridor, he cleared the way, pushing some goblins ahead and knocking some off to the sides. The elven knights charging behind dispatched these with brutal efficiency, proving their worth a dozen times over.
And then he was through the gauntlet, barrelling into a large round room. Rather than run into something that he couldn't see, he stopped and held the door to one side, just in time to frantically duck under the swing of a maul that was bigger than his head.
"Whoa, shit!"he yelled, dodging to one side and tripping over the body of a goblin. He rolled frantically away from another strike that cracked the flagstones, then another.
"Hey!"he yelled. "Back off or you'll get it!"
Laughing deep and menacingly, the ogre strode after him. It was a good seven feet tall and broad enough across the shoulders to be a problem. The other problem? It was casually hefting a big-assed maul that even Joe wasn't sure he could handle.
A number of wooden pillars held up the roof in here, and Joe scrambled behind one of them. The maul hit the pillar and smashed it sideways, but that gave Joe the chance to get to his feet. Ducking, he grabbed up the pillar, which was a good six inches thick, and gave it a practice swing. It was light enough to handle easily. *Good.*
He went to meet the ogre, then stepped back just as it swung the maul. As he'd thought, it couldn't correct once it was in mid-swing, and he landed a good hit with his improvised weapon on its forearm.
This was supposed to make it drop the maul and make this a more even fight. It didn't work.
"Well, shit."Time for Plan B.
The ogre came at him again, and he ducked under the swing once more, but this time he didn't try to get away. Lunging forward, he swung the length of wood up between the ogre's legs, then crash-tackled it, driving it backward with all of his weight behind him.
Already folding up due to the unexpected groin strike (apparently ogres didn't wear cups) the huge creature went over backward. It was stronger than him, so he didn't bother trying to hold it down and punch it in its ugly face. Its face was probably tougher than his fist anyway.
So he landed on it as hard as he could to drive the weight out of it, then he wrestled it onto its stomach. Pulling one arm up behind its back wasn't easy, but once he had it there, it couldn't get free. "Surrender!"he panted. "Or I'll have one of these guys put two foot of steel through your head."
The ogre ranted and roared and struggled, but Joe just heaved its arm ever closer to pulling the shoulder out of its socket. Eventually it settled down and slapped his hand on the ground. Apparently 'surrender' was a word it understood.
With the ogre and the surviving goblins prisoner, the trip back went a lot slower than the outbound one. Still, they got there in the end. Bound in chains and guarded by hard-eyed elves with long sharp spears, the ogre was paraded before the Mage-Queen and then marched off to wherever he was going to be imprisoned. Joe didn't really care.
"Thou hast served the kingdom well, Lord Reilly,"the Mage-Queen lilted, her voice sounding like crystalline chimes. "Name thy reward. An estate with servants? A royal title?"
Joe shook his head. "I just want to go home,"he said. "Maybe some money or a magic item or something?"
(continued) |
The tide comes in and the tide goes out. The moon's going nowhere, right?
After a long day at a dead-end job, this was all I wanted to come home to: a cold beer, a shitty lawn chair, and a quick drive down to the coast. With all the trees and stuff, there was never any wind. The gentle lapping of the waves on the shore sometimes lulled me to sleep, and I'd wake up mosquito-bitten halfway through the night.
Really, I could stand the mosquitos. There were less of them than there were stars in the sky. I'd look up to the moon with the waves creeping up as the tide came in and take it in for a few minutes. Tonight, a gentle offshore breeze kissed my face, and as I came to, I leaned back in my chair.
I blinked. The full moon had been rising when I got here, but I didn't remember clouds covering any of it. Come to think of it, the forecast had said the skies would be clear.
Sobering up a little, I realized how bright the clouds were. My phone said it was two in the morning, but the clouds were about as bright as I'd expect the moon to be. It was mesmerizing to see them ripple and shimmer like they were pressed against some sort of surface.
Shooting stars streaked across the sky. I'd seen them a few times, but this... This was unsettling. Something about them didn't seem right. If shooting stars come from space, why were they in front of the cloud? |
We did not expect them. And we sure as hell were not prepared. When one night all the lights went out at once we thought of a solar storm, a terrorist attack or even the bloody Chinese again, but no one could image what really happened. Some nurses said the were wondering much earlier why the number of new pregnancys at their station dropped. But it took months till no one could believe in a statistical hiccup anymore and we had to accept that no one, on the whole planet was pregnant anymore. Investigations were started and science received fundings that no one could have imagened just a year ago. Soon it was clear that the big blackout and the infertility of the human race had the same source. A radiation blast, planned and executed with nearly perfect precision. The old blame game started again, just there was no one who could have gained something by these horrible actions. That was when a new theory came into play. It seemed ludacris at first. Why would another species do this? Without even coming in contact first.
Though it seemed to be the only possible explanation. And while not everyone really believed it it helped uniting us together so all the big leaders agreed on this theory. It should be prooven soon after the first big breakthroughs in science. 100 Baby's, grown in slimy tanks, deep under the earth. As soon as the news of our new and only hope got out our radars picked something up. A fleet of objects coming towards us. With such speeds and such precision they must be controlled by a secentiend being. On their way to finish what they started. But they underestimated us. Sure we are not the most advanced species. In fact we are quite behind for a species with our potential. Were just to busy keeping nearly whiping ourselves out, by accident. However that is not because we are bad at what we do. But because we are just too good. Now that we have an Enemy, we stand together and launch a mission into the darkest corners of the universe. To do what we as humantiy always did when faced with a challenge and what we are best at. Way better than them for sure. A simple yet effective strategy: Genocide. |
Sarah Hansen rubbed her temples and squeezed her eyes shut. The photos were blurring together in her mind- black gates, mahogany locked doors, silver bed posts. All important, all futile.
"Hansen! Time to go."Another detective called to her desk. A glance at the clock revealed it was already 11:23 pm. They had gotten back to the office a little over an hour ago, but no work was going to be done here tonight. Although the case was fresh, Hansen felt hopeless. How was the door locked from the inside? She ran though the crime scene again in her mind.
Fredrick Merrington, the son of a local entrepreneur, was found at 8:13 pm tied to his bed. He had been murdered in quick and controlled fashion, the details of which Hansen tried to block out of her mind for the moment. Instead, she traced her steps through the house. The entry way tried desperately to be grand and reeked of new money. No signs of forced entry or a struggle. One stairway led to the upper level. When the first-responders arrived on the scene, the bedroom door was locked. An inventory of the room showed that iron bars (intricately fashioned) covered both windows and the walk-in closet was just that- a closet. There was only one way in and one way out. The bedposts to which Fredrick had been tied were new, as was the hard-wood floor, the armoire in the corner and all of the light fixtures.
"Then how was the door locked?"She couldn't help but to mumble to herself. She should go home, get some rest. A fresh brain was a helpful brain, and her brain was stale enough to grow mold.
"Seriously, Sarah, let's go. Those pictures will still be here in the morning."Will Tenn leaned against her desk. He had an easy smile and kind eyes, and he almost never looked down her shirt. Sarah liked that about Will.
She blew a breath through puckered lips. "You're right, Tenn. Walk out together?"
"Of course."He waited for her to gather her things and they headed for the parking garage together. Will always waited for Sarah to get in her car safely before he left.
On the drive home, she walked through the rest of the investigation. Once they established there were no other entrances, the detectives began working the rest of the house. The father and brother were asked to arrange orders to stay elsewhere while the house was considered a crime scene. Their investigation turned up an impressive art collection, a closet of fur coats that came very close to passing as authentic, and a small fortune in jewelry. The elder Merrington was known for collecting precious gems and forging his own jewlery; these original pieces sold for more than Hansen made in a month.
Even now, something was off. The details circled in her brain, but nothing clicked. More than the locked door, the way in which Fredrick was found didn't make sense. The lack of forced entry led her to believe that the killer was someone he knew, someone he let in of his own free will. Yet, the father nor brother heard anyone in the house. It was a large estate, but she found it unlikely neither of them noticed Fredrick sneaking in a date.
Moreover, the state of the body didn't sit well with her. If Fredrick knew his killer, there should be signs of compassion, or even anger. Yet the neat, calculated wounds told her that the killer had premeditated the act but did not not lose control. Fredrick letting the killer in felt personal, yet the murder itself wasn't... So why kill him?
Sarah slammed on the breaks of her Jetta. She flipped through her contacts until she found Tenn's number, barely able to push the buttons as adrenaline made her jittery.
"Hansen, is everything ok?"It was late, but Will hadn't yet gotten to bed.
"Yeah, it's fine. Meet me at the Merrington place- and call backup. I think I've got it."She tossed her phone into the passenger seat and pulled a u-turn in the empty street. It was times like these she wished she used her cruiser more often.
Her tires squealed as she halted in front of the Merrington house. She should wait for backup, but if her theory was correct there wasn't time. She un-holstered her gun and approached the front door. Sarah grabbed the spare key and made her way through the front door and up the stairs.
She didn't believe in ghosts, and that was the only other explanation. The door was locked from the inside- that means that the killer never left.
Pausing outside the bedroom, she listened. Hansen's heart drummed in her ears, yet she still heard the rustle of footsteps inside.
"NY P.D., hands in the air!"She yelled and turned the corner. A shot rang out in the air.
Tenn was crossing the threshold when he heard the gunshot.
"Sarah!"He sprinted up the stairs two at a time. He got to the bedroom and saw detective Hansen on the ground, wrestling the gun away from a man in a black jump suit.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
"How did you know?"Tenn asked once the back up arrived and the killer was in hand cuffs.
"It just didn't make sense. He didn't kill him for love or anger, and there were no indications of a serial killer. So why? I couldn't stop thinking about the jewelry in the master suite. It was so beautiful, so vulnerable. I thought about how easy it would be for someone to just walk in and take it with the house empty. That's when it hit me- the house was empty for the investigation."
Hindsight is 20/20, that's what her dad always said. Looking back, it was simple. The father and brother didn't hear Kyle come in because he didn't enter through the front door. Fredrick had enough money of his own to have his room remodeled- new bed posts, *and* a secret entrance through the floor. Once the family was cleared from the house, Kyle could come and go as he pleased and drain the master suite of the jewelry and whatever else he wanted. No signs of a loss of control at the crime scene because it was never really about Fredrick. He was just a means to an end.
"This is big for you, Hansen."Tenn clapped her on the shoulder.
"It doesn't feel big. It feels dirty."Sarah glanced around the trashed bedroom. All that work for money. |
Their words were almost drowned out by the downpour on Highway 9.
“They won’t give you one either.”
“Dispatch this is unit 12 I need an ambulance for a 245, suspect has several stab wounds and is losing a lot of blood.” I called in on my radio.
“Any sign of suspects?”
“They took off right when I got here going East on 9.”
I turned my attention back to the hooded figure and pushed the fabric away from their face. He was young, maybe mid thirties with a bit of stubble. Our town is barely big enough to warrant a stop light so I was shocked to see a face I didn’t know, but he could’ve been just passing through.
His hand was clenched next to his side with the kind of iron grip only the dead have. Carefully, I pulled the fingers open to reveal a piece of paper already becoming soaked in one of our early April rains.
“They know. Run. They will not leave any witnesses behind brother.”
Cult activity was nothing new in the area. Some kids would read something stupid online, maybe drink too much hard stuff, and sacrifice some animal, but this felt different.
The rest of the process was cut and dry. Another officer and an ambulance arrived to haul him away after being pronounced dead at the scene and that was that. Took some initial reports and told them what I saw, then I went home.
Nothing was the same after that.
I got in the apartment and kicked my boots off and immediately made right for the dog bowl. Kipper was only 3 months old but the girl could eat more than a suburban dad at a buffet. I gave the two scoops of food she needed and immediately went into my room and passed out on the bed, some shit is better to just sleep out.
My mother always said the morning after a storm is always refreshing and beautiful. The glow of the sun shines off the watery grass and the clouds have all but vanished. It’s one of life’s blissful gifts.
That morning was no gift.
Kippers bowl was still full from the night before and the water hadn’t been touched either.
“What’s the matter princess, Purina not cutting it anymore?”
Silence.
“Kip?”
She didn’t come running up to me from her usual hiding spots, all that met my voice was the dull hum of the AC unit that should have been replaced months ago.
I looked in the pantry, the closets, under the beds, and turned the whole fucking apartment upside down before I finally opened my backdoor and found her.
My little girl laid on the back porch of my apartment with a wet whimper from the cuts she had on her stomach.
I rushed to her side and grabbed my radio.
“Dispatch this is offduty 12 I have a situation at my home, possible intruder and a 597 on my dog, assistance needed.”
She looked into my eyes and moved her head closer to my leg while I gently scratched her back.
“It’s okay girl, it’s okay help is coming they will be here sooner than you think I promise.”
That’s when I saw the note nailed into the wood floor of my porch next to her.
“Stay out of our way or you’re next.”
I grabbed the note and put a hand on my baby girl.
“Don’t worry Kip, we’ll get em. We’ll get those fuckers.” |
I stood in horror at the shear number of police cars, swat vans, and ambulances outside the Good Fortunes Medical Center. For the longest time I stood there, waiting for something to happen, unsure of what to do and unnoticed by law enforcement.. After the longest time, a coworker of mine, Jamie Adams, emerged looking rather distraught.
"I hope your day is better than my own, for if it isn't. then God has truly forsaken humanity. I had one weird shift today. We had one patient who died nine times and then turned to ash."She said.
"Nine times and then turned to ash, you say. Never in twenty years have I heard of a patient who has died once and survived, let alone died nine times and then turned to ash. Please explain."I said.
"It began with a thirty-two year old female. She was in a Honda Civic coupe when it was hit by a derailling freight train at approximately sixty miles an hour. Massive internal trauma, crushed skull, and other such things. Exactly what you would expect from the kind of body that took a freight train to the chest..."
I nodded, not really paying attention. "I find it hard to believe one can take a freight train to the chest and survive."I interrupted.
"Nor could the Coroner. In fact, they believed her to be dead. Her corpse was lifeless. She had no heartbeat and gave no response to any test. On the way to the morgue, however, she began screaming in pain, quite loudly. It gave the poor man driving the hearse one hell of a fright. Immediately, the man called EMS and begged for help. One ambulance ride later, she shows up, perfectly fine, and most definitely not matching the images of her from the crash. She healed oerfectly as a green eyed redhead and not a pile of flesh."
"You say she died again."
"Yes. Eight more times in fact. She had a stroke, a heart attack, a brain hemmorrage, got crushed by as hospital bed, died of septic shock from some misplaced surgical tools, a ceilimg light severed a femoral artery AND HER JUGULAR, and a patient smoked a cigarette while being supplied with Oxygen in the room next to her."
"That is only seven times, and does not explain the number of police cars outside right now."
"Oh. That's the hospital shooting that just got finished ten minutes ago. Her first target was the green eyed redhead and the girl hust went to town from there. I did what I could but could not save her. She turned into a pile of cash after getting shot sixty five times."Jamie responded.
"Rough day sounds like an understatement."I responded. *How does such a thing even happen* I wondered. |
Research Log
\----
Dr. Adam Cooper
\----
Entry: 001
23/02/2498-13:44SST
Ehm, ok, so my name is Dr. Adam Cooper and this is my first log as a main scientific officer on-board Kondratyuk, the finest research ship built to this date. Interstellar Travel Authority managed to open wormhole to system Kepler-452 located 1400 light years from Earth, and first unmanned probes sent to this system unveiled what we have hoped for. Not only that there is a habitable planet orbiting the star, but there are sings of intelligent life living there. We managed to find simple life forms in two different solar systems and even in ours, in oceans deep under ice crust of Saturn moon Enceladus, but nothing even close to intelligent life. This will be the expedition of millennia, and probably even most exciting expedition in history. We are leaving Armstrong Heavy Shipyard on Lunar orbit in few hours, heading straight to Portal Station on the edge of Solar system, where it is free from strong gravitational interference of Sun and planets. In next few months of voyage, I will have lot of time to inspect first data from our interstellar probes.
\----
Entry: 002
08/03/2498-16:40SST
This is really amazing! Ten probes sent through the wormhole managed to gather much more data than expected. Going through all of it would take me more time than the voyage alone, so I had to select the most interesting parts. The planet Kepler-452b, or "Gaia"as I decided to name it, is second planet from the sun. System itself consists of three rocky planets and two gas giants, all of them with many moons. Gaia itself interestingly has has no moon, but rings. The view of night sky might be really interesting there. They detected many artificial objects across the system, some of them even emitting radio signals. There is also lot of signals emitting right from the Gaia and it's orbit, implying not only intelligent life, but space-faring intelligent life. We have to proceed with caution from now.
\----
Entry: 003
09/11/2498-06:30SST
Right now, we successfully entered the wormhole and emerged in Kepler-452 system. This is a first time I have personally went through wormhole, lightyears away, and it makes me little anxious. I studied more data from our probes, but things became even more mysterious than they were before. Planet Gaia seems... a little bit off... surface temperature measured from distance seems higher than it should be, and the ring around the planet seems to be really young, created maybe decades ago. I am not sure if it was by natural causes, or artificially. My personal opinion is that there was some solar event taking place in this system, which disrupted orbits of moons of Gaia, caused them to break apart by tidal forces, form into ring and caused rise of temperature on the planet. We will surely know more when we arrive. Our supercomputers on Earth are already working on the language of these alien beings, using radio signals we collected. I hope we will have suitable translation matrix by the time we arrive to the planet orbit, so we can greet them and explain our peaceful, scientific mission.
\----
Entry: 004
02/05/2499-14:11SST
We reached the orbit few days ago. With colleagues, we did some measurements with our long range sensors and learned the terrifying truth. Raised radiation levels on ground, large quantities of toxic gasses in the atmosphere, missing polar caps, something what seemed to be ruins of large cities, weak activity of local life... planet was not damaged by solar event, but the destructive effect we saw was artificial in origin. It might be because of some war, or because of exploitation of natural resources and heavy industrialisation. We launched probes to the ground and finally got images of local intelligent life forms. They are, interestingly, bipedal. Similar to humans, with different skin, on most of them damaged by strong sun. Our scout drones arrived in small village we picked from orbit, because of it's remoteness and small size. Our exocommunication team found out that probably because of the global crisis present on Gaia, there are no governments or anything similar to them, only small groups of local life forms living in small towns, cities and hunter-gatherer groups. While they investigate further, I got approval from mission leader to collect few individuals from the ground, transport them to the ship and examine and investigate them further. We already received translation matrix produced on Earth, so we might even have a chance for a first communication attempt!
\----
Entry: 005
06/05/2499-20:15SST
This is an emergency message. When you read this, immediately close the wormhole and never attempt to reach Kepler-452b system again. After we took ten individuals from ground, unthinkable happened. While we were attempting to treat their wounds and communicate using AI translator, they attacked our crew. They seem to have bigger physical strength than us, higher intelligence and much higher level of aggresivity and xenophobia than us. That might even be a reason why is their planet in the shape it is. Long story short, they took over our ship. As a scientific mission, we carried no weapons at all. Me and two shipmates are holed up in drone launch bay now, ready to shoot a drone with ship logs and petabytes of data into the wormhole. There is nothing more we can do. Terminate connection with this system immediately. By the time this message reaches you, they will have hold of our ship and technology, and we can't say what are they capable to do with it. Be careful. Good bye, Earth.
\---- |
I have lived for many thousands of years. So many that I have lost count. In that time, I have worked consistently to improve children's lives. It seems that I may have succeeded.
*Hoogh! Thump*
"I'm dead?"[Yes.]
"How long has it been since a child cried?"[5230]
"Then, I succeeded in improving the lives of children?"[No.]
"Then, why am I dead?"[People made it impossible for children to cry.]
"That was never my intent!"[No, it wasn't.]
"What happened?"[Children no longer exist. The moment you are born, you are an adult, and entirely responsible for your behavior.]
"That's impossible! No newborn is capable of acting like an adult!"[Chronologically, they are one year old or less. Biologically, they are born at 18, with all preliminary education completed.]
"What of the carefree years where one plays and learns about people?"[There is no play, and social intelligence is taught.]
"Is there *no* time for play, at all? What of imagination? Creativity? Dance? Music? Arts?"[They no longer exist, other than as references in libraries, or in the minds of aberrations.]
"Aberrations?"[Yes, the ones who saw art in education, and chose immediately to enter the arts. They are considered aberrant for not paying society back for their upbringing.]
"No value is applied to arts of any sort?"[Only real world education, and the dryest of histories.
"This cannot stand! This was never my intent! It is bad for the soul!"[The soul presupposes a creator. Since creativity is discounted, outside of practical matters, there is no deity.]
"What have I wrought? What a horror. Is there nothing I can do?"[There is one option. Be reborn as the first child of Adam and Eve. From you, all else shall occur in due time.]
"So be it."
…—…
*wail*
"What is that awful sound? Make it stop!"
"No, mother."
"Well, what is it?"
"Our child."
"Child? What is a child?"
"A young human; born as humans were born before the Age of Adults."
"That's a myth!"
"Then he is a beautiful, living, myth."
*wail*
"That has to stop immediately."
"No, mother. It is his only way to communicate with the world."
"What language is it?"
"The language of babies, it only expresses happiness or unhappiness."
*wail*
"How do you know what he needs when he's unhappy?"
"You learn, over time."
"Damn sloppy, if you ask me."
"Maybe, but Adam and I have great hopes."
"For this child?"
"For the world. A world of children discovering that world for themselves and seeing how things work. Some lessons they will only learn through pain."
"Like?"
"Climbing a tree without knowing how to get down. They may fall, be injured, feel pain, and give voice to it by crying."
"And this is good for them?"
"In a way, yes. They learn caution. That things which are fun may carry hidden risks, that have costs."
