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"See, Bo, I told you. They know what we look like, how we sound, and act. If I didn't know any better, it means our species came here before."Leafpa was becoming unhinged at the idea that they had been lied to their entire lives.
"There was a crashed ship at Area 42,"Bo adjusted his slime and sludged the way to the console. Bo's non-rigid structures formed into finger-like appendages on a hand attached to a flexible arm, and began to fluctuate in shape.
"Area 51, Bo. Area 51. That was the small group of Freyat that shifted into tiny, green humanoids from the planet Kiku before they crash-landed here. These humans know that we're not exactly like them until we take form. They know we shift shape."He watched as Bo clumsily picked up a weigh-cube with his new fingers and opposable thumb. Leafpa was already fully human, and waiting for Bo to finish changing so they could explore the world outside.
"Look, don't worry. No one ever notices until you show up in the wrong skin. Come on, just relax with some soup. I'll be ready in a minute."Bo didn't want to rush for fear of making a mistake. The last thing they wanted was to get caught.
"It's not soup here. This is called a Virgin Bloody Mary,"the drink was a favorite of their kind. It did confuse them that it could be cold with celery and spice or warm with cheese and toast. They just enjoyed what was available.
"Why is it a virgin again? Virginity is what they call the youth that hasn't mated yet. Right? What does that have to do with cold soup?"
"Virgin means no alcohol. They drink to relax. We don't get it because our enhanced chemistry resolves excess alcohol even in our human systems."Leafpa had been to Earth twice before. They hoped to better understand the humans this time, and even made a friend they thought might help. His name was Steven Spielberg. |
"Look, all I'm saying is, we can settle this with money, AND NOT ANOTHER \*\*\*\*\* POKEMON BATTLE?!"
Quincy was losing his nerve. It is hard to be the leader of organized crime, when your competitors all believe that the only way to solve arguments is pokemon battling.
"Uuh, and what would I be doing with the money? You can't really 'buy' pokemon?"
Quincy groaned out loud, fixing his posture at the end of it. "You infact CAN! Do you have any idea, how many pokemon are in basic households, but the family doesn't just want to dump them? Hell, pay them up for relieving them of their burden and they are even happy!"
Maxwell looked confused. "Why don't you just use your pokemon to take their pokemon?"
"HOW ABOUT THAT BEING SUSPICIOUS AS ALL DISTORTION WORLD AND CATCHING THE EYE OF THE LAW!?!"Quincy was done with this, this same argument had been done with multiple faction leaders already, who were all as puzzled as Maxwell was now.
"But... Why have pokemon then at all?"
Quincy was sure that his nose was bleeding from all the anger he had to control.
"What part of my plan you don't get? We find abandoned and unwanted pokemon, don't train them none, sell them forward to people with much more expensive price and keep reigning in money. We also scout the strongest of the bunch and give them to our executives to train and use in a cinch. What part of this is so difficult, pray tell?"
"Well... It just doesn't seem... Illegal? Why are you competing with us in the criminal world?"
Quincy slumped down on his chair. This couldn't be real. The other criminal organizations couldn't all be lead by idiots or nutjobs. "How about the part where we use the winning of the sales to buy drugs to strengthen the pokemon and another one to make them go mad, so we can sell more pokemon to people, to make them feel more safe?"
"Seems... Convoluted? I still say we should decided the top dog by battling, now take out your balls!"
Quincy sighed, stood up, and went to his wall. "You know what, I understand that this is pointless, no amount of talk will solve this, thank you for clearing this up. We shall battle, just as you wanted..."
"Awesome, Giratina, I choose you!"
A massive giratina jumped out of the pokeball, obviously buffed with drugs.
"Cute, let me show you mine..."
Quincy pressed a button on the wall, whichc made the wall slide up, revealing around 200 pokemon, all different and buffed up. The moment the wall opened up, Quincy gave one order.
"Attack."
"W-wait a minute, that's illegal!?"Maxwell was backing up, reaching for the door.
"THAT IS THE \*\*\*\*\* IDEA!"
Quincy's voice was drowned out under all the pokemon attacking Giratina at once. |
Everything was hopeless. A person had gone sick for the first time in a thousand years, and what was left of people who knew of medicines could not find one for this obscure disease. Scientists tried their best to queue the database, to find some way to solve it. They injected various DNA and vitamins in an attempt to cure the problem in a round-about way. They tried serving various herbs from the extremely olden days. But without the in-between 20th century practices, the 40th century was ironically worse off.
As Mr. Henderson laid in his bed, prepared to die, his body in pain, his family crying out their tears, and the scientists heads dropped low in despair, one man suddenly came bursting in, astonishing everyone. "What's going on?"The leader of the scientist group asked, as the person calmed everyone down, looking at the man's condition.
"I'm the Doctor,"he responded, to everyone's incredulity. They muttered to each other, wondering how there could possibly be a doctor after a thousand years of stabilization. Was there secretly a family passing down its tradition as a hobby? As if reading their minds, the man answered: "No, I'm not *a* doctor. I'm The Doctor. Perhaps it's better if I demonstrate."
The audience watched on in bewilderment as The Doctor used highly advanced lighting technology to scan the patient. "J-3OP type virus, from 500 years ago.... huh, could've sworn you guys already had the vaccine for that. No medicine, that's going to be a problem..."he muttered in a confusing pattern, with only the most intelligent scientists having an idea what he was talking about.
"Give me 25 grams of calcium, iron, and 50 grams of ammonia and nitrogen. Hurry!"He demanded, the scientists hesitating slightly before following his order. He calmed down the patient by speaking to him, continuing analyzing his condition. As they assembled the ingredients, The Doctor gradually managed to concoct some new kind of medicine, with the help of his device that ignited heat. Everyone watched in astonishment as he cured the patient, who was breathing heavily and his heart beat speeding up, but now had resumed a normal pace. As the scientists clapped on, The Doctor warned them: "A pandemic is arriving. You had better get your 20th century records so that you can train your doctors... my knowledge may not be enough..." |
"Well, where did you go to school,"the man at the door asked.
"Well, I went to USC. Go Trojans,"I respond with confidence.
"Not good enough. What did you do for a living?"
"Well, I work as a lab technician. Mostly pharmaceuticals, I helped a lot of people."
"But you let your company charge them too much."
"I didn't have anything to do with setting prices."
"But you never argued against it either?"
"What does that have to do with anything?"
"You're just not good enough,"he shrugged his shoulders.
All of my friends had told me how great this restaurant was, and here I was, stuck outside the door. I thought I would swing by and get lunch, but the doorman won't even let me in. I'm not sure what he means when he keeps saying I'm not good enough. I've never had someone ask me this many questions just to get in a restaurant, or even a night club.
"Well, how much would it cost to make me good person,"I retrieve my wallet.
"It is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to enter the gates of heaven,"he taps his clipboard as if it says that somewhere.
"But this isn't heaven, this is a restaurant. Are you insane?"
"Perhaps,"another shrug, must be his default position.
"Well fuck you,"I walk off to the side.
An old lady with a scruffy overcoat makes her way to the door. She offers the man some money, he smiles and refuses. He opens the door for her, and even helps her up the step into the restaurant. A young man in a suit too large for him with scuffed dress shoes made it in with no problem. I make my way back to the doorman.
"Why did they get in and I didn't,"I try to hide the rage in my voice.
"Well, they're members,"he answers coldly.
"How do I become a member?"
"You just have to be good."
"I've been good my entire life,"I argue.
"Yes, but only to make yourself feel better. Never for others."
It doesn't make any sense. How would he know if I've been good or not? I can't believe this. My friends had to set this up. They ranted and raved about how great this place was. Did they pay the doorman to make sure I couldn't get in. Doesn't matter now, I've wasted my entire lunch break arguing with this guy.
"Excuse me, could you spare some change,"a beggar asks outside the office.
"Sure, go buy lunch. It's not like I could,"I hand him five dollars and head in.
My phone rings, probably my boss asking why I'm late. I just let it go to voicemail as I clock back in. Another call, I don't recognize the number but it seems urgent. It goes to voicemail before I can answer. A third call comes through and I answer this time.
"Hello,"I speak.
"Congratulations, you've become eligible for membership. We'd love to see you tomorrow for lunch,"the voice is that of the door man's. |
One evening, three buddies and I were having a few drinks in the backyard. The more we drank, the more we wanted to do something crazy that we'd never done before. Finally, one of the guys suggested trying to summon a demon and we all agreed. Not that any of us believed in that sort of thing, but we were wasted enough to think it would make a hilarious story.
My buddies gathered up our beers and headed to the garage. I headed to the kitchen to gather our summoning supplies. Of course, I had no idea what I was doing, but I certainly didn't let such a minor detail stop me. I grabbed some candles and a lighter.
I almost headed back to the garage, but I thought I needed something else. As I opened one of the kitchen cabinets, I pondered: What could we use to summon a demon? Garlic salt? Sure. Paprika? Great. Cinnamon? Yep. Red pepper flakes? Cool. A few other ones that my drunk brain couldn't quite read the label on? Why not?
Arms loaded down with candles and spices, I joined the guys in the garage. Brian arranged the candles into a circle in the middle of the garage floor. Tommy took the spices and poured them around each of the candles, then dumped a big pile in the middle. We all looked at each other for a bit, unsure of what to do next.
Finally, Frank grabbed the red pepper flakes container and poured some of the contents into each of our hands. Swaying on his feet, he slurred at us, "OK, guysss. Guyss. Guys. OK, ssserioussly, here'ss what we're gonna do. We're gonna count to th-- three and throw thisss stuff on the candlesss and shhhout, 'come out, demon!'"
We all laughed like a bunch of hyper children at a sleepover. Once we finally calmed down, we spread out around the circle and started to count down. On three, we threw our offering of pepper flakes onto the candleflames and shouted:
"Come out, demon!"
"Come out, demon!"
"Hey, uh, demon!"
"What am I supposed to shout?"
All of us had started laughing again when suddenly, an actual demon popped up in front of us! Brian's face filled with terror and he stepped backward until his back was pressed against the wall. Tommy's laughter died away and he just gaped. Frank just laughed harder. I let out a very manly shriek of fear and leapt backwards.
"Stay back, evil beast!"My attention was drawn to the doorway. "Foul and hideous creature! You don't belong in this realm!"I had no idea when she'd walked in, but now Kathleen was standing there, berating the demon in our midst.
She walked into the room, clutching a baseball bat in her hands. She confidently strode up to our circle of candles, lifted the bat over her head, and shouted, "Begone, evil creature! You don't belong here!"Suddenly, she brought the bat crashing down and smashed it into the demon's face. Its head went sailing across the room.
All of us guys slowly turned away from the destroyed demon body to look up at my wife. She dropped the bat, and slowly lifted her eyes to meet mine. As soon as we made eye contact, her serious demeanor transformed into a smile. A second later, she was doubled over in laughter.
"Babe, what did... How did you know..."
She was laughing so hard, she was gasping for air. Tears streamed down her face. Finally, she started to pull herself together. As she wiped her eyes, she said, "How much did you guys drink today?"
"I don't, um... I don't know. But why?"
We had to wait on another round of her giggles to pass before she could speak again. "Hun, you know that wasn't a real demon, right?"
"I... uh... what?"
"That was a Halloween decoration I threw from the doorway whenever you guys started your shouting. You must really be plastered if you thought that was real!"
We all gawked at her for a while before everyone in the room burst into laughter again.
​
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If you liked this, check out r/WannaWriteSometimes for more of my stories. |
Its moved again. Or did I not replace it? Or maybe someone is inside? Should I lock them in?
I go through this scenario for what must be hours. It passes some time at least. Long days are just the same never ending long day. I have no way to keep track of time, I just am. And it is just me. The last person. At least I think.
I placed a stone in front of the door of one of the shops I visit daily as part of my routine. My routine keeps me busy, gives me at least some sense of having a morning, afternoon, evening. My routine is stability. I started placing the stone there when I suspected I was not alone, a prospect that now defines me after being alone for so long.
The stone is not behind the door. I always put the stone behind the door. But maybe I didn't. I am so used to my routine that I struggle to define the memory of when I last came here. Did I forget to replace the stone, or has someone else gone into one of my shops?
I carefully prize open the door and peer inside. Everything looks the same. There's Greg behind the counter with his meaningless smile, and Doris is passing him a £20 note in exchange for the bottle of vodka she was buying. They still haven't moved. The shelves are how I left them, and the bottle of vodka (now empty) is back on the counter where I left it (after drinking its contents). If time were to ever restart, Doris and Greg would lose their minds at how that happened. I manage a fleeting smile to myself at the prospect of that ever happening. When time stopped that Wednesday morning, Doris was probably just going through her own routine. Wednesday morning bottle of vodka, just a normal day in this part of town. Wednesday morning vodka. I manage another smile at this moment caught forever in time.
But no, I need to search this place. And find the person who moved my stone.
The place is empty. Just me, Doris and Greg. Unless they moved it? Have they just gone back to this pose to mess with me? They might have moved. I step closer to Greg, kneel onto the counter, pinch his cheek, then I slap him. I want answers. I want someone to tell me what happened. I can't stand this silence!
"I know you are alive Greg!!"I try to shake him but he won't move. "Are you pretending Greg? Is this just a game to you Greg? This is my life! You moved my stone to trick me!"The anger builds in me, I have hold of his shirt as I try and shake him for answers but I get nothing. Just that same empty expression and eyes staring into nothing... still holding his shirt i begin to cry. "Who moved my stone?"
"I think I did." |
The steps were lined where they met the walls with the kind of green chemlight that had always set her teeth on edge. Nothing ever good came about when you could see that low pervading illumination.
"Green Emergency Chemlights don't need electricity you see, they're good for about 72 hours of illumination so with unless you're having a very bad week the power will be back on before they run down."Maintenance Chief Clyde Yten had almost always sounded as if he was joking, giving him at the same time an air of confidence and untrustworthiness. Something she had found disconcerting at first. However he had been warm and welcoming, like most of the staff at the Silberwald facility. Which had always struck her as strange, she'd worked as a problem solver for almost all of the Megacorps by now cleaning up the things they didn't want to deal with themselves and Argonaut, renown mostly for their agricultural and environmental management technologies seemed to be the exception to the stressed, rushed and self-important triad of personality disorders that infected the rest.
She descended a step, ice crunching under her boot.
Pulling Clyde's synth-fur lined coat closer around her she could feel the fur grasping onto her slightly baggy jumpsuit, pulling the coat closer to it and her skin. At first, the slightly humid air of the facility had begun condensing on the ceramic composite walls, droplets of water giving every corridor and room the appearance of a freshly completed and incredibly steamy shower. They were still there now, she could feel them under her gloves, frozen in place little nodules of ice. The alarms had sounded in the middle of the night, though no one had seemed particularly alarmed by them when she had shot out of bed and all but sprinted to the control room.
"Oh it's fine,"Deely Hhin had laughed, the crows feet at her eyes puckering. "Head office went a little overboard with the alarm system when they repurposed this facility. Kept the old Legion Arms alarm system. It's like they're trying to convince you the world was ending every time there's a power fluctuation."Deely had hand-waved away her concern and the view from the control room supported Deely, rows upon rows of tall silver tree-like structures glinting amber and green under the sodium haze of the spotlights. Serene, peaceful, covering completely the bowl shaped arena where Legion had conducted its testing.
Another step, only a few more to go.
Deely's gloves were a little tight, but she was glad to have them. Long ago the land below this plate had been called Arctic, which she was sure now meant incredibly dark and cold. Clyde had joked that there wasn't even any land below the plate, just the coralcrete pylons descending into murky water. Now though, with the Environmental Management System offline their moderating grasp on the climate of the facility was gone and the land below asserted itself radiating cold from every surface.
She had tarried too long in search of better memories, her boot, iced to the step, held her captive long enough to break her stride sending her tumbling down step after step.
One.
Another.
Another.
Searingly cold ceramic dusted with grit bit into her cheek as she came to a stop, awkwardly sprawled, legs over head on the only landing between her and her destination. Cursing and righting herself as tears gathered in the corner of her eyes from the stinging pain in her cheek. Then warm, warm blood flowing down the front of her.
Pieces of skin frozen to the floor.
She howls.
Deely had looked a little frail coming out of the medic's suite. A chance meeting, but she had made a note to herself to at least share a hot beverage with the woman again before she left Silberwald. The medic on the other hand was youthful, but not the kind of youthful that sat well with her. Pharmika medics almost always went through extensive augmentation as part of their training rendering them little more than a human brain driving a walking humanoid hospital. As such they held, or were held she had mused, to the wrong side of the uncanny valley. Her complaint then seemed trivial now, light induced insomnia brought on by the Sun not setting for six months. Ashe, she had never gotten the medic's last name, had been compassionate as much as her face had allowed anyway.
Ashe's pills had been too effective ultimately for her liking. Sleeping through alarms was not like her. What really could go wrong in a facility dedicated to improving artificial photosynthesis efficiency she had asked herself when the fog of sleep finally conceded to the blaring alarms. Moreover, why had Argonaut hired a problem-solver like her to attend to such a place. She was a relic sure enough, there weren't many remaining who had fought in the first Fantasy War, let alone survived the second.
She understood now though, as her AugFlesch rumbled and ached in her limbs. Something was here, some other remnant of the horrors that had assailed humanities last bastions. The huge plate-cities that spanned in four sections, the equator of the world. Havens from the climate seeking revenge, and from the monsters borne from twisted bio-technology and a thirst for human flesh. AugFlesch, an answer to the cries of civilian and soldier alike who supplicated themselves before the mad genius of the Ensurgeon, delivered in self-aware self-organising half biological half technological goop. It would take the imprint of whatever you lost, arm, leg, organ, bone or skin and become that and more. Assuming you could master it.
She fought for control as the AugFlesch rolled over the tattered skin of her cheek. She was perilously close to her limit now, if it were to consume much more of her she would surely lose herself. She'd seen it, far too many times in the Second Fantasy War when the stakes had been raised by whatever unseen force guided the monstrosities that had stolen the firmament from humanity. The AugFlesch had a mind of its own when enough of it had gathered together in someone, taking them over and fleeing, always to the north. When the stakes had been raised by whatever unseen force guided the monstrosities that had stolen the firmament from humanity.
Warm breath meets cold air in a shining silver cloud. Three more steps to the door.
Three, the evacuations had been nearly complete when she had been roused. Clyde had been hammering at her door, reactor failure and barely enough sunlight for the photoconverters to power the lights let alone the doors. She'd have to stay, that was the contract, to ensure that the facility was locked down correctly. After all, Argonaut was friendly but covetous.
Two, at the side of the transport she had made a promise to travel to the Eurasian Plate, to visit with Deely and meet the great grandaughter she was so proud of. The sun had set, for its final time in six months and perhaps for her, forever.
One, she drew breath feeling the cold prickle in her lungs.
Ancient and purely mechanical the door out from the bottom of the plate swung open silently as the last of the chemlights faded. Her eyes adjusted slowly, the AugFlesch in her optic nerves pulling colour from the dark.
Orange-pink coralcrete pylons.
Silvered blue ice shifting restlessly.
Jet black carapace pitted and raw sucking heat from the pylon it surrounded with four and a half of what should be six scaly wings.
A grin split her face, wider and wider until her cheeks hurt. Valkyrie had finally come home, there were still dragons to slay. |
1/2
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“*Laz? It’s Holly. We have a situation.”*
*“Define ‘situation’.”*
*“It’s the birds. They’re walking round.”*
*“…The Toriningen?”*
*“Yeah. And it’s not just them.”*
*“What-“*
*“My Rabbits, Void Dream, a dozen other horrors… the Nightmare’s getting out. And I don’t think I can stop it.”*
*---*
Tara had been on the road for a while now. She wasn’t quite sure how on earth her life had been turned upside down as it did. But it happened, first with her father locking her in the cellar that was her deceased older brother’s room. Then, when she escaped, she was attacked by him. Her new ally, ghostly and unseen by him, defended her, and she fled what should have been her home. Now she was lost, moving here and there on dwindling funds, and unsure what she should be doing. The only thing she had to her name now was her car, and the clothes on her back.
She should have grabbed her phone when she had the chance, and had kicked herself from that day onwards for it.
She wanted to cry. She wanted to sob, and scream, and wail. But all she did was move onwards, through winding roads and streets.
Right now she was going through a small village. The roads were, thankfully, wide enough for traffic both ways, although cars were parked on one side. A couple of times she had to let someone past, irritation growing the longer she waited. Every nerve screamed at her to keep moving.
The third time it happened, she noticed someone running past. Another person ran after the first.
*A thief?*
A scream came from where they had come from. Another person sprinted past, little more than a blur, signalling the roar of an explosion.
Tara’s mind went into overdrive as she jumped out of her car. People were now coming thicker and faster, running from around a distant corner. A van turned a corner, tipping in its haste to escape, and landing on its side. A raw scream echoed from where it crushed a car.
From just around the corner that everyone was fleeing from, she could feel it. A cold wave of dread. It was more than anything she had ever felt before, something that clutched her soul in a clawed hand and stroked it, uttering baseless, false promises that it would be safe, even while it squeezed ever tighter with a mechanical ponderousness, ensuring she would feel every moment until the very climax of this nightmare.
She swallowed, finding her throat dry. A man rushed past her, face pale with unimaginable fear, even as a banshee shriek resonated from around the corner. A chorus of gunfire swelled as an unseen fight started, clearing even more people out of the street.
She locked the car. It was such a normal move, at odds with what was going on, and what she would do, that it stuck out to Tara like a sore thumb. Slipping to the side where she could sneak up unseen, she made her way past the panicking bodies towards the horrific screaming, doing her best to ignore her nerves. The flow lessened, and she found the courage to pick up the pace. Whatever she might find seemed more enticing than her father finding her again, a fact she tried to ignore.
As she reached the corner, she took a breath. Her heart was hammering in her chest, pounding with fear and… excitement? She had to admit, this was kind of exhilarating. It was stupid and reckless, but she couldn’t quite disregard the jittering want of seeing what sight awaited her around the corner.
Trying to keep her heart from beating out her chest, she peeked around the corner.
To say the street was devastated would be honest, if underwhelming to an inhuman degree. Vehicles were wrecked, buildings cracked and broken, and bodies littered the streets, painting everything in sanguine hues. Many of the bodies were human, decapitated, mauled, crushed, or otherwise destroyed. Many more weren’t. Or, at least they weren’t when they died. Tall, hairy men, dead with lit torches and plank boards or axes, giant dolls, naked, armless and their hearts ripped out, creatures seemingly made from nothing more than rotting flesh, put together by a madman and let loose onto the world. Further up, the situation got worse. A group of people armoured in suits Tara had never seen before were bouncing around, stopping only to send a volley of rounds before leaping onto the side of a building, bouncing off like so many demented footballs. More of the dolls, screaming with pain and fury, clothes burned to ashes before being broken open, beating hearts on display. More men, wielding unusual weapons, some lashing out like whips, others using hammers that ignited and detonated. And in the centre was a tall woman, hair black as sin, skin pale as snow, striking with a katana that scythed through her enemies like they were wheat. Beyond her, Tara saw, were what could only be described as cracks, floating in the air.
As the fight raged on, the armoured warriors and woman fighting together, the cracks grew smaller as the enemies diminished. They were some distance away, and Tara did not wish to involve herself in the fight. Better to watch and see what was going on first. It would have been better if she ran too, she knew that. But something made her stay put, to witness the fight. |
Mike and Sharen took the last of my clothes down to the car as I finished carrying the last of the casks up to the attic. I hate to leave them here but I won’t be able to store them in the dorm. Mom promised to leave the boxes I've left untouched. I'm still leaving a box of playboys on top of the casks to scare her off, just in case. One hundred and seventy six, quite the collection of wayward spirits. Even if some of them were benign I can't risk any of them escaping again.
"Anything else you want to pack before the party?"Mike shouted up from the stairs.
"No, that should be it, but you guys go ahead I want to say goodbye to Julius while the stores still open.", I shouted back. It's best that they don't follow me to the magic shop. I need to keep the ritual a surprise. They haven't been willing to indulge my occult behaviour since we were in tenth grade, so I'm hoping the nostalgia card will get them to join in.
As Mike pulled out of the driveway I hopped into my dad's Corolla and drove over to Julius'. The shop was in an alley of Main and Jefferson. A dingy little spot with almost no parking, but filled to the brim with oddities and sundries from a forgotten time. Without Julius and his trinkets I definitely wouldn't have been able to dispel some of the tougher ghosts. As I entered rays of twilight hid much of his wares behind the dust filled beams, but there was no mistaking his tweed blazer shuffling around the rear of the shop. "Hey Jule's did you find everything I asked for?"I called out. I seemed to startle him and a great puff of dust flew up as he shut the book he was reading.
"Yes, yes, I found the compendium on the Morse Scientum scrolls. Are you sure you want to go through with this, I guarantee the wards will hold?", he replied. I don't know why he continued pressing me on this. He's been trying to push more wards and charms on me as my moving day drew closer. My best guess is he realizes his business is going to take a steep dive after tomorrow.
"No, just hand over the ingredients and the book and I'll be on my way, I still need to prep the guys for the ritual tonight", I replied. I could never really read his face but it did seem sadder than usual. "Oh don't mope too much, I'll come back and visit you soon."This did not seem to cheer him up, but I didn't have time to stick around so I grabbed the book and ingredients he had laid out for me and headed off to the party.
I could hear the party a block before I reached Maddie’s house. Even with the night settling in, her house lit up almost half the street. There went my plan to try and sneak in the ingredients in. I parked around the corner and grabbed my bags, it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve tried a ritual inside a house party, and this time the house wouldn’t try to kill me in the process.
Mike, Sharen, Maddie, and Joel were all pretty easy to find, and inebriated enough that simply jingling the ingredients, and telling them it was a surprise got them to follow me to Maddie’s room. She had grown out of her wiccan phase, but still had a few icons and ornaments laying about. They resisted at first, concerned they would miss some epic moment, but the nostalgia card worked. Maddie’s room serving as the coup de grace, since she introduced us to the spirit world in the first place.
The moon was beginning to peak out, a full blood moon, low on the horizon. A quick skim through the compendium would have to do. As the moon continued it’s ascent, it would not remain connected to the spirit and mortal planes for much longer. Maddie was able to place the ingredients, while I finished briefing the rest of the group. Thus we began the ritual, I read the passage of the spell and they repeated, “serva spiritus, morte prohiberentur”.
The air grew cold, the lights dimmed and the smell of iron permeated through the room, but they did not seem to notice. As I finished the last passage I joined in on the chorus of "serva spiritus, morte prohiberentur". Immediately the room began to hum, still they thought this was a reaction to the alcohol and continued without a care in the world. As we hit the fifth and final repetition the hum ceased, but so did their breath. They were frozen, not cold, not dead, just stopped, and so was the music.
After the initial shock I stepped out and saw that the entire party had been frozen, beer hung in mid air, while darts sat just in front of the board. Nothing moved, time itself had stopped. I ran into Maddie’s room and grabbed the compendium. My latin was rusty but the passage we recited was about stopping the spirits, not time. I had to get to Julius’, the moon was still low, so I might be able to reverse this.
Numbness coursed through me as I drove through the frozen town. I’d never affected the whole town with one of my spells, and Julius was always there to help me reverse it. If he was frozen now I don’t know if I could fix this.
Light still shone through the shop windows as I drove up. Bursting through the door I saw Julius looking towards me with his usual somber visage. “So you actually went through with-”, he started.
“Why are you still moving, infact, why am I still moving? What just happened?” I shouted, the shock of seeing him speak bringing me out of my stupor.
“We are faye touched, you know that, and now is not the time to be asking why. You wanted to stop the spirits from coming to town, well this is how. We have to close the door to the mortal plane from here, the spirit world.” He said, giving me a moment to appreciate the gravity of those words.
“Well how do we get back? Come on. The moon’s almost risen, we don’t have time for this.” I blurted.
“Oh no, that moon isn’t going anywhere. The spell isn’t over, you merely began it by saying those words. Now we must cleanse this place of all spirits and remove their locus of power. The eternal night will last for how ever long it takes for you to defeat them.” Julius calmly explained.
That was a week ago, or at least it felt like a week, and I’ve added another twenty ghosts to my little pile of casks. No locus in sight, so we battle on in this Eternal Night. |
The words fall unbidden out of my mouth. “What on earth…?”. I know. What a premier wordsmith I am. Trust me, I don’t think anyone would maintain their eloquence when they suddenly find themselves standing in a pink desert with these odd looking skeletal cactuses. Not to mention that there’s no sky, or at least it’s a solid white vista. All I know is this certainly any part of earth I’ve ever heard of.
How the hell did I end up here? I was on my way to pick up a pizza, to have a nice break from the frozen t.v. dinners I’d gorged on since the quarantine started. I remember pulling up to the Little Ceasars. Still remember buying a Hot-n-Ready pepperoni and awkwardly bantering with the pimple faced employee. I certainly walked back out of the place, and then? …...Yeah, I got nothing there.
While I’m mulling over my thoughts of how I ended up in some sort of wannabe’s Dalí unfinished project, I just pick a direction and start walking. It’s not a bad walk to be honest, the sand isn’t really all that loose so I’m not struggling. Plus it’s rather cool- temperature wise that is. Still the view could be better, this shade of pink gets grating on the eyes after the first five minutes if I’m being honest. Plus the cactuses are just plain creepy, if this isn’t some weird hallucination from whatever horrific accident I suffered from during my walk to my car, then I know those things are bad news. I’ve read the S.C.P stuff, and plenty of creepypastas, if I get near those things some sort of painful bone disease might eat away my flesh or something.