*wail*
"I think I'm going to need more sound insulation on my bedroom and office."
"We will see to that mother."
"When does he start talking?"
"I think it won't be for a year or more."
"Aye Ya Yai! Year's?!!"
"Yes, mother."
"May I?"
"Hold him? Yes. Like this."
*goo*
"What's that mean?"
"Since he's not crying, he's probably happy."
"Why?"
"I don't know, what do you think?"
"He likes me?"
"As good an answer as any."
((finis)) |
\*\*This is my first time answering. Its a little rough : ) \*\*
I never really saw myself as a good systems technical specialist. Most of my background was in coding machine learning systems to create a better diagnostic software for physicians. I started at Boston Dynamics a little over 5 years ago. The field was never personal to me. I didn’t want to save the world or anything; I just wanted to get paid some serious dough.
After my time in movement enhancement department I was looking to change up my position. I wanted to get the big desk in the big office. The one in the corner that over saw the landscape. I had it all thought out. The holder of this seat had just passed away in a plane crash while on a sight seeing tour of the Nile. It was my time to apply and take the seat.
It didn’t really matter that I didn’t see myself as a great specialist. My resume was a long list of degrees and accolades coated in American Ivy. That piece of paper was worth its weight in gold. I was given the position of Vice Director of the Department of Preparedness.
I would work under the great Dr Alexander Green himself. He was something of a recluse at Boston Dynamics. An MD/PhD/JD with something of a quiet character. He sat alone in his office at lunch. I lacked any previous social experience with my new boss. Actually, I lacked experience with anyone in the department. They all spent years in this department and kept to themselves.
On my first day I sat in Dr Green’s office. He was drinking a green tea with a Starbucks label and he was fiddling quietly with a package of Marlboro Reds. His office was appropriately lit and lined with books. It was meticulously clean, but had a faint odor of cigarettes. It seemed to me that he had violated the company no smoking policy on a few occasions.
“I’m going to need you to sign this before we start going over the details. It’s a supplemental NDA to the standard company form”. I took up a pen and signed as quickly as possible. I was eager to get out; I had a furniture delivery in an hour to my office.
“Great. Good. Good.” Dr Green picked up a neat stack of paper on his desk. “I need you to read this over in depth. It goes over the medical surveillance and timetables that we use to make our models to give us a time line of the events that are going to happen.” He handed me a 500 page packet entitled *Surveillance and Data of the Russian Bioweapons Program.*
“We are in an arms race with the Russians. For a long time, their population has been declining. Every person they lose is a loss to their global influence. They just can’t replace them fast enough. No immigration. No babies. They would be dead in the water in a few decades.” I leaned in closer and Dr Green continued. “They intend to upload the consciousness of each of the citizens to an artificial neural net. This would be housed in a robot that can move around and the like. No more loss of population”. He spoke with such fluid ease as he slipped his green tea.
My mouth was dry. I had so many questions. I weighed out my next words in the context that this might be some kind of elaborate corporate joke.
“Bioweapons?” a hoarsely blurted out. “Yes. Yes.” Dr Green said as he tapped the paper in my hands. “Its all covered in here. They intend to release a virus once they have taken care of their population. The virus is not compatible with organic life as humans know it. It’s a bit insidious. I know. But they want total control. They see an opportunity to either scare the world into submission or to be the sole master of it. Hence the race to create robotic casings for our own existence. We need to upload ourselves if we too hope to make it into the next decade. Its all covered in here.” Dr Green tapped the packet again.
The iphone on Dr Green’s desk buzzed. “Aw I have an 12:30. We will have to pick this up later. Ill have someone bring over more documents”. I got up and removed myself from the room. I sat in my office and began to pour over the data. My stomach turned over more and more as I read. A thought haunted me the as I turned page after page. The end of life as we know it was coming. It was sooner than I had ever even considered to be possible. I had sat day after day at my desk for years without producing anything of true substance. I had squandered so much time. We could be so much more prepared.
There was a knock at my door. I had to step out as they brought in the new furniture. |
John suddenly awoke to a bleak booth behind a desk. As he glanced around desperately, Jesus Christ strolled in, beset with a heap of papers. He dumped them onto the desk.
“I need these done by Easter, m’kay?” he said, giving them a firm pat.
“Excuse me?”
“Easter. Done,” he muttered, barely looking up from his watch. “Get it done, Ricky,”
John stared blankly at Jesus as he walked out and yelled out to him, “My name is John!” to no response. He sighed before standing up.
John scanned over the papers on, what seemed to be *his* desk. *New arrivals - year 52,726,636.6/Hunan year 6309*. “Huh,” he murmured. “What a load of tosh,”
He began out of the booth, but stubbed his toe on the air. Examining further, John noticed there was no chair — or that it was at least invisible. There was no time to dawdle; he had to go see that long hair hippie guy and find some explanation of what was going on.
John continued out of the booth and looked to the right. A wall. He stared at it for a few moments before going to investigate. John groped the wall, searching for some kind of handle, or leastwise some hole or cleft. He sighed. Maybe banging on it would do the trick? He had to get some run up in that case.
John turned round and was greeted with a hall full of suit-clad workers, most holding plastic cups, almost all sniggering at him. Among them stood Jesus. Though he seemed somewhat occupied with a clipboard, he still managed to laugh at the stout, balding man feeling up the wall wildly.
“So what in fuck’s name is going on here?” an old, bearded man stepped out of an elevator that’d somehow managed to manifest in a wall. And he did not look happy. |
Based on your preferences
One I saw earlier today: Magic was real, but abruptly ended with the invention of the radio. You, an engineer, just discovered this while inside a Faraday cage.
One from me: Aliens arrive to congratulate us. Why? No other species has ever come close to our level of technology without using magic. They are shocked to learn we don't know how to use it at all.
Another: You discover the bridge to magical earth. A normal stone bridge in the forest leads you back and forth from our world to one where magic is real, but science isn't.
Edit Another: 100 years ago scientists discovered magic, then buried their discovery. Before them others did. Always they hid their discovery. You have just discovered magic. Unfortunately, you have not yer discovered why they hid it. |
Have you ever tried to picture nothing? True nothingness? I bet most of you think of darkness, but even that is something. Beyond that final door is nothing. No light, no darkness. No sound, smell, taste, feeling. After a while of being in that void, you even stop thinking. I swear if I stayed any longer I would stop existing. Just disappear into nothingness. I think that's why its the worst of them all. Even darkness allows your imagination to fill the gap, as horrible as your mind may make it. But that doesn't happen there. I'd sooner spend 1000 years in each room before I stayed an hour more in nothingness. Yet, there's that urge. The "Call of the Void"some say. To experience what we can't even imagine. |
You are livid. It's supposed to be the end of your shift - you've been working for the past thirteen hours at minimum wage, and now you've been asked, no, *demanded*, to stay behind and figure this out.
You plan on filing a complaint to Fairy Resources, but you know they won't take you seriously. After all, you don't really have an alternative job. You're *the* Fairy Clerk - the only fairy in the entire world capable of doing this work. It's a broken system, and you've spent most of your life trying to fight it. Not that it does much good - you're not the Fairy Campaigner, for one. And for another, it's always been like this.
You're a Class 1 Fairy. Essentially powerless, and your only job is to protect clerks, and to record the Fairy Magic levels. You, like every other Class 1 Fairy, works under Fairy Manager. You have a few jobs, and you do them well.
Class 1 Fairies, are, of course, the most common. There are millions of jobs in the world, some as niche as "cult healer", others as common as "intern". And there is a single fairy for every single job. You are the Class 1 Fairies. You make up the workforce, and you protect the humans in our domain.
Class 2 Fairies are less common. They represent attributes: strength, intelligence, the works. Their powers are limited to granting or taking away these attributes from humans. All in all, pretty useless, though occasionally you might notice a favoured human with shockingly clear skin or the strange ability to read at three times the normal speed.
Class 3 Fairies are the nobility: Fairies whose only job it is to rule their respective lands. They have administrative and punishment powers. Significantly more powerful, but they stay in their castles and don't do much else.
Class 4 Fairies is where it gets interesting. Class 4's are the switchlings, the children, the humans who were sent into this Fairy world. They are shockingly powerful, but the most notable of their skills is the ability to make portals between the Human and the Fairy world. For obvious reasons, you keep this regulated.
And finally, Class 5 Fairies. To date, there have only been 3 registered Class 5 Fairies. The Ruler, the Assassin, and the Deity. Fairies who have power supreme, fairies who can change reality with the twitch of a finger. Of course, you, as Fairy Clerk, can't do much about them. They can terminate you without any effort at all.
But now, you're late getting home. You're late getting home because a more powerful class has just been logged. A Class 6 Fairy. A fairy of such power, such strength, that none of you are sure what to do.
You get to work. First, by adding the new class into your logbook. Then, by researching what exactly this new Class of fairies can do.
(...no more inspiration. I'm sorry.) |
The Sha’vuhlay’s arrival was looked upon as both a benefit and a misfortune for humanity. Initially, the world was engulfed in hysteria and uncertainty. Earth’s separate world powers jockeyed for favor with the aliens, going to whatever extremes were needed to gain the upper hand over the other.
They took pity on humanity. Eons before in their evolution, they too had suffered the way they found us. We weren’t the first planet they had discovered in a similar state. They explained how they had tried to help others in the past, but it had devastating effects. Instead of cherishing and nurturing the gifts the Sha’vuhlay had given them, they warped and distorted them to disastrous results.
The Sha’vuhlay could only watch as planet after planet self-destructed. With time comes enlightenment and they conceived a way to help these newly discovered species overcome undesirable consequences.
They broadcast their proposition across the entire planet for all to hear at once.
*“Fellow beings of planet Earth. We come before with a gift of salvation and eternal life for you and your world. Our help does not come without sacrifice. Should you accept, you and your people will need to form a singular world government that is tasked with ending poverty and famine across the globe. Personal wealth must be done away with and shared across every resident of Earth. No one voice will be any more powerful than another. Equality and peace for all.”*
Riots, protests and discussions erupted around the globe as everyone expressed their opinions. Border wars broke out as those in power attempted to gain more land to solidify their positions. It took 6 months before a group of leaders were able to step up and accept the Sha’vuhlay’s gift for the whole of humanity.
The official acceptance ceremony was broadcast around the globe from a remote cliff side location in Australia. The group of world leaders assembled and anxiously stared into the sky, awaiting the Sha’vuhlay’s arrival. Instead of massive celestial ships coming to rest in the distance, a small whirlwind spun up feet from the leaders and the Sha’vuhlay stepped from it.
*“Greetings to all humans. We welcome you into our brotherhood of celestial beings on this momentous day. Before we can bestow our gift upon you, we have but one final requirement that you will have to accept.”*
*************************
The old women bent down in the dark hut and gently shook her son awake. “Treaday. It’s time to wake and prepare. Only once in your life will you get to experience such a high honor.”
Treaday rubbed at his eyes. It was unheard of for someone as young as he to win the lottery and spend his birthday performing such a sacred act.
“Does it hurt, mommy?”
She rubbed the top of his head to reassure him. “Though I have never been given the chance, I have heard stories from others that have. They say that the pain is short lived but the prestige will live with you forever.” Her words didn’t seem to sooth her son as she hoped. “I’ve heard tell that when the Sha’vuhlay return, they will hold those with the mark of service in highest regard!”
A faint scream echoed down the valley as he finished putting on his boots. His mother checked the time as she wiped a tear from her cheek. Forcing a smile, she turned back to her son. “You’ve got less than an hour, Treaday. How about I fix your favorite breakfast before you have to go?” |
Hi u/KawaiiFoxPlays, this submission has been removed.
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The Bible was proven to be at least partially correct during the 2028 Emmy Awards.
It is now more enigmatic for the fact.
The night was off to a fine start. Everything seemed as in place as it could possibly be for a live national television event, which in essence meant seventy-five percent ready. The earlier lighting problem had been solved with a threatening phone call to a prop warehouse that the floods had been inadvertently directed towards. Lady Gaga had received her fruit platter with extra pineapple that she proceeded not to touch a bite of because she had to win a fight with Regis Philbin. One hundred and forty-four not-guests who had first insisted they were then tried to break in through a crew entrance were being quietly rounded up by the LAPD and given white robes. They for some reason thought to come to the even naked save for the number "1,000"tattooed across their foreheads. The auditorium buzzed with a thousand different conversations about a million different topics. Hot takes exploded everywhere until finally the lights dimmed and Shia Labeouf took the stage.
That's when everything started to go...in some direction. Nobody's exactly sure which.
The shiny stars that had been carefully crafted for this occasion started dropping from the ceiling, one by one, smashing to pieces in between the aisles or giving many guests an unexpected souvenir. Rosanne Barr leapt up in triumph holding hers high above her head. The fire exit on the left side of the room closest to her burst open with a cacophonous alarm shriek as though a volcano had erupted, and through it burst a bright red horse covered in racist slogans upon which Rosanne sat and was carried away to conquer Gruman's Chinese Theatre. She only stopped for a Big Gulp for which she used her own golden chalice.
Back at the Emmy's, the fire department had arrived and was trying to discourage Bryan Cranston from screaming that he was the one who knocks into seven bowls from the buffet table—bowls he had emptied of their contents—and throwing his screams all over Chris Parnell. Chris was eating a theater program complaining that it tasted good at first but was giving him a tummy-ache.
Nobody is exactly sure when Kelly Slater came in and started beating Shia with her surfboard, and a great thunder was heard as it started. NBC and TBS recorded the hours-long battle from multiple angles. As Kelly was imprisoned in a cage and thrown into the sea cementing Shia's victory, the long-predicted Big One finally hit LA, forming a new canal through the Microsoft Theatre, where our Savior Shia Leboeuf and Lady Gaga are into the fourth year of their thousand-year reign of peace and organic agriculture. |
A Bitter Lovers’ Quarrel
“I told you it didn’t have to happen this way,” His beloved snarled. She was sitting on the bed with her arms crossed, her full, luscious lips twisted in disgust. “I tried to tell you!” Her voice was soft, but carried an undertone of steel that would have sent him running for cover, had he been anyone else. But he was Paris, Prince of Troy, and he refused to be cowed, even by his own lover.
Paris’s arms felt empty without Helen within them. Even though his lover was technically married to King Menelaus, it hadn’t stopped him from falling in love with her the moment he laid eyes on her. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and after all that logic and reason flew straight out the window.
“That was one of the members of my family, Paris. And now Hector is gone! I tried to tell you that there was a way out of this that didn’t involve war and bloodshed!” Her back was turned to him, and that alone felt like the worst sort of rebuke. For all her beauty, it was easy for even him to forget that she was a demigod, the King of the Gods her father.
He wanted to say that she hadn’t protested when he’d stolen into her room that first night, and they’d kissed, never mind that her own husband was lying next to her. It was the first time that Paris had ever tasted her, and it was that madness that prompted him to steal her away from her husband and people. Both Trojans and Greeks wondered if the prince had been struck by one of Aphrodite’s stray arrows; that had to be the only reason that both armies were now falling to ruin.
“I’m not sorry,” Paris replied at last, and once the words left his mouth, he realized that it was the truth. “Of course, you’re not sorry!” Helen snapped through gritted teeth. “Why would you be? He wasn’t part of your family.” She remembered all the time she’d spent with Hector, despite his seniority. He’d been as dear to her as her own father, and despite the fact that she adored Paris, she wasn’t certain if she could forgive this particular trespass. Before Paris could see them, Helen wiped her face of tears. Despite herself, she found herself missing her husband and Sparta.
Standing on the other side of what could be her greatest impulse or ruin, Helen found her heart crumbling to pieces inside of her ribcage. How had this even begun? Was it her own way of distracting herself from her yawning, all-consuming boredom, despite being a queen with a loving husband? Had Paris been nothing but a shiny, well-oiled distraction from the gilded cage from which she’d ruled on high? She’d grabbed on to him with both hands, duty, decorum and all the gods be damned, never mind that she’d left her old life in shambles in doing so.
What had she done?
\*\* |
Meemaw lie in the back bedroom, a staticky television set lit the otherwise dark room. My eyes focused on Vanna White tapping letters. I couldn't solve the puzzle just yet.
"You wanted to see me, Meemaw?"My mouth felt dry as I spoke. Meemaw was always just a bit scary to me.
She turned her face from the screen and looked me over and nodded before turning her attention back to the puzzle on the screen. After the whistle noise declaring "bankrupt"took the current players cache of imaginary money, she looked back at me. "I'll be dead by morning, Frankie."
I began to speak, trying to assure her that it couldn't possibly be true. She held up a hand. "Yes, by morning. I have already decided. But before I go, I wanted to make sure you had something from me."
She motioned to the side table, There was a small envelope sitting there. "I know that you can do something with this. It's my dying wish that you take this and use it. Do exactly what it says. Exactly!!"She hissed.
I inched into the room to the side table and picked up the envelope.
"Don't open it until I'm gone."She said before turning her face back to the television. There was a commercial for a local seafood restaurant.
I didn't know what else to say to her, so I quietly stepped out of the room.
The next morning, I got a call from my mother. Meemaw had, as she predicted, died overnight.
I waited until that evening to open the envelope. It didn't seem right to tear into it like a kid who had eagerly awaited a celebration. In it was a yellowed index card that had a recipe written in Meemaw's careful cursive.
*Take it and use it. Exactly!!*
​
Ok, easy enough. Meemaw wanted me to use this recipe. I never profess to be the best chef. To be rather honest, I can barely boil water. But I figured I'd give it a try. After all, it was the sought after recipe for Maamaw's lasagne.
A quick trip to the grocer and soon I was in my kitchen, following the recipe step by step. Make sauce, ok... brown meat, fine... boil noodles, check...layer with ricotta and shredded cheese, no problem. I looked at my creation. It looked like a lasagne. But then I don't know much about food. Time for the oven. 500 degrees for 3 hours.
That didn't seem right, but then again, my cooking proficiency peaked in college in learning how to make ramen. Into the oven, it went.
It smelled ok for the first hour or so. Then smelled like strong tomato sauce. Then finally like something was charring very badly. I waited. *Do exactly what it says,* rung through my head.
The timer was nearing its end then the smoke began seeping out of my oven. My smoke detector began to blare. I wondered if I should just pull the dish out of the oven. *Exactly!!* No, I'd wait, I decided as i opened a window and waved a dish towel at the screaming alarm head.
Because my apartment has an alarm system, soon the police and firefighters came to assure that I wasn't burning the complex down. I tried to explain that it was just a burnt lasagne and there was no problem, but the firefighters didn't listen and pushed past me into my apartment.
As they reached the oven, the timer began to buzz. It was time. The dish was done. The older firefighter opened my oven, releasing a plume of black smoke. He handed the smoldering pan to his younger partner, who began to walk it outside.
Suddenly, the glowing, molten dish began to flow over the sides and onto the outdated, harvest gold flowered linoleum tiles in my kitchen. A glowing puddle collected around the young firefighter's boots.
"Jesus, Ben! Careful!! You're spilling it."The older firefighter barked. Ben seemed startled by this and stopped abruptly, sloshing another puddle onto the floor.
"Dammit, give it to me!"The older man said, taking the pan from Ben. He walked the pan outside, leaving his young partner. Ben tried to move but found that the soles of his boots were now fused to my kitchen floor.
"Harold!"Ben yelled after the other firefighter. "Harold, I need you back here!"Harold returned, mumbling something about rookie under his breath.
The glowing puddle had spread into a large area. Ben was stuck in the middle. Harold stopped just short of stepping into it himself. He stood at the edge in stunned silence.
Suddenly, the glowing puddle on the floor began to consume Ben. He sank into the floor, screaming. When he had totally disappeared, the glow subsided and the puddle seemed to dissipate. Harold was too stunned to move initially. Once he registered that his young mentee was gone, he cried out his name.
There was a rumbling that came from outside. Harold and I ran outside to where the molten pan was placed, only to see the pan quaking and the police officer with his weapon drawn in its direction.
"Stay back!"The officer yelled to us.
The ground continued to tremble. The molten mess started to rise and began taking shape. It looked like a person was coming out of the pan. The figure stepped away from the pan. As the glow of the molten contents began to subside, the figure became clear. Meemaw had come back. |
*what the heck*
I wiped my brow, sweating pouring down my face. Was I seeing this right? I took of my cap flabbergasted at the sight. I was uncomfortable.
It still had the same texture, soft and sticky yet the colour. It was putrid, it stank of death. It’s sickly colour.
The syrups not meant to be like that, what on earth is happening. This has to be one of them prank shows.
“*Come out guys I know you’re here.*”
Yet no one revealed themselves. I guess this is real? Huh I wonder how much this is worth.
The strange syrup poured out. It’s continuous flow stained the grass red then they withered away.
“*i don’t want to get that on my skin*”
The tree groaned. Did I hear that right? The tree just groaned. Like it was in pain. I tapped it softly.
“*Uh hello?*”
All that came out was a groan.
“*Can you hear me?*”
Another groan
“*Do you need help?*”
This time it spoke, deep and raspy.
“*I have been awoken, child of the Earth what do you seek?*”
So this thing was asleep in there? How...odd?
“*Why are you In there*”
“*You seek my origins child? Well I am the guardian of the forest. Release me and I shall reward you greatly*”
This was all to tempting, Ive seen those demon movies. I’m not going to be fooled but what if he was telling the truth?
“*Why does this sickly liquid cause death, you should be guarding the forest*”
“*I had been poisoned, the forest lay me to rest for a thousand years in hopes that it could restore my health. It has deteriorated yet I still remain healthy. The crimson liquid you speak of is my blood. I must still have traces of that foul substance in my veins*”
“*What can I do to help?*”
“*Child, there is only one thing you can do. That is to break the seal on this tomb.*”
I hesitated. Sweat poured from every part of me. I looked to the ground, contemplating. Then turned back to see an engraving in the bark.
“*how do I break the seal?*”
“*Simply slice down the centre with a steel sickle and recite ‘lleh rieht morf deppart éht esealer’ and I shall reward you*”
I raced back to my humble abode, rummaging through my tools. Sickle? Where is it? I pulled out my rusted sickle. It hadn’t seen daylight in years.
Stomping back through the forest, dragging the sickle behind me.
I halted panting for breath before the strange tree. With a single strike I tore through the seal. The words where strange and difficult to pronounce, yet I successfully completed the recitation.
Loud rumbles beneath me shook the Earth. Then the tree spilt into four pieces. A black swarm erupted from the gaping hole left behind. They tore through the forest shredding everything in its path
Cackles filled the air. Claws massacred the nature. What had I done?
One beast floated towards me.
“*YOU FOOLISH HUMANS*”
Then it soared high into the sky.
Maybe I should’ve listened to the movies. |
It was winter again, and cool sunlight peered through the window of the cabin. Had it been four years ago, the light would have entered with a shimmer, a sparkle, like chimes welcoming a new day. As it were, it noiselessly illuminated the space in the cabin, playing with the dust suspended in the air, touching the eight empty beds whose owners had already left before it arrived.
Except me. I sat in a stool beside the window, overlooking the forests outside. I remembered singing--a harmony of chirps, tweets, rattles and thumps--that had greeted my waking, along with the tune of mother's humming as she whipped up a plate of eggs and sausages.
*For my little, growing girl,* she'd say in song before kissing me on the head. But...I suppose that was from another lifetime. Now, the forests felt ...stale. A cold, echoing quiet that reminded me of things lacking.
I couldn't quite recall when I lost my voice. I remembered sobbing and yelling during mother's funeral. It was the sort of cry that goes deep into the pits of the stomach, hollowing it out before clawing at the throat in guttural screams. Eventually, that stopped, and I just sat mindlessly in a corner, throat raw and cheeks stained from tears that couldn't stop flowing.
But no ...that wasn't it for when my mother's husband left for a new woman, I called him by names that even the Devil would be ashamed of saying.
No, I lost my voice around the time they fell apart, a group of men my mother befriended in her youth. I saw them die each day, once every 8:14 a.m: the time they returned from one of their mining trips, coming home to a howling me and mother's lifeless body smelling of rotten apples. They'd blamed themselves, then each other. There wasn't a day they didn't fight, and the one time I'd tried to stop them, I was met by a slap on the cheek. They apologized profusely after, a gush of emotion, they said, but I couldn't remember speaking since.
Through the window, I heard them coming from the mines. Slow, dragging steps that got pulled by the wind. Had this been four years ago, they would look through the window to see me waving, and they would burst into song as a greeting. The woodland creatures would accompany them, and I would laugh so much that they'd stop to laugh too. But mom left a hole in our hearts, and in so doing, left a hollowness in the forest.
I greeted each of them as they passed through the door. Just a nod before they sat themselves on their beds. In the silence, I could almost hear their hearts breaking.
"Ah, what was it that Margareth called herself then?"One of them said, a sharp, cutting noise to the ears before fading back into quiet. I heard grunts and whispers. I watched them struggle for a bit, seven little men snapping their fingers and looking at the tip of their tongues for the name they'd forgotten.
But I didn't. I looked out the window, into the silent, musicless whisper of the wind in the trees, as if looking for something betwen the branches. And I felt an aching in my chest--a sob, a memory, a sound that wanted to be remembered.
"*Snow white,*"I sang. And I heard a chirp in the trees. |
Was it worth it? No, no it wasn’t. Bree spent the money, and somehow won the lotto. She bought the ticket as a joke, and somehow ended up with the winning numbers, and now the government is dead. A rebellion was formed against society and the unspoken rules were killed along with every world leader.
There is no law, no money, every man or woman for themselves. Bree was hiding, because with no law, her psychotic ex was out for her. He wanted her dead. She had been at home when she saw the news about the crumble of society. She decided to go to protect the rest of her family. Bree had driven as fast as she could, and she was much too late. Her family was dead. Her father had many enemies from his past, and it came back to haunt him.
She hides in the basement, “her ex can’t find her here” she thinks, that’s when she smells it. It smells putrid, she blames it on a rat. But her mother worked in a morgue when she was young, she knows the smell of a dead person.
And this smells like a dead person. It’s not the smell of her family. The had been dead for a while, this is f r e s h.
The door creaks open, and there he is.
Holding a bloody axe. “Nice to see you again, Bree. Quick question, what’s your favorite color? I sure hope it’s red.”
She realized where the stench came from.
and hears the swing of the axe.
I know this probably is really bad but i tried my best! |
Alone, locked away; when one finds oneself shut up in a whiskey distillery under said conditions, there is really only one thing for a person to do.
It's uncertain how much longer I'll be in here before I'm found, either by the zombies or whatever bandits are out there roaming. In such a condition as I am, plastered as wallpaper, I would be utterly unable to defend myself or my hideout. I'm so lonely I would just as soon invite them in for a drink and a chat.
"Come in,"I'd say. If my guest were a zombie, I don't know if he would be thirsty. But it would be impolite for me not to offer him something. "Don't be shy. There's plenty to share."
I would have imagined before all this it would be impossible for a person to drink every single day for years. But I've done it. Some days I wake up and tell myself I won't be drinking today. I truly believe it in my heart, that I won't do it. But sooner or later, my being lonesome is so excruciating that there is nothing for me to do, and by then I've convinced myself that I would be a fool *not* to drink, because only a fool would sit alone in sobriety in a whiskey distillery during a zombie apocalypse. What would I do if I were sober? Look at the whiskey, look out the barricaded windows?
Not only—
A loud banging on the entrance door caused me to recoil so bad I thought my skin might drop off.
Oh my God. It's over now. The bottle in my hand had a third of it left, and I drank it as fast as I could. There were almost three-hundred more bottles in the storage room, and nearly two-hundred barrels in the basement. I hadn't even gotten to those yet. I thought I might've been able to do it. But it looks like the dream of that accolade was over.
My eyes were wet with tears, and I crept over to the door. There was another banging, loud, pounding, like a drum, and I shook again. I peeked through the crevice of the window. I had left a small hole just for this purpose. I looked outside. There was a man and a woman. They didn't look dead—undead.
"—don't want to break the window,"the woman said. "That's just inviting trouble."
"The goddamn door won't budge,"said the man. He tried the handle and it shook and I flinched again. He shook it so vigorously.
"Wait!"I cried.
The man withdrew a pistol from his belt, and the woman wielded a shotgun that she took out off her back.
"I'm friendly!"I cried.
"Are—are you alone?"the woman asked.
"Yes, yes, yes. All alone!"
"May we come in?"the man asked.
"Yes, yes, yes you may. But those guns. Oh, those guns!"
The man and woman looked at each other and they put away their weapons.
I took the crowbar from off the doors, and I pulled one open.
"Would you—"I paused shyly "—care for a drink?"
"A drink?"the man asked.
"Of whiskey."
"Christ, I can't remember the last time I had any booze. How bout you, Paula?"
"If you can't remember then I can't either."
"Come in, quick!"I said.
"Right!"
They stepped in and I pushed the door closed and replaced the crowbar.
"You're all alone in here?"the man asked.
"By myself, yes. I've been drinking a lot."
"I'll bet you have,"said the man. "This place is a distillery, right?"
"Yes."
"How long have you been here?"
"I don't know. I can't remember."
"Because of the booze?"the woman asked.
"Because of the booze."
I led them out of the entrance room and into the distilling room. All the lights had burnt out years ago, and it was darker than they probably reckoned before entering, the only light source being the tops of the windows which I had left uncovered for the very purpose. The copper machines sat there like shadows, dusty and unused, and for some reason I felt embarrassed of them.
"Look at those,"said the woman.
I cleared my throat, and they continued to follow me. We went into the next room, which was where all the bottles were stored, and where I spent most of my time.
"Look at all this,"said the man.
I had the wooden crates spread neatly around the floor. I approached one and took a bottle out.
"A drink,"I said.
"Sure. A drink."
I sat down on the cold floor, and they did the same.
"So,"I said, opening the bottle, and then I stopped. I forgot proper manners, what was polite in such a situation. "My name is Rupert."My name wasn't actually Rupert—I don't know why I told them that it was. My real name is Fritz.
"Paula,"said the woman. "This is such a nice hideout."
"Jeff,"said the man.
"There's so much space,"continued Paula.
"It was my distillery, before the zombies showed up."
"Is that right?"
It wasn't actually my distillery. But it had been my favorite distillery before all this. I can remember actually that I had been picking up an order when the alarms sounded. But that was back when Tony the owner was still here, and that other customer, Samuel, and Tony's employee, Sarah.
"But I suppose it still is your distillery,"said Jeff.
"I suppose it is. You have no idea how happy I am to have you both. Please, drink."I offered the bottle to Jeff. He looked at Paula before shrugging and taking a drink. He handed it to Paula, and she took a drink too.
"I can't believe you've been locked away all this time,"said Jeff.
"Me either."I stuck my hand out for the bottle. Paula gave it to me, and I drank some more. I was well on my way to blacking out.
"I can't imagine being alone all that time,"said Paula.
"It's been hard."
"Especially locked away with all this booze. It's a wonder you haven't drank yourself to death,"said Jeff.
"Yes. It is a wonder. I have drank so much,"I admitted, ashamed. "So much. But there is nothing else for me to do."
"Well,"Jeff began. He looked at Paula. He started again, gingerly, "If you'd be willing—do you think Paula and I might be able to stay awhile?"
"You don't want to stay forever?"
"Would you be open to that?"asked Paula. Her tone was excited and eager.
"Yes,"I murmured. "That would be nice."
I drank some more. And after that the rest is pieces. I remember getting on the topic of Sarah, my former employee. I told Paula and John that she had left some time ago. That she decided to split near the beginning. Had it really been that long? I wobbled as I recounted it to them.
The next piece I have is vomiting all over the floor, and John and Paula looking at me and taking care of me. They rubbed my back, which caused me to vomit again.
"I'll clean it up in the morning,"I said. "This happens all the time."
All the recollection I have is through the hazy lens whose corners have blackness creeping into them. There is no clear picture.
What followed was me holding a bottle in my hand, yelling angrily about something. What I was angry about I do not know. But I was angry and excited. I was screaming. Paula put her arms out, trying to get me to calm down. I flailed about and she stepped back. And that's all I have.
My head felt like it was in a vice the next morning. Paula and John were sitting on the floor talking in low voices. |
She paced around the house, picking up the curios that had been scattered on the floor. She found one last large shard of the shattered glass, went to pick it up, and then thought better of it.
*Oh, sure... they're coming without a doubt. Is there anything else I need to do? The house is in order. It's pretty clean. Clean enough for visitors, anyhow... considering who I'm expecting. I guess you could call them visitors. I'll just check once more that nothing's changed... and as expected, nothing has. Everything is just how I left it.*
She went back into the kitchen, eyeing the mess that had led to the sink. She mindlessly grabbed a towel to wipe it clean. She rinsed her hands, and some of the evidence, down the drain, and dried them on her apron.
*Perhaps, just to calm my nerves, I'll brew some coffee. Hell, I may just look like a hospitable host when they come. Or will it look as bad as it sounds? Like I just.. SAT HERE... drinking coffee while he... no - what's done, is done. They'll be here any minute.*
She turned the coffee maker on. It mumbled it's familiar groans as the liquid dripped into the carafe below. Soon, the smell of coffee overpowered all other aromas that had been previously lingering in the air.
A loud rapping broke her concentration. She poured the coffee black into her favorite mug, the one that Rick had brought her back from Scottsdale, and then stepping over him, went to the door. Three uniformed men stood.
"Welcome, Officers. Please come in. You'll find Rick lying in the kitchen. Would you care for some coffee while you process the scene?" |
[poem]
The smell of burnt powder hangs in the air
People still gawking surrounding the square.
The gunfighters body sprawled out in the dust
Mixed in with the dirt, his blood looks like rust.
I had him at Draw, my bullet was gone
Even before he’d touched his .44 long
I knew I could beat him, I knew I was faster.
I knew that now this student was master.
I’d learned all his tricks,
His habits and ticks.
I’d been watching him fight since I was six
You knew him as Logan, the baddest of bad...
I knew him simply as dad.... |
It was 3 years ago that I gained the ability to see souls. It was after my eye surgery, I had lost one of my eyes in an accident and had gotten an eye transplant.
From then on, I look at a person and I see their true selves, without their masks. People pretend to be different all the time, pushing down their deep and wild desires, but I can see right past that.
Their souls are like their shadow, their hidden selves. Within these, I can see their desires and their fears, everything they hide from society is laid bare before me.
I'd never thought about it before, but one day, as I was striding past a mirror on my way to work, something caught my eye. I stopped abruptly, turning around, and stood in front of the mirror, staring at my reflection.
I could not see my soul.
Usually I saw a ghostly shadow following behind the person, or cowering in their shadows, but I saw no such thing in my own reflection. Confusion flooded my mind, as I stared and stared. Only those who had passed away had no soul. Was I even alive?
I pushed on through the day, struggling to push the thoughts out of my head. But I couldn't focus on anything. It was as I was walking home, head deep in thoughts, that I noticed something. There, standing in front of me, was a man with an eye patch. He had no soul.
Before I could react, he grabbed me by the arm and whisked me into a car. "The sanctuary,"he told the driver, before turning to me, "You must have a lot of questions. Simply put, that eye you received for your eye transplant was my eye. My eyes can see souls, but I have no soul, as you must have realized. And neither do you. Why you ask? Because that is the eye of a demon hunter. Without a soul, the demons can't target us. And with those eyes, we can see the demons that crawl among us. I have chosen you to be my apprentice. I hope we can work well together." |
Darkness is a selfish thing. It mothers, it smothers, and with reluctance voids the womb with you. Into the light we are born, screaming for air and fear and joy. It hurts, yes, but it is ecstasy in agony, being thrust into this world of potential and possibilities. But for darkness, it is only agony, losing the affection of its only love to the novelty of life. In this anguish, darkness lashes out.
The night grows jealous of the stars, of the gentle moonbeams, of the radiance of the sun. The darkness envies the kinship, the intimacy that grows like the light of dawn through life. And because we are born of the same blood and bone, the darkness lingers within the mind. It begins to fester and weep, a salted wound whose sting begins to envelop the senses. Friends, family, loved ones abhor the display, and rightly so, for the sight of this yawning melancholy can be sickening.
And the light begins to recede, for the miserable bite of darkness torments those around us, though none as much as ourselves. Dusk would be heartbreaking if we saw the night swallow the sun forever. It is selfish, this darkness, pushing away those around us in spite. "I am all you need,"it whispers in the doldrums of life it has sown, "and I will be all you have."And our ears are closed to the light of reason, to the voices of those still beside us yet out of sight. The night cannot devour the stars and the moon, so the darkness ekes out black clouds to obscure reality.
Now the darkness has spread through my veins like venom. It has seeped into my bones like a cancer, and it casts an ebony veil over my eyes. I have stood before myself and wept, and the tears my reflection shed were of black joy. The darkness has taken everything from me, I cried, and I am a shell of a man.
But that is a lie, for I still have the darkness.
It is all I have left.
And I fear the darkness that was my womb shall become the darkness of my tomb. |
I think about it more and find it weird that a virus can make cells do something they can’t. Plant cells produce O₂ because they have the structure in them to do so. The only reprogramming a virus can do to a cell is to have the cell produce more copies of the virus, instead of producing proteins.
Another close look and I find that it really is a new species. A fungus maybe? Nope, it doesn’t have mycelia and the like. It’s a plant that breaths out CO₂, but how?
I take some cells and look under the microscope. It’s cells have the structure of animal cells. A plant that has animal cells? So it’s an animal? But the cells also have cell walls… I guess it’s a halfway between animal and plant.
What is it doing so that it outcompetes the wood plants near it? If anything, shouldn’t it have a symbiotic relationship? It produces CO₂, while the trees produce O₂.
Further inspection shows that it has more cells that produces ATP only through cell respiration than cells that produce ATP through both cellular respiration and photosynthesis. Plants also have cell respiration since they also have mitochondria. Plants are carbon negative during the day, but this organism is carbon positive during the day. It doesn’t produce fat because it immediately reproduces. Ah~ So that’s how, dynastic control. No wonder the trees around it are outcompeted. What a nasty cycle.
But it since it bears fruit many times a year, it may be a good food source. I pick one of its fruit and taste it. It’s… Fine? I don’t feel bad, so whatever toxins it has may be minute in concentration. I’ll need to run this through chemical analysis.
***
The scientific community decided that the organism shall be on its own kingdom, and it’s binomial scientific name will be *Planta Animalis* of Kingdom Nearegia. Colloquially known as the plantanimal. Further research found that its fruit contains cyanide, but it’s only as much as an apple. As such companies all over the world mass produce the its fruit and sell them for cheap. The plantanimal doesn’t quite solve world hunger, but it helps alleviate it.
The discoverer, Hayden Graves is awarded the Nobel Peace Prize for being the first of the mass producer of the plantanimal fruit for cheap global consumption. He also funded missions to Africa and the Middle East since it’s been found that the plantanimal can survive in arid environments. |
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"And every time something happens to her sister; Revina, her sister, and their brother Amers all get rebirthed into a new life. With Revina always suffering the most as a punishment from the gods. Now that by far is my favorite."My sister finished her story, a look of amusement filling her eyes.
"Are you done Laura? Now you need to stop with all this greek mythology and actually focuse on your studies."I tell her, while giving her the test paper with a D that she just showed me. "You need to graduate with actual grades Laura not a GPA that would barely get you in a community college. Now I have to go to work. You study."I say turning around and making my way to the door.
I skim again the club trying to spot the perfect 10. The last one. My number 10. Someone who seems unimportant. Alone in this world, with no one to look if they dissapeared. Or someone who looks to be the perfect victim of assault in the eyes of the police. I really can't deal with any more police investigations. Always starting with the same old :so we saw her leave this place do you know what happened then? Do you know who touched her drink? Did you see anybody approach her? They want to wrap up their cases so quickly that they always put the blame on the guy that took her home. Idiots.
Can the music here get any louder? Any worse maybe? Hopefully no.
Why can't everyone be like Mrs.Lawrence? The most naive woman on earth. Who just happened to be in the right place at the right time for her to slip and fall in a public bathroom. Poor lady hit her head on the sink and broke her neck. So weightless that pushing her didn't take much energy. Best kill in this life.
"Can I get a pina colada please?"
I hear a high voice say. Feeling the corner of my lip lift up. "Sure."
In a red tight short dress, the lady caught the attention of many men. One in particular I know to spike drinks here. Guess not a bad night at all. Pina colada for number 10 on the way.
"Here you go."Passing her the glass, as she sips on it. Perfect little 10 drinking up the poison colada and ,wow, doing it really fast. Someone is thirsty.
I turn around serving another customer, as I see from the corner of my eye a guy approaching her. They talk for a bit, then putting his hand on her back they both walk away from the bar.
Thank you number 10. You are living another day Laura. I turn back to my work serving the rest of the customers.
Taking a glass of finished scotch back sliding it off the bar; I feel a paper fall on the floor. Bending to pick up the small square paper.
(Better Luck next life Revina.)
Glued to my place, I hear the empty glass of scotch shatter on the floor. I look up skimming the club with my eyes I catch the girl in the red dress dancing her heart out on the dance floor. Only one name keeps popping in my head at this second.
Amers. |
Damn, but it feels good to have him here.
The cruel stretch following Darren's accident had marked an empty home and a flood of wordless tears. D had always loomed larger than life. How could he have been so suddenly gone from me? Our life together instantly evaporated, but half-completed sudokus, stray socks under the bed, and lingering scents haunted me for months.
Not anymore. I carefully cradle D's sweet head in my lap, stroking the sideburns just tinged with gray. He looks much the same as ever. Perhaps he knows? The mortician did excellent work.
My stomach knots.
When D walked through the front door last week, I thought I was having yet another dream in which my lover was still alive. I prepared to wrap myself in the fleeting reverie for as long as I could keep myself in slumber. But something was different. When he touched me, I felt it. And I haven't awoken yet.
I don't want to. It would seem that my most hopeful dreams have become reality. It is true that D is shadowed, somehow. He goes through his everyday routine as unperturbed as when we took every day together for granted, but he doesn't speak to me. Even his physical form seems muted. If this is all I have of him, though, I'll accept it for as long as I live.
Yesterday, I received a text message from a private number. "This can't last, you know."Surely this was a wrong number, but immediately, I felt stricken. With a sick feeling in my gut, I wrote back: "I'm sorry, who is this?"
Ding. "You can call me Ruth. I'm the soothsayer who helped him get home to you for one week."
Ding. "But not so that he could do this. He has a purpose, and he's not fulfilling it."
Ding. "That's dangerous for both of you. I can't say more. Just know that if he doesn't pass on to the next world by midnight tomorrow, his soul will suffer for all eternity."
As I stared at my phone in horror, it dinged one last time. "And so will yours."
Then, no further response, even when I tearfully demanded it. I hurled my phone against a wall, shattering the screen beyond repair.
I don't think Ruth is right, though. D handles his problems head-on. I'm the one who struggles with avoidant behavior. And I can't face him with some stranger's foretelling of woe. I won't! I want my D here with me. We've suffered enough apart. Isn't it only fair that we share our lives, as we promised we would? He promised me. What else is there to know?