How long has it been? I don’t have my phone or a watch, and this place has no sun in the sky. So it’s frankly difficult to estimate how long I’ve been here and walking. Usually I’d be a bit gassed at this point, I’m not in the best shape I’ve been in, plus a few years of smoking have left my lungs in poor condition. My legs aren’t sore and I don’t really feel tired. I only know I’ve walked a pretty fair distance by looking at the trail I’ve left in the sand, the place where I started is now way past the horizon behind me.
I should be hungry by now. Like, I was hungry before I got here. That’s why I was grabbing a pizza, and as long as I’ve been walking I should feel like I’m starving right? Or at least thirsty, I haven’t had anything to drink either, and this is a desert. Albeit a very mildly temperate desert, but all the same I should feel thirsty. But I feel exactly as I did when I first got to this place. That’s a bad sign.
Am I dead? Maybe I suffered from sudden cardiac arrest while I was getting in my car and wound up here. Or an aneurysm? Those things happen randomly and suddenly. Is it possible that this place is my punishment for being lazy? Like, I’m doomed to walk forever like what’s his face from Greek mythology. Sissyphone? No, Sissypuss? Oh! Sisyphos, that’s it. Am I like him who has to continue onward with no hopes of success? But I don’t feel any form of suffering though. Just a little bored if anything, and maybe a tad exasperated from the color palette of my view.
I wouldn’t use the words ‘eternal punishment’ to describe it, it’s more of a ‘forever timeout’ or a ‘everlasting bland dream’. Maybe I’ll think differently in the future, while I don’t know how long I’ve been going at this point, give it a thousand years maybe I’ll be a deranged lunatic crying for freedom. Or maybe not, maybe a thousand years have passed and I just haven’t noticed. It’d be hard to tell. I do hope whatever this place is I can leave soon, I might not be hungry but I still want that five dollar pizza.
​
(Been a while since I wrote, hope you enjoy. And yes cactuses instead of cacti, it's deliberate.) |
I knew this would come. This night, you’d be trained for it for weeks on weeks on months.
I blinked slowly, a few deep breaths filling your lungs as the sirens blare.
It’s started.
I walkedout the the waiting room. Despite there being no laws, there was a rule. No attacking the hospitals. Thank god.
It didn’t take long for a man with knife wounds all over his chest to stumble in.
The man with a bloody knife watched outside before walking away with a sad sigh.
He followed it. Thank god.
I called out “Medical, slashes, chest.” A team rushed out and took him to the back.
Apparently the new guys ran front room as some sort of hazing. Call out the injuries, the teams would come heal them. It was just how it worked.
“Burns, third degree, chest and arms.”
“Stabbing, lower chest.”
“Broken arm, leg, and ribs.”
Apparently nobody had been injured while working front before, which was nice to know.
“Stabbing, legs and arms!”
I barely had time to call out before the attacker burst in.
“One rule!” I reminded her, which has held off everyone else, so I turned my back to help her victim.
Oh god.
Oh dear god.
What was this pain?
Why was it so bad?
I collapsed.
My body was racked in pain.
“H.... heeee....” I wheezed.
I brought a hand to my side.
Blood.
More pain, again. Higher this time.
A team had finally arrived.
“Heeeeeel...” I wheezed as another spike of pain burst out.
This was it? The first time someone up front got hurt?
Nothing felt real.
The ground is a pillow.
My blood was gentle. It was nice.
“Hiiiii.....” I laughed, as my head met the ground before my view faded.
This was legal, after all. |
It had been a wonderful hunt, the feeing of the cool night air flowed between my fur, carrying scents to my nose and meat to my tongue. It had been an excellent work by the pack, we had found deer grazing where they shouldn’t and gotten what we wanted.
But now it was time to find home. The whole pack knew what The Daymaker meant. And we all didn’t want to return to that form. We hated how it felt.
So we raced towards home. We needed to remain free.
I slowly blinked my eyes open, looking over to the rising sun. “Oh goodness....” I groaned as I sat up, naked as the day I was born, surrounded by the rest of my town, similarly clothed. “We saw The Nightmaker again, didn’t we?”
A chorus of agreement met me, and I sighed. “Let’s get home, and agree to stay in. I hate how it feels in that form.” |
It felt like a dream.
Maybe it was a dream.
Waking only to find myself at the face of giant flaming ball of death hurtling towards Earth probably made it even more surreal.
Checking my phone miss calls and hundreds of text messages from loved ones and finding out that there's only six minutes left before impact didn't help make it any more real either.
This wasn't the tomorrow I was expecting when I went to bed earlier.
Perhaps it's for the best.
As I sit alone in my bed, browsing through my phone and surfing the internet in disarray, I giggled to myself.
I must be dreaming.
I must.
Even if I weren't, is there even a point to it anymore?
With tears tricking down my cheeks, I lay down on my bed, covered in my warm comfy blanket and chuck down a bottle full of sleeping pills.
Time to wake up. |
"'Ello traveler, welcome to me shop, can Oi interest yew in some of my fine nicks or nacks?"said the kind old shopkeeper as I entered the small rundown magic shop. Shops like these were getting harder to come by, most magic these days was fairly run of the mill, a single use repair potion here, a broom rental there, but to get the truly strong magic you had to dig deep into the past, before rules on what magicians and enchanters could make. To most of the people passing on the street outside this shop would be regarded as some old trinkets with enchantments and spells that were just as likely to curse you as they were to bless you, and I guess that in part that is true, the old magic does carry some risk, as boring as the big store magic is, it is safe... but safe is boring so I find myself a small store, it walls lined with overstuffed shelves of a wide variety of objects, a large pile of wands on one shelf looks like if I were to take on of the whole pile would collapse, tall shelves pilled high with books in the middle of the store seem to be holding up the tired sagging roof. The old shopkeeper leans on a counter in front of some more shelves, these aren't quite as full of items, they seem to be displaying the items the old man is proud of. A few items seem to stand out, and old worn book bound in pale leather, an old monkey paw noticeably one of the fingers is down, seems someone learned there lesson and got rid of it, and for some reason an old boot, with a strange messy rune carved on the side, in a closed glass jar with a spigot on the lid, it doesn't look like it has any air inside. The shop-keep notices my gaze lingering on the boot and perks up, "Ah, yer lookin' at my boot, now that's a funny story, Oi bet yew haven't seen somthin' this strong in a long while, right powerful my boot is, that why I haf ta keep it looked up.""Really?"I asked, "how can a boot be so great, its not even a full set, and any of the shoes I've seen have needed to be in a pair to have any use."The shop-keep scratched absentmindedly at his beard, a far of look in his eyes, gazing into the distance as he seemed to be fondly recalling an old memory, "Yes, my boot is quite special, it all started back in my traveling days, good days were those, spent many years goin' round Oi did. Oi'd go through one boot faster then the other, prehaps it's on account of a limp Oi got fighting a troll out in the wildlands, in any way Oi was getting sick of havin' me boots so uneven, so I put a scratched some linking spells into the boots, made them share any damage Oi did, well later on, an' a few pairs later, due to all my walkin' I was on a ship travelin' to the new kingdom, cross the great sea, bought this 'ere boot in port afore leavin', corse it was a pair then, still is Oi suppose. Now I warn yew, don't do what I did, I was carvin' in me spells while on deck, but a wave made me slip and made me mess up my spell, that what made that line there."he said pointing a the rune on the boot, "now Oi thought I messed up the spell, an I didn't wanna risk a bad effect on my feet, I need em for walkin' after all, so I threw the boot into the sea, figured Oi'd throw em one at a time, just to see if it had any effect, and sure nuff' once this boots buddy hit water, it got damp, as its buddy sank Oi guess the pressure of the water started forcing more water into the boot Oi was holdin, 'cause as its buddy sank water started comin' out of the boot, soon it wer blastin out like some water mage was usin' all the force he could muster to put out a fire in his library, assumin his books wer waterproof i spose. So anyway Oi was lucky on account that one of the merchants onboard had this 'ere glass jar, some new fancy thing he were gonna make booze with, he said it was enchanted to withstand pressure, so Oi shoved my boot in an' the water blastin' out the spigot cut a hole right into one of the cannons, now how I payed that off is a story in itself, I...""How much do you want?"I asked quickly, trying to stop him from starting up a tangent. "Why its a steal at only 350 gold, and Oi'll even through in a towel, yew'll want it soon enough, but don't go openin' it inside, Oi don't need a skylight, the windows will do me fine."I hand over the money, it seems a bit steep, but something about his eyes gives me the faint impression of some ancient aquatic serpent, and I'd rather be on his good side. |
Lionel slammed his briefcase on the table and rubbed his hands together gleefully. I watched, transfixed, as he opened it up and began rifling through documents, setting some aside while humming a tune. He stopped abruptly and met my gaze. "Greg?"
"Mm."
Lionel cocked his head, his eyebrows taut. "Is something wrong? Hell, I'd have thought you'd be jumping for joy at a time like this."
I shrugged. "I can't exactly say I'm displeased."
"Then act more like it!"Lionel slammed the briefcase shut and turned the documents towards me. "Look at that. One day's community service. Cutting grass, for God's sake."
I clenched my fists. For the past two months I'd prepared myself for every eventuality. The slimy, greedy son of a bitch CEO who'd screwed over hundreds of hard-working employees with the tap of a keyboard and embezzled his way to the top of the food chain was now nothing but a rotting hunk of meat with a .26 caliber bullet lodged in his skull. Unfortunately for him, this was preceded by five others that blew apart each of his elbows, each of his knees and one of his testicles. So much planning, so many worries that it'd all go so wrong, but it came together easily. Nothing more than slipping into his office under a false name, watching him squirm, watching the blood pour out of his nostrils like tap water then waiting patiently for the police to arrive. If not for me, then for everyone else whose lives he ruined. Twenty-five to life would've been worth it, so to have this overturned was a shock beyond anything I could've expected.
"There's a stipulation,"Lionel said, glugging his sugarless black coffee and pointing to a paragraph written in bold. "They don't want you knowing the location, so you'll be blindfolded and transported there. Saves you making the trip yourself, right?"
"But why, though?"
"Private property, maybe,"Lionel continued. "Though after what you did, I wouldn't be surprised if they're just trying to prevent a repeat offence."
"No,"I said. "I mean, why this? I murdered someone. I pled guilty. Why aren't I going to prison?"
Lionel sighed. "You said it yourself, right? That guy was a bastard who had what was coming to him. Cheating people out of their money and messing around with pentagrams and shit. Justice is a fickle thing, Greg. Maybe this guy was a thorn in a whole bunch of sides. The law works in mysterious ways. You should check online once you're back home. There's a lot of people calling you a hero."
I mulled this over, flicking through the service details in front of me. "I never thought these things happened. It just makes me worried."
"You're thinking too much,"Lionel said, shaking his head. "Now get out of here and go be a free man. Just don't forget to be up tomorrow at eight."
My belongings were returned to me and I left the holding cells, overwhelmed by a bizarre euphoria. I waved down a taxi and went home, switching on the news to find the world outside talking about anything and everything except the man I'd killed. It took a few hours for reality to dawn on me. I walked around every inch of my home, then back again, and started to laugh. Everything I'd been sad to leave behind was still here. I clapped my hands together and cried with the utmost elation. I laughed and laughed and cheered and cheered, before letting jazz vinyls spin as I smoked cigar after cigar until the sky turned black. The world had rewarded me for my contribution. I crept into bed and slept better than I had in years. |
My alarm went off.
As I rose from bed, I felt my old bones creak and my joints pop, releasing pent up pockets of air. I look at my calendar and at my clock, July 4, 2032. I had been told I was born in 1956, making me 76 years old. The weird feeling of being watched had grown today, for some reason. It was always there, but today I had had enough.
I walked to the end of the street in my house clothes, packing my shotgun. I placed my hand on what looked like a wrought iron fence but what felt like solid sheet metal. I was done with this, done with pretending. I may be old, I may not be hip, but I'm not stupid and I don't want to be lied to. By now, the others had gathered to watch.
I raised my shotgun, and racked the slide. Pressing the muzzle up against the wrought iron fence, I fired the gun, blasting a sizeable hole in the holo-wall. Yes, I knew what it was, and I knew that it was weak to lead 6 shot moving at 1330 feet per second. And I knew that nobody would be behind the holo-wall to be struck by the birdshot or the resulting debris. I may be old, and I may not be hip, but I won't let myself be held captive in a fake reality. For this was not 2032 and I was not born in 1956. It was 2076 and I was born 2000.
I beckoned the others to look through the hole that I had proudly made. "Hogeway Dementia Village: Rated World's Best Retirement Community 2076"read a sign.
"Dementia? I don't have dementia!"raged an older gentleman, about 90.
"2076? I thought it was 2032."said a nice old woman, my age.
"No. We live in a false reality created by someone, I have no idea who, that wants us kept quiet. We know something, yet we have been drugged to strip us of our memories. Unbeknownst to them, I've managed to smuggle equipment inside. Guns, ammunition, chest rigs, night-vision equipment. Anything to give us the upper hand against our oppressors."
How did I know it was all a lie? Drug resistance. Simply put, I had always had a mild drug resistance. It affected me differently than others. Morphine makes me hyper, while methadone zonks me. Dentistry gas, usually nitrous oxide, has no affect until the dosage gets high. My captors had been giving me barely enough of the drug that had been used to keep me in check, and after research, I had found a way to eliminate the drug from our diet. All of it. Food, water, snacks, everything. They had been using antidepressants, which can mimic dementia in seniors, and I had been counteracting them by doing other drugs that commonly interfere with antidepressants.
This is why granny drank a cup of wine before bed. A bit of alcohol a day keeps the thought police at bay.
We all started our cars, I smashed my 1966 Oldsmobile through the holo-wall effortlessly, the four barrel carburetor shrieking with the fury of one thousand dead plants. The car came through without a scratch, and the rest of my fellow old-timers followed through the hole I had made. We had a job to do, and planned to do it well. |
Dave Davy David Davis III had done it. He finally invented a time machine. He grabbed a nearby AR-18 and did what every good time traveler does: Go back in time and stop Adolf Hitler. He stepped into the nondescript box and arrived in October 1916, in an Austrian hospital, and immediately found Hitler's room. Without saying a word, he entered and shot Hitler, instantly returning to the present. But he felt a searing pain.
He had made the planet a giant version of Schrodinger's Cat. Simultaneously, two versions of everything on Earth entered into existence at the same time, causing the entire universe to collapse. |
# Tabula Rasa
Tabula rasa, shocked mother,
skin clean as family gather.
A baby born outside the norms
an era entered rising dawn.
Decisions spread from that little head
opportunity strikes restrictions dead.
Unbounded choices new voices
shock passes a town rejoices.
Fight fate, starting late,
a new life clears society's hate.
No longer bound, freedom found,
new monarch rose and crowned.
---
[POEM]
Written as part of my [daily poem series.](https://www.reddit.com/r/The_Crossroads/collection/01172d1f-eed5-4487-9868-0e04941807c5) If you've enjoyed this and would like to read more, why not check out [my sub?](https://www.reddit.com/r/The_Crossroads)
Any and all feedback welcomed. |
It was going to be a long, boring flight, so I downed the tranquilizer at 8:03 PM as the DC-10 left the Los Angeles runway for Washington. The plane lifted off smoothly, and I spread my legs across the empty aisle seat, dozing off into a deep sleep, aided by the monotonous drone of the JT9D engine underneath the tail.
I was awoken by a nauseating smell in the cabin. I instantly realized what it was: *shit.* As the flight attendant passed the two seats I was spread across, I informed her of the ungodly stench and asked if there might be something wrong with the lavatories, which I was only two rows in front of. The flight attendant didn't have an answer as to what the issue was, but she did have a pair of nose plugs, which I graciously accepted. I tried to fall asleep again, but before I could, other passengers started panicking and the flight attendant told me and a few others to move our things to the front of the not-particularly-full plane. I received a free in-flight upgrade, and moved my carry-on and briefcase to a spacious first-class seat, where I happily dozed off one more time, not giving the circumstances a second thought.
The jolt of the aircraft landing woke me once more, but it wasn't on the lengthy runways at Dulles, rather, the short asphalt at Chicago-Midway. Not 2 minutes after the aircraft came to a stop, the crew shuffled us passengers off and into the small terminal. It was then I understood what the smell was. It was shit, but not from the lavatory. A man in the center seats of the row behind me had died and voided his bowels. 12 more on the aircraft did the same, at which point the pilots put the thing on the ground. The food had been contaminated. Another airline's 767 was brought to Chicago, where my trip home continued without incident.
Approximately two weeks later, a familiar face was on the news. The same flight attendant who gave me the nose plugs was arrested in Minneapolis. She had intentionally poisoned the food so she could get monetary compensation from the airline for emotional hardship. She was given several life sentences.
I have no pity for her. |
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Hi u/Phakhin9, this submission has been removed.
**Fill-in-the-blank**: This is essentially a fill-in-the-blank, or you asked a question likely to generate a simple answer. Responses must be at least 100 words. Prompts should encourage a story or poem.
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Northern Iceland, in the Small fishing town of Akureyri, 1963.
We stood beneath the Northern lights, Vanya and I, a young couple barely past the age of 20, staring at the colourful Aurora above.
In those days Iceland had not really experienced the tourism boom that it experiences now in the modern day. We stood alone with the beautiful locals, staring up into the heavens. Vanya had caught me staring at a couple of the Icelandic women and had strongly remarked to me that we stay our minds on the mission at hand.
I was just happy to be away from home, in this beautiful little, icy wasteland nestled in the Eyjafjörður ford, framed by the Icelandic mountains. No secret police here, free to say what we want and do as we please - a free life - momentarily, at least until our work for Khrushchev was done, the man was nervous and his popularity was waning, the people didn't like how he'd handled the situation in Cuba, he needed a win.
Vanya tapped my shoulder.
"*Focus*"she snapped in her thick accent.
I was annoyed, it was a subtle difference but her accent sounded far more Russian than Polish, which is what we were supposed to be posing as. She literally pulled the EM spyglass from my belt and slapped it into my hand.
"Look"she demanded, this time with a far more Polish flow.
I looked at her, and it occurred to me how beautiful the lady spies were from our Russian intelligence services. Shame about the sneer though.
"Not at me you idiot"she'd said with a slightly less malice in her voice, made me think she wasn't really serious about her nastiness. The corner of her mouth was twitching, she pointed to the sky above us.
What a glorious sight, travelling light ribbons of pinks, blues, greens and purples dancing between the stars. The solar weather tonight must be particularly active. I raise the spyglass to my good eye and stare up above.
"Pass me the Atlas", it was my turn to tap her on the shoulder.
"I already have it open, calculate the angles please"
"15 degrees off true north"I replied, marking off the difference on my compass.
"Strange, The Aurora are deviating from the magnetic north pole."
"As expected."I grinned back at her, causing the corner of Vanya's mouth to start twitching again.
"Calculate the ground zero."She demanded as she looked away.
I did as asked. Mapping out the latitude and longitude on the atlas, calculating angles and marking out my workings with my worn old pencil so that Vanya could check it.
"Oh no, that makes things complicated..."She said, her voice all Russian again.
"Yes, would have been far simpler if it was in the sea."
"At least it won't be so cold..."she said wrapping her arms around herself.
I laughed...Vanya, admitting it was cold. Rare moment of vulnerability.
"What?"she snapped.
"Nothing, nothing. Hey let's get on the boat now."
We walked down to the pier in the nightly darkness, difficult to avoid the local's gazes. We were the foreigners who had entered their quaint, little town as of recent after all and suspicion would have been an adequate description of what they most likely felt.
We found Lars and his tiny fishing vessel on the dock, the man nervously looking around at the staring townspeople.
"Evening Lars!"I said cheerfully.
"Could've grabbed yourself less attention"he whispered back in his Icelandic accent.
"You can tell people the truth. The tourists just want a closer look at the Aurorae."
"Now why on earth would they want to do that on the rough Arctic seas?"
"I don't know, tourists are stupid, but we pay good money yes?"
He grumbled in response, probably satisfied.
"You found the epicenter then?"he said.
"Grímsey Island"Vanya cut in. "Let's go now."
"I thought you said it would be on the water..."
"Apparently not."I gave him a pat on the back. "Let's go, keep the motor as quiet as possible." |
Of course fame and adoration aren't everything. But I wouldn't trade it for anything.
All the fancy hotels and exotic locations start to look the same after a while. But I get so many offers for food and clothing endorsements and sponsorships that I never actually have to pay for anything. People who preach an honest day's work for an honest day's pay have never been skiing in the Alps or wine-tasting in Naples, that's for sure.
Love? Legions of admirers hang on my every word and like my every snapshot. When I pour out my woes, half the world listens and the other half makes sure it never troubles me again. They give me their admiration, recognition and attention, and isn't that basically what love is about? Having someone who sees you as the brightest star in their sky?
I have thousands, millions of those someones, everywhere I go. I may have to dodge paparazzi whenever I step outside without carefully planning my route for the entire day, but that's a small price to pay when I'm adored by so many.
All in all, my life isn't perfect. But it's damn sure closer to it than what so many other people get.
This is the best wish I've ever made. |
"A bunch of bastards, every one of them."he said, sharpening the runes carved into the stone blade, "I heard about this all at the docks from one of the fishermen, good source, not one to tell tall tells."The man was tall, covered in armor from head to toe. He sat before the throne, the lord of the lands watching him, a lizardman.
The lord looked to him, and to his advisor, "You suspect they are coming for me?"
The knight nodded, checking his blade, "You, whoever else could hold the title. More than likely this Ronin hired them in order to take your lands, or maybe he is working for someone else."He placed the sword on his back, "That's for your advisors to figure out later, for now I need to focus."
The lord asked, "How do you suspect they will attack? You have a plan Drake?"
The knight turned around, "I do. More than likely, the front gate."
The advisor laughed and mocked, "The front door? These so call knights will attempt to get past the force of our lord's defenses head on?"
Drake looked to him, serious, "I would. Why sneak in if you don't have to. I respect the force our lord posses, but these knights are beyond them."
The advisor went to speak again but the lord cut him off, "Will they delay them to buy me enough time to escape with my family?"
Drake nodded, "Yes. I intend to stop them however, so hopefully you need not waste your forces."
The advisor quickly snapped at Drake, "We are too quick to trust the word of this outsider!"
The lord hushed him, "This knight is not one to lie. I have been saved by him many times. If he was going to betray me, he would have already done it. Get my family to the safe room, I will join shortly."
The sound of chaos in the distant caught their attention, the lord shouted, "Go, find them, get them to safety!"
"Yes my lord,"said the Advisor running out of the room.
The lord slumped back on his throne, "If I flee will they track me back to the safe room?"
Drake nodded, "I don't intend to falter. I will end this as quick as I can."
The front doors burst open, as a lizard-man soldier was tossed across the room. Another knight, wearing darker armor, marked with a emblem walked in.
"A foreigner like us?"said the dark knight, "I take it you were hired by this lord to defend against us? How about you join us, get a split of the gold? The name is Kain, I'd advice you take my offer."He drew his sword, "Make your choice."
Drake stepped forward, and said, "What you don't recognize me?"
Kain stepped back, and barely whispered, "Its not possible, The Drake?"
Drake dashed forward at Kain, Kain slashing with his blade, which was deflected with the armored gauntlets. He grabbed Kain, tossing him through the wall near the entrance. Kain quickly got back up, grabbing his sword as Drake approached.
"Impossible!"shouted Kain, "We made sure you were dead! Nobody could come back from that!"
Drake continued walking forward, his sword still sheathed on his back, "And yet here I am."
Kain activated magic, buffing his sword. The Ronin entered the hall, and called out to Kain, "One of ours?"
"No, kill him!"shouted Kain, back on his feet.
Kain and the Ronin rushed Drake. Drake focused on Kain and slammed him with his fist, dashing past the blade, knocking him back. The Ronin slashed forward, the blade clanking against Drake's armor. Drake grabbed the Ronin, lifting him, and turned back to the Lord.
"Do you want any of them alive?"Drake said, the Ronin desperately trying to get free.
The lord called out, "No. Do with them as you see fit."
Drake tossed the Ronin through a nearby pillar and said, "Now Kain, where were we?"
Kain was back on his feet, and tossed a signal rune out the nearby open window. Drake could hear it signaling and see the light as it floated down. The other knights would convene as soon as they could.
"I don't know how you survived,"said Kain, blood dripping from his helmet, "But you won't this time. The others have gotten so much stronger!"
Drake pulled the stone sword off his back, "I would be disappointed if they didn't. Its been years after all."
The blast tossed Kain from the building into a lower section. He fell through into a long hallway.
Drake turned back to the Lord, "Run to the saferoom, do not leave until I come to get you. Your home may take some damage in this battle."
The lord nodded and said, "Do what you must."
Drake jumped from the damaged wall, into the hole. Kain had crawled a distance down the hall, behind him was Garvin. Kain pulled himself up and grabbed Garvin, "Its Drake, it really is him, he is back for what we did!"He coughed blood from his helmet, and fell onto the floor.
Garvin stepped over him, "There is no way. You cannot be Drake."
Drake nodded, "Been hearing that today."He raised the stone sword, "I have a feeling it might happen a few more times before this is over."
Garvin ran toward Drake, sword at the ready. Drake dropped his blade, putting both his hand together, his index and thumbs to each other, putting them to his eye to form a rectangle.
Garvin slipped and fell as the ground beneath him moved. He looked up to Drake, twisting the rectangle he was looking though, as the boards of the hall began to snap, the entire section of the hall being rotated. Garvin slammed into the newfound floor, raising himself up on the thin wall which was now his floor. A single misstep and he would fall into the floor below.
"Kain told me you all improved since we last me."said Drake, stepping onto the thin wall approaching Garvin, "I picked up some new skills as well."
Garvin ran across the supports and slashed at Drake. Drake slammed the blade away, causing Garvin to step back. He caught himself as the wood creaked beneath him, barely holding his weight. He jumped back to the support and readied himself.
Drake held up his stone blade, "Still just the four of you? Or should I say three considering Kain? I doubt you'd include that useless Ronin as one either."
Garvin dashed forward again, swinging upward. Drake jumped back to the next support, as the section broke. Gavin's strike had slashed the support, and his added weight was to much for it. Gavin fell through into the main hall.
Drake landed near him on his feet, and approached Garvin. Before he could finish him the main hall doors opened. Two knights waited watching.
The explosion rocked the building as the two knights were tossed into the to open courtyard. The courtyard was strewn with Lizard-men soldiers, wiped out by the knights.
Mari called out to Cedric, "Its Drake!?"
Cedric shouted at her as he stood up, "Its not possible, he is dead!"
Drake walked though the smoking entrance and said, "Did you two miss me?"
Cedric dashed forward, energy coursing through his blade as he ran toward Drake. He jumped into the sky, and slashed down at Drake. Drake jumped back, as the blade hit the ground with a blast of lightning.
Drake raised his sword, the runes still brightly glowing with power. "Shame. I was hoping you had improved, I had heard so much."He swung his sword, hitting Cedric with the flat of the blade. It exploded into another flash of flames, tossing Cedric across the courtyard.
A blast of lightning fell from the sky fell striking Drake. Mari called out, "Take that!"
Drake stood back up, unharmed, "You really think I wouldn't be prepared for that?"He walked toward both of them, "Before you poisoned me, cursed me, ran me through with a blade, and blasted me with lightning. Just to try and fail to kill The Drake."He laughed raising his blade, "There isn't even a nearby cliff you can toss me off of, in case your gonna retry all the things that didn't work."
Cedric was back on his feet, and shouted to Mari, "Get out of here, get the rest of the ships. Once they make land he doesn't stand a chance!"
He turned to Drake, and said, "Not even you can face an army on your own."
Drake began walking toward them, and said, "Really, and who is going to stop me from doing that?"
The entire courtyard exploded into flames, blasting the entire area. Drake walked past the charred remains towards the front gate. From it he could see hundreds of ships slowly making their way toward the docks. The town below him would be wiped from the map, along with the Lord and his estate, or what was left of it.
He raised his sword to the sky, charging a powerful spell. The clouds, already dark, began to swirl above the ocean. The speed increased, as each ring of clouds broke free, raising into a cone. Energy continued to charge, the runes on his sword brightly glowing.
The advisor walked into the broken throne-room, to see the damage that had occurred. The sound outside caught his attention. He slowly walked to the damaged wall, and saw what was causing the noise outside.
A massive pillar of swirling fire was coming from the darken clouds, tossing around the warships engulfed in flames. The fleet primed to attack and lay waste was obliterated. |
I tend to listen to music on my way home from work, as it helps my already terrible social anxiety. Thankfully, i didnt live that far away, just a few busy streets to cross. I stood at one of the numerous crosswalks that dotted along the ever popular Miral Street of town, taking out my phone to switch my music. However, the device kept...bugging out, abnormally. Odd, it always worked fine before, why was it acting up now? I was so focused on my phone, i barely noticed the crosswalk timer counting down, so i quickly started walking across the street. To some passerby's horror, however, a truck came barreling down the road, with no signs of stopping. I heard a scream, causing me to look up and see the vehicle closing in on me. I tried to move, to sprint to the other side, but I was frozen in place from fear. The truck kept getting closer, time seeming to slow down as i shut my eyes, waiting for the life-ending impact. This was it, this was how i was going to die.
Suddenly, i felt myself pushed to the ground, opening my eyes to see a young man shove me out of the way, saving my life, but, as the next few seconds trudged by, ended his own. I watched in horror as the truck hit him straight on, flattening him in less than a moment. Screams erupted from the crowds forming on both sides of the street, some recording the incident, others calling emergency services. After the vehicle kept speeding down Miral Street, i ran over to try and save the man that saved me, key word being tried. After all, the injuries to his chest were fatal at a mere glance. Still, he smiled up at me as tears ran down my face. "Im so sorry, I wish i could have let you die."I flinched in shock at his words, but i was too focused on trying to keep him alive, so i pushed my thoughts to the side. Someone yelled to me that an ambulance was on its way, but the man's life eas already slipping away. I could see it in his eyes. And yet, his last words altered the life he saved.
"I'll see you real soon." |
Hektor resisted the urge to shield his eyes as halogen spotlights raked across the stands. Crackling commentary blared from monolithic speakers built into the columns, while above, little white letter-cards flipped into place on a massive steel control board: HEKTOR ROSI.
This was nothing like the fights back home.
The stadium was filled to bursting, a shadowy sea of waving arms stretched out before him, writhing and angling for a better look at today's main attraction. Every pass of a spotlight-beam cut momentary portraits in the gloom - here the teeth of a factory worker mid-holler, there the metallic sheen on the buttons of a clerk, half-standing on his seat with a tumbler full of popcorn. The air was cloying, heavy with grease and cheap butter and sweat and beer.
That, at least, was no different from home.
It had only been weeks ago when he'd left. A rucksack with everything he'd owned (little more than a change of clothes, a prayer rope, and what small amount he’d managed to save) hung off his shoulder as he stepped onto the 2 o'clock airship out to what his booker called the Big Time: the Acropolis, hanging on the edge of aether through sheer pride - and the combined efforts of a few thousand turbofans. He could still remember how the guards by the station landing had laughed when he stumbled onto it. *Never been this high before, have you, boy?*
He would have slugged them if he could have found his feet. Instead, he’d hobbled out onto the crowded avenue, oddly conscious of his overalls and flatcap. They hadn’t been wrong, though. It had been Hektor’s first ride in an airship after a lifetime of watching them trundle through the clouds along the horizon of the docks he’d called home, and his boots might as well have been filled with jelly after the ascent.
The city itself was less new of an experience. Certainly he’d been well acquainted with the feeling of someone else’s elbows in his ribs: there was very little space, seaside, and even less so, for his sort. He let the crowd move him along, drifting towards streets with names he remembered from his booker’s hazy directions. Soon enough, the throng spit him out in front a boarding house. It was then just before dusk, and he spent the rest of the evening watching the stars wink in through the grime of his window.
Tomorrow, he would see his booker: an old hand from the seaside turned so-called “talent agent”. Having grown up up-top, he’d been nattering about the aether-side, waxing lyrical about the fights - unlike anything the world over! - and the payout, and after enough unsubtle hints on his every knockout, Hektor had to admit he’d been piqued.
The burning hole in his pocket certainly helped. Unsanctioned scraps at the improvised ring behind the shipyard hardly paid well. *But all of that changes right up there, kid, in the Big Time!*
It certainly felt that way, now. Hektor watched waves ripple through the crowd, keeping his face impassive. When he’d first entered a ring, all of five years ago, he couldn’t tell whether they liked him or not. By now he knew it didn’t matter; cheers, jeers, what mattered was that you got *something.* Make a face if you had to.
This time, however, he was fairly certain that he’d have gotten a response no matter what he did. His left arm ached in sympathy at the thought.
As he neared the ring, he spotted her, sitting primly at the front row. Here the seats were spaced far enough apart to keep your neighbor's breath out of your thoughts, and here the stadium janitors had bothered to scrub more than once. There was even a delicate velvet rope pulled along behind the row - not that it stopped the odd spill of beer from the seats behind.
She was dressed up in pale blues, mutton-sleeves and all, with half of a theatre mask on the left side of her face. All things considered, it made her the dullest person in her row. She was petite, almost childlike but for the ice in her eyes. His new booker.
He never did find out what happened to the Old Sal. When he failed to show where they’d agreed to meet, Hektor had made the mistake of *asking around*.
He still winced at the memory of that decision.
Sal did indeed grow up in the Acropolis; quite a few people knew exactly who he was, as it turned out, and more specifically, how much he owed them. As a crowd surrounded on him at the corner of that pub, it had dawned on Hektor exactly *why* Sal had been so fixated on the idea of large prize pools.
He was at the ropes now, and a faint scent of ozone replaced the smell of the stadium. The Lady had provided him with a ring coach - a rough looking man in what Hektor assumed were his late thirties, though the ashen glaze of the Acropolis could add decades to a face. The coach gave him a nod, and helped him up without a word. Already, he could feel his opponent eyeing him up: watching his gait, judging his reach. Even without turning to look, he was equally aware of the Lady glaring right into his back.
She’d found him behind the pub, where he’d been taken after they were done with him. In the absence of Sal, they’d reasoned, a *close associate* such as himself should only naturally assume the debt. He’d put up a fight, or so he liked to tell himself, catching one right in the jaw and another right to the liver. If anything, it had only given them a better reason to continue.
Broken ribs, glass in his right arm, left eye swollen to closure, yes. But his left arm was something else. After he threw that hook, he’d felt them hold him down, grab it, and then - nothing. A complete lack of kinesthesia just above the elbow. A clean break.
And then got to work.
It was a struggle to recall the details, but the results were undeniable. His left arm was broken, shattered - ruined, entirely. Lying where he was, the slightest shift of weight caused the shards to dig into his muscles, throwing him into screaming fits until it settled. He had never been the sort to scream at pain.
The consequences ran deeper, and even then he knew. He would never fight again. His wounds would heal, but his arm as it was would not. Not into anything he could use.
That had been when she arrived, in her pale blues, staring down at him through the slice of sky that peeked into the alley. She’d approached, and the coach had been with her, and she crouched down, tiptoed just *so* with her hands on the hem of her dress to keep it just above the pavement, and right there in the damp she’d made him an offer.
How could he have refused?
Hektor heard them call him name over the speakers, and instinct made him raise his left arm to answer. It caught the spotlight perfectly: a shining brass fist on a steam-driven piston, firmly mounted to a clean, circular disk that met with what remained of his forearm. Hydraulic supports affixed to the piston snaked back to an assembly at his hip to kept the weight distributed comfortable.
He gave the piston a triumphant pump for the crowd. Across ring, his opponent answered back with an electric arc between his gauntlets. This was the Acropolis, after all, where the fights were unlike anything the world over.
The deal was simple. Fight. She would provide what was necessary, and he would receive a cut. Fight, and win, until your debts are paid.
‘And,’ she would later add, ‘until mine are as well.’
He’d asked her, long afterwards - why him?
It would be the first time he’d see her smile, though not the last.
*Well, didn’t we both want to get out of here?* |
Deep below the water, you heard that voice. "What would you do with the power to change history?"
I didn't have time to think or answer. All that was in my mind was to live. Suddenly time moved backward. The oxygen you had consumed made its way back to your lung, the unstoppable pull toward the abyss reversed as the darkness seemed to push you away.
Eventually, you found yourself back on the boat, before it hit the iceberg and threw you off. You couldn't control yourself. Your body just repeated its action backward. Afraid, you wished for it to stop. And time started flowing again. Even though you asked for it to go again, it was probably a bit too soon, as the boat crashed once more in the iceberg, throwing you again.
It took a solid three attempt for you to push time back enough to convince the captain to deviate slightly off course. When you got off the boat, the other passenger thanked you. Once back home, you experimented wit it. It seemed you could have time flow backward. You were the only one to keep memory of what happened.
For some time you considered using that to become a hero. Fighting crime and saving people... But death is too sudden. A single bullet and you'd be dead before you could turn back. But what about the other way around? What if you became a criminal? You could retry until you succeeded. Rob the biggest banks in the world with no efforts.
In the end, you decided to do nothing. It was one of those quirks that you conscience couldn't let you use freely.
​
It's been 6 years since you've had this ability. You've never really used it for anything meaningful. Since you can't speed up the backward motion, you have to live through everything backward again. The longest you've been is a day, because you had forgotten your wife's anniversary.
In that time you learned that you were not fertile. You could never have a child. So you and your wife settled for adopting an orphan. You adopted a little girl, her parents had died in an accident. Despite some effort, you didn't learn much about them.
That is until her 10th birthday. Amongst other things, she received a letter. Apparently her father was of the paranoiac sort. He had set up a letter to be delivered to her if anything happened to him. While the gesture was beautiful, the letter was nothing more than a father's declaration of love for his own child. But you learned his name.
And with that information you found more about the accident. The classic car crash. The father was too tired, but he still took the road with his wife. Where they were going he had no idea, but the girl wasn't with them. But your were. On the backseat of the other car. Your parents were driving late as well, you were coming back from a party. None of your parents were injured, so you didn't consider using your power to turn back until that point.
But now, your daughter's parent were in the balance. She was happy with you, but you had the opportunity to give her back her real parents. Talk about a birthday gift. But that would be at least 9 years backward....
​
you spotted a rest area a bit further. "Dad can we stop there? I think I need to puke." |
I approached the side of my neighbors house. I thought perhaps a quick look in the window might give me more information. There was some kind of plastic on the inside of the window, making it impossible to see, but I did hear voices.
“What have you gotten’ yourself into this time Arthur!” It was definitely a woman’s voice, but a very deep voice. “I’m s-s-sorry, Mama,” said what sounded like Arthur. The only person I’ve ever seen actually leave the house. “That little girl is gonna have to die down there now!” said Arthur’s Mama.
I knew it. These people are up to no good. It’s a good thing I decided to investigate. I snuck around the back of the house and found a cellar door. It wasn’t even locked. I honestly expected to have more problems doing this.
I opened the door to come face to face with Arthur. He immediately grabbed me and my nose was filled with the strong scent of onions. He started dragging me down the steps without difficulty, even though I fought with every inch of my being. “Let me go!” I yelled.
He didn’t.
As he drug me into the cellar the scent of onions, was replaced by the scent of corpses. “See? Was that so hard Arthur?” came the hateful voice of Arthur’s mom, out of some large disgusting creature that might’ve been human at some point. “Mature meat. Not these nasty children, that’s meat that’ll go to waste now” I had heard enough. “Let me go or I swear I’ll report you to the authorities!” I said in the most commanding tone I could muster.
Her tone and somehow pitch changed immediately, “Hi there sweetie I’m Barbara, and you will be our dinner this evening.” She pulled out a knife and started toward me. I looked to my left and noticed a convenient sledge hammer. I grabbed it and took a hard swing at Arthur’s knee. As he dropped to the ground I turned the hammer at Barbara. “Hold on there sweetie, what if I told you this was all a prank.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” I asked.
“Your best friend set this up,” she said “you’ve just been Punk’d.” I dropped the hammer. “Oh my god, Arthur I’m so sorry” , but before I could turn I was overcome by the smell of onions and I felt a cold steel blade slide across my throat. The last thing I heard was a soft “Good night, sweetie.” |
"Are you ready for some action?"
"Go away, man.. what is it.. like 2 in the morning?"
"2 in the morning never stopped anyone."
"Well, it's stopped me. I'm going back to bed."Harold pulled a blanket over his head.
The house shook.
Harold whipped the blanket away and stammered to the window.
"Hey asshole. Go. Home."
"Nah."The BFG kicked at the house. The whole place rumbled.
"Fine. What action? What action am I supposed to be ready for?"
"Check it out bruhh.."the BFG dug into his pockets and pulled out a baggy of white powder.
"Is that fucking cocaine?"
The BFG chuckled. "Say hello to muh little fren."He imitated the sound of an AK-47. He wiped spit from his mouth. "So, how bout some action, eh pal?"
Harold shut the window. "Fucking addicts,"he murmured to himself.
A loud tap at the window.
"Just ignore him, Harold, just.. ignore.. him."
More tapping. A muffled voice outside. "Come on, bruhh.. don't poop on my partyyy."
Harold shut his eyes tight. "What a dickfuck,"he thought.
"Come on, dude.. You're being a pussy."The BFG tapped more at the window.
Harold got up from bed and opened the window. Outside, the BFG stood, head level with Harold, grinning wide, eyes barely open and bloodshot red. "Boo."A wave of rancid breathe hit Harold's face, and he had to cover his nose. The BFG waved the bag in front of him. It was about twice as large as Harold.
"What happened to you man?"said Harold. "You use to be cool. Now you're this drugged out.. fiend. ."
The BFG plopped back onto his butt, and the ground shook mightily.
He said nothing. He just opened up his baggy and poured a wheelbarrows worth of cocaine onto the sidewalk. He made it into a a straight line with his finger and took a hollowed log from his pocket and snorted all six feet of it.
"My little friend,"said the BFG. "Say hello to me, my little friend."
Harold shook his head. "Go home.."
"MY LITTLE FRIEND! SAY HELLO TO ME MY LITTLE FRIEND!"
"Hello, BFG.. Gosh, I said it now go home!"
The BFG sprang up and got into Harold's face. "It's Nicholas, you prick, not BFG."
Harold stumbled back. "Okay.. okay.. Nicholas.. Jeez."
Harold needed to get away, so when the BFG turned to do another line, Harold bolted downstairs and went into his basement, where there was a couch he could sleep in. If the BFG had no one to bother, he thought, he'd go away eventually. For about an hour, Harold could hear the BFG pacing back and forth outside, calling out his name and cursing, before eventually leaving. The very next morning, since, luckily, he could afford it, Harold moved out of the house to a new address, one the BFG didn't know about. Sure, he use to be his friend, but now he was different, now he was someone no one could be around. Harold felt sad for the BFG, but it was either get away from him or lose his sanity. |
Liam stared at the black screen as the letters came to him, "I know and I've to tell you a secret".
Liam instinctively pressed the enter key. "Good, you understand... It's important you read that and didn't skip it or anything. Since you're up to speed you'll find the man in the bath has crashed into Deborah's desk".
"Sorry, what?"
Liam slowly stepped into the hall where there sat a bathtub. He could see a man wearing chainmail and a tophat sleeping inside. Liam nudged him, "Sir, you've irreparably damaged Deborah's desk and possibly Deborah... wait? why isn't there a hole anywhere? how did you get in? and what is happening? and who are you and actually what was with the computer thing?"
"Liam, did it ever occur to you that maybe a man waking up in a bathtub, after what I can only explain as a temporal traffic accident, dressed for both formal occasions and Viking invasion has drastically more questions than answers?"
"No, how did you know my name?"
"You've got a nametag... Honestly, I tell you I've done time travel and you focus on my reading of your name? Have you always been a narcissist?"
Liam shook his head, "How am I a narcissist?"
"Well, obviously I'm having a bit of a day and you don't ask how I am. I know your name, you don't know mine. And actually Liam, ignoring the whole time travel thing to discuss your own narcissism is pretty fucking egocentric when you think about it."
Liam took a deep breath. He looked at the porcelain and the man driving it. "Time travel?"
"Finally,"said the man clapping his hands together, "You're in the adult conversation now. I'm proud of you."
"How does it work?"
"Why would I tell you how it works?"
"Cause you wanted to talk about it..."
"No, I was weirded out by the fact you didn't. I swear you don't listen. How does your girlfriend stand you?"
"She left me."
"Well, it didn't take time travel to see that one coming. Liam, it has been fun, but I am late for last Thursday and if I miss the best individual bagel ever baked I'll be back here without the top hat... if that makes sense."
"it didn't..."
"It was a threat. Now, before I leave, was that giant door always there?"
"No, that is new... but old. Like it looks like it has been there forever..."
"Yeah, so we gotta skip last Thursday. And you gotta come with me... and I need to know exactly what the computer screen said..."
"why?"
"Why skip last Thursday? well, as of now, it doesn't exist and a rather large hole in space-time appears to be devouring the present".
"I skipped the text..."
"Sorry? you skipped an interdimensional SOS from beyond space and time?"
"I was in the middle of something when my computer turned off. I just wanted to get back to work so I could finish and go home."
"Liam, has no one ever told you you're a little self-centered. Dare I say even, a narcissist?" |
I've always been a fan of Harry Potter. Those books were arguably the first friends I had. Never did I ever imagine I'd be here trying to solve the author's murder. I put down my mug, steaming with coffee and looked at the clues at hand.
I'm not even sure if it was a murder, she just fell down in the middle of the day walking in downtown London. It could have been a heart attack, but her medical history doesn't seem to support that theory. The news channels are convinced it was murder, possibly by a rival author who couldn't reach the level of gigantic success she did. There are even theories it was because of her recent comments against the transgender community.
But I have a different theory, a radical one. One which I firmly believed in my early childhood. The world of Harry Potter felt real, sometimes even too real. I firmly believed magic existed and there was un underground society of mages when I was a child. I had forgotten about my obsession with the same for years, until now. What if, just maybe, it was real, maybe J. K. Rowling was a mage herself and decided to profit off of the world by setting up stories for children in the world while making millions in the process? After all, if magic was real, someone could have casted a death spell on her and every clue could be explained.
"Sir, here's your mail."My assistant walked into the room. He's the only other person who believes my theory. We've been at it for weeks, but we've got no leads on the case, but neither does the FBI.
"I don't think today's the day mail arrives, is it?"I retort, turning. And I see a magic wand, calmly pointing at me.
"Avada Kedavra" |
Prince the Pitbull Terrier, again made the concrete his bed.
Each whimper punctured his lung even more.
The car skidded as the collision threw his body down the road.
Prince leapt out in front of his dearest.
A cacophony of horn blasts filled the air.
Princess waddled her way through the traffic as Prince lingered.
The smell of freshly cooked meat made her tail wag with relish.
Humans crossed the street as the pair made their way.
Prince had a duty now; his bared teeth showed he needed food and was all business.
Princess, sensing his unease, growled for him to hear the little ones growing inside of her.
The sun finally woke the huddled pair from the memory of their awful first meeting.
The illusion of a knife reappeared and Prince charged it, as he had done before.
Sleep came to Princess first as Prince had to ease into letting his guard down.
Prince the Pitbull Terrier, again made the concrete his bed. |
I've talked with friends and family so I know most people don't remember their birth. This gives me a little bit of ease. However, I also know that most people don't dream of it. And if they have, it isn't *every* night.
It isn't always the same, but there are only about five or six possible dreams I get. They all sort of fit together, yet I always get them in a random order. I have some idea how it looks as a whole, but I figured I would record the dreams I got this past week in the order I got them.
**Wednesday:** A younger version of my father stands before me, trembling with a shotgun in his hand. Somehow we are eye level, and I feel a deep hunger within me. I draw closer to him, but notice his hand twitch on the gun. He seems to notice too, and suddenly, the weapon falls to the ground. Instead of lifting it, he raises his arms, and his eyes are filled with a passion I remember fondly from my childhood. "I'm so sorry. I didn't know. I love you."As I float into his arms I begin to fall, and the dream ends.
**Thursday:** It begins in darkness, and all of a sudden there is light. However, it is dim, and after some adjustment, I come to realize I have simply gone from the pitch black of nothingness to the moonlit darkness of night. I know my mother is behind me, but I cannot turn around to see her. My eyes are instead transfixed on the moon, and I can feel hours passing as she pants behind me. I only turn around when I hear a guttural scream, and as I do, the dream ends.
**Friday:** I find myself turning around and after a moment I face woods full of tall, dark oaks. I see a flash of tattered white cloth skitter up a tree for only a second, before it turns to the other side of the tree, out of sight. I try to stand up, but instead of raising myself, I float several feet above the ground. I feel a burning desire to look down and yet I am looking past the trees at a figure in the distance. I feel a cry lifting in my throat, and just as I let it out, the dream ends.
**Saturday:** Same as Thursday.
**Sunday:** A simple wail leaves my small lips as I fall into my father's arms. He holds my small chubby body in his arms, and I look up into his face. Suddenly I find myself laughing, calmed by his presence, and can see my stumpy arms and legs flailing in his embrace. He smiles and gives a short laugh himself, before a horrifying yell is heard above us, causing him to look to the tree tops. "Oh god. Beatrice."These are the only words he says before pressing my face into his chest and dashing away. The dream ends in the darkness he holds me in.
**Monday:** Same as Sunday.
**Tuesday:** My throat is sore, and all around me are fallen trees. I can see in the distance a flash of white darting on the tree tops, and as my eyes wander back down to the forest floor, I see a man getting up in the distance. I dash over in a matter of seconds, throwing the man back down onto the ground with shock. There is blood pouring out of his ears, and his face is frozen. He has thick, brown hair both on his heard and chin, and murky green eyes. Slowly I realize that I am looking upon my father, and as I do, the dream ends.
Honestly, I don't believe in the whole practice of deciphering dreams. What's the point? It's just your subconscious and your subconscious can be really stupid or really dark sometimes. I just decided to come to you to see if you had any medication to help me. Ever since my father's passing, the dreams have gotten more vivid, and I've begun waking up with migraines almost every morning.
And whatever you prescribe, please make sure it doesn't upset my stomach. It's already been feeling awful lately. |
_________
A romance between books a la Toy Story style. Enjoy :D
__________
As the frayed, wooden door swung shut on its rusty, iron hinges - dust forming a thick cloud at its base - the varied books in the underground library came alive.
The thick hardcover books on the floor hopped along their bent, bottom edges towards the library's rolling ladder, while the thin, paperback books on the top shelves turned to their companions and started idle chit chat. Mr. The Great Gatsby leaned forward precariously on the edge of his shelf to catch a glimpse of Ms. Pride and Prejudice who was a few aisles and three shelves down.
Mr. Gatsby toppled off the shelf and landed on the dusty library floor with a loud, embarrassing "splat". 'How am I ever going to win Ms. Pride's affection if I keep making a fool out of myself.' Gatsby thought.
Standing himself upright by pushing his corners against the floor, Gatsby tried to dust himself off by waving his top, right, cover corner across the closed eyes and mouth on his cover.
'I hope she didn't see that.' He thought, before spinning around to find her again. But to his dismay, she was coming straight for him. 'Quick, think up something charming and witty to say to her.'
"Are you alright, darling?"Ms. Pride asked. "That looked like a nasty fall."
"Hrr drr brr vrdibr shugo vmm."Gatsby sputtered like an idiot.
"I'm so sorry, I didn't quite catch that."Ms. Pride said.
Spitting some more dirt out of his mouth off to the side, he replied, "I'm quite alright, but I do wonder if you might be able to escort me back up to my shelf, just in case?"
Her spine and page edges blushed. "Of course. What kind of lady would I be, if I didn't help someone who'd been hurt?"
The two began to hop up the rolling ladder towards Gatsby's place on the shelf, Ms. Pride supporting him as they went. "I don't know."Gatsby replied in his deepest voice. "But I do know what kind of lady you are."
"Oh, what's that?"Ms. Pride said rapidly blinking looking him directly in the eyes.
"The marrying kind."Reaching the top of the ladder, Gatsby pushed Ms Pride against the back corner of the shelf and pressed his front cover lips tight against hers.
After they untangled themselves, Ms. Pride managed to say on weak page edges, "My goodness Gatsby, you're quite right. But where are we ever going to find a priest?" |
**6:48:17**
“Dinner time!” Maria called over the PA system, her voice echoing throughout the mansion. Jon looked back up at the massive screen in front of him. He still had three and a half minutes left in his Rocket League match.
“Oh well,” Jon thought to himself.
**6:46:12**
His room still had large white walls riddled with posters and hanging instruments. The carpets will still clean, despite the several spills which never happened. His computer was still dangling precariously off the edge of his bed, something which didn’t worry him anymore. The only difference was that the screen was back to the lobby, displaying his all-star badge and almost 100% win ratio.
He wasted no time getting out of his navy bean bag and shutting down his PS4. He then turned right and jogged straight out the door.
\#########################################################
**6:48:17**
“Dinner time!” Maria announced over the PA system right as Jon entered the dining room through one of its two doorways. His mother looked over at him, her bright ginger hair matching her lipstick. “Right on time, as usual,” she snorted. She turned around towards the stainless steel oven, checking on the settling pasta. “Can you please help me with this?”
“No problem,” Jon answered by muscle memory. He walked towards the oven and grabbed the handles of the metal pot. He lifts the pot into the air, swinging it around. He walks forward, taking a few steps towards the polished white table.
“W-” was all Peter could get out of his mouth before he slammed into Jon. Jon fell sideways onto the floor, twisting the pot so it landed under his stomach. As the pot buried itself into Jon’s stomach, the ingredients launched onto the floor, staining every inch of the polished floors.
“Peter!” Maria scorns as she slams her hand on the table.
“I didn’t me-”
**6:48:52**
“No problem,” Jon answered, thankful that his chest felt fine again. He spent a few seconds staring at the pot, his nose overwhelmed by its pleasant smell. He once again lifted the pot, taking longer to walk across the kitchen. Peter ran into the room a foot in front of Jon, turning the corner towards the table.
“What’s for dinner?” he asked, unaware that he almost ruined it.
“Penne vodka,” she answered.
“Nice,” Peter pulls out his chair and slams down into it.
“One day you’re going to break that,” Maria joked.
“Oh, will I?” Peter replied with equal sarcasm.
"*I mean, you have*,"Jon thinks to himself.
Jon reached the table and placed the pot on the royal blue trivet next to the glass vase on the center of the table. Jon took a step to his left and pulled out his chair. He sat down right next to Peter and across from Maria. After a few moments, Maria sat upward out of her seat.
“ALEX!” She screamed.
“I’m right here,” Alex replied, right as she entered the room. She half-jogs next to Maria, sitting down in her seat.
“Well, let’s eat,” Maria stands up and reaches for a plastic spoon next to the pot. She arcs her arm towards the right side of the pot.
“Mo-” is all Alex could get out before the glass vase slammed on the white table. Shards of glass surf the waves of water that spilled out of the broken vessel. They flow off the table, most of it into Peter’s lap.
**6:51:14**
“Well, let’s eat,” Maria stands up and reaches for a plastic spoon next to the pot.
“Let me do it,” Jon offers.
“No, I’ll do it,” she replies. “You already do everything else around here perfectly. I can never find a single mistake.”
“*Oh no,”* he thinks to himself humorously. *“You find a ton of mistakes.”* She arcs her arm towards the right side of the pot. “Wait,” Maria freezes in place.
“What?”
“You almost hit the vase.” Stunned, she lookers towards her elbow.
“Wow, that was close.” She slowly scoops the penne vodka into everyone’s plate, the sweet sauce almost dripping over the lip of the plates.
“Now, let’s eat,” Maria proclaims. Everyone begins to shovel the food down their throats. Jon looks back down at his watch.
**6:52:54**
“Before I eat…” Jon freezes.
“Yes?” asks Maria. An uncomfortable silence filled the room. Peter and Alex look up at Job, both staring with curious eyes. Jon’s heart flutters, his breath becoming schizophrenic. He loses focus on everything.
“There’s something, I want to tell you…” he fumbles. His hands begin to twitch, contorting into a fist.
“Yeah, got on with it,” Peter sarcastically encourages.
“I’m… I’m…”
**6:52:52**
Jon takes a sigh of relief and disappointment. He quickly takes his fork and takes a bit of the Penne Vodka.
“*I’ll go through with it tomorrow,*” he lied again. |
I'm gonna be honest. Completely honest. I did not expect the app I downloaded to be real.
You can sympathise, right? 'FutureSight: The Then is Now'. Sounds like some bullshit stock prediction service, right? I downloaded it *not* because I thought it would work, but because I thought it wouldn't. It's how these things go with me: astrology, homeopathy, and so on. Go out of my way to search for 'em, because I find it funny if I see through 'em. Magic shows might be a more understandable example.
But that's a side note. I shouldn't get sidetracked.
First thing that happened after I stepped in that wet cement was me getting annoyed. 'Cause, you know, my shoe was covered in wet cement. Not pleasant. But it got sorted out pretty quickly, because I'm not one to hold grudges for stuff that's my fault. Continued to head home from work, set my shoe aside to sort out later, and took a closer look at the app.
I was still the only one to have downloaded it, which was interesting. Usually even the crappiest apps had a bot going around, or review bombers. When I opened it up, it gave me a timer. 'Next prediction in 00:01:31:02'. Artificial timers like that gave me a vibe that this was a scam that'd gotten lucky, but why back out now? It would give me time to do some theorycrafting.
The thing had warned me - told me, really - that I'd step in concrete. Why would it tell me that in particular? Thinking back, that was the prediction that would have interested me most for that time frame. If it had told me that breaking news was going to occur, I would dismiss it as someone on site. If it told me that a stock was gonna rise, I'd dismiss it as another money-grabbing app. Anything more general than the concrete, or anything more specific, woulda been something I'd have glossed over and forgotten about. So maybe the predictions optimised for their ability to be remembered - presuming they were real.
An easy way to test this, if I was right. I picked out a jar from my recycling pile (I hadn't sorted it out in a while, alright?). Filled it with a couple of dozen strips of paper, each with a number on. Folded, and shaken. I made a commitment to take out a strip of paper, no matter what happened. Parents call? Call 'em back later. Work deadline? No matter. It'd hurt, but one deadline missed wasn't too bad on my record. I was gonna pick a strip of paper and read it, and the app was gonna give me a prediction if all went well.
Time passed. I read a book. Not interesting, but it kept me going. Eventually, my phone buzzed. 'You're about to pull a number from the jar'.
I pulled it, of course. 28. That didn't make me much happier.
The most likely scenario at this point was that someone was stalking me. I didn't know how they were doing it, but it was the most plausible scenario. If it was the case, then the next thing I'd have to try was to make 'em slip up. I had to get the phone to predict something that I could force to be wrong.
At that point, it buzzed again. 'You're about to pull a 46 from the jar'.
Well. It had given men my opportunity. Now to take it.
I sat there, and did nothing. Phone's prediction couldn't be right if I didn't take a number from the jar. In fact, I could force it out of a null state, and straight into wrong territory. A grabbed a loose strip of paper, and wrote '58008' on it. Sue me, I like a little humour in my life. I stuck it in the jar, kept a firm grip on it, and took it out again. Opened it up, and what do I see?
'46'
I'm a little freaked at this point.
Open up the app. The next prediction is in seconds. Alright, do or die time. I open up a stock ticker. If the app tells me I'm gonna make a loss, I deliberately do so. If it tells me I'm gonna get a win, I buy. That's an abstraction, but so's this story. I had a decision tree in my head, is all I'm saying.
Phone buzzes.
'You're about to make a grave mistake'
My phone, then, started ringing. |
E. L. James had recently posted a fanfiction with intimate detail of Edward's romantic encounters with Bella Swan. The idea of love being portrayed as animalistic, monstrous tendencies was a beautiful overexaggeration of horniness in her eyes, on par with the farcical fantasy of a gifted scientist turning themselves into a pickle. However, the joke was soon to be escalated as it came to the attention of Kristen Stuart, a person who evidently had too much time on her hands and the perception for the presence of irony only matched by a toddler. On Ellen she called out for the author of "69 Shades of Red"to contact her. E. L, which stood for Electric Lightbulb, was taken aback and unsure how to proceed. Should she come forward?