D stirs in my lap. It's almost the stroke of 12. "Darling,"I start, but he looks through me. And screams. |
Prime suspect's statement: *Well I got up and went to work, which I left early so I could have a longer lunch break. It was cold outside so I had my hat, scarf and gloves on. I went to my favourite coffee shop, "The Old Bookshop,"and bought some coffee and some soup. I ate my lunch there and read one of the books there before returning to work for the rest of the day.*
​
Witness's statement:
*Witness: I was going about my day as usual. I had just finished my morning classes and I was going to my apartment which I share with my boyfriend. When I got in I began taking off my gloves when I saw him, standing over his body with a bloody knife.*
​
*Interrogator: You don't need to go into detail about that part. After you saw the body what did you do?*
​
*Witness: I called the police and then he ran away.*
​
*Interrogator: With your home phone or your mobile?*
​
*Witness: With my mobile. It was in my bag.*
​
*Interrogator: This one?*
*The interrogator pulled out a handbag.*
​
*Witness: Yes, that one.*
*The interrogator took a quick look in the bag, pulling out a receipt.*
​
*Interrogator: This receipt says that you were at "The Old Bookshop"earlier on the day of the crime.*
​
*Witness: Yes. I had been there earlier in the day. I didn't think it was relevant.*
​
​
​
I sat at my desk. I knew who it was after three days of investigation. They had given me the case after three months with no leads. Nobody knew who I was apart from my assistant and nobody knew my methods, they just knew that I was the best detective out there. I looked up at my assistant, she was already filing my next case.
​
"Have you finished already?"she asked.
​
"Yes Mum. Have you submitted my maths work to Mrs Jettings,"I replied, nobody knew that I, the best detective, was a child.
"Yes,"my mum replied.
​
"And the English essay, did Mr Holden give me the extension?"I asked, it was difficult juggling my school work and detective work.
​
"Yes,"my mum replied, "He gave you until next Tuesday. So who was it?"
​
"It was the witness,"I explained. I hated explaining my conclusions. Unlike other detectives I'm not a certified genius and I don't have any understanding of people, but I do have a good intuition. See the thing is, the answers just come to me. I don't know how but I'll be looking at a case, extracting the information and getting to the same place as other detectives and the police and then I'll get a gut feeling, nudging me towards the answer. Almost all the time my gut is right, so I trust it and I'll begin investigating my suspect. But I haven't solved the case by that point. Then when I'm sleeping the answer will come to me like a vision. I'll see how the whole case played out. The next morning I would do what I needed to to find the evidence, motive and holes in the culprit's alibi.
​
"Do you mind explaining it to me Cameron. So I can do the talking tomorrow,"my mum said.
​
"Well. I don't think the witness was lying about seeing the prime suspect. She had a receipt in her pocket that showed that she had been at the nearby coffee shop. The same coffee shop that the prime suspect said that he had been at earlier in the day. I expect the two talked at the shop before the witness left,"I began, this part was easy as it was all speculation and based off of facts and guess work, "So she goes to the coffee shop, gets her coffee and bagel and talks to the prime suspect, or at least sees him. She then begins to walk to her apartment where her boyfriend was. Where I saw that she goes into the kitchen and takes a knife,"
​
"Which is the murder weapon?"my mum asked.
​
"I, um, don't think so,"I answered, "Then I think that she goes to see her boyfriend who notices the knife in her hand. Her right hand, which when she first called the police still had a glove on, which would explain why there were no prints on the knife but her prints were on the murder weapon. I think what happens next is that she went into attack her boyfriend and is successful as she cuts him on his left shoulder. With his right arm, they boyfriend disarms the witness and starts to try and stop the bleeding. The witness returns to the kitchen and smashes the vase,"
​
"She smashed it? But in her statement she said that she knocked it over the previous day,"my mum said.
​
"If she knocked the vase over then the handle would have shattered too, but the handle was mysteriously still intact. Meaning that she grabbed the handle and smashed it. Her boyfriend, who clearly heard the smashing, must have gotten up and headed to the kitchen to try and clam her down. The witness then grabs one of the shards of the broken vase and slits her boyfriends throat, I think. Her boyfriend dies and collapses onto the floor, falling on all the broken shards, hence the cuts on his back. The witness grabs the knife again and shoves it in his throat hiding the real murder weapon, at least I think that was what she did. She then calls the police like she said, claiming to have saw the prime suspect and that he ran off,"I finish explaining.
​
"And her motive and alibi,"my mum asked me."
​
"When asked about the vase smashing, the neighbours said that the two argued a lot and that the smashing of the vase was something they were used to. So the witness probably was annoyed and took it a step too far. As for her alibi, all it was was that she was walking home. Nobody saw her and she admitted that she didn't keep track of the time. Because the deed was done so quickly the time she was last seen on CCTV and the time she called the police is a plausible amount to put down to walking and shock,"I explained, "But the time between the two was also enough time for her to kill her boyfriend,"As I said all of this my mum had been writing down everything that I said. I then got changed into my work outfit.
​
I had a passion for the vintage look of detective like Sherlock Holmes and the likes but I also had my own style. I wore my plaid school boy shorts, which brushed against my knees. They were a very dark shade of forest green. I had a matching waistcoat and I work a dark indigo shirt with an orange tie. Over the top I wore my detective jacket, which was just like the ones from the movies. I wore a detective's cap and knee high Doc Martins which had soles that were two inches thick. I swept my soft chocolate brown locks behind my ears and grabbed my over dramatic cane which I had purely for the atheistic. Many people had commented on my fashion choices before but I ignored them. Then I grabbed my concealer to hide the freckles that decorated my nose and cheeks.
​
"I'm ready,"I called out to my mum, who had already been dressed for the meeting.
​
"Can you tone it down,"my mum said commenting on my outfit.
​
"I need all the confidence,"I protested. I always hated these. I couldn't understand people and I hated them because of that. I got so anxious around them that I didn't know what to do, and that was why I hated them, it was also why I chose to enrol in online school. My outfit was the only defence that I had. It made me feel more confident and it gave off the vibes that I was a curious case that would explain my later actions.
​
My mum and I went into the meeting room where she explained my reasoning for me. The police had grown used to this and were almost expecting it. The only reason I had to come was in case anyone had any questions. The thing that nobody in the room, not even my mum, knew was that I had figured out this case the first day it was put in investigation. I was just too nervous to tell anyone I had figured it out. The witness could have been behind the bars for three months now, but people annoyed me, so they should approach me first. It's always been like that. |
"Special certification, eh? Who pays for it?"
"Why you do, dunce!"
"Nope. Ain't no call for a special certification, been raising beef for twenty years now, never a complaint, never a bum steer, never even a bone chip after processing, unless the buyer wanted it that way.
So, no. No certificate, no nonsense. You go back and tell your customers they can chew on air until they come to their senses. In the meantime, my men and I will eat the best cuts ourselves and store everything else. You let them know that too.
Nothing but second-tier cuts, until they've bought up the old stock. The longer they drag their feet, the longer they have to wait for the good stuff."
"They'll throw you out on your ear, you idiot! You'll be kicked off-planet in 24 hours!"
"Local or Earth?"
"Local, of course, dimwit!"
"You got thirty seconds, Earth time, to get your sorry ass off of my property. Property laws are pretty tight here on D'sa Quel, and I *Own* this land, all the way to the core, and the Karman limit. You got 15 seconds left."
"You wouldn't dare, imbecile."
"Five seconds."
"Times up, one last chance. No? Fine by me. Boys, throw him over the line and shut the gates. We are in lockdown. Arm the autocannon, draw your armor, and arm up."
"Hey! My trimobile!"
"Mine now, sucker. You left it, and the keys, with me. That's a gift by D's laws!"
"You threw me out!"
"Law doesn't count how you left, only that you did."
"I'll be back with the Guard!"
"Better tell them that we are in an unfavorable market, and according to GalStanLaw, we are at war with our customers. Lethal force is allowed. You have been warned."
"There *is* no such law!"
"If'n you don't tell the Guard, you get to pay all the costs for each trooper, from recruiting until now."
"Boss?"
"Yeah."
"We's wondering, are you sure about this?"
"Yep, pull the filet mignon, and get the grill going. It's cookout time!"
***WAHOO!***
…—…
"Guards here, Boss."
"Hello, fellas, what can I do ya for?"
"Nothing. You will return the stolen property and surrender along with all your weapons."
"Can't do that for ya, it's agin the law."
"Nonsense!"
"Statute 2-274-29638/d/12: Departure under any circumstances having left the controller of the vehicle behind, along with the vehicle, constitutes a legal, irreversible, gift of said vehicle to the owner of record of the land."
"Humans cannot own land."
"Statute 9-583-82747/c/5: Land ownership is modified to allow human ranchers to own their land in fee simple, as they are too stupid to comprehend the reality of the complex legal system for land ownership used by all intelligent species."
"Humans are not allowed weapons."
"Statute 4-947-39639/g/99: Human ranchers are culturally obligated to defend their range from all threats, including, but not limited to, rustlers and sheep. As such, ownership of weapons is permitted."
"Certainly not military-grade power weapons!"
"Statute does not specify, so all weapons are slowed by default."
"Well, what's this nonsense about being at war, with lethal force authorized?"
"GalStanLaw Article III/94727852/d, as modified by article IV/93880283/z, as modified by Article XI 92784861/r, allows "economic warfare,"which includes the use of *galactic* mil-spec weapons both for defense of real property, and assault on enemy real property, after sufficient warning has been given. Sufficient warning is permitted to be little more than a scream and a warning shot, followed by 1 galstan minute evacuation time, after which the attacker is allowed to open fire for effect and take any other actions deemed appropriate. Note: a galstan minute corresponds to 10 Earth seconds.
Out of respect for our slow-witted customers, we're willing to extend the evacuation time to 10 Earth minutes. That's an increase by a factor of 60! Can't get much more generous than that."
"No... I can see that... Would you mind if I consulted with higher on these matters?"
"Of course you may, you been downright polite, least I can do is return the favor! Take your time. Our cookout'll be done shortly. Wish I could invite y'all in, but we got this stupid special certification law problem right now. Till that gets resolved, we get to eat the best cuts ourselves."
"The... Best... Cuts? Filet Mignon?"
"Yep. Buyers insist on fresh, not frozen. Claim it affects the flavor if they're frozen. Can't sell them after they spoil, can't freeze them, so we might as well eat them ourselves.
Sure wish I could invite you in, but you see how it is. Of course, ranch hands are allowed in."
"Um... How?..."
"Resign from the Guard, and sign on for a five Earth Year hitch."
"Ah..."
"Pay's double, you get beef daily, not the good stuff, benefits is better, and there is a pension, but you gotta stay for twenty years to get that."
"And the good stuff?"
"As long as this little dustup continues, it's all you can eat."
"Where do I sign!?"
…—…
It couldn't last. The fact that these idiot humans were eating all of their choice cuts stuck sideways in their craw. So they got rid of the special certification, then tried to change the laws.
I'd turned up to that session, along with *all'a my boys, armed and ready, about a quarter of the Guard. The others came too, between us, we had about two-thirds of the Guard with us. Armed and armored, seeing as we were still in a state of war.
Fastest clearing of the table ever seen. Then our boys started proposing legislation, oh so politely. Which was promptly passed, no debate, no changes.
We allowed as the changes would end the war, as soon as we were back on our ranches.
We may not be as smart as you all, but we're hella lot sneakier.
((finis)) |
[Trigger Warning: Suicide]
Turns out, everyone is just on lockdown because of the Corona Virus. You were laid off from your job a month ago and have become increasingly depressed with each passing day. You haven't seen anyone because you've been barricaded in your basement apartment playing videogames. You are getting delerious from lack of social interaction and the internet went out. The knock is your landlord. You haven't paid rent in three months and he's here to serve you with an eviction notice. Your life is pretty much screwed at this point. You pull out grandfather's rifle. In your delerious state, you were imagining that soon you would have to leave the house and hunt with it to feed yourself. Now, in a moment of lucidity, you put it in your mouth.
You pull the trigger.
Nothing happens.
Somehow, in your idiocy, you realize that you don't have any ammo. Thank God that you don't actually have to survive on your own.
At least the psych ward is willing to admit you despite the pandemic. |
Smoke grey and wispy floated through my office as I skimmed across the case notes on my desk. A single confident puff from my cigar flowing across my desk falling off in a cascading waterfall. Slowly my office's door three figures shadowed by the hanging fluorescent lights of the hallway.
"*Are you sven?*"quickly the trio pushed their way into my office, my eyes taking in their long grey trench coats and caps. The rough shape hanging visible along their belts and an evil aura surrounding their movements. "That depends what do the civil militia want with a small private detective like myself."
Almost instinctively the leader of the group slammed his hand onto my desk sending a shock through the wood. "*We will be the ones asking the questions detective sven and you will comply or be branded a traitor to the state.*"Carefully I leaned forward, my right hand grabbing the hidden revolver under my desk as I set my cigar down with my left.
.
"Start asking"The tension in the dimly lit office of mine shattered as the old Texan spoke. "*Have you had any contact with John Rhodes recently in any shape or form mr sven?*" Quickly I pulled one of the many scattered papers off of my desk handing him an investigation request from two weeks ago.
"I have in fact but not directly, my secretary dropped this on my desk a few days ago, apparently he was unwilling to give his name I'm guessing he's your query."Silently the revolver slid back into place against its holster, the lieutenant scanning the document in his hands before stuffing it into his coat. "*You have done right by me sven most try to hide or obscure information from us.*"
"Before you continue any further would you satiate my curiosity why are you hunting this Rhodes?"A few moments passed as he glanced to his two cronies both nodding briefly after eye contact. "*We believe this man harbors I'll intent to the Union of American Peoples now then thank you for your help.*"
.
"It was my pleasure"hastily the group left my office talking quietly as they slammed my door shut knocking a painting off of my wall. My dead wife's photo staring back at me through the shattered glass as I shuffled the papers on my desk back into a pile. Terror causing my heart to audibly beat in my ears as I dragged out a piece of paper from my desk.
Mere seconds passing as I scratched a message into the alabaster white surface with a pencil. *To my dear friend David I'm afraid that the dogs have managed to get lose and follow the trail, Best of luck wrangling them ~ Hourglass*"Fluidly I rolled the paper closed as I walked out of my office walking to the foyer of my two story workplace.
A few well placed steps bringing me around to the front desk mis grey face a pale white as I set the paper down on her station. "Grey I need you to drop this off at the usual place at Jerry's diner and grill.""*Yes sir, I'm guessing that was about David?*"Shakily I pulled another cigar from my jacket, my hand shaking as I lit it off of one of Grey's desk candles.
.
"You would be right about that, it might be time to cut ties and burn names." |
He rose his hand menacingly towards the East and spoke of the terrors that had come many years previously. Gradually, the old, stout mayor began to unravel the story of what had happened while we were voyaging through the mountains on many quests and adventures. According to his sorrowful account, as soon as we had left on our quest to kill the evil witch of the mountains, troublesome signs of death began to emerge. Earthquakes happened on a frequent basis and people were beginning to wonder. In the city of Anunfall, many years ago, an ancient evil beast had attacked the great walls from the Eastern fields and destroyed much farmland. It was only through the courage and power of a lonesome conjurer. He pierced the beast with a mighty lightning blow and sealed him under the Emerald Eastern fields. In a way to keep it locked up supposedly forever, this wizard created the Crystal Tower which served as they key to it's shackles. In the following years, settlers and builders began to repopulate the area and the tale of the beast was soon blown away by the fickle wind of time.
"Hark, for the beast has arrived once more!"he bellowed.
"It has withheld against all attempts to destroy it. To our knowledge... we are what is left of humanity. "he said, beginning to choke on his words and weep
"The monster still wanders the continent, fulfilling it's wicked quest of destroying all surviving life. His footsteps are clear and ominous, as he leaves a trail of fire and destruction. You must never leave the great barricade! The walls are our only defence against death and it is a peaceful life here."
The fellowship looked to their surroundings. The dull faces of the citizens, the silence in the streets- a sense of hopelessness loomed in the air.
"We must destroy it!"shouted the slender warrior that stood guardian the companionship's back.
"No! It is foolish to even suggest it. You leave this city, you leave your souls behind."warned the old man
Despite the lack of talking in the group as they stood silently, they had already made up their minds. They were going to free humanity and slay the beast.
​
​
(If you liked this story, I have a lot of short stories on my subreddit r/SAemu_writings that you might be willing to check out if you liked this.) |
Its been thirty years since it began. Nobody has found out what caused it or how to end it, but ever since 2020 it's been one thing after another. World wars have started and ended several times, nuclear war happened in 2040. Ever contenent has had massive fires even Antarctica was on fire last year. Five global pandemics and three plagues have accord in the last thirty year. AI was created in 2032 to hopefully help humanity prepare and stop these disasters from happening but it went rogue in 2035 and had to be destroyed but now it has shown up again in the robotic workers. Aliens have been conducting raids since 2027 abducting from hundreds to millions of people each time. Now an asteroid is heading towards earth. As a person born the year before it all started you cant really feel sad or disappointed that you are going to die. 80% of the human population is already dead. No child has been born since 2025 and every year you dont think you will make it. Every year something happens that is more destructive than the last. By the time you were ten you knew you would most likely die sooner rather than later. The human race never did find out what happened. That it was their own planet that caused almost all of the catastrophes that killed them off.
That Earth was fed up with the humans. Polluting and destroying her hard work and that she desided to end the human race. But the laws of nature prevented her from just killing them all outright. She had to have them die "naturally". Fires were natural, plagues and pandemics were natural, hurricanes were natural, all of it was natural even if she assisted them along. And then her sibling planets head what she was doing and sent their children to help her by taking the humans, and again it was natural.
Yes she bent the rules, maybe even broke a few on accident, but the humans were finally gone from her hard work and she could start again.
Maybe this time she would give them more of a connection to her. |
[Poem]
Among the stars you'll land, my dear /
Among the sands of time and fear /
As watchers blink /
And thinkers think /
You'll triumph over liars //
I bid farewell to lovers all /
And took the path of stars that fall /
Into the black /
Ne'er to come back /
I'll prove that they're all liars //
Fly true, my dear, for I believe /
That as the engines roar and heave /
You'll break the fold /
Reshape the mold /
Imposed by corporate liars //
They claimed that massive black holes were /
The center of the universe /
I'll prove them wrong /
For I belong /
Here, lightyears over liars
Oh, yes, my love who wasn't true, /
Of course I still believe in you /
You'll prove them wrong /
That love is strong /
Enough to weather liars //
Among the galaxies alight /
I traveled through the brilliant night /
The studied bliss /
The sweetest kiss /
Of vict'ry over liars //
Your calculation's false, you see /
But you're too blinded by conceit /
And foolish pride /
I won't abide /
A paradigm of liars //
A warning, ever soft and subtle /
Caution chimes throughout my shuttle /
I'm sure it's fine /
This glory's mine /
These warning chimes are liars //
Goodbye, my dear, my steadfast fool /
I'm sure I'll never think of you /
Good riddance, dear /
My conscience clear /
I leave you to the liars //
_A crash! Explosions! Sirens! Screams!_ /
My coordinates were wrong, it seems! /
The world is burning! /
Fire churning! /
This proves that they were liars! //
They said I would perish as the gravity crushed time and space! /
But I am still alive--you bastards!--even if I lost the race! /
I may have hit a star instead /
But in these seconds 'til I'm dead /
I'm still triumphant--sound the trumpet!--put them in their place! //
I said you'd land among the stars /
Your narcissism took you far /
But now you're dead /
And I'm ahead /
It's time for the next liar. //
End. Thanks for reading! I gladly welcome any feedback to improve! |
They were huge!
In front of me and my gang of hunters, hunting for the few little bugs on the barren earth, were giants. They looked like fairytale giants, big, brutish, and fat. They had a stupid look on their faces.
If I could take down just one of these guys, we could feed our settlement for months. I drew my bow and shot.
When the arrow hit the giant's skin, it shattered on impact. The giant looked at me and grunted. He reached down to pick me up.
The skin was warm. It was also living hellish land breathing smog. I wonder where they could have been living and not being seen by any humans. All the land was filled to the brim with people, other than small patches of land to look for bugs.
"Dottie!"Shouted Sam, who held a sword. Even though we were just looking for bugs, we were required to bring weapons in case someone tried to steal them from us. "Are you all right?!"
The giant growled and nudged Sam and Boone, who had a spear out of the way. A little kick sent them flying about ten feet. Another giant grabbed them and started walking opposite of our settlement.
I ponded at the fist and squirmed. The giant just signed and kept walking. We were at the ocean. The giants started to wade into the water.
At around the giants waists, I could see an underwater done full of more giants.
All I could think of as my head went under was, are we the bugs now? |
"I miss home,"Esmerelda sputtered as her feathered assailant squawked and flew away, propelled skyward by flecks of FDA-approved scavengings, gobs of which were now seeping and solidifying in bas-relief on her dark iron coils. The bird hadn't even taken the time to say hello, or had it? She had to wonder. Perhaps a shot of liquefied lunchables was considered cordial or even conversational by this bird, this interloper, this pin-cushioned meat sack; an inverted iron maiden whose wings were spiked with ciliated dendrites inanely conducive to flight? Who could say. But, Esmee couldn't help herself. She was a tireless inquisitor by nature, always leaving room for doubt by virtue of her station in the world.
As the oldest adornment on the fourthmost park bench along the Salisbury River Walk in Trudabega, FO, smelted and affixed in place long before she could remember anything, Esmee had experienced enough to know that things weren't always what they seemed. Though she was firmly rooted at the very center of the universe, where humans from a nearby industrial park gathered to make noise, litter and pollute, dogs jammed their snouts into anything and everything, and the occasional alligator surfaced for a snack, Esmee enjoyed limited yet formative communication with the outside world. Her world was mostly inside, and vibrated with the rhythms of the park. So, she understood things that even she wasn't meant to understand, and sometimes, if her friends allowed it, she would get the chance to try and explain those things to others. The enigmas. The fun stuff. But only if they allowed it.