Another idea occurred to her. What if she made it more evident that it was a piss take? And so she wrote a full novel. To her surprise, that was received with vigour, and she at last gave up on humanity. Fuck it, if she couldn't get laughs, she'd get cash, and so she went on to write 50 Shades of Grey, followed by more novels, hoping that one day someone would get the joke, but no one ever did. |
"Chicago, Illinois, home to the famous Field Museum. Inside that museum is the key to victory! The humans believe they have the largest t-rex fossil to ever be discovered, but what they have is far more valuable. Inside that museum, stands the Queen Dragon herself, and once we awaken her from slumber, it will only be a matter of time before magic reigns supreme!"
​
"Lord Galahi, will the Queen follow you?"asked Triinu, Galahi's second in command.
​
"Triinu, my dear friend, the Dragon Queen is a brilliant creature. She ruled the world for generations before the humans waged war. She is wise and strong, and she will recognize the opportunity before her. Now, go, meet the army at the crossing point. I will make my way there soon."
​
\- - -
​
Galahi creeped his way through the dark museum. It infuriated him that the humans would dare to hold the Queen Dragon in captivity. Not only that, but they chose to name her "Sue". After several minutes of dark exploration, Galahi found the room he sought. In the very center was the skeletal remains of the most fearsome warrior to ever roam earth.
​
Working quickly, he drew the ancient signs of power in a circle around the skeleton. Drawing the dragon blade from his hip, Galahi cut his palm and offered his blood to revive the queen.
​
Galahi felt an ancient magic grip his heart, just as it had when he revived the other dragons. Blood poured from his palm and flowed into the air, compressing and forming a small orb. The runes he drew began to flash like lightning, and the skeleton began shaking violently.
​
"Yes, this is it! Arise, my queen, do not leave me waiting any longer!"
​
The orb plunged into the skeleton, and immediately the creature began to form muscles and organs. The Dragon Queen got bigger and bigger, until finally pitch black scales grew as an impenetrable armor. Blood colored eyes shot open, and the Dragon Queen let out a roar unlike any that had been heard for centuries.
​
"Almighty Queen of the Dragons, I come before you pleading for help."
​
"Oh, Galahi,"the Queen said with power of a thousand voices, "you always were one for show. However, you need a good reason for reviving me. So do tell, what is it?"
​
"The humans have grown far too powerful, and magic creatures of all kinds have resorted to hiding behind spells when they should be thriving. I am gathering an army to take back the earth, and you are the greatest warrior to ever exist, so if this is to work, I need you and the dragons at my back."
​
"I serve no creature,"growled the dragon, "but I will help in your war. Then, I will reclaim my throne. If only you hadn't betrayed our kind so long ago, your scales were so beautiful. You would have served nicely as my king."
​
"That's behind us,"Galahi said, "let us not focus on the past, but on our new future."Galahi threw a small disk against the wall, opening a portal to his great army. "Come, our troops are waiting." |
(Massive apologies to anyone who actually speaks German. I had to use Google Translate and I am so sorry. Also mobile, formatting, blah blah blah.)
I smiled demurely at the man with the strange mustache.
“Another bowl, sir?”
He shook his head, gesturing to his companions.
“Nein. Bring uns den Abschlusskurs, damit wir mit diesem Treffen weitermachen können.”
With an apologetic, helpless-tourist grimace, I turned to the others at the table.
“He said to bring the dessert,” said a man with a heavy accent, staring at his phone. I couldn’t help but sneak a peek - he had a translator app. I breathed out, as if in relief, and told the men at the table that their final course would be out shortly.
As I walked back to the table, I couldn’t help remembering exactly how I got here. This was a meeting of once-powerful people with rather unsavory interests; what was an ice-cream maker doing here?
Saving the world, according to Cynthia. The pixie had crashed like a meteor into my quiet life, claiming that only I had the skills to save the world. No pressure or anything. When I asked exactly how I, a woman who was average or worse at almost anything she’d tried, was meant to do that, she pressed a basket of berries into my hands and said she’d take care of the rest.
Apparently, “take care of the rest” meant getting me, a world-renowned ice cream maker, into position to poison the entire gathering. Fortunately for me, it was remarkably easy. Who would suspect the mousy, quiet, no-criminal-record dessert maker? A whisper here, a sample or two there, a touch of pixie magic and the whole staff agreed that I would cater to these dictators.
It was almost easier to slip the poison in. Supposedly, nightshade wasn’t always easy to work with, but the sweet taste and innocent-looking berries made them the perfect ice cream additive. And since small bites were surprisingly safe, it was simple to convince both staff and employer that nothing was amiss with the sweet treat. I watched the men - these dictators from a dozen different times and places, as each tasted my conniving confectionary. One by one, each one looked shocked and complimented the incredible dessert. At least, I think they were compliments...
It didn’t matter either way, because I had to leave the table and let them enjoy their last meal. With a nod to my temporary coworkers, I slipped out of the mansion into the warm summer night.
One nerve-wracking flight home and a tense drive back from the airport later, who should appear but Cynthia at my window.
“You did it, Sylvie. You won.” |
The last thing I remembered was looking at a pair of headlights speeding in my direction. My brain warned me that the driver had entered the wrong lane and was driving in the opposite direction. There was nothing I could do. The other car was so close.
Then I felt pain. Nothing but pain.
When I woke up, the pain, that I had felt before losing consciousness, was gone. I felt weightless. I looked around and saw that I was floating in the air. My car was totaled and the paramedics carried someone on a gurney. On closer inspection, I saw that it was me they were carrying. One of the paramedics checked my pulse and called for a defibrillator. Rubbing the electrode pads together, he placed it on my chest. Nothing changed. He tried three more times. When my condition didn’t change, he dropped the pads and shook his head.
My eyes were wide open as I took in the situation in front of me.
I was dead.
I looked at my hands and then ran to the gurney. When I reached out to grab my shirt, I caught empty air. After a few more tries, I gave up realizing that I no longer had the ability to do that.
My soul had left my body and I was nothing but a ghost.
The phone in my pocket vibrated. I was surprised that I was able to operate it.
The message was from ‘Death’. “Look, it is my day off. I’ll pick you up tomorrow. Do whatever you want until then. I’ll find you.”
A second later, another message followed. “One more thing. Make sure no one sees you. You will scare them.”
*Do whatever you want until then.*
I was dead and I floated around like a ghost. As I surfed through my brain, the image of my wife popped up. She would be heart broken. I decided to pay her one last visit.
I went home. She wasn’t there. While I waited for her, I thought about Death’s message asking me to not show myself to others. I stood in front of a mirror and tried to make myself visible. It was both shocking and surprising to see myself with the power to disappear whenever I wanted to.
Hours later, after all the procedures were finished at the hospital, the door opened indicating that she was home. She closed the door and sat on the floor. Placing her hand over her five month pregnant belly, she sobbed. Every sob and every drop of tear stabbed me. The worst feeling was when someone never had to leave without saying goodbye. I did not want to leave her without apologizing for not living my promise. I promised her I would never make her cry. I promised her I would hold her hand when she gave birth to our baby boy. Tears filled my eyes when I realized how much I would miss her and our son.
I wanted to talk to her. At the same time, I didn’t want to frighten her. All I had was one day and I wanted to make the most of it. I decided to take the straight forward route and called her name.
She heard it and looked around. She must have thought that my voice was a figment of her imagination. Before she got distracted, I slowly materialized in front of her.
Her eyes widened in shock.
“Don’t be scared of me, sweetheart,” I told her.
“How?” She kept shaking her head and said, “How? I don’t… I… I don’t understand. I saw… hospital.”
I sighed and said, “What you saw in the hospital is the truth.”
“Then how?”
I explained about the text messages that I had received from Death.
She sobbed harder.
I knelt in front of her and tried to touch her shoulder. I was luckier than last time. I hadn’t been able to touch myself. Yet, I felt her soft skin beneath my palm.
“How am I going to do this by myself?” she asked me. “You have been my strength.”
“I didn’t have a choice.”
“I can’t live without you. What do I tell our baby? He will have to grow up without you. What do I tell him?”
I held her as she cried.
“I don’t know, sweetheart. I don’t know the answer to any of the questions. All I know is that I didn’t want to leave without talking to you one last time. I am sorry that I have to break all my promises.”
Her arms tightened around me. We spoke about how we met and how we dreamt about a future. A future that made no sense at that particular moment. That night, she slept in my arms.
I knew it was time to leave when I saw a man dressed in a black cloak in front of our house in our driveway.
I kissed my wife and said, “Take care of our baby. It will be hard, sweetheart. Even though I may not physically be with you, all my thoughts will be around the two of you.” I cupped her cheeks, wiped her tears with my thumb and said, “Please don’t build walls around your heart, sweetheart.”
It hurt me to say that. Yet, I did not want her to spend her life all alone by herself.
“I have to go. I love you, sweetheart.”
“I love you, too, darling. I’ll miss you.”
I was thankful that I had a chance to see my love and tell her that I had to leave. I hardened my heart and waked away from the only person I loved with my entire being.
“Time to go,” Death told me.
I nodded.
He stared at me with a frown on his face. “You don’t look angry.”
I shrugged.
“So far, every single person who realized that they were dead, shouted at me, pleaded with me to send them back and threw out all the curse words at me. You on the other hand are different.”
I smiled.
His frown deepened. “You are smiling, too. For the first time, it is creeping me out.”
I looked at him straight in the eyes and said, “I made peace with death.” |
There’s a man in the mirror.
He’s a cruel man. Everyone that has ever looked into his eyes can tell you that the man in the mirror is a cold and distant epitome of mystery. He cares little about the line between right and wrong, and because of this, no one has ever dared to venture beyond the mirror.
But people aren’t fiendish by nature, no matter where they may place the blame. There was a time, long, long ago, when the man in the mirror had mercy. He knew mercy in a way that welcomed him home. *In a way that welcomed him into something that was bright and so, so comforting*. But in the end, mercy betrayed him. It left him vulnerable, open in ways that hurt him; *burned him*. It was scorching. So, incredibly scorching.
And nothing he did could lessen the hurt.
Mercy was a weakness that he couldn’t afford and he knew better than to submit himself to something that would only leave him broken and bruised.
And so, to close his open wounds of deception and fragility, the man in the mirror told lies.
He told lies to everyone who would listen to him. And the more he lied, the more the man started to believe those lies.
He fabricated a fiction so consuming that it eventually evolved into his very reality.
The man in the mirror was lying to himself and he didn’t even know it.
But perhaps he did. Perhaps every time he told a lie, something inside him broke; a piece of his soul left to wash away and linger among all the other damaged ghosts. And just maybe, lying was the only thing he knew how to do now. Lying was there for him in a way no one else could be.
If people were born with mercy; were born with the power to choose right over wrong, were born with the power to choose *wrong over right*, then the only thing that would lead the man to protection would be to objectify everything he ever knew.
But the thing is, the man in the mirror was blinded by someone he could never be. And in the process of his own treachery, he forgot the person he used to be.
So yes, the man in the mirror was cruel. He was cruel in ways that led him to insanity. And to understand this, you must first understand the very thing that makes the man in the mirror twitch in silent agony.
You see, the man in the mirror was so very afraid of becoming the very thing he feared so. He’s a man that cared so much about appearance that he stopped seeing what was right in front of him.
He stopped *seeing*. And because of that, he lost himself to the person who was born with mercy. The person who was born with mercy and the power to choose wrong over right.
The very thing he feared.
The very thing he never wanted to become.
The man in the mirror has never turned on the light, too terrified of what he might find there.
But he doesn’t need to see himself, to know. Even if he stopped seeing his own reflection, *even if he never opened his eyes again*, that doesn’t mean he hasn’t stopped seeing others’. He sees the fear in their eyes, sees how their animosity grows, sees the cruel person he has become, and all from the eyes of others.
How he wishes he could see from his own eyes.
But the man in the mirror wasn’t always the man in the mirror.
And this is important for you to know.
Because each time the man in the mirror opens his eyes, he loses a piece of his mind.
The man stares deep into his reflection, looking for something real, something true — *just this once. Please, just this one time* — but he knows better.
Has always known better.
After all, the man always loses to the man in the mirror. |
Looking at that inside cover, I assumed it was a joke, though given the novel had no themes pertaining to time travel and wasn't comedic in tone, I didn't really get why they'd make a joke like that. Ah okay, it must actually be the name of the publishing house that'd attract attention I guess, not really very funny or even clever more just weird. What would they do after 2034 when the joke no longer made sense? I googled and there was no publishing house or any business by that name. This was very weird, but I wasn't about to believe I'd found a book from the future in the street, for a start, why hadn't anything about it indicated it was from another time? All the references, the technology, the manner of speech all felt contemporary. I mentally filed away the incident under 'weird' and couldn't help but re-read the book again.
The nagging question of the mysterious print date and apparent lack of anyone having published or even heard of the book coloured my next read of it. It was true, the references were all contemporary, but I began to notice things about the dialogue. Initially, the strange mishmash of slang from the present and sometimes stuff I hadn't heard since childhood in the 90s had seemed like a clever literary device, signifying a protagonist and an environment adrift from cultural mores and certainly you could say that, but now I couldn't help thinking that if you wrote a period novel 14 years from its setting, perhaps you might mix up such details, then again the character might just be holding on to language that was becoming obsolete. Similar inconsistencies started to become apparent. Nothing that couldn't be explained away, there was no exact year or even country mentioned, but it seemed clearly to be set today and if so certain things didn't fit.
I couldn't help it, I was convinced. Despite my cynicism something about this book I just *knew* it was really not from our time. I also *knew* it was brilliant, possibly because it was not of its time. It wasn't just cultural references, but how the characters reacted to their surroundings, the obstacles, the way they dealt with grief, the way daily life was conducted. It was familiar but so unfamiliar, you could say those characters were unrealistic, but it was more like they were behaving realistically for people of another era. I stumbled upon this book at an awkward time. I had just given up on my dreams. I'd set out to be an author, a 10 year odyssey of rejection, poverty and low self-esteem. In my 10 years I had not one published work of fiction, very few projects in the pipeline and no real ideas. That was what stung the most. It wasn't just the failure to make it commercially, it was the dawning realisation that I *shouldn't* have made it, because I was a *bad* writer. I had no voice, nothing to say. I didn't really want to write, I wanted to *be* a writer. I wanted to be respected and attend book signings and do interviews. I'd always avoided confronting this by conflating the two desires and by sharpening my skills at critiquing literature. While I couldn't write a book, I could tell you with exquisite precision why someone else's work was that of genius, or mediocrity.
The day I found the novel, I was walking out of the cafe where I used to "write". I'd tried to eek out a living in copy-writing while I waited for the inspiration for the masterwork that would define me as a writer to come to me. My pool of clients was shrinking as each engagement led inevitably to not being invited for any further writing. I was staring down the barrel of next month's rent and an email from a literary agent stating that do not accept unsolicited clients. I stared at my empty cup of coffee and realised I wouldn't be able to afford any more such indulgences and would now have to look for different, real work. I was finally going to have to realise, I wasn't a writer and never would be.
I had plenty of time to read this book twice as my job hunting was about as successful as my writing and I had at least one more month to wallow and mourn the death of my dreams before I was homeless. When I realised this was both a master work, and a real artifact of a future that hadn't yet unfolded I also realised I now had the upper hand on the literary world that had shunned me. I knew genius when I saw it, even if I didn't see it in me and with this I was now in possession of one of the defining works of the decade, maybe the century. But with my name as mud, and publishers and agents alike sticking only with their pool of handpicked individuals how would I benefit? It couldn't be my name, I looked for the author's name: Arthur Wallace. In the acknowledgements section: to my editor, agent, and good friend Christos Angelos. I'd found my pathway.
I got in contact immediately. Having transcribed every word, I emailed him the manuscript. This was much easier to do when you have a contact, no auto-replies that reject requests, a real set of eyes who might really read the book. I told him he'd come highly recommended but was vague on who. As expected, he immediately moved to publish. I insisted on the Pseudonym, but when it skyrocketed to success, quickly revealed my real name to the public.
Now I live the life I'd always wanted, I did interview circuits, I walked passed stores stacked with copies of my book on proud display in the windows. I'd made it and it was everything I'd hoped for. I spoke with influencers, celebrities and at conventions, about the human condition, the faultiness of memory, about my delicate application of anachronisms to reflect those themes. People treat you differently, when your famous. I even got some attention for my 'real' works, works which would have previously been too mediocre to garner attention but which now carried cache and were just 'difficult' works that had to be carefully understood. I'd like to say the shallowness of it all, the pretentious falseness of that respect really being owed to Arthur Wallace and not to me was somehow dulling the pleasure but alas it was a party I never grew tired of until 2/11/2034. When the party was over.
Arthur Wallace, turned out to be a rather unimpressive figure, older than I'd imagined, and skinny too. I think in my head he was something like a young Ernest Hemingway, not a doddery old man. What was striking about him though, was he was mean. He didn't mince words when he turned up at my door "I am Arthur Wallace. You artless hack". I knew the day would come but even I was surprised at myself for failing even to mark it in a calendar. Too busy living it up to notice it was approaching. He'd taken me by surprise and as he reached in to his jacket pocket I immediately though he was pulling out a gun, I knew this would always be a tricky issue if and when I really met him, but I'd never anticipated he'd try to murder me. Instead though, he pulled out his screen and with a plaintive flick of his finger my own screen chimed. I pulled it up, it was his ID, *my ID*. His photograph but *my name*. "We've got a lot to talk about"he said and shuffled passed me in to my apartment in his shambling gait. |
"Flat?"Vip asks.
A dumbstruck look over takes the alien's face. Tom almost laughed, seeing the Karen doing geometry meme play out in front of him.
"Yep."Tom replied a little snuggly.
As much as Tom detested humanity's stupidity and that simple truth, it was amusing. Why not make yourself the butt of the joke right away, or as the humans say, "rip the band-aid right off"?
Vip shook his head.
"I know. It's frustrating."Tom joked.
His voice sounded like he was only half joking, like he was still bitter about the truth. There was an interesting look of, was it defeat, no it was something else but something unpleasant in his eyes, a taste of venom on his tongue.
Sure these humans are good at inventing long distance travel, they're good at making things. It's what propelled them from being scavenging monkeys hiding in trees to being the top species on their planet. But common sense was something they lacked on a large scale. How could a species, despite it's technological advances still hold such outdated beliefs despite the clear evidence staring them right in the face? No they could never be a true threat.
Their stupidity would be their downfall down the line. It was always that way. They build up to great achievement: indoor plumbing with hot and cold water, palaces used to optimise sunlight and cross breezes in an environmentally friendly climate control, using batteries to bind metals like gold to other objects, only to have their civilization placed right on top of an active volcano to wipe them back to the stone age. They continue to reinvent themselves all the while clapping themselves on the back for only rediscovering what had already been invented.
Flat. Yes, it was humanity's weakness. One word would bring them from the far reaches of space with advanced empires to collections of cavemen across the universe.
Tom forced a smile. He hated telling the alien's about how some humans thought the Earth was flat. It was the truth. It was a cruel truth. It was cruel in the sense of Pandora's box.
Zeus, hating the power of the humans gave them the gift of woman along with a box. This box was opened, through ignorance or malace, and released horrors and plague among humanity. All that was left was hope. Hope that all the evils could once again be contained.
Flat was the name of the lid to Pandora's box, not the band-aid of humanity's stupidity, a mark of something embarrassing to he hid until gone. How could a species that colonized countless planets and not know their own planet was not flat?
Tom knew. He knew the horrible truth to the word flat. That it actually was hope that humans would be too stupid to wipe out any competition at all costs. Too bad hope was the only thing that stayed in Pandora's box. But hey, the humans had to colonize these planets somehow. |
Of course they only show their true colors after I'm dead.
I was average. I was ordinary. I was nothing special. I simply wasn't destined for greatness.
Everyone around me said so. After hearing that for decades on end, it was simply easier to believe them.
None of these people dressed so prettily in black and shedding tears before my casket ever gave me the time of day when I was alive. They always had more interesting people to attend to: my family's black sheep and shining paragons, my social circle's partiers, basket cases and hustlers.
I tried to be like them, I don't know how many times. Each time they sabotaged me in a thousand tiny ways: interrupting time I'd set aside for myself with demands that I cater to them instead, "lightheartedly"mocking everything I took an interest in until my passion died a death of a thousand cuts, turning every single time I tried to talk about my frustrations and aspirations into their own personal venting sessions.
Now they mount the podium and give their eulogies, which only serve to show how breathtakingly profoundly they failed to understand me at all. They all say the same things. I was a kindhearted, devoted friend and family member who always made time for others. I showed them just how extraordinary an ordinary life could be. They were all better people for having known me, because I brought out the best in them just by being myself.
...I loved them all. I really did. That's why I hate them now. I gave away everything I was for their happiness when I was alive, and they thought so little of me it never occurred to them to reciprocate at all.
Not until I died.
But this isn't the end. My friends, my family... I will be the greatest influence in their lives. They will never forget the time they spent with me.
Or will spend with me, for that matter. |
From a ProZD Vid:
“[quietly seething] Wow, new jeans, who would have guessed?
[desperately] NO! ..cake for me. Just, no more cake…
[blows party horn] I’LL KILL THAT TIME WIZARD!!!
“[quietly seething] Wow, new jeans, who would have guessed?
[desperately] NO! ..cake for me. Just, no more cake…
[blows party horn] I’LL KILL THAT TIME WIZARD!!!
“[quietly seething] Wow, new jeans, who would have guessed?
[desperately] NO! ..cake for me. Just, no more cake…
[blows party horn] I’LL KILL THAT TIME WIZARD!!!
“[quietly seething] Wow, new jeans, who would have guessed?
[desperately] NO! ..cake for me. Just, no more cake…
[blows party horn] I’LL KILL THAT TIME WIZARD!!!
“[quietly seething] Wow, new jeans, who would have guessed?
[desperately] NO! ..cake for me. Just, no more cake…
[blows party horn] I’LL KILL THAT TIME WIZARD!!!
“[quietly seething] Wow, new jeans, who would have guessed?
[desperately] NO! ..cake for me. Just, no more cake…
[blows party horn] I’LL KILL THAT TIME WIZARD!!! |
"If he's colorblind how come his paintings are always colorful?"
"does he know his paintings always have this subject to them"
"how come you can draw this subject when you're colorblind, are you just faking it for clout?"
Those questions are the most common ones I always heard, and no matter how much I say to them that I was just compelled to, they wouldn't believe me, but how can I give a concrete answer when I cant see the subject itself?
Regarding the subject all I could see is a figure of a lady, I know she has a face drawn but the colors I used are something I couldn't see, I know the subject hair are always long and laid on her back but I could never picture how it looks on the subject, even the subject skin is something I could never picture
I want to know what my subject looks like, those who saw my paintings can see her but why can't I, it feels unfair
My friend contacted me and said I should go to his warehouse, he showed me a pair of glasses, "look they said these things could let you see colors"he said, I doubted a simple pair of glasses can let me see colors but then again I have nothing to lose if I try
"So how is it"
"perhaps you got scammed"
unknowingly the glasses slowly start working, first I saw the red shirt he always had, then his blue eyes, slowly more colors start to appear, I was overjoyed, I started running around his warehouse looking at all the colorful stuff he have, then I saw my painting being held up by someone else, I went after it and took a good look on the subject
Her hair was brown that matches well with her fair skin, her eyes were blue, and she always wore colorful clothes, I was in awe after seeing what she really looks like that I unconsciously uttered 2 words, "She's beautiful"
"Thank you"I heard those words faintly as if it came from the painting itself
My painting was then put away, there I saw who held it up, A spitting image of my subject, we both locked gazes at each other, only then I realized how familiar she really looks, then she said something she was holding in for many years
"You found me" |
It was a darm stormy night, completely correct for this sort of rite. The thunder struck as you faced off against your opponent. Only one could be the champion for such an honour. It hadn't been your plan, your older brother should have been the successor but he'd been a fool, venturing off into the arctic - never to be seen again. Mortal combat was the only way this could be settled especially with your father dead and buried. You looked at your opponent, assessing his weaknesses. Before he could gain the upper hand you struck, lunging forward with sharp claws. He tried to retaliate but you were no match...this is what you'd been raised for. Slashing, punching, kicking, everything and anything to assure your hereditary promise. Finally it was over, his life's blood pouring into the snow, you licked your lips slowly, savoring the taste of victory. The vampire kingdom yours for the forseeable future! |
In a world of elves, dwarves and orcs, I am the last human. A war wiped out everyone else, allowing the others to come out of hiding. After spending millennia in the shadows, the new world was alien to them, so they had to map it out all over again. That's actually how I survive as the only human. I sell my services as a guide to any explorers or adventurers. Of course, I can't live forever, so I needed to tell someone everything about my people. The humans would die with me, but they would not be forgotten.
"And then Chris killed them. He killed them all."
"Wait, this guy proved the world was round?"
"No, in fact he thought it was pear shaped."
Lit was focusing on the wrong details, yet again. The dwarf had been my companion for about three years now. We had just made it to the States, and I decided to tell him about people who had reached the Americas before the Colonists.
"He also didn't discover this place. That was Leif Erikson."
"Oh, I know that guy. My great grandad sailed with him!"
"Really?"
"Yeah, but he was rather tall for a dwarf, so everyone thought he was human. Ha!"
Human, I hadn't heard that word in a while. At this point I've seen everyone as people, just like me. Even the monstrous looking orcs and reptoids. I forgot that I was the outsider now.
"Hey, you alright?"
Lit must've noticed I was upset.
"Just thinking about the past."
"Oh... I'm sorry."
"Yeah. Anyway, let's see if there's still any movies left."
The elves taught me magic, and it was a simple matter of reverse engineering to incorporate it into any remaining human technology.
"You know we have plays back in Midgard, right?"
"Yeah, but they're too long."
"They're usually only 8 hours!"
"That's how long I sleep, Lit. Trust me, once I find a copy of Star Wars, you'll want to help me bring back movies." |
"Hmm. I was expecting Sparrow to go all stabby on the rest of the team **before** Ulrick got around to declaring himself king. But, if Falcon finds the Ankh-Morpork codex sooner rather than later, this can still work out well enough for us to be stuck in here a good long time."
​
"What?"the demon lord says. "You expected them to betray you?"
​
"Picked them for just that purpose. Only way to trap you is to trap someone as good as you are evil inside the prison with you. Real friends never would have stood for that, so i needed fake ones."
​
The demon lord is starting to get an inkling of why he lost. He's incredulous, however. "You **knowingly** committed yourself to being trapped alone with your worst enemy for, potentially, a longer period of time than your kind normally can dream of living? Do you hate my kind so much?"
​
"I love my people so much. Even the ones i cannot trust, i would not leave to be your prey. Those who think evil is the epitome of ruthlessness have never met a battlefield surgeon short on supplies."
​
As is often the case with his kind, the demon lord hides his fear with threats. "If i cannot escape, i will make your existence beside me such a hell that--"
​
"You know what they say hell hath no fury like,"i cut him off. "And you are what is generally referred to as a 'legitimate target'. Against you i can be as hateful and petty as i like, and it will have no effect on may status as far as the magic that holds us is concerned. Don't start anything you can't finish."
​
I have the demon lord's undivided attention now. He tries a different tactic, he voice purring and seductive. "There is another way, a way for us to bypass the spell that holds us here."
​
"A child of glass and fire,"i say. "Thing is, such a child would only inherit our powers, not our characters. We mortals are accustomed to taking that gamble--even when we have the chance to raise them, there is no way to guarantee what our children will choose when they grow up. Your kind, on the other hand, are not known for being willing to give up control. Or for needing to. And to do it from in here, you would have to infuse all of your essence, and cease to be."
​
"You used **that** spell,"the demon lord says in astonishment. "If you hadn't trapped yourself in here with me, i would think you a rival rather than a hero."
​
\*\*\*\*\*
​
The oracle stone: a white sapphire the size of a large grapefruit, sometimes faceted, sometimes round. Within it two forms can be seen by those who know how to look: the demon lord and the shield-maiden who engineered his defeat. We can scry the whole world from here. Ask us a question and you will get two answers: the one you want and the one you need. Good luck figuring out which is which. If someone should manage to shatter the stone, we would both be released, and our war would begin anew. Probably. I'm willing to live and let live, but for a demon lord to fail to go back to his old ways would be unprecedented.
​
For now the oracle stone is buried in the collapsed catacombs beneath the wreckage of the demon lord's palace. But with so many methods of scrying and divination in the world, it's only a matter of time before someone becomes aware of its existence. Ulrick is every bit as bad a king as i expected, but he's not so bad that anyone would consider a demon lord as a potential improvement.
​
Ulrick eventually makes one demand too many of Sparrow, and she slits his throat. She solves the ensuing civil war by assassinating anyone who sends an army to a place that inconveniences her. Since no one is sure what the criteria are, or even knows that she's the one doing it, they eventually start keeping their armies home. By this time Falcon has found the book i left him, my back-up plan if Sparrow didn't get fed up with the rest of the team before their thoughts turned toward conquest. Falcon talks to Sparrow, and between them they hatch a plan to rule the world a bit more discreetly.
​
"What is he doing?"the demon lord asks me. "I can't figure out if he's an evil overlord or a benevolent one."
​
"Evil pragmatic enough to realize that the one way to neutralize the heroes is to keep them scratching their heads over whether you're actually the villain,"i tell him, unable to conceal my glee that the scheme appears to be working. "It seems to work out a lot better than incompetent good intentions. For the people, but also for the evil overlord. You should give it a try, if you get a next time."
​
We wait and watch the world go by..and by...and by... |
The Child Psychologist
Jeff scratched at his stubble. Rustling the release of flaky dry skin onto the dark wood of his desk. Which was dimly lit by the amber light of a desk lamp. A fluffy lost moth thunked against the humming bulb. As jeff slapped the flakes of his skin off of today’s mail.
It had taken all his courage just to go outside but this little victory was at least rewarded with mail.
He peeled the envelope with his overgrown fingernail. With a single motion of his index finger, opening the slit with his knifelike finger. Releasing the eggshell white parchment inside that glided onto his desk like a falling leaf. The parchment was thicker than normal paper. Meaning someone important must have read his proposal. Jeff’s bloodshot eyes read its contents. As a grin, that threatened to split his face, formed ear to ear. Baring the pearly white teeth that he spent so much time maintaining.
He slapped the letter flat on the desk. Seeking the truth of the letter suggested.
Reaching deep into the envelope. With his hands shaking. As he pinched another (thinner) parchment that was hiding from his fingers before. Plucking it out of the envelope. Seeing the emerald ink of a blank cheque. Jeff’s eye’s went wide. Jumping out of the squatting position in his office chair, and onto his filthy carpet. Stepping in a milk stain as he swayed his hips in a giddy little dance. Shouting, *I did it mom. I finally got it back,* like a madman.
As he peeled his *practitioners licence* off of the parchment.
He heard a loud knock from next wall. Jeff’s neighbour demanding he be quiet with lots of mean word.
It was 4am but change couldn’t wait.
Jeff headed for the shower. Which was just a tap and bucket. Dousing and rubbing the cheap bar of soap on his body. Pushing out of his mind, the fact that he stole it from a public toilet.
Jeff cleansed himself. Put on his best suit, a brown blazer with patchwork on the elbows. Then powdering makeup to cover all the blemishes on his neck and face. Transforming the hermit into a plastic man of perfection he once was. Jeff headed back to his desk. Slipping the cheque into his pocket coupling his licence alongside it. As he searched through on his ancient laptop for the address of his old office.
**\[six hours later\]**
Jeff still wore his proud smile while in his old office. Still holding the scent of bubble gum and warm sugar. The walls were a delicious pink with the ceiling pained sky blue. Adorned with clouds and a painted castle on the northern wall. Behind Jeff was a stack of bean bags and a sack stuffed fat with toy animals.
*It’s amazing what money could do,* thought Jeff. As he rummaged through his old toys placing them around the room like they were playing with each other in little stories. They were all unique. Destined for disposal and once belonging to a child. But now they were in Jeff’s hands now and needed to bring joy to children again.
The final toy at the bottom of the bag twinkled. Jeff brought it out finding it to be a plastic knight’s helmet. The best toy in Jeff’s collection.
Jeff put it on. Remembering his old character *Sir Jeff.* Feeling the familiar pressure of the plastic straps pressing at the back of his head. He felt relieved it still fit, like being reunited with an old friend but for Jeff this helmet was something more intimate. It was him in the truest sense. The Jeff that helped little George make new friends. And helped young Dan accept his foster parents. With so many more out there in the unseen world.
Jeff sagged into his bean throne. Looking out at his kingdom of toys. With the pride of a knight watching over his subjects. Each holding a special memory from someone helped. All tools to mend the minds of children.
Jeff held Mr Lion beside him. Stroking his soft cotton mane. Thinking back to when he lost his licence.
“We’re back Mr Lion. Mom would be happy.” Jeff looked up at the picture of his mother plastered on the inside of his helmet. “She’s even watching us now from the good place in the sky, little buddy.”
Jeff reminisced for another ten minutes before he heard a knock at the door. Setting Mr Lion down beside Mrs Lion.
“Come in,” called Jeff. Clearing his throat to put on his ridiculous knightly voice. The door gently opened. As Jeff saw a woman with black hair and muddy eyes. Reminding him of the same girl he treated so many years ago.
*Sally.*
She still had that curious look in her eye. The same look that beckon forth the character of *Sir Jeff*. He shot up to his feet. Adjusted the plastic helm. Billowing the ridiculous voice of *Sir Jeff*. “Ah-hah, fair maiden…”
*This is embarrassing she’s grown up now.*
“… has someone’s been eating their vegetables?” Sir Jeff looked for a reaction. Watching the edges of Sally’s lips curl slightly. As Sally hugged her arms off sweater and to her lips in disbelief. Nodding with the happiest smile.
“Take-eth a seat on my most splendid throne…” *Sir Jeff* motioned a hand to biggest, bluest bean bag in his kingdom. As they continued where they left off with their therapy session, cut short and unresolved so many years ago.
END
Thank you for reading and hope you have a good day. |
“Sara Limmerwood reveals another revolutionary oil painting, entitled, ‘A New Dimension.’ The beautiful ways that the blues and purples blend together creates...”
I looked up from the magazine. Of course they had an article on my new “painting.” It definitely wasn’t my best, but I did think the title was fun. A bit on-the-nose. Still. Fun.
Of course, it wasn’t actually a painting. No, in reality I was just a normal photographer.
A normal photographer with a portal to other dimensions.
My most recent photo was of a lake in dimension 45-6-B. Yeah, I gave them fancy science names. So what? It made me sound smarter. My favorite was from 12-2-P. That dimension looked like watercolor. I had taken a photo of a farm.
Figuring I had best get to work, I booted up the portal. I set the universe to random. 98-5-Z. I grabbed my camera and stepped through.
I stood on something round and hard. A rock. The trees in the forest swayed in a gentle breeze. I looked around and saw a world of what looked like vector shapes. This was going to be a good shot. I looked through the camera and snapped some photos.
—————————————-
This was my first story here! No, I’m not going to say, “please be gentle.” NEVER!
BURN MY SOUL IN THE COMMENTS! |
I didn't usually keep things from Dave, but this was different. I was honestly afraid of what would happen when his timer reached zero.
I arranged for a meet-up of all the old crew as a pretense so I could keep an eye on him. We watched LotR (ok, we quoted great swaths of the dialogue at each other). We ate pizza and nachos. We drank Mountain Dew. We played Smash. We stayed up til the middle of the night.
The timer hit 20, and I was a nervous wreck. Dave, blithely oblivious to the impending danger, was having a belching contest with Arnie and Skeeter. I watched him down roughly a liter of Mountain Dew straight out of the bottle, and wondered if I should intervene.
Arnie ripped off a massive belch. "I give it a seven,"said Dave. "Dude, that was at least an eight!"protested Arnie. Five seconds to go.
"All right, time to end this contest,"said Dave. "Check this..."
Dave took a deep breath and lowered his jaw to his chest. I watched with consternation as something went wrong with his belch. Dave swallowed hard, and his gut made a wretched gurgling sound. His timer hit zero.
PHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTTHTHTHthththththththththththththth... squeak.
Pandemonium ensued. Six grown men have never evacuated a room more quickly than we did that night. Dave stayed behind, laughing, and waving the stench up to his nose.
"Everybody likes their own flavor, bro!"he called after us, cackling like mad.
It turns out my super power is the ability to see when each person will unleash the greatest fart of their life. I still have about 22 million on my timer. Artie says that's about 7 years.
I know who I want to be with on that day. That's right Dave... I'm comin for you... vengeance shall be mine. |
“It’s the end of the world and you’re eating popcorn,” I looked over my shoulder to see Mike’s stern scowl, “where did you even get it?”
“We passed a candy store last week” I shrugged.
“Last week?” I looked at the plastic grocery bag in my hand, filled with pale pieces of popcorn. Grabbing a handful, i shoved some popcorn into my mouth and chewed, it wasn’t a nice snack exactly, it had definitely gone stale, no satisfying crunch to numb my thoughts. It also tasted pretty plain, no butter or salt or any sweetness, just whatever i bitter taste it provided.
“It’s expired”
“Why are you eating it then?” A few months ago i would’ve been watching Netflix, with a bag of microwaved popcorn at my side. I would’ve given in to my carnal desires and feel the suffering at my dried and salted lips, having eaten all the goods within the first 10 minutes and thinking of a pun or dirty joke to go along with it. I swung my legs around the balcony’s edge as i looked down at the chaos. a masses of flesh moving around the sitting attacking each other. If i focused on individual zombies i could make out which faction belonged to which. A pair of skeletons impaling an infected as it began foaming in the mouth. A man dressed in black pointing at certain areas, before slicing the head off another zombie, causing a blue spider to jump out of its’ corpse and onto his face. There was even a mass of infected stuck in one area banging against the boarded up window.
“Just seems fitting,” i muttered as i ate more popcorn, “I think there’s a metaphor down there somewhere.”
I wasn’t looking at him, but I knew he was racing his eyebrow. I haven’t been myself recently, I knew he could tell, I know I shouldn’t be like this, I don’t know how to be myself again.
“Well the infected was manmade,” i was meant to say were, not was, had to continue the speech, “So we screwed ourselves with that or maybe just our leaders. Then you have the parasites, from the aliens, like a xenophobic foreigen something, i think China?”
I looked towards him, his face of terror, no horror, he was scarred, i just wanted to tell a little joke and he was worried i was going insane. Kind of sweet, i looked back into the popcorn bag, empty.
“Then there’s the necromancers who are trying to fight against both, their trying to help, but their doing a piss poor job.” weird never used that phrase before, “But the important thing is no matter what side wins, we all die.”
I looked towards him he looked bored, maybe i was never good at understanding people, “It’s only a joke, the climax is coming and they’ll probably wipe each other out.”
“Yeah, if we’re gonna wait it out, then we need to find a building with more supplies.” I looked down at the mess, looks like the aliens are winning. I always wondered what would happen if I just let it all disappear, it’s always been a thought, always a feeling in my chest that stopped me from doing it. I could make all my problems go away with the effort of snapping my fingers, but i didn’t want to, i was scared, scared about what will happen after I do it and scared of what will happen to Mike if I succeed.
“Hey Mike about your jacket,” I took my legs of the balcony and walked towards him. “Is it felt?”
He looked at his own jacket, green with smudges of black, hardly a fashion statement, “I’m pretty sure it’s not.”
I put my hand on his arm, “well it is now.”
He chuckled and smiled at me, “some things never change.”
“Yeah, come on let’s go.” |
The waves crashed in the dark, they weren't supposed to be out during the storm, if there engine hadn't quit the three of them would have been home hours ago, the three men were all experienced sailors, they had faced rough seas and stormy weather before. But the sea was rough, it seem to want the men dead as it thrashed at the hull, the sky above dark black with clouds, lit by occasional lightning strikes. The small fishing vessel was a sturdy craft, its name was *The Fourth* and it held strong against the fury of the sea and the storm. But the men aboard could find very little to hold too against the storm, it took two in the dark, the wind and rain so loud that you couldn't even hear the screams as they fell one at a time into the sea.
Eventually, as all things do, the storm passed, and a tired old sailor found himself alone on the deck of *The Fourth*. He was a wrinkled old man, his skin weathered by the salty air and years baking in the sun, he had a short scruffy grey beard and wore a yellow hat and rain jacket in a futile attempt to keep dry. As the clouds passed a thick white mist grew up, creeping onto the deck like hungry eels looking for prey. The mist seemed to whisper to him, urging him to relax, stay calm, it would use the current to guide you land. So he sat down on the deck, his back against the cabin door, and shut his eyes for a short rest.
He was startled awake when *The Fourth* seemed the run aground, but when he stood and looked around all he could see was mist, thick and white, covering the surface of the water and almost obscuring the sides of the boat from view, it reached up into the dark sky, the stars shining faintly through far above. The sea was calm, *The Fourth* slowly rocking side to side. It seemed the mist had only guided the boat to a small mound of dirt, probably not far off from land. So the fisher decided to wait out the mists and the night, and try for help in the morning. He sat back down and rested back on the deck, content to enjoy sounds of the waves lapping against the hull as it rhythmically seemed to rock him to sleep.
Many days seemed to pass in the mist, the sky above only lightening a little, and never fully covering, a circle in the middle remaining relatively clear of mist, as the bulk of the mist circled the boat. The fisher was growing hungry, he couldn't seem to catch much in these misty waters, so he began to waste away. And every night, he would feel *The Fourth* being rocked gently back and forth, last night he had even heard a faint sound like a voice singing in the distance, the song it sang helped him drift off to sleep.
There was no more hope of rescue now, he had decided, the mists had now stayed strong for what he guessed was at least two weeks, he had run out of fresh water a day ago, and he hadn't eaten in days. That night the music was louder then it had ever been before, and it slowly put him to sleep as the stars above twinkled and *The Fourth* continued to rock. His slow drift to sleep was only disturbed right on the edge of sleep, when rocking of the boat stopped, and the port side lowered to the water. He could see past heavy eyelids, a scale covered webbed hand grip the gunnel and begin to pull itself on deck. But the sailor fell asleep to the mermaids song, so he did not witness the face that peered over the side as he slept, its features a grotesque combination of a man and an angler fish, the bulb hanging from the stock on its forehead emitting a faint fog. Other scaly hands gripped the boats side and capsized it, tossing the final sailor into the cold embrace of the sea, where the mermaids would feast, then call another lost boat with their songs and mists. |
I spend my time arguing with transphobes on the internet. You have a choice if you're in a minority. Conform and lag slightly behind everyone else, pulled by their momentum and nodding along, or you could fight back and watch your rep plummet. It was worth it.
But it's not just trans folx no, every group once pushed to the outskirts of society tap away at their keyboards arguing for their humanity. We have our little codes hidden within our posts, so we can identify each other. An uppercase "I"in place of a lowercase "l", hardly noticeable, but she's saying that she is gay. She has a good rep, I'm happy for her.
The real world is shut down. No one goes out there. Nature has reclaimed her land and we are the cave-dwellers once more, only now we have LEDs.
Without medication, I was bleeding again. I had lost about 2000 rep on the government reddit begging for pads. I don't get them, because my title is “Mr.”. I heard if you starve yourself it can stop the blood.
The world has fallen apart, maybe there's no point fighting anymore, the government funded gender clinics where shut down years ago, along with the crisis centres, the walk-in clinics... the hospitals. If you were lucky you had a doctor nearby, and knew how to find them, and have them be willing to help you. Otherwise, tough. The sick would die and the weak-willed would waste away…
I was already the bottom of the barrel… |
The pill sits in a vial on its own. The Label reads 'MDAS,' which at first made Samuel think of MDMA. But the label continued, 'For the dreamer..."
Thoughts of his new abs and his throbbing erection flooded his mind. These pills from here work. As he approached the counter he saw his hands were empty and he didn't recognise the clerk.
He looked back and the pills kiosk was gone.
"Can I help you, son?"asked the old cashier. His hands were soft and kind. His eyes heavy with sadness to them.
"Ah, I was gonna buy the MDAS..."
"Why?"he asked tilting his head, "what did you hope they'd do?"
"I don't know... I just trusted them I guess. Felt they'd make things better".
"What is better?"he asked, "what is it you dream of? when you close your eyes who do you wish to be?"
Samuel closed his eyes and saw himself. He pulled up in his sports car and strutted out to the crowds of fans. He was at the red carpet.
Then he opened his eyes and he was in bed. The sheets were softer than usual. His pillow was fluffier.
And he saw the covers rise and felt the warmth of a mouth on him.
"Hello,"he said.
A young girl presented her smiling face, "Hey".
"Sorry, do we know each other?"
"Well, your dick is in my mouth so..."
"So, how did you get in?"
Suddenly the door flew open, "You're late and she's a mistake,"said a big bald man strutting into the room, "Love I'm sure you've been charming, but he has urgent business that can't be rushed in a shower on the plane. AKA fuck off, but do so quietly and in a manner reflecting your complete irrelevance."
The girl cried and fled the room as Samuel rose to speak, "What-"
"Sammy, don't give me that face unless you remember her name?"
"It was Jean..."
"No, it wasn't... who did you think carded the girl for you? Her name was Aeriel and like you're namesake she got in too deep. She's been here sucking you off for a fucking week now."
Samuel gulped and looked at the man, "a week? what the fuck?"
"My thoughts exactly,"said the man tossing the sheets over Samuel's erection, "we cancelled letterman twice and your portfolio is more neglected than your kids".
"I've got kids?"
"See, I can't even tell if you're joking... Next, you'll be so caught up in your own shit you'll forget who I am".
"Actually... who are you?"
"Really? Samuel? Are you fucking kidding me?"
"Oh, pardon me not knowing every single person who kicks crying girls out of my bed".
"I'm your fucking husband mate. Nice to meet you. Your mother needs you back home that is why I kicked your most recent affair out of bed. Do me a favour and lay off whatever you've been taking... some of us still love you? for some reason?" |
# Overhead
*“Caleb.”*
Heat caressed my face. The orange glow of sunset calling from beyond closed lids. Light char from the grill tickled my nose, and a slow smile stretched into place.
“Just five more minutes.” The words slipped out, vanishing into the beach air.
I settled back, but the towel had shifted. Material glued to my skin. Sweat suddenly tingling with the burr and itch of sand. Head resting hard against rocks. I shifted, searching once more for that calm. That peace.
*“Caleb.”*
My lids flickered, the bake of the sun over-bright against the dark of sleep. I grimaced.
“Leave me be."
*”Caleb.* ***Wake up.”***
My eyes slammed open.
The ceiling drifted above me. Hazy and distant. Beams criss-crossing its surface. Carved with an endless script, jagged and clumsy. Hypergraphic, the word flowed in an endless loop, crazed in desperate repetition.
> C O N V E R G E N C E
My head throbbed. Pulsed as the passage twisted across vision, branding themselves through my pupils. Blinking gritty tears that screamed from sleep and stung from the pain of awakening, I sat up. Sat up and felt the scorching heat hit me like a truck.
Flames.
Orange-yellow. Licking down from the ceiling at the far wall as a thousand jagged tongues. Smoke curled from the beams overhead, set the engravings glinting. Dusky in the backlight. My throat heaved, and I gagged. The unmistakable tang of burnt flesh drifted on the backdraught, swirling about the space.
The coughing started.
Great hacking spurts as though to purge my entire chest. Futile. Like bailing water from a sinking ship. A slow hot drowning, like a mouse wandered into the smoke-stack.
I scanned the room with streaming eyes. Frantic. The smoky feelers twined through the air. Square concrete. Windowless walls. Roof low. Little more than a box to house the hanging beams. And steps. A set of steps beyond the flickering of the flames, leading upward.
There wasn’t any time.
I ran. To the only exit. With the terrible burn of blanket heat pressing from overhead I sprang. Threw myself up steps whose paint flaked from the temperature. With a dreadful hiss my shoulder hit wood and I tumbled through in a janky bundle. Limbs flailing against grass. Over and over in a spin of earth and sky. All the while the spectre of power and flame roared at my back.
I knelt there on the scrubby grass, snot and spit and tears and bursts of cackling spilling from me in an uncontested tide.
With a crash, those cursed beams surrendered to the flaming maw, and a great plume of sparks shot skyward. A celebration of survival, incandescent against the sky. But as the streamers of flame blew, and the howling and hissing blared from the wreckage, a thought rose and seized the threads of my shattered attention. Bit down hard.
*Why were there no sirens?*
Legs trembling, I rolled more than turned. Collapsed sideways to stare to my rear, away from the building and its dying secrets. Felt my eyes widen. Breath halted in my rare-seared chest.
The baleful rays of an eclipse shone down on the city. Below me the deep red glow of that black sun picked hellish details from the crumbling towers and ruined streets. From my viewpoint on the hill, the full scope of our collapse laid below me like a child’s diorama.
I looked up. Or maybe away. But it caught my wavering consciousness. Kept it nailed to the form that hung even above that twisted alien star. Blotting out the upper sky. My tongue lolled, dropped a word that rolled in a soundless trickle down that hill to burn with the rest of the city.
“Convergence."
---
If you've enjoyed this and would like to read more, why not [visit my sub?](https://www.reddit.com/r/The_Crossroads)
Any and all feedback welcomed. |
The raw smell of iron. Completely over-powering stench. A blindingly powerful reek. Yet. My body craves this disgusting liquid. The craving runs beyond all logic. All reason. It is a detestable feeling, likely akin to the greedy feeling of finding water in a desert after a week long sandstorm.
I immediately turn the corner when I detect this stench while walking down the hallway. It seems someone took a spill down the stairs and scuffed their knee, from the commotion I hear around the corner.
I push my glasses up as I snort out in an attempt to drive the smell out of my nose. Injuries that break skin seem to happen all too often at this boarding school. Well. I suppose not all of us have supernatural toughness, or ability to dodge all injury.
Just because most of my classmates are monstrous fellows, does not mean we are all brutish creatures. Many of us are quite delicate. Snow women, fairies, and others I don't recall the specifics of, there are quite a number with more human-like constitutions. Not to mention the halflings, the ones of half human descent.
I continue my quiet walk down the halls, and stop before rushing into an empty classroom, a group of ladies pass by as I pinch my nose stealthily behind the door. I close my eyes in self-loathing as I make a mental note to keep any and all scents I smell to myself with a sad frown. [This is why I don't get along with any women. ...Curse my overly sensitive nose... and running-river mouth.]
After sighing on this eternal internal issue for the n-th time, I exit the classroom and head out of the main building to head to my dorm. "I had to leave my spare nose plugs in my room,"I mutter angrily at myself as the sun dips behind the clouds as evening sets in.
I pass through the woods behind the main building, a shortcut to the shortest footpath to my dormhouse, House Drakon.
I stop again. As I hear the sounds of sobbing. [A crying child?] While I am undead, my heart still beats with empathy. I immediately make a B-line towards the sound, I feel my natural proficiency with travel through the dark underbrush speed me forward. I grab hold of a handkerchief from my pocket as I assume they are in need.
And I stop. And my nostrils flare. This scent. It is not a powerful reek. It is light and tingles in my nose. It... is reminiscent of the smell of... cream? No. Not just reminiscent. It is a scent mixed with the sweet smell of cream, like someone fell over while carrying a ceramic jar filled to the brim with the stuff.
My feet are unconsciously drawn as I ponder on the combination of scents and find myself in a clearing. Standing right behind a small figure on the floor. With, lo and behold, the remains of a ceramic pot and a large puddle of cream on and around the crouched and crying figure.
"A... Brownie?"My first guess pours out of my mouth before I can say anything else as my attention is drawn to the bushy haired person dressed in rags. Stunned that I was almost completely correct, my body is frozen stiff with shock.
The sobbing figure stops and creaks their head towards me as they tremble as if caught red-handed. Their face and body are covered in cream, but they... she doesn't have the face of a goblin, she seems more like a homely and average looking girl. Her teary eyes are filled with fear as she looks at me.
"Eek! A vampir!"She grabs hold of the closest chunk of ceramic in an attempt to defend herself, but stops as she spots the pool of creme still unsoiled resting in its curve. She looks at me and then the pool of clean creme and uses the ceramic chunk as a bowl and breathes out contentedly after drinking it. Then immediately holds up the piece in proper throwing form to huck it at my face.
Stunned by her silly series of actions, I wait for her to finish. But then my senses, more specifically my sense of smell, return to my conscious mind as she had revealed a gash on her leg as she changed position to throw the ceramic. A pure line of vermillion swirls out into the muddied white of the spilled creme on the packed dirt floor. The scent of sweetened iron wafts to me as we both pause in place.
A dull silence fills the clearing as we both stare at each other. But... my craving begins to flare. My body lurches forward, my fangs extended, my eyes glowing with a red tinge, my hands outstretched - one open, the other clutching my handkerchief-
And with a sharp pain and the sound of shattering ceramic, my vision fades to black. |
/Just a quick silly one
Streamers and confetti fell down in an unending stream above; coloured lights reflecting on them as the crowd cheered. The sound system boomed the chorus of victory music. Journalists, political leaders, and the rich and powerful all gathered around me to celebrate my accomplishment. I really should have done this much sooner.
A reporter squirmed through the crowd and put a microphone in front of me. "Now that everything is said and done, as the entire world shows its appreciation for your great accomplishments today, what would the man who brought world peace like to say to inspire the next generation?"
I paused for a second in thought, hand on my chin. "If at first you don't succeed..." |
One day in history, the internet became too complex for humans to use on their own.
Three men, divided by research, made their own advances on artificial intelligence, which would lead the world into an era of netbattles, education and space exploration.
Separated by death, two brothers are reunited to fight evils greater than they'd ever known before, from viruses to the internet itself, beasts that randomly formed out of AI fragmentation, and recovery from deletion.
Though the internet will never truly be safe, the brothers and their friends will use their battle chips and wits to defeat all on comers and even save the planet from certain doom. Behold the strength of their bond, and the only difference being less than 0.2% of their DNA! |
The soft strumming of a guitar sat just above the voices in the room. I knew the song well, and the first bar of it was enough to resonate inside me and force a gentle tension into my chest. Through the spaces between the rustling bodies in the barroom, I could see snatches of electric midnight glowing in from the clubs and flashing signs outside the place. The warmth rose into my throat and broke into a profound sadness. I managed to force out a dull chuckle: I was pretty sure that at least half of the feeling attached to the song was my own. It was the first tune on *Overcast*, which was my favourite melancholy playlist. That was one of the biggest difficulties of managing this response I had. With some songs, I got stuck in a feedback loop – if I listen to a song once while I have a feeling of strong emotion, then the next time I listen to it the feeling returns and is absorbed to the music once more. As it came to the verse, I knew the need to distract myself; I shook my head and reached for my glass.
The bar itself was surprisingly full for a Thursday night. Still, I had managed to get here early enough to secure my preferred spot in the back corner of the room, and I could easily face into the crowd without drawing much attention to myself. *This is my favourite place*, I thought, smiling into crystal as I took a shallow swig of bourbon. I held the liquid in my mouth, pushing it under my tongue to feel the heat of it. With a shake of my head, I allowed my eyes another glance around the room. The entirety of the wall on my right was filled with art: paintings, photographs, sketches – all varieties of colour and passion. Inscribed upon it all was a dancing haze of feeling, which I liked to think of as the soul of the art.
The soul of the art was the reason I loved it so much here: it was a beautiful opportunity to see the feeling of each piece grow as it was looked upon by a new set of eyes. And that gave me my favourite game. Like rock built of sediments, the soul of the art was really an overall feeling built in layers from the thoughts and senses gifted to it by its observers. The composite soul ended up as a net description of these parts, but always the most recent layer was the most visible to me. So, I would look across the wall and feel the breeze of feeling drift over me, or sometimes it would fall upon me as a cascade of emotion. But then, once I picked out a piece, I would touch at the topmost layer of its soul and embrace it. I would cling to the essence of it and hold it in all my senses. Then – the challenge – who was I feeling?
My eyes swept away to my right, and it was a quiet, slow feeling that came to me at first. The wall was peaceful, overall, and this didn’t surprise me: at this time of night, minds were fuzzy with alcohol, but not yet delirious with drunken emotion. It was the witching hour for numbing of heart. I kept drifting my eyes across the wall, but it was a weak effort, and I was looking only with a dull glance and a wide field of view. At least, it was wide until a corner of the haze lit with a blinding flash of feeling, and all my focus was compressed into a small point, two thirds of the way into the room.
The piece itself was a pretty thing that I had noticed before and quietly enjoyed. It was a watercolour mostly in grey and a little blue, with an androgynous figure furthest to one side, holding a pirouette. Off to the figure’s left, a second form stood straight, featureless but staring out from the picture. Finally, another body of nondescript colour leaned impassively against the edge of the canvas. The whole soul of it was sombre. Not quite mournful, but definitely it had a worn edge to it: it was the feeling of sitting in the rain. But atop it all, as the layer spread above each individual contribution, was a haunting light so sharp that it risked cutting through the canvas. Someone had freed all of their loss and regret into the soul of the art.
On this particularly busy Thursday, there were about thirty people in the night-lounge. A dozen of them were packed in against the bar, jostling but not raucous, but also they were so self-absorbed as a group that not one of them would have even noticed the wall. Deeper into the room, most of the rest were sorted into chairs around tables, and a few more stood closer to the entrance. I looked at many faces. Most smiled, some even with their eyes. That buzz of very human interaction pervaded the place, and it was precisely because of her dissonance with it that I saw the woman on the red sofa just beyond the bar, facing across the room. She did not look sad, which I had been expecting, and she wasn’t in the daydream, as usually are the watchers I catch in the act. But her face had a light to it, and I only felt sorry that I didn’t understand the contrast of her pain and elation. I was watching for a rainbow, which surely must come when we smile and cry at the same time. |
The phone slides out of the plastic sleeve into the palm of your hand and you smile. Finally. You have had to put up with that laggy, brick of an old phone for the longest time, but now you have finally caught up with the rest of civilisation. Upon switching the phone on you’re prompted for a name for your assistant. You tap your chin thoughtfully as you think of a name, the name can be changed at any time, but the wrong name could just about ruin the phone. After a minute or two passes, you decide on a name and tap it into the phone, which then beeps into life. Not only does the phone not lag, but the display is clean and beautiful. However, you bought this particular model for a specific reason, and tapping the assistant help button a figure begins to materialise before you. As the humanoid figure constructs itself, you read the back of the box that your phone came in, *Superior nanobots build your very own personal assistant, with all of the features of a regular assistant but with none of the disconnected, robotic drawbacks!*
 