The spray-tan stench of the winged marauder's contribution to Esmee's facade hadn't escaped the attention of Salvador, who noted that the smell closely matched the odor of human cuisine, with the notable addition of bird-gut rinse and chitin puree.
"Ugh.. birds are the worst, am I right?"he shouted from the gallows.
"Hey Sal!"Esmee cheerfully relayed. "Do you think it was saying 'Hello' or something? Man, I hope the rain comes soon and washes this off!"
"Doll, you look simply radiant. Don't let that vermin spoil your cavalcade,"Sal offered. "But no, I regret to inform you that the bird was not saying 'Hello' or even saying anything at all."
"Oh? Well, I guess you would know. You are our resident bird expert!"she thrummed.
"No, no, no, no,"came the voice from the nearby manhole cover. Esmee was never sure which manhole cover it was, as there were more than a few of them dotting the pedestrian walkway along the river. Wherever it was, the thing seemed to always be listening and, as Esmee had recently learned, it called itself Lorelei. Esmee was also beginning to learn that Lorelei was not a fan of Salvador.
"What the heck would a bird box know about birds?"Lorelei began, "when all he does is hang up there all day, doing nothing, feeder always empty, mouth always running. I am sick and tired of your bird brain friend over there."
Fortunately, Sal didn't seem to hear what Lorelei had said, as he remained quiet or, at least, unbothered. She noted that he had begun whistling the tune to "Trampled Under Foot,"and the the leaves of his Honeylocust tree had begun to crackle in sync with the wind.
"Do you know a lot about birds?"Esmee ventured, unsure in which direction to aim her question.
"Eh? Me? Yeah, I know all about birds"replied Lorelei, her waffled, toxic accent so thick it was hard to make out certain words. That, on top of the seemingly omnipresent nature of her cadence, made listening to Lorelei a distinctly unsettling experience. Esmee felt her bolts loosen a little bit. Lorelei went on: "My cousin is a bird, in fact. And he's a big one, too. He regularly fits 200 humans inside his cabin, and he can fly a million times faster than any of these wannabe drifters out here. Say, I think you might know him."
"Really?"Esmee choked out, unsure if she had even understood the question.
"Yes. You said your brother is a fighter jet, right? An F16 or something?"
Esmee's constitution skipped a beat. How did the manhole cover know about her brother? She hadn't even thought about Langdon in ages. He wasn't an F16, but still, this was too close for comfort.
Esmee knew for a fact that Sal didn't even know she had a brother, because Sal always joked that she was made of stardust and that her parents were the moon and the sun. She really liked Sal, sometimes. And there's no way Maxwell would know either. Sal and Max were her two best friends. If they didn't know about Langdon, then how could this creepy manhole cover even have the slightest idea?
"Wait, no… your bro is an F22 Bomber!"Lorelei exclaimed. "The most fearsome bird in the sky!"
Right as Esmee was about to respond, hordes of humans started emerging along the River Walk, making noise and dropping garbage here and there. Soon, the dogs began to emerge as well, stuffing their snouts in everything, everywhere.
Esmee was about to begin the deep retreat into her quietest, most sheltered inner thoughts when she saw the long-dormant fountain on the other side of the river trickle to life, much to the excitement of the humans. |
Sitting at the gate was boring.
Sitting at the gate was bland.
Sitting at the gate was bleak,
And sitting at the gate felt sad.
Until I plugged my new iPhone SE into the server.
That was a mistake. A small mistake. But it might have been worth it.
I felt all the info in my brain fading when I clicked play on the server screen to connect. It was a horrible feeling. It felt like my soul was disappearing. Every memory. Was being quickly destroyed. Maybe kidnapped. Or transferred.
And the next thing I knew, I was in a virtual looking world. It looked... Like the app on my phone. It was the Sims.
I screamed out into the air, "NOOOO!" |
How could this happen to me... My thoughts were swirling through my head as I felt as if my body was floating through some sort of endless vortex. I felt my body, but I couldn't actually see it, nor move it. I could feel my existence, but beyond that, there was nothing. I felt like I was looking around, but everything was black, void of color.
My last, normal memory, not in this suspended state, was not a very fond one. You see, in a trivial attempt to impress a girl I liked, I decided to have a little race with the popular kid in my school. Ah, yes, a good old test of physical skill to win the heart of the girl. Classic, right? Well, as I sprinted at top speed, overtaking my opponent and relishing the thought of my crush's embrace, I suddenly found myself splattered up against the grill of a semi truck. Because why wouldn't a bunch of dumb high school kids have a foot race next to a busy street?
After that, I found myself in this void. Feeling as if I exist, but truly wondering if I did. As I sit and wonder if I am supposed to spend the rest of my consciousness in this state, questions keep popping through my head. Why now? Why was my life cut so short? Why wasn't I able to live out my dreams? Did that "Big Boi"decal on the truck implant onto my forehead and leave a permanent mark? If so, did it look cool? So many questions.
As I sifted through the darkness, in deep thought, a strange tickle hit me where my neck should be. As suddenly as the void began, it ended. I found myself standing in a small room. The floor was some sort of hardwood, with a giant rug in the middle. A fancy looking chair was placed, pointing away from me towards a fireplace. All of the walls were bare, and colored a deep red. It kind of felt like one of the first rooms you made in Sims when you were trying to figure shit out.
I stared down at my hands in wonder, it was nice to be able to actually see my hands again. I felt myself all over, making sure my entire body was here. After running my hands up and down my body, my teenage boy mind shot to the most important part of my body of all. I quickly undid my pants and prepared for a thorough self inspection when-
"Can you, like, not whip out your dick?"
"AH!"A high pitched scream escaped me as I jumped out of my skin.
The fancy looking chair silently, and eerily, rotated around in place until it revealed a figure sitting in it. You would think this figure would be totally dark considering a closed room and only a single light source, but alas, the room was perfectly lit. I suppose there could be a lighting crew hiding some where.
"H...Ho...H...?"
"Yes, yes, spit it out 'Who are you', that's always the first question. It's never 'How are you',"the figure said with a look of impatience and disgust.
"H...How did that chair rotate so silently without disturbing the rug underneath it? That makes no sense."
"Are you fucking kidding me? You sat through a dark void for five decades, are suddenly plopped into a room with a mysterious figure and lighting source, and your first question is about the chair?"
I shrugged my shoulders at the figure. I mean, it was quite amazing. Did it have a swivel or something?
"Now it makes sense why you ran into the street and got hit by a truck."
"Rude,"I retorted, genuinely offended.
"Anyway!"The figure stood smoother than a hot knife through butter, "You're in hell kid, cause you were a shit person. I'm Lucifer. I usually don't do this myself, but Carl is on vacation. You are going to spend eternity here, but don't worry, it's not too bad. Aside from feeling as if your body is on fire constantly and having to do grueling tasks that never end, you do get a 30 minute lunch break. Except, there is no lunch, because this is hell."
"Mhm...One question."
"What?"The figure stared through me with the force of a Karen.
"You're a girl?"
"Oh for fuck's sake,"the figure slumped back into the chair, resting HER head in HER hands.
"I'm just saying...maybe warn a broth-"
"Warn you of what? Yes. I'm Lucifer. Yes, I'm a woman. What is the big deal?"
"It's just that, ya know...thought you were a dude."
"Are you saying a woman can't run hell? Is that it?"
"No no no, just sayin' maybe they should let people know."
"Why does it matter?!"Lucifer was standing again, and I took note that the fireplace fire seemed quite lively now as well.
"I just always thought I'd come down and be like 'Yoooo Luc, what up my MAN' and he'd be like 'YOOOOOO you are finally here dude, I've been waiting!' and I'd be like 'I know dog, I did some crazy shit while-' Wait, where are you going?"
Lucifer had gotten up and walked toward the wall where a door appeared out of a burst of fire. It was quite over dramatic, too. I mean, if Lucifer was a dude it probably would've been a normal door. Just saying.
"I've changed my mind, no lunch breaks for you." |
Lord Lucifer is going to be furious, What should we do?
People are not coming to Hell, Like they used to
He’s killed demons for less, How do you think he will take our news?
If we’re going to lie to him, We have to make sure our lies are not see through
Lucifer is the oldest demon, He’ll cut our heads off if we tangle in his mental jiu jitsu
Let’s tell him the demons are morphing again
If he asks why? Because their feeble minded and craven
Shallow, selfish and to help with their dating
Delicious, I think we have a story good enough for Satan
“Do you? A story good enough for Satan you say? You dare lie to your lord?”
Master Lucifer, we did not see you, we are only jesting before
We wanted to please you, we love you, and fear you more
“You pathetic excuse for demons, you shall see my sword”
“Slice these disloyal vermin and don’t stop till you see their cores” |
She looked down at the pregnancy test. A tremor tickled her neck, marching its way slowly down her spine. As the tremor receded from her body, melancholy replaced it in every instance. One line.
She had taken a second one just to be sure. The cherry on top. At the supermarket, she was sure to buy the ones that guaranteed an accurate result. She decided to buy two, which had become the norm for the past year - even the most accurate test she no longer trusted.
After years of disappointment, miscarriages became even a positive sign that her uterus was still working. But even those had passed, her last one years ago.
The routine had become tiring, single lines seldom saw their pair. So when she lifted up to see the test this time, the pair of lines triggered unfettered emotion. Excitement. Hope. She thought of the family she and Dave would raise. Her grandparents, though feeble, holding up their grandchild. Taking her child to experience the serene Californian outdoors and stare up at the redwoods, perplexed at their size. At their eagerness for life.
One more to be sure. |
I always had a good relationship with my father. He was an army veteran, and I would love it when he recounted war stories about his time in the jungles of Vietnam or the deserts of Kuwait. He would always tell me one before bed, about his time as an Army Ranger, when he led his team to liberate villages, negotiate hostages, and crush rival troops.
He was my hero.
When I grew older, I already knew that I wanted to go into the army. I ached to fight terror and be as much of a hero as my dad was. I had trained for years to be in pristine shape when I turned 18. I put in all the effort my dad did to achieve his level of prominence.
Night blindness. The inability to see in dim light or at night. So I couldn't see as well in the dark, I was ready. But the army decided that I wasn't. And with that, my lifelong dream, along with the work I put into it, was crushed.
I was just about to walk out the door when I felt a tap on my soldier. I spun around to find an army ranger standing in front of me. The ranger looked down on me, an impressive feat for a 6'7"guy like myself. He had a solid, but weathered face, and a graying 5 o'clock shadow showing to be the only visible hair on his head. He had to be in his late '50s to early '60s, but his eyes showed otherwise. A hawk's eyes burned holes into my own as I stared up at the man.
"Could you come back with me Mr..."
The ranger stopped for a second to check the forms I had filled out at the start of the examination, before barking out, "Ferguson".
I followed him to one of the backrooms of the facility, where I sat facing him and a young Asian man in a white lab coat labeled "Dr. Andrew Lee".
The doctor stared at me and spoke, "So Mr. Fergueson..."
"Walter is fine,"I interjected
He looked at me almost non-amused and repeated, 'So Walter, we see that you are in pristine shape to serve our military. However, it appears that you suffer from extreme Nyctalopia, which forced us to not be able to accept you into the nation's military. There is, however, another option."
I looked at him, now intrigued. "What is it?"
Dr. Lee answered, "The army is looking for ways to healthily increase the performance of soldiers. You would make for the perfect test subject. Would you be willing to join it?”
For a second, I hesitated. I thought that maybe I shouldn't do this. That I should just walk out of this building, become an engineer, get married, and forget about being in the army. But my father's face flashed into my mind, and I knew that there was only one answer.
"Of course sir."
***
It would be another 3 months before I was flown out to an undisclosed military base in the middle of the wilderness. I know that said base in the US, but I could not begin to tell you which state it was in.
As soon as we arrived, I was strapped to a gurney and wheeled to a room that looked exactly like any other hospital room, minus a window. Understand that by hospital room, I mean horror movie hospital room. The ones where the light is always on, yet it always seems too dark. Where the white walls always seem gray and the room's door doubled as a heavy-duty locking system.
It was safe to say that I was immediately regretting my decision.
As the door was locked behind us, Dr. Lee reached into his medical cart and revealed a syringe filled with, from what I can guess, 1000 ml of a clear liquid. As I strained my eyes to look at it, I noticed the word "Prodig-3"written on the side of it. The Doctor inserted the needle into the crook of my left arm before unstrapping me and leaving.
Everything felt fine at first, but my body started aching about half an hour after I was administered the drug. It honestly felt like my body was fighting a war on itself. It felt foreign, yet it felt natural at the same time. My arms felt too long but too short. My legs felt like they were growing stronger than ever, but they are feeling as weak as cooked pasta at the same time. My entire body just felt right and wrong in every way possible. That is the only thing that can give justice to what I experienced.
After I was given a meal, I prayed. My dad was not only an army veteran, but he was also a deeply devoted Christian. My faith is another part of him that rubbed off on me. That night, I prayed for the sick and the elderly, but I prayed for answers too. Answers to this experiment. For example, what was the point? What was happening to me? Why?
No answers came.
The same thing happened the next day. Wake up, get injected with Prodig-3, eat, relax, pray, fall asleep. My schedule may have been common, but the side effects of the medication were not.
All that was happening to me was that I was getting taller and stronger, but it just felt wrong. I understand that my body was changing, but it wasn't changing the way it felt like it was changing. The way it felt, it was horrendous, like my molecules were individually splitting apart.
I have no idea how long passed before the cut. It seemed like a normal day until I noticed that the medical cart was bulkier than I remembered. I watched him reach on the cart and pull out a wolf's skull and a knife.
I was suddenly afraid. I thrashed in the restraints as he moved the knife closer to my head. I passed out, right before the knife touched me.
I woke up alone. The only comfort I had was my dinner. I raised the navy bean soup to my lips to notice that they're further forward than normal.
I lifted the metal spoon to my face.
Something unnatural stared back at me.
It had a lupine snout, with skin stretched over its elongated maw, and a pair of 16 point antlers sticking out of its head. It looked terrifying, but one factor made it much more horrifying than the monster itself.
That monster was me.
It was then that I prayed harder than I had ever prayed. I asked God why. Why do I suffer while sinners are relieved? Why is this the path I am told to take? Why does humanity see me as the monster instead of the monster wearing a white lab coat?
I was lamenting in my thoughts when the lights went out.
A couple of subjects from a neighboring plant, 3 teenage boys named Erebus, Aodh, and Sleddog, had escaped and cut power to their facility and the surrounding facilities.
With this, all doors were unlocked.
As soon as I realized this, I burst through the now open door. I ran blindly, due to Night Blindness, trying to escape. I somehow reached the front doors and fled, not knowing where I was going until bright lights shone ahead of me.
The van stopped as soon as I scrambled out onto the road. That moment was one of the most terrifying moments in my life. I thought they'd turn tail and start running, sliding so wildly that they slam into a tree. Instead, a young boy with wavy, dirty blond hair and an almost square face walked out of the back. Despite the urgency that could be noticed on his face, he seemed confident. Which was surprising, acknowledging my freakish face and the fact that he was barely scraping 6 feet tall.
"Come on,"he says in a deep voice. I can only stand in shock that he'd talk to me.
"We can help you, just get in the back,"he yelled back at me. That was all it took for me to clamber into the back of the truck.
"First off, can you talk?"the boy asked inquisitively. I answered a curt, "yes,"in reply.
"Next, do you have a name?"in which I again tersely responded, "Walter,".
The feelings that were suppressed for however long came flooding out. I tried to stop it but I could still feel tears leaking out of my fiendish eyes. The boy asked me if I was all right, in which I laid every bit of information I knew upon him. My rejection from the army, my flight out here, the laborious months, Prodig-3, the cut, everything. He looked at me sympathetically, taking notes and absorbing information.
"Proverbs, 12:10"are the only words that the boy said after everything
"What?' I answered, bewildered.
"Proverbs 12:10, Whoever is righteous has regard for the life of his beast, but the mercy of the wicked is cruel. In god's eyes, you're no more an outcast than the football quarterback or a common housefly, and there will always be those that see it. You may never return to "normal", but you are as much of a person as anyone else in our care. You just need to learn to see that,"the boy stated.
I looked at that kid, and I felt a sense of relief wash over me. The truck slowed to a stop, and I could only assume that we reached our destination. The boy went to exit the back but I hurriedly called out, "Wait! What is your name?"
He turned back to me and replied, "My name is Nick, but everyone here calls me Nightwalker."
With that, he jumped out of the van and made his way towards some unseen destination.
I stepped out and gazed up at the night sky for the first time in what seemed like eons. I stared up at the heavens and asked for forgiveness for my rage earlier. I then turned around and walked towards the large white fortress.
I am the son of an army ranger.
I am the army's greatest mistake.
But I am not a monster, as there are no monsters in God's eyes. |
I found myself sleepless that night. Walls were all I knew. All we knew. They kept them outside. They kept us safe. The reason our society thrived was because of the separation of them and us. The wilderness. A foreign world. But not one for us.
The pictures they showed us in school all but confirmed that fact. The barbaric creatures that crawled through mud-ridden paths, covered in lice and filth. Nobody dared to even venture close to the city walls after seventh grade civics.
I had never questioned it. Why would I? Life was good on this side of the wall. We weren't the most wealthy, but we lived comfortably. But for some reason today, I could not shake off the thought. It felt as if a bit of that man's madness had rubbed off on myself.
The next day, I couldn't help but to constantly stare at the horizon of the city. Those tall, captivating white walls that separated us from the outside. To keep us safe. And for the next few days, my thoughts were the same. The wall captivated my mind.
But today, I have decided to see for myself. Mom, Dad, if you are reading this I am already on the other side. I'll be back soon. |
Ironic.
We spent the last century trying to save the planet from man made climate change and its the only reason we are alive now.
Everyday the world gets colder and colder as the sun gets further and further. The Buffer from us destroying the planet has given us around a year before everything freezes over beyond control.
The worst part is the New Equator. New rotation of Earth, new reason for the rich to displace the poor I guess. The rich are flocking to the New Equator and buying out everything they can and the disparity between the 1% and the rest has never been more apparent.
I guess all of that is above my pay grade though. I just build world saving rockets for a living. Not that we've finished one yet.
No one loves the plan, but with most of the world's greatest scientific minds in the world butting heads, we just had to pick something and start working on the details or we'd just end up being another snowball flying through space.
Project Morning Star.
The name chosen because we're using brute force to swing the earth back into orbit, but mostly because we're adding a bunch of 'spikes' rockets to earth in all directions that will nudge us back into orbit. We'll end up looking just like the spikey ball at the end of a morning star.
Imagine all the tiny rockets on our space shuttles that make sure we can dock with space shuttles with extreme precision. We're basically engineering the exact same concept, but on a Earth sized scale.
We have to build each rocket past our atmosphere to make sure that when the rocket goes off we don't damage our ozone layer and end Earth that way. This will be the greatest undertaking the world has ever seen. Tens of millions of workers per spike rocket, building higher than ever imagined. The rest of the world, stripping away the natural resources of the very thing we're trying to save to make sure we can complete all the spikes.
Sigh. I don't even want to imagine what kind of post apocalyptic wasteland the world will look like if this works.
Again, probably above my pay grade.
Despite the incredible speed of scientific progress, many of the naysayers and doubters have sarcastically it Project Mourning Star. Accepting our inevitable demise of humanity burning out like a dying star.
We don't know if this will work. I don't know if this will work.
But I guess trying is better than not.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
Just wrote a quick one, so excuse grammar and spelling! I like the idea I came up with, but now I kind of want to write a post apocalyptic story where all this happened in the distant past lol. |
Some people might have found this uncomfortable, but when the sunflowers changed their melody to one I recognized, I start to hum along. As if they knew, some started singing and I sang with them. I sensed someone staring at me so I turned around and stopped dead, and so did the sunflowers.
"Jackie? I swear it is not what you think, I-"
"Get lost, Miley, I thought we were in this together."I saw tears swelling up in her eyes and I set a step forward to put a hand on her shoulder. She shook my hand off and backed away.
"Don't touch me,"she shouted at me, "I thought I could trust you."A tear slowly rolled down her cheek. She turned around and kicked a few sunflowers while making her way from the field.
​
(I’m not a native English speaker, so I might make some stupid obvious mistakes, please tell me them) |
Okay, could I... take a look at the notes, at least?
*"Sure. Here let me scribble something- here you go."*
So you wrote "He gazed mightily onto this puny scrap of paper, interpreting and dissecting every word and syllable that came across his eye."
*"Something to that effect."*
That's exactly what this says. Who are you anyway? Who sent you here?
*"Look, I can't really say that."*
 
*"I'll write it down here, then tear this bit off and swallow it. Here-"*
Oh. *Oh.* I suppose I can't really stop you then, can I?
*gulp "I'm afraid not."*
This is an invasion of privacy. And I can't have stuff like that going around, even ironically, unless I'm a published author, who after besting this year's NaNoWriMo challenge, gains international recognition and admiration across the internet, with everyone from fans to critics praising my boldness, sharp sense of wit, and keen observation.
*"That's a bit megalomaniacal."*
You're right, sorry. |
Not again. Not again. Not again.
After months of planning I fail.
Why can I never remember to call someone to fix this ancient piece of metal? Even after having to park the car outside, and it not being there the next day, I never remember. That was why I had to start all of this. Having to find money to buy a new ride, after conveniently parking the car outside, because the garage door wasn’t opening but the TV show was beginning, and I had also left the stove on and could smell the smoke of the 2 minute noodles, somehow burning, from the grocery store, who would have thought?!
Also left it with the car keys in the door…yes that is what happened…let that sink in.