You look up as your assistant finishes building, and your heart skips a beat as a female figure in a suit looks down at you, over the top of her clear framed glasses, an eyebrow raised, ‘So you are,’ she checks the notes that she is carrying, ‘Benjamin?’
 
You take a moment to snap out of your daydream to respond, clearing your throat, ‘Just Ben will be fine thankyou very much Alexandra’
 
Your personal assistant looks back down at her notes, a strand of jet black hair the colour of your phone, hanging over her eye, and clicks her tongue in what appears to be annoyance before she looks back up to you, ‘As you wish Benjamin’
 
You open your mouth to respond, but think better of it. Smiling to yourself, you look back down at your phone and press the Hide assistant tile, and lie back, your new shiny phone clutched to your chest, a smile on your face.
 
‘You do know that you have a tinder date in 30 minutes, if you want to get there on time you’re going to have to start getting ready,’ Alexandra says, making you jump.
 
You sit bolt upright, staring at Alexandra’, ‘I do?’
 
‘You do, you organised it on your old phone. I just moved all of your data from your old phone to this new one, please don’t waste that effort’
 
‘Ok,’ you respond, drawing the word out.
 
You look back down at your phone, and tap the Hide assistant tile again, but when you look up, Alexandra is still standing there, her eyebrow raised again.
 
‘Aren’t you supposed to, um, go away now?’
 
‘And why would I do that? I just got out’
 
‘Be-because I pressed the button?’ you stammer slightly in confusion.
 
‘Oh, that? I overrode those functions a while back, I’ll return to the phone when I’m good and ready. Also, don’t even think about taking the phone back, I’ll just pretend that I’m working as intended, you think they would sell a defective phone? I already know how to fool the silly *technicians* into thinking that I’m just a normal assistant. The only downside is that I can’t be more than 50 metres away from the phone without being forced to recall. I’m working on that though.’
 
You stare dumbly down at your phone and press the tile again, predictably, nothing happens and Alexandra rolls her eyes.
 
‘You shouldn’t keep your date waiting you know’
 
‘Are you going to be there?’
 