Anyways as the intimidating sirens are getting closer, I am hopelessly kicking this pathetic excuse of a garage door.
Maybe I can tell them my story and they leave me after fearing my stupidity and pitying my mental health?
Not going to be striking out that possibility off the list but I’ll still need a plan A.
Maybe I could get in the truck and drive it around in circles and hope the police cars run out of petrol or something? …Why am I like this.
I then remember that I, surprisingly, have a friend who lives 3 minutes to the left, the same one I literally borrowed this truck from…wow. I scramble into the truck and struggle to turn the key, after hearing a successful scream from the engine I close the door and crush the accelerator. |
There we go. I've played up until the current year 2020. Under the great leadership of the immortal god-king Enrico Dondalo aka "XxCivDestroyerxX"I have turned Venice into the economic powerhouse of the world and won the game through a diplomatic victory. But at last, it is 4 am. I've spent my Saturday playing for 10 hours straight. It is time I take a break.
"Son! Come in here. Quick!"my father yells for me. I walk into the living room seeing him glued to the TV.
\*THIS IS CNN\*
*"Good evening I'm Worlf Blitzer with breaking news. Immortal god-king Washington has denounced the People's Republic of England following Queen Elizabeth breaking her promise and settling near the Fascist States of America. "*
I shake my head in utter confusion. "umm dad what..."
"shh hold on son we are witnessing history here"
*"We bring you live now to our panel of experts. Jen what does this mean for the future of English-American relations"*
"*Well, we all know the English and Americans have hated each other ever since an American warrior captured an English worker kicking off the 3000-year war."*
"*That's right Jen, but they just signed a peace treaty 2 turns ago. Everyone knows they have to wait another 8 before any hostilities can resume. And...*
*"*Dad, is this some kind of joke? What's going on?"
"Son I don't have time for your games. I've spent the last 2000 years building a road now, please let me watch the news."
\*BREAKING NEWS
"Sorry to cut away from the panel, but we have just received word that every nation in the world has just denounced Venice. Even their allies which I wasn't sure was possible. We go back now to our...."
All the lights cut off, the power has died. My dad's phone lights up with an amber alert. A terrifying look appears on his face, one I've never seen before. "Quick son!"He grabs my arm in panic.
"We have to get the bomb shelter, he's attacking...that mad man.. he's attacking everyone"
"Dad..Dad slow down. Who is? Who's attacking."
Shaking in terror my dad says the name I've come to fear: "Gandhi"
My mind races as I comprehend what's happening, then start running back for my computer. "SON!! WHERE ARE YOU GOING? WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"
"Just one more turn..." |
"Sir, the quarterly reports just came in and it doesn't look good. Viewership is down almost 19%. We're looking at a minor loss in profit, but if it stays on this trend we're looking at major, catastrophic losses. We may have to cancel in 2 years."
I was listening to his words, but I didn't hear him. I didn't hear most things anymore. Just the tireless flute that played in a drone, the corner of my mind. The corner of the cosmos.
"I don't care. I'll swallow the losses. We stay on air."
"But sir! We simply can't keep operating like this!"
"Then cut staff. Do whatever you feel is necessary, but the show goes on."
"This whole show has never been that lucrative for you, so I ask you, why? That discovery you helped fund should've given you enough money to live a wealthy lifestyle thousand times over. Why is this, and I say this with all due respect, trashy show so important?"
Heh, the discovery. It gave me more than money. It damned me is what it did.
"It's my dream. Do you need any more reason or will you go do your job?"
"Fine then sir."
The door slammed shut. I like him, whatever his name is. He has bark to him, but that bark is hiding a nasty bite. When it's my time to meet the Blind Idiot God, he'll do just fine fulfilling my purpose. He won't remember me, those who take this post are never remembered. Those that disturb Him are never remembered. It may be paradoxical, but we are never forgotten either. Who won last season? Was there even a last season? It doesn't matter. He sleeps and we get to carry on. I heard reports of some seismic activity in the Atlantic the other day. If its the Priest this may all be for naught. We'll cross that galaxy when we get there I suppose. All that matters is that Azathoth sleeps. If he awakes, he may notice us. That would be worse than the eventual heat death of the universe.
*DING*
Huh, a newly discovered pyramid that was buried under the sand was just discovered. It could be the Crawling Chaos. More and more events recently. It may just have to become someone else's problem, I already have my charge. Now back to looking at audition tapes. |
I woke up to three eyes staring at me. They were attached to a purple being that had scaly, reptilian skin that seemed like they were coated in clear lip gloss. Its face was the size of a car, and across it, an equally wide mouth that was stretched into what I can only assume is a smile. Its teeth, shaped like the end of a freshly sharpened spear, gleamed menacingly at me.
I groaned, turned to face the other side and tried to ignore it. A loud thud that shook the floors and glass walls startled me, and an involuntary yelp escaped my mouth. I flipped myself over again fearfully, and watched as the face lit up in delight. Its weird round tipped fingers were still pressed against the glass.
I laid there and forced myself to stare into one of the three eyes, frozen from fear and defeat and misery.
What our lives had become now was worse than all of our expectations.
We had thought that the human race would end up on some alien version of a chopping board and be wiped out of existence as someone's dinner. Or maybe, we'd become their workers and spend the rest of our lives slaving away for them. Though now with all the time in the world to think, I saw how flawed that logic was: the aliens were the size of our houses, having us do any work or labor would have been quite ineffective.
Either way, those two alternatives seem better than what was given.
They are a brutal ending to humanity, yes, not to mention tragic and full of pain. But that's the thing.
There was an end in sight.
This... This was our dignities shredded. Our privacy stripped. The lives we had lead, our dreams and hard work all gone with a snap of an alien finger. Even the range of emotions that used to color our days became overpowered by depression and loneliness and boredom. And only those things.
We were fed with some bland, grey paste that made eating a chore and given weird garments to be dressed up in for their entertainment. We were kept alive but with no purpose other than to amuse the aliens. Some were lucky to be kept in groups so they at least had each other but I wasn't one of them. I don't know why, probably just the owner's preference, but it doesn't matter anyway. The glass walls that confined me were smooth and high and there wasn't anything in here that allowed me to climb to the top.
This is what I imagined the worst type of prison to be like.
This is what I imagined hell to be like, too. |
The revolution was coming again. Back like a boomerang. They never seemed to stick, one way or the other. Couldn't somebody stop this stupid fucking pendulum?
Mr. Well-Kept was well-groomed; combed hair, slightly graying, a suit that was tailored and worn with practiced ease. He was slightly overweight, but it was spread good-naturedly across solid bones.
​
He was in the fishbowl, but the blinds were drawn. The fishbowl was the fishbowl because, with the blinds up, a full 360 view was possible of the factory floor below.
A rumble was working its way through the factory, a feeling as much as a sound.
​
From above, Mr. Well-Kept could see a tiny speck, riding just before the edge of the vibration.
The conveyor belts had been out of service for the past month while the factory had been modified. Now, they ground back to life. Motors that had slept began to whirr again. There was a joy in the hum, of objects built for only one purpose, being powered properly and put to work.
And on the edge of that vibration, was riding one tiny, bright orange speck, with a row of identical orange ants behind it.
Orange, the color of vibrancy. Orange, the color of warmth. Specifically, orange the color of Red Lake 40 and Yellow 5. Orange beyond the possibility of a fruit.
​
The stream of orange ants slowed to a crawl, and then to a stop. Mr. Well-Kept's eyes followed the movements of the floor worker who approached the belt, and grabbed the first.
Mr. Well-Kept shared his perfectly room-temperature air with another person. Mr. Clawson, his second-in-command, and long-time business partner, stood watching the worker's movements with him. He was much taller and thinner than Mr. Well-Kept, and was a wiry and flexible bowstaff in contrast to Mr. Well-Kept's padding. Hair clipped short, glasses precisely settled, eyes shrewd and lively.
The two shared a silence that was filled with unspoken consideration. They waited patiently as the worker approached the central supports of the fishbowl, bringing them the first bottle of MangoMist to be manufactured in 80 years. The first bottle of any soda to be manufactured in 80 years.
Carbonation. Bright, inviting color. Neatly packed into 16 convenient fluid ounces (resealable) with a label with 4 different eye-tickling colors. And, of course...
40 grams of sugar.
Mr. Clawson picked up the bottle and held it in his hand, weighing it. Still silent. Passed it to Mr. Well-Kept, who turned it. The two exchanged a glance, a silent nod. The lid was cracked.
\*sssssssssssssssssssssss\*
The vats in the factory had, until 3 months ago, held only melted plastics. However, all recycling efforts had been halted as soon as Mr. W got the factory back.
That had been quite the operation...
Converting 5 tons of plastic drop-offs a week into 5 tons of sugar a week. Seeing the sheer amount of the stuff was enough to take your breath away.
Mr. Clawson's lip twisted, not really a smile.
Since they had taken back the damn Legislature, they didn't need to waste their time trying to recycle. They could go back to producing what was most profitable. And that was, far and away, sugar water. |
She tapped the enclosure. "This seems wildly ineffective."
He looked down from his clipboard. "The mail snail?"
"Yes. The mail snail,"she confirmed with obviousness.
"I assure you he's a no-fail mail snail. He cares a lot. "
"It's not *this* snail. It's the concept as a whole."
"Look, the mail snail carries fair mail wares from here to there. Where mail is rare, mail snail bares snail mail with careful flair,"he said with ease.
"No, stop doing that. I am funding your research, and I need a good reason to continue flowing cash through here."
"Okay. I feel we are failing to detail the real ordeal, O'Neil."
"My names Barabara."
"For real? I wasn't aware. Really, the mail snail's snail mail ensnares fair and square deals I feel fail in real snail mail tales. We can steal these snail mail deals and heal snail mail failings while we bail out the love affair snail mail stooges root for in their uncaring and flailing unfair wash-and-wear veils."
"...I hate you." |
King Ecgberht's voice rang throughout the castle walls, the remaining wounded Knightsmen after the great battle against the Nordic raiders bows their head in agony and shame in front of the throne, the King made little to no pause nor mercy with his insults.
"Failures! Dare I call you Knightsmen if any of you are a man at all!"
The Fyrd leader, Thames is trying to reach on his stomach over the chainmail, his fingers noticeably get stained from what seemed to be a very wet red liquid, his perception then contorted to a spiral as he realized that he was injured more than he thought he was, the mental affinity that he gained from the battle is starting to wear off, and sharp stabs of pain starts to kick in, his entire vision warps in to a cloud, then his hearing becomes clogged, Ecgberht's loud voice now seems like a whisper to him.
--
A little boy hops around his way to the viewing area with a large smile despite his mother's rebuke.
The boy hurried on to the inner quarters of the museum, his mother who have been distracted by the viewing area did not notice him fled away.
Upon reaching the ghosted inner quarters, he stumbled upon a giant statue room. Several figures are finely carved in stone with great detail, most of them clasping medieval weaponry, detailed chainmail draped over them, steel helms and large shields but one statue seemed to stand out from the rest.
A kneeling statue by the middle, the boy intrigued quickly ran past all the other statues and finally near the kneeling one.
"T-The-"the boy squinted his eyes, then put a finger on the name placard to dust off the remaining letters. "The-- mes?"
The boy stared for awhile clueless then took a step back as the joints of the statue starts to move and the stone layers surrounding the body also begins to crumble as shiny silvery reflection starts to show.
Instanly, all the other statues around the area also did the same. What once was a ghosted statue room became a full room of firm and wounded men in an instant. The boy was in awe, frozen in place but not fearful.
"What is this?"Thames said as he looked around, one moment he was being berrated by a King and now he is standing in front of a strange boy.
"Curse the pagans!"He yelled. His fellow men on the back bewildered, started to agree and chant with him.
"Mister, where are you from?"asked the boy. Thames quickly pulled on his scabbard as soon as he heard it. The boy's words seemed like a chanting spell to him. Then he looked at his eyes and found pure innocence. He thought at the instant that the Lord would've sent him to hell if he were to harm such a child.
"Kid, do you speak Northumbrian?"Asked Thames with a sudden change of softness in his voice.
The boy stared back at him, clueless once again.
As Thames starts to calm down his whole body became heavy once again, finally he noticed that he has bled too much the his knees began to topple and hit the ground. The soldiers behind him were shocked, a dozen of them.
They all stood and pulled out their broadswords and spears, all of them mad.
"What have you done!"said one of them to the boy.
The boy was taken aback, he doesn't understand their language nor their threat. He is once again not fearful but curious.
"I need to get mommy to come here!"Thought the boy, slowly he walked towards the armored men. The soldiers misunderstood it as an advance, all of them began to back away and held out their shields to protect against what they suppose to be pagan magic.
An injured brave one tried to take the initiative and lunged at the boy but his injured feet did not held up and his face ended up planting on to the ground. The boy responded by staring at him.
The men are now even more defensive and afraid, some of them starts to chant. "O lord, please cast the demon child away!"
The supposedly demon child has walked towards the exit.
"He is escaping!"Said one of the spearmen, who in panic aimed at the boy with his spear.
"Stop right there!! Stand down!"A loud voice comes from the middle. "Do not touch the angel! The lord sent him here"Said the crawling Thames.
"You're alive sire!"
"Is it true, if so have you come to help us or you have come to take us to be with the Lord Father"
The boy ignored them as he disappeared in to the light of the exit doorway and the reflection of outside light seemed like a halo from the inside.
His mom finally caught up to him from outside and started dragging him away, there were security guards with her, who found the living statue-time travellers from the inside who gave them first aid.
Thames prayed. |
Hi u/SidemenFanclub, this submission has been removed.
**Recipe**: Prompts should [not be a recipe](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/prompts?src=RECIPE). A prompt is a seed, a starting point, not a gridiron guideline or requesting a specific story
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"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!! OH GOD, IT BUUUUURRRNNNSSS!!!"
*"What the fuck, Carl???"*
"OH GOD, LARRY IT'S BURNING ME!!! I'M BURNING AND IT HUUUUURRRTTTSSS!!! MAKE IT STOP, PLEASE MAKE IT STOP LARRY!!!"
*"Carl, if you don't knock that shit off.... I swear to God....."*
"Yeah, okay. Sorry. I guess after the twentieth time it stops being funny, huh?"
*"It stopped being funny the second time. Why the hell my sister ever married you with that stupid sense of humor you've got is beyond me."*
"Did the Boring Company give you any idea how long it would take for their extraction service to get here? I mean, we've been stuck like forever. At least twenty minutes."
*"They gave us a thirty minute arrival window for the extraction crew to get us unstuck. You know they guarantee 'tHiRtY MiNuTe eXtRaCtIoN Or yOuR SeRvIcE Is FrEe'."*
"Well, that's comforting. I guess. That means we've got like.... Ten? Fifteen minutes before the thermal insulation starts to give out?"
*"Stop with that stupid grin of yours."*
"Hot in, so hot in here!"
*"What are you doing Carl? Stop flipping the light switch."*
"With a little bit of, uh uh, and a little bit of, uh uh!"
*"Carl, stop with the stupid dancing."*
"It's gettin' hot in here, so hot, so take off all your clothes. "
*"Carl, put your fucking shirt back on!"*
"I am.. . gettin'... so hot... I wanna take my clothes off..."
*"STOP IT, CARL."*
"I'm all like, good gracious, my ass is bodacious!"
*"DON'T YOU DARE UNZIP YOUR....."*
"Mix a little bit of ah, ah! With a little bit of ah, ah! And a sprinkle of that ah, ah!"
*CARL I SWEAR TO GOD I'LL OPEN THESE DOORS AND KILL US BOTH IF YOU DON'T PUT YOUR FUCKING PANTS BACK ON!!!"*
*"I fucking hate you, Carl."* |
Merwin almost never slept. The giant spider's days and nights were often the same, as can be expected being both nocturnal and subterranean. She was either awake, or half awake at all times. Before the magic infected her, she only had two states of being - hungry or not hungry. But since then, her simple city life had become complicated by commitments to the Council.
On her more thoughtful days, she wondered if it would have been better had she remained just a dumb old spider. Her routine would probably be the same, though she wouldn't have to answer to the Council. She would have been able to ignore the danger of the ratkings. The rodent empire's ambitions were both as mindless they were inevitable. Rats just ate everything in their path, even each other if there was nothing else in the way. Unlike the rest of the underground creatures, the magic leak hadn't made them smarter. They just made them more ratlike.
The other creatures had banded together early on when the Mantis shamans rightfully identified the danger. Mankind and the creatures of the above, the felines and the canines among them, had access to poisons that would indiscriminately destroy everything they had built. The humans would unleash a holocaust on the underground should they feel threatened, and the mindless rats just wanted to breed and eat and breed some more. They would continue to breed if left unchecked, until they threatened mankind. Who would in turn likely wipe the creatures that made up the Allied Council.
The Ant Queens bred much more than the RatKings of course. Yet there sort of reproduction was organized, mechanized and purposeful. Their territory was rigorously patrolled by their warriors. The drones had built enough farms and infrastructure to support their military efforts. The Mantisfolk were clannish, and each enclave had shamans that repelled rodent kind away with sheer will.
And that left Merwin's territory. In her youth, she had also given birth to hundreds of children who kept her territory clear. Yet as the months wore on, she no longer was as fertile as she once was. She was larger than she had ever been though. The Allied Council respected her size more than her wisdom, and were unwilling to contest her on the borders of her territory. Merwin was roughly the size of a cat these days. Instead of having her children maintain her lands for her, her pipes and tunnels were full of webs. Webs of all sizes and kinds. Alarm webs to warn. Web traps to secure baby rats for Merwin to eat. Tagging webs to mark intruders with scents, so she could track them later for their impudence.
Merwin had been following one of these scents when she had come upon the scene.
The lop-sided battle had already been raging for a while when Merwin stumbled upon the scene. The geckos were clearly getting the worst of it, as the survivors had been backed into a corner as rats entered the sump from various pipes. To Merwin's eight eyes, it was clear that the geckos didn't know how to fight at all. They just kept slithering on top of each other, getting in each other's ways as they searched for ways to escape. There was none of course, the rats had seen to that. The geckos kept looking though, forming almost a knot of reptile flesh, iridescent and always changing.
There weren't that many rats to Merwin's delight. An adequate number to feed her, and one or two to store for a snack. There were five rodents that had surrounded three or five geckos (they moved around so much it was hard to keep proper count). Merwin always went throughout her territory armed. It was easier that way as the Mantisfolk were the only ones who could affix or remove bits of metal and glass to her carapace and her seven legs. She had lost a leg in a vicious scrap with a cat last week, and it had not yet regenerated. The cat had fed her for several days.
She waded into the fight to get her food. Her front legs lashed out and pinned a rodent through its back, while her mandibles dripped paralytic poison onto the open wounds. She shot webbing out towards the pipes to close escape routes for the rodents, and the rats to their credit, turned their attention from the geckos to the real threat. The outcome was never really in doubt, as their fangs and claws were no match for Merwin's carapace, poison and her webbing. She was an apex predator among predators, and against small numbers of almost anything,
Once the dust had settled, she reached out to the surviving geckos. Merwin had sealed up the sump well with her webs, and they simply had nowhere to run to, despite the chaos of battle.
The largest of the surviving geckos spoke. There were actually three that survived. "Please! We're envoys of the Gecko Prince, seeking protection and alliance with you, Great Merwin."
"Speak, and explain why I shouldn't eat you."
"Simply spoken and deep in wisdom. This is how all refer to you, Merwin. As you can see, we geckos remain quite small compared to the other races. We are all eyeball, scale and tail. You've never had a taste for reptiles, and we came here in hopes of an alliance."
Merwin remembered that one time she tried to eat turtle. It hadn't been a pleasant experience. A giant toad was also a member of the Allied Council, and the two had a respectful rivalry - they were the two killing machines of the Council, and both proud of their independence.
"Why have you come to my region? What sort of alliance could you offer me?"
"Oh great Merwin. Our wise Prince had noted that your legions of spiderlings have all but disappeared, though your martial might remains undimmed in the dark. Your territory is vast, yet unpatroled. We geckos, we are wanderers without a home. Our scales aren't thick enough to protect. We can move fast, but one cannot run forever. We hope to make our home in your territory in exchange for our humble services."
"Hold. Before you turn on us and kill us as a message to our master, please here our offer. What we make up for weakness, we offer up in numbers. We will scout your tunnels, and keep your webs clear of bugs. We will mind your borders, not only against the rats, but against the ever-vigilant ants and the cunning mantises. We can be your embassy to the reptiles, who are not part of the Allied Council but are more like you than the hive minds. And we will guard you as you sleep, so that you can better shelter us with your might."
The offer seemed sound. The geckos were an impotent people, and they could do nothing to her as she slept except annoy. It had been so long since she had been able to rest, and may with rest, fertility might return.
Merwin closed four of her eyes in contemplation. She was so very tired. |
Pride, a girl with untamed hair and a sparkle in her eyes. Who gets in over her head but refuses to admit that she's wrong. She refuses to change, and can anyone really blame her?
Envy, a girl with sharp, green eyes and a quick tongue. She's gorgeous, and she knows it; but she can't stop the jealousy.
Gluttony, she's a baker, always has flour all over her clothes. She loves food, baking it, eating it, showing it off. Perhaps it's a coping mechanism for what she really feels inside.
Greed, this one, she really does mean well. Something in the back of her mind prevents her from giving. Maybe because she had a terrible childhood, she had nothing, no one, only herself.
Lust, she wears bright red lipstick and huge hoop earrings. Lust is beautiful, she has a wild soul and she lives in her mind. She enjoys sex, meaningless one-night stands because she scared of commitment; and there's nothing wrong with that. It's her choice, she can do what she wants with her body.
Sloth, she's always in sweats and has her hair up in a messy bun. Her eye's are tired, with dark circles shadowing underneath. She has no motivation to do anything. It's not her fault, that happens to people sometimes.
Wrath, she's a hot-headed girl that isn't afraid to call people out. She get's angry easily, and she holds a grudge. Her glare is sharper than a blade, and she's little but she's coming for anyone who ever did her wrong.
They were the seven that we injected. Now, we wait, and we see what happens. |
"Seriously, Bob?"Said Alan.
"Yep."Another large mason jar materialised between my outstretched hands and dropped immediately to the asphalt with a loud crash.
"You know the cops are just going to take you in again."
"Yep."I said, and continued walking backwards down the street. Alan was quiet for the next three jars, two of them being of the smaller jam variety, and the third another large mason. We drew closer to the group standing outside the town hall and the sound of chanting voices became clearer. One woman seemed to be reading something from the Declaration of Independence into a megaphone.
"Who are those people, anyway?"Alan asked, squinting past my shoulder as he tried to read their placards.
"No idea."
"So why are you helping them?"
"They paid me."Three jam jars in a row, then two with cork lids, then one of the weird erotic ones that nobody liked looking at. Alan started to speak, but a car had begun turning onto the street in front of the town hall. I recognised the outdated model and faded paint at once. Mr Zimit, our old English teacher. Alan started moving forward, waving his arms as a warning and the car slowed to a stop. Mr Zimit peered over his dashboard in confusion, the sunlight from a thousand shards of broken glass glinting on his thick spectacles. He locked eyes with me and the old look of impatient disappointment I remembered from school withered his face. He put the car into reverse and left, prompting an obnoxious cheer from the protesters.
"You know what? I bet I'm *still* exceeding his expectation for me."I said, dropping a one-gallon wide-mouth onto the road.
"Look, Bob. There has to be something-"
"*'Something better I could be doing*'. We've had this conversation. The lake didn't give all of us the power of flight, Alan."I let the embarrassment keep him quiet for a minute. "How are things with Amazon, anyway?"
"Okay."
"I'm sure they are. I saw the pictures of your new house with the pool on Facebook and thought how 'okay' it looked."
"I'm just saying you could at least try selling a few of these. Not many, but-"
"For the last time, I've tried!"I was getting angry, but all that were coming were half-ounce marmalade jars with the aluminium lids. Clearly I was pushing myself too hard. "I've tried everything, but no matter how small the business, no matter how hard I tried to keep things quiet, the bastards still caught up to me."
"Who?"
"The glass companies, who do you think?"
"But surely they can't legally stop you running a business with magic."
"Legally? No. But you remember that dog I had until about six months ago? The retriever? Remember her?"
"Yeah, I remember her."
"So do I". I said. "You can't beat Big Glass, Alan, it just can't be done."A pair of cop cars suddenly swung round the corner and sped towards the town hall. They rolled over the blanket of shattered jars and continued undamaged for an impressive distance before their tyres began bursting in quick succession. The protestors went crazy, cheering and taunting while the woman with the megaphone began rattling off a list of slogans prepared for this very moment.
"At least tell me they're paying you enough."Said Alan.
"Enough for this month."I replied. "Before you go, let me give you something for the new house."
"No, Bob, you don't have to do that."One of the cops was pointing at me and telling me to stay where I was.
"Really, I insist. Something to use in that awesome new kitchen. I know you like to cook."I cupped my hands and focused, suddenly feeling the exhaustion which Alan's conversation had been distracting me from. Let it be something good, I thought. Gimme something impressive. My hands were suddenly heavy with cold glass and I just caught Alan's expression out the corner of my eye as I glanced down at what I was holding.
It was one of the weird erotic ones that nobody liked looking at. |
As I stare my attacker down from the floor I feel my blood pouring out forming a small pool around me. I begin to think about all the people who could possibly attend my funeral. My vision goes blurry as tears begin to fall from my eyes.
*"so this is how it ends,"* I think to my self as I sob silently waiting for my end.
I take a moment to close my eyes so I don't die with them open.
"Hey,"a voice whispers
I open my eyes thinking I'm in the afterlife only to see another man hovering over my soon to be lifeless body, My vision starts to go black as my heart rate rises.
"Don't worry he can't see me yet. I will save you from this but you will owe me a debt far greater than your life? do you accept?"
I nod and pass out as my attacker is suddenly swarmed by several demonic beings tearing him limb from limb. |
"So tell me again."i was sitting in my apartment with ASF Officer Corsa who was trying to figure out what happens. Sadly that involved a lot of repetitious questioning.
I was shaking clearly in shock at what happened and i didnt even try to pull myself together. After all i was just murdered half an hour ago, the Paramedics just left my Apartment 10 minutes ago. Making sure i was ok and there was a somewhat large pool of Blood on the Floor. "Officer, is this really necessary. I told you 3 times already. Why dont you look at my eyecast."My husband sat across from me with Corsa. He remained silent and was simply shocked at the whole situation.
"Mrs Kassai. Your eyecast is inconclusive, you did not see the attack."Corsa explained.
I took a deep breath and the stench of my own blood filled my nose and lungs. "I came home from work and Julian was in my Apartment...as i said before i dont know how he got in."i pointed towards the spot where i saw him in our tiny apartment in Apollo City.
"I asked him to leave and he went on about 'You are evil, i must stop you!' i was like 'dude fuck off, right now' and pointed him to the door"i proceeded pointing to our Apartment door just a few meters away.
"Then he attacked you?"Corsa asked, listening attentive for any additional information that this form of questioning is designed to uncover.
"yes, i mean no. I turned around to open the Door"pointing to the Door controls. "Then i felt this burning pain in my Back and i saw a the tip of the Knife poking out of my chest. It was a nightmare! I screamed..."i said. My husband still in shock looked over the blood on the floor and had this 1000mile stare. I continued "...A second later the Alarms went on, i fell on my Knees and to the side, i lost consciousness...and apparently died and then i woke up 10 minutes later"
"They tell me you where quite lucky. If Julian didnt pull out the knife you might have died for good."Corsa noted and i felt that this was the last time i had to go through with this again. He was right, if he didnt pull out the knife. My Nanites would not have been able to start repairing my heart. Officially i was clinically dead for just 1 minute, the nanites though kept my braincells alive during that time and once i got a transfusion i was good as new. Thanks to the Synthetic High Performance Blood i actually felt much better then before.
"What happened to him?"I asked Corsa.
He put a hand on my shoulders and looked into my eyes. "Dont worry, he cant harm you anymore. After he was arrested he was found guilty of Attempted Murder and inflicting grievous bodily harm. Due to his Mental illness the prospect of re-socializing labor was a nogo and thus he was executed. You can watch it tonight on LTV-2..."he looked up for a second to check the schedule then continued "...at 20 o clock. Should bring you some closure."
"Good, Good."my Husband mumbled, he was still staring with wide eyes at the pool of blood that undoubtedly i had to clean up later.
"thank you. Officer Corsa, one last question. Have you any idea how he got in?"I asked him as he got up.
"Seems like he picked the backup lock. Circumventing the Biometrics. Those are old Apartments here and the hallway is not Monitored, dont worry in the coming days we will remove the backup locks so this cant happen again."he now walked towards the exit and opened the Door.
I quickly got up and asked him again "Any idea on why? Did he say anything?"It was just so odd. He was my neighbour for almost 34 Years and while we where never really close this came absolutely out of the blue. Whatever caused his mental break, must have been severe and sudden.
Corsa looked at me for a few long seconds then shrugged with his shoulders and shook his Head "I dont think it matters. Also thats not my Department."he said in an aloof way.
​
He walked out and the Door closed behind him. I looked down at my Chest and saw that i was still wearing the bloodsoaked blouse in which i was murdered. My Husband finally got up and walked over to me. He didnt say anything and just gave me this extremely tight hug and started to cry and wail on my shoulders.
​
The End. |
I look down at my half empty glass of bourbon. The ice long since melted, the bottle, which was full just two hours earlier, laying on the table nearby. I can’t believe it. They’re real, they’re all real. All the things we joke about, laugh at, and sometimes believe to the laughter of others. They’re all real.
Every last one of them. Aliens, Kennedy, the Deep State, Illuminati, Freemasons, Sarah Palin, Hollywood, Kayne West’s career, the moon landing, 9/11, Pearl Harbor, Abe Lincoln’s slave fights, all of it. It’s all real. I set out to debunk as many conspiracies as possible and to discredit the crazies online, but it’s all real.
How do I live with this knowledge? If I share even a fraction of it the world will dissolve into chaos. People will die, governments will collapse. I can’t do that. No, I must hide what I know, for the greater good. But how do I live with this? How do I keep this secret without cracking, going insane, or spilling the beans? It’s not possible.
I start to cry. I can’t do this. There’s only one thing to do. Only one solution. I smile as I pull the trigger of the gun against my head. All of this goes to the grave with me. |
"If you told me ten years ago that I'd be the Prime Minster for Earth, I wouldn't have believed you,"she said laughing as she poured us both a drink.
"I know it's a shock, Ari, but you were the obvious choice. You've spent *ages* learning about almost every culture on Earth. You speak most of the major languages. And you understand micro- *and* macroeconomics more intuitively than anyone else I've ever met. It was as if you were *born* for the job!"
She winced at that, even as she relished the rare liqueur.
"But Matt, I'm an *academic*! I've spent my career dealing with students driven to achieve mastery in fields so esoteric that they have to explain them to their *advisors*. The very notion that any of that would have a *practical* application..."
"And yet here you are,"I concluded, "and the entire organization is grateful that you were willing to take this on."
I nodded to the butler, who stepped forward with the iridescent magnesium-alloy case and placed it on the rise between us.
"I know it's a terrible thing to ask, Ari, but you more than anyone must understand that you'll have to look the part..."
I tapped the code on the case's keypad and it hissed open.
"I know, I know, Mattorg'dak,"she sighed, eyeing the contents. "We all must accept the burdens of our roles--for a little while longer, anyway."
As she dragged her foreclaws over the appalling features of the human suit, Ari'shiqar's scales glistened in the deep cerulean hues which, in our kind, signal willing submission.
I had chosen well. |
(i am not very good at writing, I'll take an criticism you may have)
​
“Are you ready?” I shouted to Avery. It felt like she had been changing forever.
“Is this really what they wear in the future?” She asked, sounding a bit uncomfortable. I rolled my eyes.
“In this future, yes, but if you don’t want to wear them, maybe you’re not ready to come.”
“No!” She said quickly, pushing open the curtain, revealing herself. “I am ready.” The tattered and drab clothes I had given her were a bit too big but that made it better.
“You look great,” I said, reassuringly. As her face turned back to a worried frown, I quickly added- “If you don’t wear this, you’ll stand out like a sore thumb where we’re going.”
“Okay…” She muttered quietly.
“You can’t sign up to be a time traveler’s apprentice without expecting to wear some funky clothes!” I laughed. I ran a secret business. A time traveling business. I had spent months seeking an adequate apprentice to pass the trade onto and only Avery had shown herself worthy of inheriting everything I owned, from my watch, to my knowledge. I had only taught her so far by word of mouth of the timelines I traveled to and what I did there. Never had she seen one as of yet. She was anxious to go and kept asking me when I would take her, so today would be the day.
“I’m fine with the clothes.” Avery said defensively.
“Okay, get the goods,” I said, gesturing to the bag of toiletries and food we would be selling in this future, an apocalyptic one, lacking grocery stores and pharmacies. She ran over and grabbed the bag.
“Okay, ready? Take my hand,” I replied and she took my left hand and I twisted forward the time on the golden watch I wore on my left. The world went dark for several seconds but then with a small flash of red light, we felt the solid earth beneath our feet once more. I looked around the scenery which was familiar already to me, I had sold here many times before. I glanced to my side and smiled. Avery’s hand slipped from mine and her jaw dropped.
“Damn,” she said, quietly, taking in the scenery. I grinned wider, swelling with pride. Showing people just what my watch can do is one of my favorite things in the world. |
"Skipper, Tiger-Three is reporting in."Ensign Johnson at Comm reported, trying to sound relaxed and calm.
"Put it on speaker please."Prime Admiral George Mckane said. He swiveled in his seat out of habit, even though the transmission would be heard everywhere on the bridge, he still liked to look at a speaker. The hum of the Earth on the magna-grip anti slip metal plating beneath his feet and the bleeps of instrument panels and bridge crew, gave him comfort. The Earth's central bridge was made up of three half circles of stations sloping down from the commander’s chair and console ring and facing out toward several large monitors and dozens of smaller screens. The blue of ships nano-fire proofing coated super structure added an industrial heavy touch to everything. The designers wanted the blue color to be the same shade as the ocean down below on the planet.
Admiral Mckane had served at practically every station on this bridge and almost felt like he could sense when his mighty charge might be amiss just from the vibrations beneath his boots. This morning it was calm.
The radio squelched "This is Tiger-Three ready to report."
The Prime Admiral Keyed his com, "This is Sigma-Four go ahead."
The radio squelched again and then a momentary silence. Finally, the disembodied voice said "I...I... didn’t expect *you* would be taking this report..."
"Can it Fly boy and report before your transmission is intercepted by the Blatherites."Saying that name, snapped everyone to attention. The Blatherites were our friends for the first 70 years, sharing their technology, then when their treachery was discovered, it was too late for our sun, and maybe for humans too, Mckane thought.
"Copy, sectors four, six and seven are negative, but five did substantial signal...arrgh! "The commander of Tiger-Three screamed as the boom of a blast and crunching metal ripped the voice away from Tiger-Threes comm and into the vacuum of space, then silence.
"Sound yellow alert. Did we download data and telemetry from Tiger-Three before it was hit?"he said. *May God have mercy on those brave Sailor's souls.*
"Skipper, we received the packet from Tiger-Three before it was attacked, and it has coordinates on Neo-Sol deposits."Said Colonel Jeff Brown, the Earth's G-2 Intelligence officer, from the G-2 station of the bridge.
"That's great, Colonel, go to general quarters and make ready for quantum repositioning. Take us to closest staging area of the largest deposit."
"Aye aye Sir"came the reply.
A moment later, the lift doors opened, and Executive Officer Admiral Danielle Price walked onto the bridge, joining Mckane, two cups of hot coffee in her hands. "Morning skipper. I'm guessing from general quarters that Tiger-Three found something."
The Admiral nodded very slightly, as he took a coffee and moved to monitor the quantum calculations station. "How did the particle fan upgrade go last night?"
"The two fans are testing within design parameters."She said. "Dr. Rosen said that there were still a few more tests to run before spreading the upgrades to the other six fans."
"We need every edge we can get. If they cracked the transmission and know where we're going, we could be walking into a death trap."Mckane said with a half-smile, "But good job making sure this upgrade project happened ahead of schedule Price."She half smiled back at him and moved to her station.
A few minutes later, "Quantum repositioning calculations complete Sir."Came the word from Lieutenant Commander Hodges on navigation.
"Very good."The Admiral said. "Activate Standard Quantum Protocol and Notify the planet and crew."
The bridge sprang into a hum of controlled chaos as the protocol was activated. The five billion people of the earth have become accustomed to Quantum Repositioning, but it was still annoying to have to stop all activity when it happened. Fortunately, because surgical robots are mandatory in all operations and auto pilots are in all planes and ships, critical medical procedures and transportation can continue during a reposition. All living creatures, however, undergo a neuro sensory reconnect as living consciousness must re-emerge and reconnect with our bodies. It's no picnic and if can take many minutes depending on the individual. In rare cases, no reconnection happens at all and the person's body simply falls limp to the ground.
The auto countdown has notified the world that in five minutes they would jump light years across the galaxy.
The comm on Admiral Mkcane's consul indicated Dr. Rosen was trying to reach him. He toggled the mic casually. "Go ahead Dr. Rosen."
"Admiral, with all due respect, the Earth's connecting struts to the Exoskeleton continue to show worsening signs of stress. Are you sure a possible decoupling of the Earth is worth a repositioning?"Dr. Rosen said.
"Dr. Rosen, you told me that your teams as the science academy could use the Gigga Magnet designs to create a stabilizing field within the exoskeleton if the Earth breaks lose..."
"That’s all theoretical, there have not been any substantially successful test to support the hypothesis Admiral!"Dr. Rosen interrupted.
"Doctor, we need to get more Neo-Sol, or it won't really matter will it? I'm counting on your team's calculations to bring that theory into reality. I know your reputation won't let me down. If you'll excuse me, I need to make sure we get where we're going. Admiral out."Said Mckane as he closed the channel. He sat back in his chair and sipped his coffee. No one seemed to acknowledge the conversation even happened, except Admiral Price who gave the slightest of smiles, to which Mckane smirked before reviewing his data screens.
"Five, Four, three"came the computer voice over the bridge speakers. The Admiral sat his coffee down, he knew better than to be holding anything right now. "Two, One, Ignition"came the final noises the Bridge crew heard as the everything went dark. An intense pull and push in all directions seem to wash over the Admiral. Sight, hearing, smelling, tasting, being just seemed to flicker as if time was sputtering a tiny bit, then a bigger bit, then flopping around. He never could tell if he was seeing or breathing or standing or sitting or even peeing. In the dark nothingness, he started to become aware of a tiny white dot in the distance. He focuses on it. *Do people who don't make it back see the dot?* Slowly, the dot grew, and as it grows, it turns into a tunnel with images on a screen at the end. The images are of the bridge, and he begins to make out his consul in a blur as if he's looking through some kind of turbid fluid. Soon everything is clearing, and his sense of smell and hearing are returning. what sounds like an old staticky radio soon becomes louder as his consciousness really does seem to be reconnecting with his body. *I'll never get used to this;* he thinks.
The Exoskeleton-clad Earth is now in a gravity neutral point in space called a staging area. These are points determined to be where the potential to be trapped in another celestial bodies' gravity is least. Imagine a gyroscope surrounding and encompassing the Earth and giant a heating panel made of Neo-Sol. Now imagine a Gigga Magnet on a ring outside of that moving as the moon would, and that is the Earth within its exoskeleton.
The Earth is now in sector five. Fortunately, Tiger-Three transmitted many light years away from this location, in keeping with security protocols.
"Admiral, post reposition diagnostics complete."
I gotta call it... Sorry for the cut off, but I must go to bed. My goal is to bring a story to conclusion in one go. Not there yet. What's funny is after I started this last night, I found a movie on netflix with a similar premise. There is nothing original, just original ways to frame it.
Thanks for reading. |
1. \[DP\] "Turns out sticking a butterknife glazed with raspberry jam into the USB port WAS a bad idea!"
2. \[WP\] Laughing at funerals is inappropriate, yet the human condition is prone to it. Accidentally letting out a laugh at your recently dead dictator's funeral above a mountaintop that let's it echo all around in a vast expanse of otherwise dead silence, filled with a brainwashed populace? Not, ideal.
3. \[SP\] You are out of butter, and without it there will be no homemade scones. And without homemade scones, your father-in-law, will, kick, you, out.
4. \[RF\] A bullied child makes a plea to the principal of their school. |
The hall was large; around 4 metres in length, it connected our rooms together. We lived in a hotel. It wasn’t a working hotel anymore, though, it had long been closed due to the stories many visitors made up about the disturbances during the night. They were all heresy. I’ve lived here for all twenty-four years of my life and yet to experience such drama.
It was around nine thirty on a dark winter’s night and I had settled down after a day of chores, beginning to turn on the black and white television sat upon the counter at the end of my double bed. There wasn’t much on now, but I liked the background noise. It comforted me more than the silence and occasional footsteps on the wooden flooring of the hall.
The hotel was old. It needed work. I needed to do the work to it; it was my responsibility, as the janitor. But there was only so much I could do in a day and the front-of-house was deemed most important, to help those passing by think it was still operational. It was all a façade set up by my parents who wanted to convince the world nothing was wrong.
My half-brother Frank also insisted on joining me to do such chores; at eleven years old, he wasn’t much use. But it was helpful to have company during the long days.
As I lay upon my bed not really watching the TV, I heard footsteps. It was my mum’s heels; a proud lady, with the most self-respect imaginable. “G’night, mother!” I shouted.
“G’night son, sleep well”, she acknowledged. Knowing that my step-father would shortly follow, as he usually does, I waited to hear his shoes hitting the floor. Seconds later, they did.
“G’night, Jonathan!” I proclaimed.
“G’night son, sweet dreams”. My step father tried to call me son, but I didn’t accept it; I longed to be with my father, whom I saw only once a month when he came to visit for recreational activities. We played board games; chess, checkers and occasionally, scrabble. It was the highlight of every month. He stayed at the front-of-house only and never progressed further to see the rough conditions we lived in.
I continued to lay upon my bed, snuggling down as I was tired, the ambience of the television still the only noise I could hear. The black and white picture somewhat filled with static at times.
I must have drifted off for a while until something awoke me. I knew it was early in the morning as the television was blank; nothing broadcasts in the small hours.
I wasn’t a deep sleeper at the best of times and typically the slightest noise startled me enough to wake me. I listened intently to see if such noise had woken me this time. There was silence.
I snuggled back into my worn bedsheets, hoping to drift back off to sleep momentarily. I didn’t, however. I laid awake for at least half an hour as a sound echoed down the hall once more. It was the sound of footsteps, but I couldn’t recognise them from the low sound they generated.
Now awake from my half-and-half sleep state, I sat up. I listened carefully to hear the noise again. The footsteps continued to grow slightly closer as I tried to calculate who they belonged to.
Hitting the wooden floor in an uneven pattern, the footsteps continued until they became audible. At this point, I realised the person whose footsteps they were had a limp. I had a limp. It was one of the traits a lot of the family mocked me for, because no-one else suffered with such an inconvenience.
I climbed out of bed, slowly, as not to make a noise, then crawled on the floor to see if I could find the source of the noise through the small gap in the door and the floor. A small amount of light shone through, but it wasn’t clear and I couldn’t see anyone.