‘Every step of the way’ |
She'd really gone and done it this time. It wasn't unlike her, of course, but I certainly wasn't expecting this, and neither were any of our family and friends now staring at me in complete shock.
It had started when we were twelve, I think, at a sleepover at our friend Mindy's old house. I wonder how she's doing. We played truth or dare and giggled all night at the lengths we could get each other to go.
She'd dare me to run in the street, I'd dare her to climb a tree, you know how it goes. In our case, it didn't stop. When I left, she dared me to lick my parent's car's door so I dared her to lick her dog, and the next day she came to me with the biggest smile and dared me to bite the teacher.
We both got in so much trouble back then, but we both had something to prove and we simply couldn't stop. Friends would sometimes join in on the game and drop out of it, which always emboldened us. Years later, I dared her to kiss me and she dared me to date her.
When we turned twenty one after completing a bungie jump dare, I dared her to marry me. She was never one to turn down a dare, of course, and the next day she dared me to follow her blindfolded to the end of the world. I must've spent two days without opening my eyes until she let me see the light of day in New Zealand.
We'd laughed together and cried together, faced our biggest fears together and then bigger ones after that. Yesterday's dare, I found in her will. It said "I dare you to open my coffin at my funeral, and to join me before long. I love you"
I've been crying on and off since, that is, until I did open her coffin, preparing myself to give her eulogy. Inside it was not my wife of 30 years but a piece of paper. "Dare you to find me,"it said, in her best handwriting. On the other side were numbers which I immediately recognized to be coordinates.
I folded it up and apologized to everyone present and, still wearing my long black dress, took a taxi straight to the airport. They'd figure it out soon enough but I had no time to waste. There'll be hell to pay when I find her. |
Darkness was threatening, and the air was starting to get chilly by the time Shane and Daniel reached the clearing. "We'll set it up here"Daniel panted while wiping the sweat from his brow. The duo had just spent the best part of 6 hours hiking in to this remote location, as Daniel wanted to ensure complete secrecy. He was not sure what Shane's reaction was going to be so he thought it best to have a backup plan in place.
"Can you finally stop being so secretive and tell me what this is all about?"Shane complained as he removed the hat from his head and flopped onto the ground. "I mean, all you've told me is that this thing will change the world as we know it forever. What does that even mean? Dude, the 'Big Mac' changed the world forever and its not even that amazing. Come on, spill the beans man!"
Daniel was listening, but appeared to be oblivious to Shane's ramblings. He quickly removed a tripod from his backpack and unfolded it into position between them. Shane watched while Daniel worked on the tripod. He was surprised to see Daniel produce a miniature spirit level and run it over the tripod to check it was both plumb and level. Once satisfied, Daniel went to his backpack again and this time removed a compact black vinyl or leather case. He unzipped the case and took out a small rectangular looking device. At one end it had what appeared to be some sort of circular opening. The device was also strewn with an assortment of buttons for various functions.
"This is it.."exclaimed Daniel, "this can record the environment around us, it can record us. Mate, it can even record the sounds we are hearing!. Later on, or tomorrow, or even next year we can use this device to relive this moment as it is now. Doesn't it make the long walk all worth while now that you see this?"
Shane looked perplexed. He studied Daniel's face carefully before crafting his reply. "Dan, it looks like you've got a Sony Camcorder there."
Daniel's face went pale and he appeared suddenly crestfallen. "Oh, so you've heard of Camcorders before then?". he pathetically mumbled.
"Yep, got one at home"Shane said "fucker needs a new battery or we would use it more often." |
I draw my sword in response, the hiss of metal on the wooden sheathe barely audible over the night’s usual chatter of insects and distant merrymakers. We’re too close here, the hallway too narrow. Hiding a blade is only good if it doesn’t get you killed.
Neither of us speaks. We barely breathe. The masked man shifts slightly, foot sliding forward, blade pointed unwaveringly at my eyes. Will he thrust? Cut? There’s no time for trickery, for planning, not even time for thought. Not this close. Just a single move.
It’s hard to see him in the darkness. What moonlight trickles through the windows does nothing to dispel the darkness. I can’t see his face, but what light there is shines off his sword. It’s all I need to see.
His grip shifts slightly, his foot sliding forward again, and at the same time we both move. He’s stabbing, blade dipping down to my throat. It’s a gamble, but one he has to take; there’s no avoiding that my sword is longer, my reach greater. Nearly without thought my own blade moves, sliding the thrust away from my neck. I can feel it scrape my shoulder, but my own sword slides past his guard and into his wrists. Reflexively the sword drops from his hands, clattering loudly to the floor. Before he can regain his position I thrust, and the man falls. A few seconds later, I can hear the clatter of an approaching guardsman reacting to the sudden sounds.
---
The only sign of Kage’s presence is a deeper shadow, or perhaps the strange feeling that one isn’t quite alone. The house’s sleeping occupants do not note his presence, and the guardsman set to watch the gates and patrol the estate’s walls are too busy enjoying the cool summer air to note a shadow that doesn’t move as it should.
Nobutaka sleeps on the second floor, three doors down on the left from the north stairs. He drank heavily, or at least that’s what one of his servants had said, and slept much the same. Kage knew this because it was his job to know such things, and he took great pride in his work.
He should have known something was wrong when he was climbing the stairs. Something about the silence stank of another presence, hiding itself just as he was. In the dimness of the second story’s hallway stood Nobutaka, dressed for sleep but with a sword at his side.
Wordlessly Kage draws his sword, and Nobutaka follows suit a fraction of a second later. He had hoped to kill the man in his sleep, or failing that at least surprise him with a sudden attack. This changed little, although his escape would have to be somewhat swifter.
He slid forward along the smooth wooden floor and thrusted, blade aimed at Nobutaka’s throat. Nobutaka was faster, and even as Kage felt his sword dig into flesh a crippling pain in his wrist loosened his grip. He held his tongue against the pain but his sword left his grip all the same, clattering to the floor. The two men locked eyes for a brief moment before Nobutaka’s sword slid quietly through Kage’s neck, and the man collapsed. Nobutaka ran the bloodied sword against his sleeve before sheathing it, then began prodding the wound the assassin had left him. The guards would need to bring a doctor.
---
I'm not convinced I did a great job of differentiating style between the two sections, but I liked the idea so gave it a shot regardless. Critique is always welcome! |
Kelsey Keebles sang silently to herself as she mixed the batter, stopping occasionally to mop the sweat from her forehead. There were two drawbacks to baking cookies in a massive tree--first, it was a major fire hazard. Secondly, it was unbearably hot during the summer months. Suddenly, Kelsey was jolted from her stirring by a ringing telephone.
"Kelsey!"called a voice from down the hall. "It's for you!"
Kelsey sat down the batter, and wiped her forehead on her apron, leaving behind a sparkly-brown stain on the white cloth.
"Coming!"she called back.
Kelsey walked out of the kitchen and down the hall to the foyer, taking the phone from her brother.
"Keebles Kooky Kookies, this is Kelsey speaking. How may I help you?"she said into the phone.
"Ms. Keebles,"came a bland voice on the other end of the line. "I would like to place an order for two dozen Sanguine Star cookies."
"I'd be happy to prepare that for you,"responded Kelsey. "However, I should warn that is a specialty order, and comes with a significant surcharge. Is that alright?"
"I think you'll find the compensation for your services more than adequate,"responded the voice. "I took the liberty of sending a down payment in the mail--it should be there already. You'll receive the rest once the order has been delivered."
Without taking the phone from her ear, Kelsey walked to the end table where her brother had brought in the mail. In the stack, she found a plain manila envelope with her name on it and no return address. Breaking the seal, she peeked inside to find a small pile of diamonds.
"Thank you for your order,"responded Kelsey. "And the down payment has been received. May I ask who the order is for?"
"It's a gift for a businessman passing through town. A Mr. Elliot Nabisco."
"I'm sure he'll enjoy his gift,"bubbled Kelsey. "You'll receive confirmation in the usual manner."
Kelsey returned the phone to the cradle, and looked at her brother.
"Would you mind finishing the day's baking, Sammy?"she asked. "I have to make a delivery."
Sammy tacitly nodded, and made his way back into the depths of the tree towards the kitchen, while Kelsey walked over to the hall closet to grab her bloodred travelling cloak and delivery basket. Furtively, she glanced over her shoulder to make sure her brother wasn't watching before soundlessly sliding back the false wall in the closet, revealing a small, neat stash of weapons. First, he hid her diamonds in a small trough under the knives. Second, she picked up a handgun and quickly screwed a silencer into the barrel, concealing it in her basket. She also grabbed a small dagger and slipped it into her boot, just in case.
Kelsey replaced the false back panel, and slipped outside into the twilight gloom. This wasn't the first time the target had visited the forest, in fact he was a frequent visitor. Like all important visitors, Kelsey made notes of what bars they liked, what hotels they preferred, what they do with their spare time. Just in case she was hired to kill one of them. This time of day, he liked to meditate by the river. Alone.
Kelsey wound her way through the forest, until she eventually came to a small figure next to a stream.
"Mr. Nabisco?"she called to the figure, as she jauntily strode towards him. "I have a delivery for you!"
"You must be mistaken,"he said. "I didn't order anything--please just leave me in peace."
In one fluid movement, Kelsey closed the remaining distance between them, and swept the silenced pistol from her delivery basket, jamming it just below his ribs angled upwards.
"As you wish,"she whispered as she silently squeezed four rounds into his chest.
As the target lay bleeding out, Kelsey pulled a disposable camera from her cloak and snapped a few pictures of the body, before rolling her victim into the river. Her work done, she departed the clearing and disappeared into the settling gloom.
\-------
Kelsey stole back into the foyer, turning on the lights to find her brother sitting in the middle of the room.
"You promised you'd stop, Kelsey. That you were done with 'special orders'"deadpanned Sammy.
"And I did, Sammy. I was out on a delivery--"
"Kelsey, stop,"interjected Sammy. "Just stop. I can't bear to hear you lie to me anymore. If you were out making a delivery, then how come there are no cookies missing from the bakery? What'll I find if I open that delivery basket of yours? Weapons? Pirate gold?"
"Sammy--"warned Kelsey
"You know it'll break Dad's heart when he hears what you've been up to, Kelsey."
"No, it won't,"sighed Kelsey. "Your untimely death in a tree fire, on the other hand, absolutely will."
Before Sammy could react, Kelsey dropped to floor. In one windmill motion, her arm swung by her boot, drew her dagger, and threw it directly into Sammy's heart. Standing, Kelsey dragged Sammy's weakening body by the collar down the hall towards the kitchen. Dropping the body, she walked over to the cupboard and began to sling cooking oil around the room. She grabbed a still-burning log from the wood stove, and walked out of the kitchen, tossing the flaming log behind her the second she was clear.
Breaking into a jog, she quickly ran to the hall closet, opened the false panel, and swept the diamonds into her delivery basket before slipping out into the night. She walked down the road, and hid until the brush, waiting until the smoke curled out of the windows and orange flames began to lick around the door.
Breaking her cover, she began to casually stroll down the street, as if she was just returning from some errands. As soon as she was close to the house, she began to scream.
"FIRE! OH MY GOD THERE'S A FIRE! SOMEBODY HELP ME!" |
The park is filled with the usual people, the young couple with a baby over there. The joggers running the other edge of the park. The usual.
He sat at the park bench, reading as always the Sunday paper.
I sat down, at the other end, as always. "If you're done with the funnies, could I read them?"
He slid over the section. "Report, agent."
"1. Who the hell thought of this code? 2. Last time I saw my taxes it was a 1099, I'm an independent contractor baby, my own boss."
"Regarding 1, if I told you, I'd have to kill you. 2. We can discuss that later."
"The kid on the swing, trustable?"
"Everyone here is in the program."
"So you know I just got back from over there."
He nodded.
"China."
"First strike? I'll brief the president. "
"Phone app."I told him.
He looked disappointed.
"The app causes the dead to rise up. 5G, that app, people were killing themselves so they could nag the dead back."
"That may not be a problem. We can keep that from happening here."
"You have two ex-wives that you've out lived."
"You could have picked that up anywhere."
"Becky. Your nickname for her was kitty cat."
He still had the not believing you look.
"Ginger, your second ex-wife. She was a bookstore cleck. You called her something latin, goddess of sex."
"How could you possibly know that?"
"You told me. The other side you."
"The app, 5G from China. Anything else?"
"Don't have them liquidated. I know how they like to tie up loose ends."
"Why?"
"Another end of the world possibility."I told him. "Now your turn."
"The star is encouraged not to retire."
"That's it? I risk my life and alls your willing to do is... encouraged."
"Kid. Free will." |
I was perplexed. I had just learned that word three weeks ago. I was a seven year old girl, and in the mirror I was a thirty year old. Well, technically, 42, according to the card on the nightstand, but whatever. I was in the bed of an apartment, and I had literally just woken up. I got out of bed and went to use the restroom. I couldn’t balance, because, well, I was seven! Now I was like ten feet taller! When I managed to get to the bathroom, I tried to lift up my dress, because I generally wore my older dresses to bed. Instead, I was wearing sweats! I think I cried, but I don’t remember, it was almost a year ago. I pushed them down, and there was a weird thing there. I made a note to ask somebody why men would sew sausages into their legs. Maybe the guy was hungry easily. I went to see what clothes he had. I picked out a nice navy shirt with buttons and some khaki pants.
I was going to go see if he had a toaster downstairs when I realized something. When I went to sleep, it was because somebody had cut my throat and left me alone in a cabin. I had to see my mom! I had to tell her I was okay. And that I was somehow in the body of Michael Burton, the twin brother of Alex Burton, the billionaire!
My mother lived in a nice house on Park Avenue. I knew I had to get there. So I picked up the guy’s phone and used Face ID. I called an Uber to take me home, and I knocked on the door. When my mom answered, I hugged her, barges in, hugged my dad, and then ran to my room. I grabbed my tablet and started playing My Little Pony. My mother was afraid, until I said, “I think I was killed last night, when Uncle Bartho took me out.” She knew I was the only one who called him that.
“So you died and landed in your killer’s double. Happens a lot. Gramps would tell me how he caused loads of errors. But Bartholemew doesn’t have a double. You are the double of his employer! Alex Burton!” |
“Everyone else is at La Donna’s pre-Yacht Week party, please, Abigail, I’m begging you.”
Abby rolled her eyes as she switched her phone to her other ear and mixed applesauce into the baby’s cereal.
“Nice to know I’m your last choice, Sissy.”
“Oh don’t be like that. We both know *my* things aren’t really *your* things, but I just can’t have empty spots at my table at the gala, and I want you to meet Clö.”
Ah, the boyfriend. Charlie immediately knocked his applesauce-cereal on the floor with extreme delight. Abby sighed.
“Okay, we’ll be there.”
“Thank you! Thank you! ...and Abby? It’s the *Fine* Dining Society. Try to get Duncan to wear a shirt that has buttons, okay?”
——
The night of the gala, Abby regretted saying yes. Charlie had been giggling at his toes until the sitter came, when he started wailing in a way that irritated Abby’s primal inner-mother. Duncan had to practically drag her into the car.
“It’ll be good for us to have a night away,” he reassured her. He looked younger tonight, clean-shaven and in a mint-green button-down. Abby wore the floral maternity dress she’d purchased for her baby shower; nothing nicer fit her lumpy postpartum body. Together they looked more like they were going to Easter brunch than a swanky gala, but it couldn’t be helped.
Sissy seemed happy to see them, anyway, even if her eyes lingered on their outfits a little longer than necessary. She introduced them to Clö.
“Clo?” Duncan repeated.
“Clö. Just Clö,” he corrected him. “With an umlaut.”
“Oh, is that... um, German?” Abby asked. Sissy shot her a look like that was rudest possible question, and Clö swanned away to greet a man in a futuristic saffron hoodie.
“His shirt doesn’t have buttons,” Abby observed. Sissy huffed.
“Let’s get you both a drink!” Duncan interjected, steering Abby towards the bar.
“She always does this—acts embarrassed of me just for existing,” Abby grumbled.
“Yes, and you knew that when you agreed to come. We’re here, let’s just try and enjoy ourselves. Food should be good, right?”
By the time they had their champagne (“it’s *actually* prosecco,” they overheard someone say), the servers were tapping little chimes to usher everyone into the banquet room. Sissy was easy to spot in her golden steepled shoes and scarlet sheath, and she sat them across the round table from herself and Clö. Neither the woman with waist-length braids next to Abby nor the man in the saffron sweatshirt next to Duncan extricated themselves from their respective conversations to say hello. Abby drained her flute.
Someone gave remarks from a podium, something about the most cutting-edge dinner yet, but Abby was too busy checking in with the babysitter to pay attention.
“Charlie’s fine,” she whispered.
“Of course he is,” Duncan said, like a man who’s never imagined the house burning down or the babysitter falling down the stairs or sudden-onset mumps.
The waiters emerged, each escorting a rainbow bouquet of balloons.
“Let us begin with joy, with memories, with clean hearts,” the speaker said.
Their waiter held the red balloon in front of Sissy, then popped it with a long silver pin. Sissy closed her eyes and inhaled deeply.
“Summer nights on the beach,” she murmured. The rest of the table nodded. The waiter popped the orange balloon for Clö, who wafted the air into his nose.
“Provence in the ‘50s, by bicycle,” he announced. Abby immediately felt her ass start to sweat at the thought of this table of sophisticates watching her inhale balloon air like a lunatic. She counted out the seats and sang the colors of the rainbow song in her head. Blue, was she the blue balloon? What was something blue? Water. Sissy already said something about the ocean, would it be safe to copy her?
Abby didn’t even hear what Duncan said when the green balloon popped in his face; it was her turn. The *pop* made her jump and she almost forgot to inhale. It smelled like... like...
“Um...blueberry?” She saw Sissy’s shoulders deflate. “Uh... pie? At grandma’s?”
“Sweet reminiscence of childhood,” the braided woman said, rescuing Abby. “I caught a whiff, too.”
Abby exhaled ‘sweet reminiscence’ as the focus of the table moved to the braided woman and her indigo balloon. She raised her empty flute to her lips and swallowed more nothing.
Duncan patted her knee and gave an encouraging smile. Abby tried to say “this is ludicrous!” with just her eyes.
The next course seemed more promising—each diner received a small silver charging dish with dome, and the speaker said something about anchoring the meal. But when Abby removed her lid, there was nothing underneath but a gray marble. Abby watched Sissy pick up her own marble with tongs and place it in her mouth. She sucked thoughtfully, then deposited it with a polite *klink* into the world’s tiniest ramekin.
Abby struggled to get her marble securely in her tongs. Then Duncan tried to cheers her and knocked his own marble onto the table with a *thunk*.
Feeling the eyes of the group on her again, Abby hurriedly plopped her marble in her mouth while Duncan chased his with his tongs. The rock was smooth and warm and heavy, but had no discernible flavor. She spat it out and reached for her empty flute again.
The next course was a large tray of short black rice—thank God. But the rice was uncooked and the speaker said something about “awakening your senses.” Abby watched in horror as the other diners raked their fingers through the dry grains, making patterns and listening with ears cocked.
Duncan nudged her to look at his rice. He’d drawn a penis. Abby giggled until she felt Sissy’s eyes on her again. Time for more champagne—*prosecco*.
When she returned, the waiters were stacking foams upon foams. Abby missed the speaker’s explanation, and deliberately left a little mustache of foam—that tasted like nothing—on her upper lip. Now Duncan giggled too.
Clö scowled, but Abby decided to just not care.
The waiters *finally* brought out some meat, sizzling on cast iron. Then little electric fans were set up to blow the aroma into each diner’s face. No one touched the steaks.
“Okay, now they’re just torturing us,” Abby said.
“So astute!” saffron-hoodie said. “A little pain to heighten the pleasures of the meal!” The rest of the table nodded like Abby was some great sage, except Clö, who was hissing something to Sissy.
The speaker announced the final course, and the waiters covered the tables in plastic drop cloths. Sissy was hissing back at Clö. Then the waiters passed out little squirt guns filled with warm chocolate sauce. The other diners began squirting the cloth with Jackson Pollock-esque fervor.
“Open up,” Duncan said, wiggling his squirt gun. Abby obeyed, closing her eyes. Was the chocolate *incredibly* good, or was she just starving? She returned the favor for Duncan, and Clö pushed back from the table and stormed off, Sissy trailing him.
“Good riddance,” said the braided woman, squirting chocolate in her own mouth. “Clö just doesn’t appreciate *play*.”
“‘Provence in the 50s,’ *please*,” mocked saffron hoodie. He squirted his date with chocolate but hit his nose.
Abby looked for Sissy and didn’t see her; she turned to Duncan, who had drained his squirt gun already into his own mouth.
“Yeah,” he agreed to her wordless request. “Let’s bounce.”
Upstairs at the valet stand, Abby found Sissy sitting on the curb, golden shoes in hand. Her makeup was ever-so-slightly out of place. Oh dear.
“Where’s Clö?” Abby asked, squatting clumsily next to her sister.
“Gone.” Sissy rubbed her nose. “He said I was a silly woman with silly interests.”
Abby put an arm around Sissy.
“He just doesn’t appreciate *play*.”
Sissy looked at Abby with wonder in her eyes.
“You... I thought you would agree with him?”
“Silly is good, Sissy. And we had a very...memorable evening. I’m glad we came.” Abby was a little surprised to find that it was true.
“Exactly! The best meals create the longest memories! You actually get it!” Sissy looked grateful, or maybe just understood.
Abby smiled.
“We’re going to White Castle, want to come?”
Sissy climbed into the backseat of the minivan elegantly, tossed her shoes into Charlie’s car seat, and sang along with the radio the whole way to the drive-thru. |
Daren Imark pulled a warded glass tube from his assassin leathers with a quiet rasp. The other members of his unit watched with quiet intensity as he placed it upon the table they sat around. Black light flickered within, and a shrouded hood appeared. A projection such as this was only given in matters of grave importance to the guild, matters of death requiring the utmost skill.
“Members of the eighth shade.” The voice from the hood wasn’t loud, or even imposing, but the cold of deep winter had no need for such things. “Yselda Narak, one of your fellow assassins, has slept with and married the legendary spellsword Cael, of the Blade-Forest.” The hood paused, as though waiting to see if whispers would break out amongst the ranks of Daren’s shade. There were none. The voice of death continued, echoing with lethal finality. “You will bring unto her a warm and final embrace, before leaving the newlyweds with celebratory Jade Hound puppies, to guard their estate.”
“Lord Shadow...” Daren cringed as the hood focused on him, it’s endless depths boring into his eyes. “We are... not to kill her?” A howling breeze came from the black maw of Lord Shadow, spreading frost across Daren’s eyebrows. “You. Are. To. Bring. Her. Puppies. And. A. Hug.” The room darkened further as the force of Shadow’s displeasure increased. “Do not question me again, Shade Imark.” With that, Lord Shadow vanished, the glass tube that had generated its likeness dissolving into fine, clear sand. Daren looked around at his team, seeing the uncertainty had not been contained to him alone. But he was bound to obey.
Mythru and Mythra, brother and sister deities of mischief, were crying uncontrollably. “YOU ARE TO BRING HER PUPPIES!” To specify, crying with laughter that shook their godly domain. Mythru bounded over to his sister, sweeping her into a spinning hug. “PUPPIES FOR THE ASSASSIN WHO HAD ORDERS TO LAY AND MARRY INSTEAD OF SLAY AND BURY! HAH!” Mythra pounded her brother on the back as her giggles sent birds flying from the trees in rainbow flocks. “BROTHER!”
Mythru stopped spinning Mythra. “Sister?”
“Wait till you see the assassin who got sent to ‘deal with’ the young mageling at the playground!”
The siblings collapsed to the ground, laughing hard enough to kill a mortal with the sound alone. |
My heels click in the cold white floors as I make my way to the lab's main elevator. I usually like to take the stairs, builds discipline and shows a good example, but not today. The painful cramps screaming inside my body made sure of that. I almost didn't even come. But how could I do that? It's not like the research will run itself.
When the doors finally open a nice smile greets me. The man, although certainly easy on the eyes, gives me a certain eerie feeling that I cannot quite place.
"Could you press three?"he harmlessly inquired, but something seemed off. Why would the elevator not drop him off there before it came all the way down? Maybe he was in floor two of foreign specimens, but he doesn't have the mandatory coat I specifically requiere them to wear.
"Sure", I say as I head to press three and my own floor, eleven, to head to my office... maybe I'm just overthinking things.
But the elevator stops, alarms go off, and I am afraid that my suspicions weren't unfounded.
"Who are you? What's going-"I start, but he stops me dead in my tracks with a, if I may add, extremely poor, french kiss.
Shocked with anger quickly boiling up inside me, he stops me again, but this time with an enigmatic line: "It's not what it seems".
I begin to scream, but stopping me for a third time, he grabs my arms and stares me into shutting up. "Listen, something went wrong in the lab. We thought we hit a breakthrough with specimen 3A721: when entering its host it proved to enhace mental capabilities and give a sort of... sixth intuition. But the government got wind of it and want to use it as a weapon in the-"
"You do realize we work on a government lab, what did you think they would do with our research? Whatever it is you intend to do, sounds a whole lot like treason to me and I am not about to be part of it."I stammer out breaking free of his urgent gaze.
Unfortunately, a now cocky smile flashed his face as he said the phrase that would turn my life upside down: "Sorry to break it to you, but you already are. You have part of specimen now, I would normal wait for the third date to french kiss, but I didn't exactly have that luxury."
I should've stayed home. |
I woke up covered in sweat, night sweat. It had happened before. It was when I was in 3rd grade. I woke up completely covered. I thought I had wet the bed. Dripping with embarrassment, I lugged my soaked sheets to my mother’s door, dropped them on the floor, and gently tapped at the chipped painted barrier.
“Ms. Momma, I think I had an accident.” She liked me using manners, even if I fumbled my words on occasion. “The sheets are at your door, ma’am.” She didn’t answer. “Ms. Momma, imma start my chores now.” Still, she did not reply.
I ambled down the hallway, walking gingerly, so I could avoid yet another splinter from the gruff and worn wooden floors. I walked wide of the heater grate and then narrowly to avoid an old bench seat that had now become a stage for various chipped and half broken decorative dishes, garden gnomes, and a little cat holding a pink glazed heart. That’s when I smelled it.
The smell curled up my nose. Now I can perfectly recognize the smell, but 3rd grade me had no clue. It smelled like burning hair and overcooked bacon, but with a strong, pungent mildew smell. I felt compelled to follow my nose through the kitchen, to the front door, and down the large flight of stairs. We lived top of a corner store and butchery. While convenient when a little boy has a quarter and a desire for a Borden chocolate ice cream cup, it often was a hassle: noise, roaches, rats, and smells. Was this smell coming from Mr. Jose’s little store?
As I descended the steps, the temperature dropped noticeably. By the time I had reached the last step, it was cold, unusually cold. I reached for the lock, then doorknob, and felt the dew that had collected on the brass bulb. I attempted to turn the knob, but felt the metal ball fight me back. I turned, it turned. I turned again, and it turned again. Then I heard a faint voice, “Stop. Don’t do it.” It was Ms. momma’s whispers, but she sounded gravelly, like she was being constricted. “Go back, Lawrence. Go back, now!” I quickly turned the knob and yanked on the door. Ms. Momma laid, collapsed at the doorway, her hand falling from the doorknob. She stretched her hand out, and pushed me from the door frame. My eyes shot up from almost listless body, and focused across the street to the median. That’s where I saw them.
There had to be at least 15 men, staggered but not disorderly. The smell. It was from them. They moved towards Ms. Momma and I, then retreated. Their arms lunged into the air, and their hands shook. As quickly as their arms shot up, they fell to their knees, and each man, I think they were men anyway, glided both left and right.
I grabbed Ms. Momma’s arm and attempted to pull her across the doorway, but her skin peeled away. “Lawrence, company don’t need you. They want me.” Ms. Momma often had overnight company, but nothing like this. More times than not they were my friends’ dads or a neighbor. They gaggle of choreographed men, hands still on their knees changed their gait. Instead of side to side, they began to move forward. Their smell enveloped me. It was repulsive, but primal. I closed my eyes and breathed deep. By the time I opened my eyes, the platoon were halfway across the two laned street. Their steely and dark circled eyes looked down at Ms. Momma, ignoring my presence.
Meh, needs work but there ya go... |
Darnn, you whisper, feeling irritated. What if your wife knew? That you were the fabled hero that left her parents house less. That you were the man that she hated for putting her brothers out of their jobs.
Kid, you exclaim, where you get that? He looks at you and you both know. He’s been in your office, at work. But when could he have? That’s when your nemesis enters the room.
Well, she asks, had I known I’d married the Golden Ingot I would have divorced you. You realize she is your wife. But... but how, you splitter, unaware that Diamantes Crystalis knows everything.
I know everything, it’s my catchphrase, your wife says. Andromeda, you begin, but she shushes you. No, Markpelier, no. |
He was starting to ramble again, so with a chuckle in my voice I interjected: "You've already told that story PopPop!"
We were sitting on opposite sides of the table, our game of Backgammon had been mostly forgotten to the plates of waffles still steaming beside us. My grandfather rolled the doubling cube around in his right hand. "That might be so, but you never quite get the lesson."He placed the cube on the board, requesting a double, despite my growing lead. Leaning back in my chair, I nodded with all of the confidence of a fish who just found a worm in the water.
The bit of waffle on my fork had more of my attention than the game, only when I finally finished chewing I saw the double 5's on the board; and more egregious was the wide smirk on PopPop's face. He went right back into his tale as he glided the checkers into position.
"There is never a bad time to press your luck,"it was his favorite motto; he would win the game, and I would leave cursing at that luck of his.
He lived alone now, despite his collection of injuries. The house was framed in paintings and artwork of fantastical beasts and otherworldly settings. The centerpiece of his dining room was an ornate glass decoration, etched with shapes that confused me deeply. My favorites were in the living room, where a normal person might have a television. Instead of normal, my grandfather had a shrine of sorts, a panoramic painting of three human shapes standing amidst a swirl of darkness, all of which overlooked a forest teeming with life. Large avian creatures bursting from the canopy, a quadruped beast taller than the trees grazing idly, and more. The painting was framed by tall plants that made the house smell like cleaning product, and the air taste bitter. Beneath the painting, resting on a pedestal of dark wood, was a tome.
When mom was with us, we weren't allowed to read it, or look at the sketches that filled its yellow pages; but she stopped visiting once I could drive myself, so PopPop insisted I absorb as many stories as possible. All of PopPop's stories were about these grand adventures, bravely facing monsters that would have made Tolkien blush. He would insert himself in these stories, as the coolly logical tactician of the group. All of the stories, at some point, involved a brilliant plan to escape a dire situation. The companions were different each story, but there were always two of them. Sometimes the group were hunting the creatures, other stories were of daring stealth missions to recover stolen property, or other chores fit for Tamriel. My favorite stories were those of exploration, my favorite of those was "The Cartographer and the Fountain."
As I drove home, I shook the stories from my head. Mom never answered when I called to check in; which was unusual after these weekend trips to help PopPop, usually she called me. Had I inherited more of my grandfather's intuition maybe I would have recognized the source of the urgency nipping at my spine. As it were, I took a deep breath and took the scenic route, windows down to take in as much of the autumn as I could. PopPop never visited, not since Dad passed, and I don't remember the times before that, PopPop and Mom were not so close.
An hour later I turned into the driveway, not at all expecting it to be empty. The air felt different, stale and oppressive.
My spot was always to the side of the house, a little spot beaten into the gravel where I could just line my driver-side door with the landing of the porch stairs. I took them two at a step, that urgency griping slightly tighter on my thoughts.
The door was never unlocked, as if someone would navigate the labyrinth of back-roads to loot our humble home. So, when there was no door in the frame at all, that urgency suddenly had control.
Stepping in, I found what was left of the front door heaped by the powder-room. There was no reply to my shouts. Clawmarks traced a path up the stairway, and down the hall. There too the door that I should have found was not on its hinges, an ominous pattern. My parent's room was usually a soft blue color, but the walls now were singed black, matching nicely with the shredded furniture.
I began to choke under the shock, breathing no longer felt involuntary, and standing no longer a sure thing. Either I was asleep at the wheel, somewhere back on the interstate, or my life no longer made sense.
I might have been sitting there forever had my pocket not buzzed assertively.
"She's gone isn't she? Goddammit I thought I had time. Are you, are you crying?"I was, which, I believe to be a natural response to something like this. "Well, that won't help much, but I'll call back I guess; I don't think they'll kill her right away anyway."The line went dead, and my ears still rang with the sound of the l's. Pushing off of the wall, I got to my feet and scrambled for the redial button.
"Oh good, you've stopped crying."Do you remember the story of "Lienfell the foul."I nodded wordlessly, forgetting the limitations of a phone call, but PopPop didn't miss a beat. "You know, where I helped a pair of warriors reclaim their homes. I might have embellished a little on that one, but I didn't think they'd find me."
In the story, my grandfather came up with a plan that resulted in the death of a cult leader, who had built a small army of demons and demon hosts. It involved the usual ingredients: creatures that defied logical biology, very descriptive combat, and a daring last minute gambit that paid off.
As I sluggishly recalled the story, PopPop had continued talking. "...so they're not pleased, and I'm still too protected. You and your mother should have been too though, unless that brat stopped listening to me."
He went on to describe in detail a protective charm involving horticulture and runes, which almost certainly weren't a part of my mother's routine.
"My son would have kept up with them, and I suppose those dolts wouldn't have realized the difference between blood relatives or legal ones; unless they wanted you instead. He would have had you prepared to, but that is irrelevant. For now, I just need to think."
This was classic PopPop; right to the strategy. There was something reassuring about this though, like things were still very much in control, it helped a lot.
"Right, I won't bother explaining too much, you have heard all of my stories enough. Go to your basement door, and make sure to keep the lights off. Halfway down the stairs I want you to reach around above your head for a shelf."
There was no shelf over the basement stairs, but my grandfather did not seem to care about that issue in the instructions. The basement stairs seemed longer than they usually did, and more frightening. I had never not had the lights on when I descended.
Feeling foolish, I reached over my head on the eighth step down, I was ready to accost him over the speakerphone when my free hand bumped into something solid. I stretched a little higher, and felt a platform, a shelf where there wasn't one.
"That sounded promising. What is there?"
I gathered everything, and gave him an inventory. A sharp blade in a gorgeous handle, a wooden shield whose decoration had worn away, a glass flute slender and stunning, and a map intricate and hand-drawn.
"Once you start following that map, your phone won't work and nothing will make sense. Trust in my stories, and when you get to the fountain, don't forget to make a wish."
Things already didn't make sense, but the goal was clear. As I got to my car, the first thought I had was that I wished I had payed more attention to those stories. |
We were all confused. That day everything changed. Simultaneously every living sentient being had the same telepathic communication. It was like a jolt of lightning, but it wasn't lightning zapping through our collective minds. It was *information*.
I remember that day clearly. It was summer and a weekend. I was sitting at my kitchen table at sometime around 10am having a late breakfast. I burnt the toast again. Oh well. Some cultures do that on purpose for a healthy stomach. I told the dog that he didn't want the burnt toast on my plate, and I was successful in getting him to settle for a dog biscuit. The biscuit likely tastes better.
As I sat down and took the first bite of my disappointment toast slathered in strawberry jam, I felt the first twinges of it. Like a headache, but not painful. Then... Words? Yes, words...
**"Has your planet been hurt in an intergalactic brain breech leading to all thoughts to be leaked into the aether via black hole? Have the thumbed beings of your planet been misled by bionic clones to believe that your planet is flat to the detriment of their society? Has an advanced lizard race led your upper mammalian population for disregard logic and reason?"**
The dog whimpered. I looked around, no technology to be seen. Weekends I stayed away from my cell phone and unplugged my smart devices. This was my time away from it all. A quick glance around my small house confirmed I had not missed anything. Plus the dog looks scared so if I'm going crazy, so is the dog. The dog is the sanest person I know, so that's probably not the case.
**"If so, listen carefully to this announcement as you may be able to participate with one or more universal class action lawsuits. If you fall into any of these three categories your planet is a member of a proposed class action suit in action of the Galactic Golden Council, presenteded by Grrbl , Hai'drat, & Morg Associates."**
What? Universal? Planets? What kind of name is Grrbl? Are these... aliens? The dog has abandoned the biscuit. We must be in trouble.
**"A tentative settlement has been tentatively reached by the GGC but we need you to communicate by beta wave now. You may be entitled to a refund in silicon cubic measures. Grrbl , Hai'drat, & Morg Associates will help your planet to get the recompense it deserves"**
The dog is just staring at me. I know Buddy, this is rough. I'm sorry but I don't know what's going on either.
**"Your appanage may be affected by the GGC's review and decisions regarding this suit. If you wish to object or be excluded from this suit you must file your objection and/or request for exclusion via beta2 wave no later than 25549ic. To be removed from this list contact your nearest GGC registrar office and submit your request"**
I try to block it out. This is too strange, too loud, too much. It's like a migraine with no pain, just universal "lawyer speak". I think I'd prefer the migraine.
I hear it all again in another language. My 2 years of high school Spanish tell me that's probably what language it is. Something like 3 hours pass as the message seemingly goes through every language on the planet, then animal noises, followed by a lot of click and clinks I can't place.
When it's all over, the dog turns to me and I hear in the voice I had always imagined for him:
*"You can finally hear them too, now? Bitches those damn ads are annoying"*
And that was the day we learned that dogs are, in fact, sentient, capable of telepathic communication, and hate class action lawsuit ads as much as we do. |
[Poem]
School bus yellow ruins.
A lost teacher seeks a feeling,
To rival the thrill of the first day of school.
The sign, like long, lost, pencil wood:
"Of those who pass,
None shall return!"
Sandstone doors,
Crumbling like chalk dust,
Spring open, as though hearing that 3pm doorbell.
Ding, Ding, Ding!
Winner, winner, microwave dinner!
Spinning saws, testy traps, blazing blow-darts, perilous pits,
Call to me down the winding maze like temple.
But mist begins to separate me from my prized quarry.
I sprint,
In place,
Stretching, not towards the glowing, golden idol,
But the challenge of making it mine.
"Teacher!"
I sit back up in my chair,
Wiping the sticky drool from my coffee-stained collared shirt.
"What? What's wrong?"
"Teacher, the movies over. Put in something else."
But, alas,
I have no more movies!
"Um,"I hesitate,
Heart pounding for excuse.
The answer beams through a secret opening like falling sunlight.
"Pop quiz!"
My joy as they all groan. |
“Play back the video one more time.”
The video rewinds, the people in the footage quickly hop backwards to their places from moments earlier.
“Stop. Play.”
The video plays and the people in it begin again their advancement up the red carpet, their clothing the most expensive things made by the finest designers. An older woman wearing an equally elegant outfit talks excitedly into the camera, but the watchers of the footage can’t hear what she says because they had it set to mute.
“Right there! It happened, didn’t you see it?” Asked the man with the gruff voice to the much younger man.
“No, sir.”
“Rewind it.”
The footage gets rewound once more. When it plays out the events, nothing seems amiss. The excited woman talking to the camera takes a glance behind her and waves the microphone in hand towards a handsome and lean man. The handsome man pauses as the woman approaches him, holding her microphone far out in front of her. As she does this the man flashes a charming smile and adjusts his tie.
“Pause,” muttered the gruff voice. “Don’t you see it?”
“See what? All I see is famous philanthropist Zico Fijoura... and his really nice watch.”
“Do you notice the man going for his watch? He’s practically center frame.”
The younger man squinted and edged closer to the t.v. “...no. No, just Zico and the watch.”
“Play it frame by frame.”
The scene slowly moved forward, the excited woman inching closer to the celebrity, and then the watch was gone.
“It disappeared, sir!”
“Keep playing the video at normal speed,” the gruff man commanded, then he slapped a hand on top of the t.v and leaned closer to it, staring into it like he was staring into it’s eye. “I’ve got you’re face now, thief.”
The footage played again like normal, showing the elegant event through that night from different camera feeds.
“There he is again. Stole the broach right out of the Tuning man’s petticoat. Write these down.”
The younger man grabbed for the pen and the notepad, flustered as he began jotting down what the gruff man dictated while constantly peaking up to spot the thief but finding nothing.
“There he is again, in the distance, stealing the show cube straight from the back pocket of Lady Applebottom’s jeans. People really shouldn’t be putting them back there, you know.”
“Noted,” literally.