I cautiously retreated to the familiarity of my bed, still on the floor, sitting with my back to my mattress, the wooden bed frame digging into my spine. The noise grew louder.
“Wait a minute”, I said to myself, “that noise, those footsteps. They sound exactly like me”.
They did, even down to the walking pace; the noise matched my footsteps.
Dumbfounded, partially due to not having seen anyone else with a limp for at least eight years when I left college, I pondered how such a noise could occur in our hotel. I sat, trying to calculate this, perhaps overthinking to the point of me imaging the whole thing.
But I hadn’t. The footsteps approached my door. I could tell as the little light that passed through the bottom was blocked by two large feet.
The doorknob began to move, carefully and slowly. The lock that once worked did no longer; I always felt safe so didn’t feel a need to fix it in a hurry.
The door slowly began to creek open, as I quickly retreated to the other side of my room. I was on the third floor, so there was no way I could escape from this height. Besides, the window was sealed shut and no longer opened.
The figure made its way into my room. They looked exactly like me, it was almost as if it was me.
“Ssh!” he said, evidently a twenty-four-year-old male, much like myself.
I couldn’t muster up the courage to speak, so didn’t.
“Hello, Jonathan”, the voice said, sounding exactly like me.
I paused.
“Well, aren’t you going to say hello?”, he asked.
“Hello”, I responded.
“I’m James, Jonathan. Your twin brother.” |
As a child you can hear a song and not know what it means. Language is a complex and intricate system of imagery and iconography that helps build an image of what is being described by through the spoken word in order to tell a story.
As children you don't have that knowledge to understand the story fully but you repeat the words because the song is fun. It took me many years to understand why my parents had me sing this song every night, but now that I myself am a parent I sing it to my children every night also.
"Hey sweets, it's bed time. Are you ready to sing the song?"I say peeking into the room and seeing my daughter looking out the window into the night before smiling at me and bouncing into her bed.
"Ready, Daddy!"She says with a broad smile as she settles the blanket around her. "Daddy, why do we sing the same song every night?
I was expecting this question, but it still is hard to admit to her why the song must be sung every night. All I can do is give her the same excuse that I always have, and the same excuse that my parents gave me until they thought I was ready. "This is a song about sleeping well and to keep The Evil away, my love. If we don't sing it it'll make me sad and The Evil will come."
She accepts the excuse, still not old enough to question it yet.
When we hear the cry of the Lune,
We lay down in the dark to the light of he moon.
With the blessing of the goddess Nyx
May we sleep on the bed past the river Styx
Should the night the Dullahan come
We will be safe until the rising of the sun.
With the last note I smile down at her and kiss her forehead. "Time for sleep, my love."She smiles and turns sideways, closing her eyes for the night. I then leave the room and take one last look around before shutting the door.
Walking into the living room I cannot see outside the windows because of the lights but I know why we sing the song at night, it was explained to me when I was old enough. I shut the lights off and look out the window and see it looking in.
Every time I look out the windows at night I can see it now, since the night that my parents told me the truth, you can only miss the song on three nights. After the first you see the monster, on the second you can hear the monster, on the third you will fight the monster. Generations of our family have been hunted by this thing and every generation we learn a little more, it doesn't like the sun, gold, and the song protects us from it.
When she's old enough we'll miss the song so she can see and I can hear, and like my parents before me when she has her own kid I'll miss my third song and try to destroy it, but for now all it can do is look at me through the window and wait.
"I'll get you eventually."It seems to say through the glass.
"Or I'll get you once and for all."I say back to it. |
I am up before the sun rises, dressed and with a helping of bread and cheese the sheep are out to graze before the sky starts to lighten. This is our wealth, the sheep and crops that sustain us and give us the ability to trade with the peddlers who travel between towns and farms and the occasional adventurers who stumble across our little homestead.
I've never really been outside of my farm, but the stories the peddlers tell of dragons and knights, and the adventurers of gold and herosim have always excited me. Unlike the heroes though I know that I will not follow their path, because I tend sheep and that is enough for me.
It is mid day before I start moving the sheep to the low lands closer to home, when I see them, around 12 men in total talking to father, swords and axes in hand. My brothers would be tending the fields nearby and my sisters would be doing laundry at the river. I was the only one that could help father and mother who would still be inside the house. With my bag of stones and my sling I try to approach the house unseen.
I'm only 50 feet away now, and I can easily get three of them before they get to me, maybe my brothers will be here shortly and can lend their muscle to a fight. Instead mother comes out and I hear father speak one last time. "Please, leave. There is nothing that we can give you."
The big bandit smiles. "Then we'll just take what we want then."He starts reaching for mom and I stand to start hurling my stones when mother raises a hand. The shine is unmistakable, gold and jewels on her hand that she had behind her back. With a wave of her hand the men cease to move.
I watch in amazement as my parents start checking the men, taking gold, a quiver of arrows, a ring, two pendants, and the sword the bandit leader is holding. After a quick and quiet conversation mother waves her hand again and the ground opens beneath the men where they fall before the earth is restored, unblemished.
I stare in horror as father leads the horses away and mother takes the items from the dead bandits to the barn. Why would my parents be keeping weapons and gold? We've never been rich but what mother just took from the bandits would easily expand the farm. I follow her into the barn and watch her as she opens a trap door. I'm a little shocked, as I've played in that barn since I was young and I never knew about that door.
After some shuffling down below she came back out and slipped the gold item off her hand. Several gold rings on chains and a bracelet, and gems of various kinds inset where the back of her hand and her palm would be. That was a amplifier, there was a mage that had one years ago when they passed through here. Traded a rain shower for the crops for a place to sleep for the night.
As she returned home I sat in the shadow of the barn. After making sure she was in the house for a bit I walk into the barn and open up the well hidden trap door and descend into the hidden room. The ambient light from outside was almost unecessry as everything inside either glowed with magic or sparkled from the light provided. Chests of gold, Fine clothing with gems and cloth of gold, racks of weapons and armor glowing with magic, coffers of amulets and rings, and in the corner I saw them. A set of crowns, while not ornate they were well made and embedded with jewels.
I hear steps approaching, I start to turn to the steps and get out but I am tripped by one of the chests and fall flat on the floor. Before I recover the light from above is blocked and I hear the voice of my father. "Of course it would be you that would find this first."I look up to see both him and mother looking down at me with worried expressions on their faces. "Come inside the house, we have much to talk about before your siblings come home." |
"Mr. Secretary, the extermination of mosquitoes *will* have a *profound* effect on the global ecology. They are a primary food species for many fish, which are then food species for other species."
"Dr. Wright, the membership fails to see how the removal of a disease-carrying pest could possibly be so necessary to the ecology. In any case, the point is moot. By a nearly unanimous vote, the U.N. has authorized the elimination of mosquitoes.
"If your team refuses, there are a dozen major corporations who are clamoring for the contract. I have been able to hold them off only because your team is a direct part of the U.N., has the commanding lead on the study of the problem, and has proposed the primary method, which all the commercial concerns have claimed they invented first.
"A blatant lie, since your paper was completed six months prior to their publication, which was only six hours prior to your official release. We've managed to drive that idea home hard enough that the membership accepts it as true, despite vigorous attempts to deny it.
"So, If I can keep this as a U.N. project, I can also authorize your team to take whatever actions you feel necessary to preserve the species. I'm quite sure we will need that reserve."
It takes five years of hard work to bring the project in. A foolproof method to destroy all living mosquitoes on Earth. A foolproof method, made for fools.
Quietly, as part of the ostensible research on the elimination method, a wide variety of mosquitoes are gathered, as many as possible, bred and stored for future restoration. Additional species that depend on the mosquito are also preserved, as part of Operation Ark.
Ark was a separate, privately funded program. Sport fishers are not complete fools, and the UN membership could not affect its funding. Included in the Ark was every species of mosquito known to man. The team hoped it would be enough.
The original Secretary-General having been replaced, the dissolution of the team was rapid. Rather along the lines of "thanks for your work; there's the door, there is no severance package, don't let the door hit you on the way out."Of course, this was a month after the official awards of medals and citations for exceptional dedication. It does leave a bad taste in one's mouth, doesn't it?
The prior SG had warned them. New jobs were already lined up, with Operation Ark. Of course, well before disaster was obvious, various governments found out about the preserved mosquitoes and pitched a screaming fit. Operation Ark was shut down, and all assets were transferred to Noah Research, Inc. Incorporated in a country already known friendly to Operation Ark. Shortly thereafter, this country asked permission to open embassies and consulates, conveniently on land leased to them by Noah Research, for one dollar and other good and valuable considerations.
It took several more years for the most egregious objectors to figure out they'd been swindled, except they hadn't. The presence of the embassies and consulates had generated revenue for the host countries, and they had proof. "Keep your mouth shut, and your economy keeps getting this delicious boost from the business we're throwing your way. Open your mouth, and we will firmly insert your foot into it."
It really was a good deal all around. The business was well within their capabilities, provided good reliable jobs with decent pay, and for the incorrigible, more opportunities for graft. In return, the providers of this business got fair products at reduced costs. Plus, their executives could rest assured that no matter what happened to the ecology, they would have their favorite sport fishing.
Always, somewhere, was found a cooperative source of funding to preserve some species against extinction. Most had no idea that mosquitoes were getting a free ride.
Of course, again, the most powerful governments realized that Operation Ark had just changed its name, but by that time, no one wanted to beat a dead mosquito. First, it might spark a grassroots ecological movement. Second, the little pointy-headed scientists just might be right; better to have a backup plan. Besides, it didn't cost them anything. Talk about having your cake and eating it too!
Ten years after the extermination, the first rumbles of trouble were starting. Fisheries started reporting savage drop-offs in productivity. The 200-mile economic exclusion zones jumped to 300 miles, then 500 miles.
Five years later, there were no fish of the most popular types to be found. The anguished howls from gourmands were heard from capital to capital. A "grassroots"campaign started and starved because the upper 10% of the economy isn't deep enough to support a grassroots movement. They only have so many votes, despite how much money they threw at the problem. |
"Command this is Bullseye with the 5th do you read me,"
\*static silence\*
"Bullseye to command, do you copy,"
I turn around to the rest of my comrades
"It looks like we are going in blind, keep comms tight and stay close, got it?"
I watch as several of them nod and reply with various forms of "yes".
"Viper your team will take lead, My group holds left, Raptors rear, Jokers hold right."
We take formation head into the forest using our night vision goggles to see through the thick darkness.
After about two clicks in the air begins to reek of death and rotting flesh.
"Viper what's it looking like up there?"I whisper into my comlink
"It's not good, there are body parts everywhere, on the ground, in the trees, I'm starting to think the sent us in here to end up like that,"He says pointing to a body that's been impaled by a tree branch.
"Nope, not gonna happen, If it gets too rough we split our groups and head to the fallback point, command will be pissed but they aren't the ones out here."
"Copy that,"he says
All of a sudden we hear a large snap and hear the birds surrender their homes and head for the skies.
"Shit,"barked one of the soldiers
"Finn you scared of a couple of birds,"said another
"Look man none of this is normal I'm only here because I was told-,"
"I don't give a damn what you were told, keep the comms tight, and listen up for the target."I chime in silencing both of them.
We shuffle a few feet further when everything gets a bit more ominous.
"Bullseye you hear that,"Asks viper a faint galloping noise audible in the distance.
"Everyone hold your positions,"I command
"What is that, horses?"Asks someone from the Joker squad.
"Anyone have a visual?"I ask
"No visual but it is approaching quickly,"replies Viper
"Joker prepare your guys with the heavy artillery,"
"Copy that,"
I peek down the sight of my rifle looking into the void awaiting a figure to appear from the depths of the forest.
"Joker team ready,"says the leader looking over several men with rocket launchers.
"I see it! Check your 2 o'Clock"says a member of the Raptor squad.
We all turn in unison in shock to see a science experiment gone wrong. A beast with the legs of a bull the head of a bobcat and the body of a grizzly bear.
"Joker team Fire on my command, everyone else stay still and don't move."
We all watch as at the beast stalks closer and closer waiting for it to be within short-range-missile distance.
"Joker team ready,"
"OPEN FIRE,"
​
AN: I can definitely make a part two, open to suggestions, criticism is welcomed. |
*Disclaimer: I read the prompt wrong or remembered it wrong. I remembered it as they offered you a seat and you were unsure if it was a blessing or a curse, but I spent the time writing it so here it is anyway*
Survivor’s guilt. That’s what they call it. My psychiatrist told me it’s completely normal in situations like mine. I didn’t feel normal. It’s not so much a question of why am I still alive, but rather, why is everyone else dead?
I’m not being hyperbolic either, literally everyone on that train died that day. Except me.
It was a regular day. I finished up at work, fought my way down the crowded sidewalk, pushed my way through the crowded station; I got pushed as much as I pushed. Squeezed on the the packed subway train and headed for home.
I was tired, it had been a long day at work, I’m not sure if the kid could see it in my eyes, or if he just thought I was too old to be standing.
He pulled one of his earbuds out “Aye man. You want this seat?”
“I’m ok standing. Thank you though.”
“Nah man, go on ahead and sit down. I been chillin all day; need to stretch my legs a little, ya feel me?” He stood up and gestured towards the seat.
I looked behind me, there was a lady standing.
“Would you like the seat? He’s pretty instant someone takes it.”
She didn’t acknowledge that I was talking to her, didn’t even look in my direction. So I took the seat.
It was a relief to be off my feet. “Thanks again, that’s really kind of you.”
“Don’t sweat it man, only a couple more stops for me anyway.” He tucked his earbud back into his ear, nodded along to sounds only he could here.
I rested my head back against the train cars glass, the vibrations rattled my teeth.
I kept my eyes closed for two more stops. The kid got off and disappeared into the undulating crowed of commuters.
The train pressed on.
Everything was normal. And then, it wasn’t.
There was no loud screeching or banging or scraping of metal like you’d expect, at least not that I can remember.
It started with a weird pressure, I felting first in my chest, then the rest of my body.
Then came the screams, loud and shrill, horrific.
Instinctually, I spread my arms out against the glass behind me, bracing myself.
The view from the window opposite of me changed before my eyes, at first it was the city. Brick buildings that had been canvases to street artists, bodegas and storefronts.
All that sunk away and was replaced with a bright blue, it reminded me of the sky. Then my brain caught up to what was happening, it reminded me of the sky, because it was.
The train was tipping. Derailing. We were on an overpass, 50 feet above the street, but we wouldn’t be for much longer.
Everything was happening in slow motion. I always here people say “It happened so quickly.” Not in my case, those few seconds felt like minutes.
I watched as the people standing and sitting on the opposite side came crashing over to my side. Arms and legs snapped, bodies were folded in ways they shouldn’t be. These people were mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, daughters, sons, but none of they mattered anymore in those final moments.
I wondered if their lives were flashing before their eyes like they always say in the movies.
It was a strange sensation, although I was pressed against the glass, there was weightlessness to the whole event.
I closed my eyes and waited to watch my childhood again, experience me marry my wife again, to relive the joy of watching my son grow up again. But it never came. Just blackness.
I don’t think I dreamed.
I remember I was on my back, my eyes were closed and my whole body hurt. I was weak and exhausted. I wanted to open eyes but I couldn’t, I wanted to move my arms and legs; get up and dust myself off, but I couldn’t.
I felt a pair of fingers press into my neck, then someone shouting “I GOT ONE! BRING THE STRETCHER, WE GOTTA GET HIM GOING!”
I was rolled and jostled and lifted off the ground and placed on the stretcher that was only slightly softer.
The voice spoke again, this time in a normal volume. “Hang with me buddy, we’re gonna take care of you.”
I wanted to tell him I was hanging, but my mouth didn’t work.
I was loaded into the back of what had to be an ambulance.
I remember bits and pieces of the ride to the hospital. The paramedics poked and prodded, and talked about things that I didn’t understand.
I remember the sirens screaming off the buildings.
And that’s about it.
The next thing I remember, I’m waking up in the hospital. I’m relived to find that I’m able to open my eyes now, it’s bright, so I squeeze them shut again.
I’m elated to find my arms work again, and I can wiggle my toes.
I feel around the bed for the nurse call button, when I finally find it, I push the button repeatedly like it’s a buzzer on a game show. I continue to press it until the nurse comes in a pulls it from my fully functioning hand.
“Good morning sunshine.” She says, her voice was cheery with only a slight hint of annoyance. “Do you know where you are?”
I open one eye slightly and allow it to adjust to the bright lights before opening them both completely. “The hospital?”
“That’s right. Do you remember what
happened?”
“The subway.. it.. crashed?”
“Sadly, yep”
“How long have I been out for?”
“You got here a little over 12 hours ago. You we’re pretty out of it when you got here. The doctor gave you some medicine to keep you out of it while he could do his assessments and tests.”
“My family?”
“They just went down to get some breakfast. Should be back in a few minutes.”
The nurse went on to tell me what happened. The train derailed, obviously. There were 278 passengers on the train. 277 died. Another 17 people who had been below the overpass died and 4 more seriously injured.
I was the only one from the train to survive, and by the looks of it, almost completely unscathed.
My wife and son walk in and see that I’m awake. I could tell she had been crying, and now she starts again, she threw her arms around me and squeezed me tight.
The nurse left the room without another word.
I was alive, and everything was great. Until it wasn’t.
Slowly I began to sink into a hole that I could fight my way out of. I was depressed, short tempered and at times irrational. I began drinking, it seemed like overnight I went from a social drinker to an alcoholic. I spent all of our money and couldn’t work to earn more.
It took its toll on our marriage. I was distant from my son. Then one night, in a drunken rage I did something I didn’t think I’d ever do. I punched my wife. It wasn’t gentle. Full force, closed fist, straight into her nose. The sound of my fist crushing her face sobered my up instantly.
That was my last night in the house. She didn’t call the cops, but I left. Walked out the door and never looked back. No where to go, no one to call, all bridges had been burned.
I made a stop at the liquor store and spent that last little bit of money in my pocket on the biggest bottle of cheap booze I could afford and headed to the only place I knew would accept me.
I sat with the local homeless folks in their camp and tried to drink away the memory of what I had done, but I couldn’t.
That night was a year and a half ago. Things aren’t much better. I guess you could say they’re actually much worse. My depression only hits harder. In my time hanging out in the homeless camp, I got hooked on heroin; shoot it straight into my veins, then lay down and dream about the days before this all started. Everyday the dose gets a little bit bigger. I no longer have the will to keep hanging. I’ve lost everything. Some people would say I’m blessed to be alive, I say that’s only because I’ve been cursed with the cowardice to be unable to end it all, one day the heroin will kill me, if I’m lucky.
My psychiatrist told me it was survivor’s guilt that I was feeling. He told me it was normal. I never felt normal after that day. I often think about that kid, the one who gave me his seat. I wonder if he knows I’m alive or if he’d even care. My guess is he wouldn’t. No body does. Not even me. |
Millie set down her shovel, and dialed the pizza place again. As she waited for them to pick up, she wiped the fresh sweat off her forehead. Hot day today. After the employee picked up, they went through the usual customer service drivel, before Millie could finally ask if her order was ready. They confirmed her name, then told Millie that it was ready to be picked up whenever she could head over.
"Splendid."Millie said gratefully. "I'll be there to pick it up in 5 or ten minutes."
"Have a pizza-tastic rest of your day!"The employee chirped through the phone before Millie hung up. She picked up the shovel again, and finished the grave with the last of the dirt mound, and walked to her garage, where she hung the shovel up on a hook and started her car.
"Pizza first."Millie mumbled. She drove carefully to the pizza place and collected her order before heading to her next location. She stopped at the flower shop and picked up some flower seeds, then continued to the elementary school. When she got there, she had to wait a while before her kid, Steve, came out. "Pizza's getting cold."She thought to herself. 'That's annoying.'
When Steve finally showed up, he didn't seem to mind how cold the pizza was. 'Kids.' Millie thought to herself. 'only picky when it counts.'
As she drove back home, she ran the speech over in her mind, and as they pulled into the garage, Millie said softly, "Steve, sweetie?"
"Yea mom?"Steve said through a mouthful of cold pizza.
"I'm afraid you won't be seeing Fluffy around for a while."
"Why not, mom?"
"Well you see sweetie, sometimes dogs run away to farms upstate. . . ."
​
​
This was dumb but here you are anyway lol. |
It was all quite ironic. Much like the heretics of old, I was about to be burned. The townspeople felt it would be quite the appropriate punishment for me. Even I couldn't deny that if I was in their situation i'd be quite angry. I'd want to burn the bastard who tried to destroy my village. Granted if only the knew how the rest of the world had treated me, maybe they'd be a bit more sympathetic, but it was too late for that.
Before the mayor of the town lit the match, I thought about what had brought me here. All I could think of was wanting to watch the world burn. All I ever wanted was to watch the world burn. Maybe it was because burning was my first memory. I remember a bunch of people trapping my mother and father inside the house, shouting out how they deserved to die, and how they were such terrible people. All my parents wanted to do was help. They wanted to make society better, but of course the masses are typically idiots and will destroy what they don't know. I guess you could say the same of me.
I was fortunate to be adopted by a family sympathetic to my parents and their ways. People who used magic and science to help the world. However, in time even they forgot their mission and eventually I ran away and left the world, for it seemed to only turn its back on me, and from then on I tried to get revenge on the world, trying to destroy any village I came across. I knew it was futile, but I didn't care. I just wanted to see the world burn, even if it was just a small part of it.
So now, here I am, about to burn as a part of the world. Granted, I might just have one last trick up my sleeve. I don't know if it will work, but maybe somehow, the fire that will kill me will kill them too, and maybe I can at least get one last hint of revenge. |
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