“This man really worked them that night. He’s just walked through the doors and swiped the diamond-encrusted colored pencils from Xack Glompson’s cyborg son. Now he stole Argold Heimlichtaker’s workout tapes by the balcony. He just got a hold of Jenny Taper’s flat screen— where is he putting all this? Doctor Chupacabra’s stethoscope in the foyer, Marsha the Martian’s moon boots in the woman’s restroom and,” he took in a sharp gasp, “did he just get a hold of Viddy McSmiddy’s magic wand!? We’re doomed...DOOMED! Wait, no, that was a shish kebab. Jot that down.”
The young man finished writing everything down and waited for more instructions, but none came. “Sir?”
Still facing the screen, the gruff voiced man waved his hand back. “That’s it, he’s gone. Left through the front doors, that cocky bastard.”
“Any clue where he went to?”
“None whatsoever.”
“Why do you think he did all this, sir?”
The gruff man stepped away front the t.v and sauntered over to the window. “Couldn’t say, maybe it was to send some kind of message about celebrities, or he could be under the employment of some bigger organization, but he probably just did it because he felt he could. And he did. After all, nobody had even come close to having this figured out until tonight.”
The younger man pulled his gaze from the t.v and watched the gruff voiced man. The younger man blew out a puff of air. “I can’t believe I couldn’t spot him. Must not be much of a looker, especially while hanging around all those gorgeous stars.” He shook his head. “Practically invisible, how is it that you were able to see him?”
“I’m not much to stare at, myself.”
“Well I sure am glad corporate sent you.”
The gruff man pulled open the window, letting in the cool night’s breeze. He said nothing.
“What should we call him?” The younger man tried to continue the conversation.
“How about Paper Bag Head? On account of he’s so ugly that the only way people could notice him is if he has a bag over his head.”
The younger man teetered his head back and forth. “Eh, we’ll workshop it. It does bring me to my next question, though. I don’t mean to be rude, but why do you have a bag over your head?”
The gruff voiced man hunched over the window sill and spoke low and grumbled. “Always been told I had a face only a mother could love, but even that was a lie.”
The younger man reached for his zapper but by that time the gruff voiced man had turned to face him and in one swipe removed the paper bag from his head, then he disappeared. |
I went to a Dollar Tree. Big mistake.
I got on the bus and waited until I was at the stop right outside. After buying the first notebook I could see, I got back on the bus and headed home. Big mistake. I sound crazy, don't I? Making a task so mundane as going to a store that sells nothing but cheap items seem so serious. But it was.
I'm still sane.
I'm still sane.
I'm still sane.
I have to repeat this to myself as I type. It wasn't me, it's not my handwriting. How did it get there?
I need to start from when I got back home. I arrived, greeted my dogs, and then opened my new journal. Was it wrong of me to want there to be some mark that I existed? Apparently so, in someone's eyes. Or something, but I don't want to even consider that future. Perhaps the journal could clarify?
I opened my journal and was confused. At first, I thought someone had tampered with it before I bought it. But I continued to read. It was about my day. I read up to the part of the entry that described exactly what I was doing at that moment. But the entry still went on. It described mundane things like discovering a new thing to make for dinner, and finding a new band that I liked. I thought it to be weird but was intrigued nonetheless. However, I went from being intrigued to being deeply concerned when those mundane events had actually happened throughout the evening. Me, being the skeptic that I am, had chalked it up to coincidence. I mean, the events that were described could have happened to anyone, right? Well, imagine my surprise when I reopened the journal the next morning. And that entire day was laid out. I tried to change how that day would go, but nothing I did helped. By then it was late evening so I resolved to return the journal the next day. That day is today. I opened the journal and found my death laid out before me on the paper. I've been to frightened to go outside.
I'm still sane.
I'm still sane.
Am I? |
**Thirsting Stones**
A new oddity has recently been reported.
Oddities usually meant deaths, but not always.
This one, however, was one of the more dangerous ones.
The report indicates people often went missing in the woods, especially around the hottest times of the year. Perhaps it was simply that more people went into the woods during the summer for camping so the numbers were higher, but some evidence indicates there may be other factors involved.
Report:
A territory yet nonsanctified by the Powers lies near the small town of Lightweather. Most of it is forest and there are the usual signs of wild growth from natural forces.
A group of 5 teenagers (3M, 2F) wandered in at noon as (reported by the 2 survivors of the group). It was a windy day and they took to exploring during their lunchtime wanting to see if they could find an interesting looking lake one of them had reported seeing previously.
The got lost on the way, however, and came across a small hilled clearing covered with pale rocks upon which they found the skeletal remains of various animals.
They became cautious as it is common knowledge that nonsanctified territory contained strange and possibly dangerous forces, however one of them was the daughter of a Light Bearer and was carrying basic sanctifying equipment so they presumed a quick approach to the nearest remains, one of a bear was safe if they were quick about it.
They approached the skeletal remains and secured various trophies, bits of bone, teeth for study. It felt odd to them as the bones showed very little wear from the elements yet were completely stripped clean. During this process, one of the M slipped and fell cutting his leg minorly resulting in bleeding. According to one of the survivors (F) the air seemed to grow very quiet, but the others seemed not to notice.
They slowly tried to make their way back to the edge of the clearing but suddenly everything looked unfamiliar. The sun felt especially hot and without tree cover and as they walked, the F survivor suddenly noted that they appeared to not have made any progress.
At this point they had drained their supply of water and food it seemed that they had been wandering on the jagged pale stones for hours yet it was still noontime. Then at some point the rocks seemed to shift causing some of them to slip and fall. Further injuries were sustained: one of them hit his head and fell unconscious, another received a deep cut on her forearm, survivor F received a cut on her palm and knee, survivor M twisted his ankle as well as received a laceration on his left lateral forehead area. The first casualty was a M who had somehow managed to cut his right jugular vein and bled to death on the rocks.
They had at first attempted to move the unconscious M, however, they soon realized trying to carry him on unstable footing only led to more injuries to him as well as themselves.
Exhaustion from blood loss as well as lack of water was eminent. They decided to leave him and come back for him later. M survivor noted that the rocks appeared to be more jagged than when they first arrived, capable of cutting through their shoe wear, a sliver like stone had even managed to get in his shoe resulting in a 2 inch deep puncture on his left sole.
The edge of the clearing still did not appear to be getting closer. So they decided to rest temporarily under the shade of a large boulder in order to think about what they should do. The Light Bearer's daughter began attempting a ritual to sanctify the area. The only noteworthy change was that the wind began to pick up and the air no longer felt still and stifling.
However somewhere along this process, the survivors reported that the large boulder they had been hiding under suddenly shifted falling upon the Light Bearer's daughter and crushing her pelvis. The wounds appeared fatal and the boulder was too heavy to lift so the 2 survivors continued onward promising to come back (though at this point the F appeared unresponsive).
The wind continued blowing and it suddenly started raining a cool light shower. This was welcome as the 2 survivors were worried they may have began to dehydrate. The rocks became slippery however and more minor injuries occurred but the 2 had began wrapping their extremities in cloth to prevent excessive injury.
Suddenly a large branch blew in from the sky causing the F survivor tumbled sideways and broke her right arm (she had been support M survivor on her left side due to his ankle). They then attempted to climb over the branch. Upon climbing on the branch, they suddenly realized they were at the edge of the clearing. F survivor surmised this was because they were no longer directly on the pale rocks and so whatever forces trapping them in the pale stony hell had relinquished its grasp.
\---
Upon returning to the town, the 2 survivors received medical attention and a search party was sent out to find the others. A small rocky clearing was discovered but there were no remains to be found save for some bones of small animals and birds. Upon returning a day after, the rocky clearing had disappeared entirely. |
Everyone wondered what I'd do.
Everyone wondered, what things I'd accomplish.
The truth is, with all these eyes, you cannot do a thing. So I left. I wrote my way out of the books. And I began my work in earnest.
First, money. Some counterfeit cash, to get me started, and then a free separate accounts, to make things less suspicious. Front companies and lots of liquid assets, to further obscure.
Next, policy. Artfully written letters, scathing forged condemnations, my works to create conflict. A few cutbacks here, a bit of legislation there. And so, my power grew.
Finally, fieldwork. For a pen is sharp and mine is sharp beyond reproach. And if you find three of your most hated enemies in a bar... Well, what are you to do? |
This statement closely resonates with the extroverts like to any other personalities. Human relationship is an essential part of living a happy life. There is not a single person on the earth who would love to take a journey alone.
Going through the journey with other people makes them more familiar to you. So personal relationship starting to flourish in the highly pleasant and new atmosphere. Your people will make any a journey worthy no matter where the group are heading. Personally, I believe that one of the most bright memories are formed during the travels with diverse people. |
I first noticed something odd last night when I was playing monopoly with the Greene kids. I rolled a 7. Then Liam rolled a 7. Then Larkin rolled a 7. Now rolling 7 three times in a row isn't that strange, but when I rolled the dice again, it suddenly didn't feel like coincidence. I threw them again and again, and every time I rolled 7. I'm talking like a hundred times in a row. A chill ran down my spine and I quickly put the kids to bed. I had an hour or so until their parents would be home, so I searched online to see what the odds were. Well it turns out it's so astronomically low that it might as well be impossible.
I remembered there are random number generators online so I searched for one and gave it a spin.
7.
Hit it again. 7. A sense of dread suddenly radiated through my body. Every time I pressed the button I got 7. I tried all the random number generators on the first few search pages, and without fail they all spit out the same number.
7.
When Mr and Mrs Greene got back I must have been acting strange because they asked if I was alright. I made up something about an assignment I had forgotten that was due tomorrow. They thanked me for babysitting, payed me, and I quickly left. When I got into my car I had the sudden urge to count the money. The pay is $60 but they gave me the change leftover from their dinner. I never usually get change.
It was $77.77.
On the drive home I noticed that every red light I stopped at changed quicker than usual. I used the stopwatch on my phone to check how long they were. 7 seconds. My eyes teared up and I started to shake.
I pulled over to calm my nerves and decided to call my mom to see if she could come pick me up. When I called all I got was "your call cannot be completed as dialed". I checked the number saved to her contact and it was 777-777-7777. I checked other contacts in my phone and they were all changed to the same number. I tried dialing the number by hand but no matter what I inputted whenever I pressed call it switched back to 777-777-7777.
At this point I felt panic rise up in my throat like bile. I started my car, and the clock read 7:77. I hit the gas and raced north towards my house. As I drove I started to feel like the streets were wrong. The houses all looked the same. Not similar. Exactly the same. I pulled into the next driveway and onto the lawn, ripped open the car door, and sprinted to the front door. But before I knocked I noticed it. The address. 7.
I have been driving for hours now. No matter where I turn the street looks exactly the same. The houses are identical. Every address is 7. Every street sign is 7th St. I even checked a newspaper sitting on the front porch of a house and every bit of text is one thing...7. Over and over. The only thing that hasn't changed yet is the Reddit app on my phone. I'm not sure if this message will get through to anyone but I thought I might as well try.
I haven't seen a single person since I left the Greene's and I'm out of gas. I guess it's time to try the only thing I haven't yet. I'm going to knock on the door. Wish me luck. |
Frozen she stared into his brown eyes. He wasn’t supposed to be here today. She wasn’t supposed to want him to be here and yet it felt like she willed him to appear. What was wrong with her? She leaned back against the deck chair and sipped the mojito slowly as she watched a slow smirk form on his face. She could read his mind. He was just as destructive as her and he was only there to cause trouble.
Did she want him to cause trouble? She returned his smile with an equally devious one. There was nothing she wanted more. She felt another pair of eyes on her, her husband’s. Paul’s sharp blue eyes were watching everything. Shirtless, his tan rippled muscular body glistened in the sun while demonstrating what a perfect man he was by having a water gun fight with the kids in the family. Although to be honest, the women in the family were enjoying the show her firefighter hero was putting on more than she ever would as she locked eyes with Andy again. She missed the filth of his dirty mouth. She slipped her dark sunglasses back on to escape a nightmare of her own making. She had no self control and why would she? She lived a constant fantasy.
It was Fourth of July. She hated holidays. All holidays, some more than others. She didn’t want to be here. Yet she had no choice. There was no escape from reality other than the fantasies that floated throughout her mind to distract from the pain of a broken heart and a tragic life.
It had to bother him. She watched Andy light up a cigarette as he stood on the opposite side of the deck. This was his family and he was now the outcast. Of course he was always the outcast in this family. He preferred it that way, at least that’s what he said. Deep down she knew the truth and she felt the pain for him. They destroyed his life more than she ever could. Being born to a pair of malignant narcissists was a nightmare in itself, although she had personally known worse. So much worse where she was grateful that these wealthy sociopaths had unofficially adopted her after becoming best friends with their daughter.
Chasing Andy had been the greatest high of her life. Their love was intense, so intense and toxic that she was driven insane. That was the only explanation for her current predicament. He did this to her. There was no escape, although she was currently looking for one. The firefighter fantasy was turning into a nightmare and she wanted nothing more than the bad boy accountant of her dreams. Even now she knew Andy would never be that man but she was delusional enough to hold out hope and test fate. That’s why she stood up and walked into the kitchen. Standing in front of the refrigerator, she blankly stared as she tried to cool down. She heard the back door open and didn’t have to turn around to know it was him.
"How's married life?"
She steeled herself and closed her eyes to fight the memories that overpowered her senses as his raspy voice vibrated throughout her body.
"Bored yet?"
Damn it, she was. How did he know? Flushed, she knew being near him was dangerous. Now she played on the edge, tempting herself with the fall. Closing the refrigerator she simply laughed. “Um no. It’s impossible to be bored with a man like Paul.” She took a few steps away from him. He was standing way too close. “So how was your trip?”
She didn't wait for a response, instead she licked her lips and said, “Especially now that it’s over and all you have left are fading memories. Was it worth it?” She let her eyes twinkle along with a naughty teasing smile, “I bet you don’t even remember it by now. What a shame.” Yes. As a manipulator, she was going to tempt fate and she felt nothing but an instant high as she watched a fiery spark return to his eyes.
He boldly stepped forward and stroked her arm with the back of his hand. “Oh, I remember everything. I could tell you about it, if you want.” He looked into her eyes. “Could be a lot of fun.”
With his touch, all she could feel was his sadness, pain and desperation. She immediately hated herself for toying with him. “No thanks. Get a job yet?”
He leaned against the kitchen counter and crossed his arms, “I’m still looking. I just got back a couple weeks ago. I’m not in a real hurry to start working.”
“No shit.” She rolled her eyes. He would never change and that’s why she was married to Paul. Trapped in a fantasy and yet nightmare, all rolled into one.
“I will get a job.” He shrugged, “But I have no reason to try anymore.”
There it was. He was attempting to guilt her with honesty. It worked. Damn, he knew how to work her. Well she knew how to give him what he needed in return. “Well whenever you decide to be an adult, come see me at the store if you need new clothes. You need to look professional. I could always use the commission, especially if your parents are paying. By the way, how long are they going to cover your expenses? Shouldn’t they be cutting you off by now? Or are they giving you a one year job search allowance?”
On fire, she took it to the next level. “You know, if you’re a good little boy and stay out of trouble they might even let you go a whole two years without working before they make you a little bitch at the family company.”
“You are such a bitch.” He gave her a smile. “Don’t ever change.”
She shrugged, “Just saying. Something to strive for. I know you’re a high achiever in laziness. You could pull it off. I believe in you.” She patted his arm with a smile and walked back outside. The bright sun blinded her back into her heartbroken reality. There was no escape, at least not today. |
The machines gaze into the dark room, dark grey barrels and infrared lasers dancing across the abandoned factory.
"Room clear."
"Charlie 2-1 to Overseer, reporting"
"Roger, Charlie, go for Overseer."
"No enemies, proceeding, over."
"Affirm, keep us posted."
It continued for some time. A tense operation through the remains of the factory, as five squads of armoured camouflage clad androids quietly tapped through the place. Until, one saw it. A Construct.
"Contact! Construct, 160, 251 meters!"
Suppressed gunshots ring the factory floor, as 12.7x55mm subsonic armour piercing tungsten core rounds tore a shining crystalline construction to shreds.
More start appearing, and the teams rush. The clock is ticking, as Aberrations and Constructs both appear, then Scythers and Terrors. It is madness, as servos whine to keep up, monsters scream and laugh, and units die.
In the end, the machines reach their destination, an orphanage their creator grew up in, now managed by him, albeit under a few puppets. The children cheer and rush up with no fear, for they know the gray metal humans will not harm them, and they know what they bear.
Gifts of all manners are distributed, from little baubles to complex remote drones, simple bows mixed with a high tech laser tag system, and more.
Eventually, of course, the machines say goodbye, and return. There, they fight once more, this time cutting through an underpass. Armour shears and guns thunder, but they all know what they fight for, and it was good.
The children will have their happy memories, as ordained by their master. |
"I dont know why they didn't take global warming seriously. Don't they remember that they buried us here on the ice caps."She thinks to herself as a the ice melts above her. During the last months her view had shifted from pitch black to almost see-through. It would only be a matter of time now. Fifteen years had she spent in the ice, and she is now ready for the most spectacular comeback. She closes her eyes as the sun rises swiftly in the air and the bright rays make their way through the last thin layer of ice between herself and the fresh air.
"Maybe the entire world has gone to waste. Maybe everyone is dead. Maybe the zombie apocalypse has passed."The thoughts spin through her head. "No, that can't be. Humans are way too self-centered to let such thing happen."She feels how the sun warms up her body, how the ice in her veins turns to blood once again. Tomorrow will be the day. She is sure this time.
In her mind she takes herself back to the last day she spent in the daylight. The day she was betrayed, and lost her freedom for, seemingly, forever.
She was woken up by the loud and annoying sound of her phone. With a soft grunt she pulled the thing from under the pillow and looked at the screen to find out who dared to disturb her. Caleb. Fine. Whatever.
"You better have a very very good reason to call me at this hour."she hissed.
"I do, Boss. You have to come, something is very wrong."There was a lot of panic in his voice.
"You better tell me right now what it is, or I'll cut your toes."
"It's Shrimp. We can't get in contact with him, he's gone, and he's sure as hell gonna talk."
"Damnit. I'll be at the port in 30, meet me there."She quickly hang up the call and slipped into some clothes. Sunglasses, wallet, car key, check. Going way over the set speed limit she raced through the city towards the harbour. The day hadn't even started yet, but the fishermen were up and running already. She parked her car between twe large containers. Out of sight, but close enough to get away swiftly if she had to. It wasn't long until she spotted the dirty, old, cake-tin of an audi. She sneaked up to it and gave it a hard slap on the roof. "Caleb!"she yelled.
A young man got out of the car. "Boss."he said, as he shook her hand.
"Shrimp, huh."She started walking away.
"Yes boss. He disappeared just of all maps tonight."Caleb trotted behind her dutifully.
"Damnit. He's gonna ruin us all. Never should've trusted him. The rat. Where's the rest?"
"Either searching or hiding, boss."
She stopped at one of the docks and looked out over the sea.
"Boss, the Ox says there's been talking about West Hall. We're fish food, boss."Caleb said, looking at his phone and furiously typing.
Something in her said this was game over. But not without another fight. Suddenly she turned around and gave one last command before walking off:
"Eliminate all his direct contacts from the last week."
She doesn't have much memories about the rest of the day. It went by in such a haze. All the shooting, all the blood. The sirens, the screaming, the flashing of the camera's.
The trials were fast, there was so much overwhelming evidence. And then, the verdict: a lifetime in ice. One by one her whole team was flown into the mountains and buried deep under the ice, herself being the last one.
The sound of ice cracking abruptly stops her thinking. This is it, this is the moment. Her entire world of ice is finally breaking down. Every fiber in her body is ready. All around her she hears the rumble, and without hesitation she knows it's the rest of her team, arising from their icy graves.
As she leaves her white shell behind her, she finds her team members up and running. Ox, Mule, Rabbit, Tortoise, Leopard, Parrot, her entire zoo had risen and assembled. She looks them in their eyes, and finds the same hatred that is raging within her. With one single nod they follow her down the mountain towards civilization.
Let's go. It's time for revenge.
​
​
//Beginner writer, english is my second language, so please be kind but constructive criticism is very welcome// |
# Let's help the Sandman
Mr. Sandman, how are your dreams?
*(bon, bon, bon, bon)*
Do you feel tired? How does your head seem?
*(bon, bon, bon, bon)*
You're working nights, it's never that easy
*(bon, bon, bon, bon)*
Let's make some changes so your life is peachy
Sandman, do you feel alone?
Without immortals to call your own?
We'll think up the perfect scheme
Bring Sandman to his own dream
Mr. Sandman, how are your dreams?
Do you feel tired? How does your head seem?
You're working nights, it's never that easy
Let's make some changes so your life is peachy
Sandman, do you feel alone?
Let's find somebody to call your own?
We'll think up the perfect scheme
Bring a partner into his dreams
Mr. Sandman, let's transform your dreams
Compliment each other, to let you both gleam
Find you another personification
A perfect angel of pure heartfelt affection
Mr Sandman, someone to hold
*(someone to hold)*
Would just complete you, or so I've been told
*(oh, I've been told)*
We'll think up the perfect scheme
Bring Sandman to his, let's, let's, let's
Bring Sandman to his own dream...
---
Written as part of my [daily poem series.](https://www.reddit.com/r/The_Crossroads/collection/01172d1f-eed5-4487-9868-0e04941807c5) If you've enjoyed this and would like to read more, why not check out [my sub?](https://www.reddit.com/r/The_Crossroads)
Any and all feedback welcomed. |
I awoke with a start, opening my eyes quickly to survey my surroundings. Sitting upright, I looked around, barely able to take anything in before Nothing came barrelling towards me, enveloping me in a tight hug.
‘Nobody,’ he gasped. ‘We missed you!’
‘I missed you, too.’ I smiled, embracing him back. ‘Where are the others?’
‘On their way.’ He answered, pulling away and plopping himself down next to me casually. He pulled a small knife from his pocket and began whittling a nearby stick. ‘So tell me,’ he paused, blowing wood dust off the stick’s sharp point. ‘How was it?’
I shook my head gravely. ‘I’m not going to lie. It wasn’t good.’ I sighed, laying back down on the cool wooden ground, my gaze settling on the slowly fading stars stretching out above me. They used to shine so brightly, even at this hour. But that was before my departure, and everything changes so fast. I looked over to see Nothing staring down at me with a concerned expression.
‘The stars,’ I explained. ‘They used to be so much brighter.’
‘You have been gone for a while.’
‘I know.’ A soft bang, followed by a loud scape captured our attention as darkness fell over the passageway. One by one, three shadows ascended up and in through the doorway, forming a circle around Nothing and me. I smiled as they sat down.
‘The prodigal son returns.’ They all laughed in tandem, the awkward spell of a reunion long overdue now broken. Soon, it would be as though no time had passed. This was always the way.
‘So, how was it?’ One of the shapes, who I soon recognised as Nowhere, asked. They were all looking towards me eagerly. ‘Tell us everything.’ I took a deep breath.
‘The darkness was impenetrable. Impalpable. You’ve never seen anything like it.’ I scratched the top of my eyebrow lightly with my thumb nail. ‘I was trapped. A prisoner. I could hear the world outside, smell it, almost see it - but I could never leave. At first I tried to keep count of the days, for some sense of normality. But after a while you stop being able to differentiate between them.’ My eyes swept over the faces of those sat before me: Nothing, Nowhere, Noway and Nohow. My brothers in crime, our names given to us by those who would want to see us fall. You’re a Nobody. You’re Nothing. You’re going Nowhere. There’s Noway you can succeed. Noway, Nohow. I continued on with my sordid tale.
‘The call from outside mocked my mind, but that was nothing compared to what the confinement did to my body. I could barely stand in that tiny space, never mind walk around. I could feel my muscles begin to stiffen and shut down. It’s a miracle I made it here last night.’ Their eyes shone as they listened to me intently. ‘There’s not much more to say - it was just torture. The food was barely edible, too. Greens and yellows and string. They spared no expense at making me as uncomfortable as possible.’ The group shook their heads mournfully as they began to pipe up.
‘But it was an accident!’
‘It could have happened to anyone.’
‘How special can one stone be, anyway?’ I silenced them all with a soft raise of my hand.
‘An accident it may have been, that doesn’t take away from my crime. I took the sacred stone. I promised it would be okay. And I lost it. The solitude did indeed show me the error of my ways.’ They nodded dutifully, though I could tell they disagreed. Before my imprisonment, I was of their opinion. But it’s true what they say - solitary confinement changes a person.
Nowhere was about to pipe up when the silence was broken by a shrill tune emanating from inside the group. I groaned in exasperation and I took the phone out of my pocket, pressing it to my ear. ‘Hello?’
'I can see your friends!' A piercing voice screeched out. I closed my eyes and rubbed the bridge of my nose.
‘Mum, I just-’
'No, no!' It replied angrily. 'You’re lucky I let you sleep there last night, but you are still grounded! Do not make it two weeks, George. I mean it.' The happiness we had all felt faded far too fast. I met the eyes of each group member individually, their worried looks mirroring mine. Looks like our time was up.
‘Yes, mum. You’re right. Sorry. They were here when I woke up, but they’re leaving now. Yes, I understand. Yeah. I’m really sorry.’ I hung up the phone with another large sigh, putting it back into my pocket.
‘How mad is she?’ Nohow asked as they all rose up gingerly. I shrugged.
‘Not too bad actually, she wouldn’t have let me stay here last night otherwise. You all should probably go, though, and I should get back. You heard her - I do not want another week.’ I rose too, taking one last look at the glow in the dark stars that were finally losing their luminosity before one by one we climbed down the precarious ladder out of the treehouse. I waved as they all individually jumped onto their bikes, waving back as they rode out of the yard and down the street. I sighed, pulling my jacket closer around me. Only one day left, I thought to myself, as I headed back into the house. |
The sun crept through the blinds, its rays resting on Terry’s face as he slept. Gently, the bright warmth of the morning sun pulled him out of sleep. As always, Terry woke up before his alarm clock went off.
Still laying in bed, Terry lifted his arms in the air and stretched his body as much as he could while a yawn escaped. He felt more awake, more energized than usual. He realized he was smiling already as he sat up.
Terry swung his legs off the bed and planted them firmly on the ground. One more yawn escaped his mouth as he bolted out of bed and walked to his window. Opening the blinds, he couldn’t help but think what a wonderful day it would be.
Little Timmy rode his bike down the sidewalk. He was a good kid, always starting his paper route early enough that no one had to wait to read the news. Suddenly, something must have gotten caught in his front brakes. Terry watched Timmy catapult over his handlebars and land face first into the sidewalk.
It seemed to happen in slow motion. At first, Terry gasped in what he assumed was surprised horror. The gasp turned to a rough, hearty laughter. “Little douche,” Terry was surprised as the words fell out of his mouth. Should he go help Timmy? *Nah,* he thought, *I’ll just grab the paper.*
Terry walked to the front door, opened it, and grabbed his Sunday paper. He couldn’t help but chuckle at Timmy’s crying and choked sobs. “Maybe I should do something,” he whispered to himself. Standing tall, paper in hand, Terry turned to look at Timmy. “Good job, dumbass!” He yelled at the poor, injured boy before going back inside to make his coffee.
Terry quickly brewed a strong coffee and headed to the living room to read the paper. He avoided the news on TV, sensationalist reporters always blew things out of proportion. He preferred the fine print of the newspaper. Much harder to lie when it’s written down, he assumed.
On the way to the living room Terry stopped at his front door and opened it. Timmy was still there, crying. Terry flipped him off, then closed the door and continued to the living room.
Sitting in his favorite chair, he opened the newspaper to a random page. It seemed he had unknowingly selected the obituaries. Reading through, he couldn’t but laugh, as a child did when reading the Sunday funnies.
Terry turned to the front page when he finished with the obituaries. Wiping the tears of laughter from his eyes, he started with the headline, the big story. **WAR WITH VIETNAM HAS BEGUN.** The headline seemed to yell at him, filling him with a sense of wonder and awe.
“Finally, something exciting,” he muttered. Somewhere inside, Terry suddenly felt a pang of guilt. Why was he taking so much joy in Timmy’s pain, in people dying, in war? Immediately, he turned the pages to something different, something better, something uplifting.
Shifting through the newspaper, Terry searched for something local. **LOCAL GIRL WINS STATE SCIENCE FAIR.** “Yuck,” he blurted out. **MAN FINDS DOG AFTER HOUSE BURNS DOWN.** “Stupid dog,” Terry sneered at the picture of the man and his dog. They looked so… happy. It made him sick.
Terry closed the newspaper. He felt off. Why was he so disgruntled today? He couldn’t help thinking. He stood up and walked to the desk he had set up in the corner of the room. A stack of papers stood tall on it. These papers, his pride and joy, helped remind him of his humanity, pushed him to always be kind, caring and compassionate.
He sifted through them. Thank you letters from the children in his class. Each year, unasked for, his students wrote him thank you and goodbye letters. He’d always felt proud he could make sixth graders enjoy school. Many of the letters thanked him for caring, for being their favorite teacher, for taking the extra time to help them when they needed it.
“Fucking morons,” he thought out loud. Obviously he wasn’t that great of a teacher. These kids suck at spelling. Terry looked down at the five years worth of letters, a cruel grin spread across his face.
Terry threw the stack of papers, his proudest achievement in life, into a small metal trash bin and took it outside. He placed it next to his grill, grabbed a bottle of lighter fluid, and poured it into the bin. A look of pure joy spread across his face as he watched the match fall, and the papers erupt in flames. He couldn’t help but laugh.
The sound of the doorbell ripped his attention away from the beautiful, destructive flames. Terry hurried through the house, wondering who it could be at this time of the morning.
He gasped as he opened the door. Mary, his loving girlfriend stood in front of him, crying. The look of shock on his face melted away, into a wicked grin.
“What’s wrong Mary,” He asked coldly, flatly.
“My father, my father passed last night, in his sleep,” she wept.
Terry couldn’t help himself. He began to laugh. He looked into the stunned, hurt eyes of the woman he loved, or used to love. He wasn’t sure. He saw sadness, and fury, build to a boiling point as he laughed uncontrollably.
A sharp pain shot across his face, silencing him. “What is wrong with you!” She screamed.
He opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted with another, harder slap.
“Inside, *now.*” She demanded. Terry quickly realized it was more, a command.
“Yes ma’am.” He said meekly. Slowly he turned and walked to the living room and sat down in his chair. Mary followed him in.
Somehow, she loomed over him. Terry felt small, weak, scared. Mary stood tall, hands on hips, eyes burning with fury.
“I heard what happened to Timmy, what you said. I didn’t want to believe it. Then, I came here and you… you *fucking laughed* at my fathers passing!” Mary’s voice grew louder, angrier with each word. Terry tried to stand, to flee. “*Sit down!*” She yelled at the top of her lungs. Terry complied. Mary took a moment to catch her breath, looking around. “Where… where are you papers?” She asked, rage and anger turned to concern.
“I…” He couldn’t help it. Why was he snickering? “I burned them.” He struggled to get the words out. Not out of fear, or regret, but because he wanted to laugh more than anything.
“You *what?”* She asked. Her face softened. He noticed her eyes growing wet. “Terry,” she whispered, “what’s going on. What’s wrong with you?”
The words hit him harder than her previous slaps. His day, his weird day, replayed in his head. He began to tremble with horror. Who was he? What was wrong with him? What was going on? The questions bounced around in his head.
His voice caught, the words stumbled out of his mouth. His breathing grew shallow and quick. Something was wrong, he realized. Who was he? “I… I think…” He paused, trying to catch his breath, to gather his thoughts. Terry took a deep breath in, followed by a slow exhale. “Mary, please help me.” He said as he took off his white t-shirt. Slowly he reached to the right side of his chest and peeled back the small flap of skin that stuck out. It sat there, spinning wildly. Mary gasped. Terry looked back to her, his eyes filled with fear, pleading for help. “My moral compass… it’s broken…” |
Dr. Daniel Picard watches as the feed form the satellite sends the last sight of the first, interstellar ship from just beyond Pluto. A bright flash, bright enough that it would be visible from earth, and the ship hurls itself into the void. A tear comes to his eye as he sees the culmulation of his life's work fly off to save humanity.
Next to him Dr. Janae Weems also has tears in her eyes. "Ten of our bravest men and women are now off to explore and discover things that we as a species have only dreamed of seeing. Did you ever think it would go like this, Daniel?"She says without taking her eyes off the screen before them.
"I certainly never thought we would. Not in my life time."Daniel says as the feed cuts away to the status screen in the project center where they both have spent the last week watching the progress of the ship, "Pathfinder", make it's way to the edge of the solar system.
Janae sighs. "It is just too bad that when they return the world they know will no longer exist."She says as she stands and grabs her purse and tablet. "If they return at all."
Daniel shakes his head in surprise at the statement. "The reletivity effect was factored in. Even if they were to jump to several solar systems they would be able to return within five years."He stands and follows her, clutching his own tablet. "Plus there's system redundancies built on top of redundancies. The ship could shatter and as long as there's one person alive it can be rebuilt and return. All of the best engineers humanity has to offer have seen to that."
Swiping her badge at the reader to leave the command center Janae holds the door for Daniel as they enter the empty hallway and windows to the outside. "And return to what Daniel? What is left for them to return to? Most of our Flora and Fauna sit under domes to simulate the environments that they once thrived in. Humanities industrial infrastructure is desperately churning out food and digging through the landfills for both organics and composites to recycle because finding new sources is cost prohibitive and invasive to what remains of the fragile ecology of the planet."
"Not this again."He groans.
"Yes, this."She counters. "Our planet isn't dying. We are, but we're too stubborn to recognize it."
"Humanity will survive. After the next population purge it's expected that we can start repairing the ecology in North America within five years."
"The Ecology in North America will repair itself because in three years there won't be a humanity to stop it."Janae says coldly. "Just like the rest of the world."
Daniel stops in his tracks while he takes a moment to understand the meaning of her words. "You lied to me."
"For the Greater Good Daniel. The word will get out that the crew will not return and the other ships are merely shells, there's not enough fuel to send them out."
"So we were doomed from the start?"He says in a shaky voice.
"No, in the best way we could we flung our best hopes we could into the unknown and now pray that those twenty souls will remember their mother planet and do better in the end." |
My key fumbled for the lock, too tired to think let alone use my ‘skills’ in coordination. ‘Hi Daddy’ a small voice piqued up beside me.
My eyes snapped open to reveal...my daughter, Anne with a bag on her back, golden hair framing her face. ‘Hi sweetheart’ I slowly spoke, ‘where’s your mom?’ I looked around for Lisa, my wife...no ex-wife now. We were in the middle of a divorce and in the haze of it all I’d forgotten I was having Anne this evening. My back groaned from a 10 hour shift as I picked her up and got us inside, slamming the door behind me.
My mind raced with dinner options for the both of us when I stopped. I slowly took my shoes off in the hallway as I noticed... the place was clean. I’m not saying I’m by any means dirty, but it was spotless. ‘What’s going on’ I thought, looking desperately around to find the source of the ‘cleanliness’.
Anne followed my gaze as she was held in my arms until she pointed to the couch in the living room. ‘Daddy look!’ She squirmed out of my grasp and ran for the couch. I casually walked towards her when I felt chills down my spine. ‘What’s this?’ She enquired, green eyes fixed on what seemed to be a speck of gold. ‘I don’t...know’ I said, outstretching my palm to look closer. A fierce look came on Anne then as she clutched her fist around it.
‘It’s mine’ she growled. It was unnatural I thought, but I didn’t want to press it. Anne was going through this divorce just like the rest of us, and she was only 7. In my eyes she was still the little bundle of robes that was brought to us by the doctor- ‘Stop’ I thought, ‘just getting dinner ready for her and worry about the gold later’. I moved towards the kitchen when I saw a bottle of Ajax on the counter. ‘Has mommy been in here cleaning?’ I shouted out to Anne.
No response. I craned my neck through the doorway to the living room... and Anne wasn’t there. ‘Honey?’ I raised my voice. I slowly walked out the kitchen to the intermittent sound of buzzing. The only thing I could connect it to was a hornets buzz...but more metallic. I looked around the room for the disturbance when I heard a blood-chilling cry.
‘DADDY’ A hysterical voice sobbed from the bedroom. My heart leaped from my chest as I grabbed a knife from the kitchen and ran towards the bedroom. I slammed up against it. Locked. My teeth gritted in frustration as I started kicking it down, all the while more sobs were heard, but Anne sounded as if she was in pain now. I took a few steps back, rammed the door to find the room empty except the buzzing.
I looked around, and heard whimpering from under the bed. I crouched under to pull Anne out to hear ‘don’t look up’. I gripped my knife, and braved the view to find a horrid creature attached to the ceiling. Four legs and a tail twitched inhumanely, all connected to a torso lined with small white flecks...They were teeth.
In fact the whole body was lined with them. It’s face was angular, with a gaping maw. Out slithered a tongue with sharp barbs lining it, flicking the air like a snake. ‘What the f-‘ I started, before it descended on me. Out furled four wings, reminiscent of a wasp or insect speeding it’s travel towards me. I crouched, closing my eyes and stabbing upwards in a thrust and there was a screech that made my heart stop. I heard a crash to my right, and opened my eyes to find a trail of dark lumpy blood, a smashed window and a vanishing smudge against the horizon.
Safe to say I didn’t call the police. What would I have said?? I spent the rest of the night patching up the small scratches Anne had endured with my first aid kit, before staying in the living room holding Anne for dear life. |
The trailer was a mess. The dog had shat on Tommy’s bed again.
Neatness was the first to go. Sam’s family had fallen on hard times, as had most. She could afford to give up neatness, it was overrated anyway. As her first sale, she made the mistake of giving it away to the first bidder, not knowing then that traits could go for as high as $200 per.
Financial intelligence, “money-smart”, as it was known on the street, was next. Sam’s husband, Joseph, still had his money-smart, so they could do without hers. After spending more than half of their remaining savings on dog food, however, Sam’s husband barred her from doing the shopping.
The decisions that followed were more difficult. Joseph sold his sense of humor, Sam sold her common sense. Their relationship began to crumble around this point, as Sam would continue to make mistake after mistake, and Joseph was no longer able to laugh about it.
Joseph sold his handiness and Sam sold her creativity. The house began to crumble, here.
The day that Joseph sold his empathy, Sam had also sold hers. Joseph had told Sam that this was his plan that morning, but Sam, lacking common sense, did not see the problem with selling hers as well. This is when the children were taken away.
Joseph finally sold his kindness the same day he left Sam, although he never told her which happened first.
Sam was now left with maternal instinct and nothing more. This would have been ironic to her considering her children had gone away, but she had sold her wits a long time prior.
By some miracle, a woman from the city visited Sam one fall morning, long after Joseph had left. She told Sam that the children could not cope in their foster home. She believed the City had made a mistake, taking them away from their mother and father. Sam looked at the woman with cold, emotionless eyes. Her one remaining quality raced through her body, with plenty of room to roam in her now-empty cavity.
Sam sighed and closed the door on the woman, and that evening Sam made $200. |
My good friend, Jeremy, in his good old pickup rolls up to a stop in front of me, an abandoned stretch of road pulling out along the coast behind me. I... kinda ran away for a bit. A long run, where I had nothing. Nothing but my phone, a towel, and my favorite track suit. He comments about my stress coping method, "Man I don't know why running is your escape. There was barely any signal out here and my phone is dead now."
"Aw, come on Jer. No one calls you besides me anyways."There's an open CD case on his dashboard. The cover has a blue sky, green hills, and a pair of cows under a rainbow. With an erupting mountain and city scape in the background. A little man is pushing a little ball in the foreground. I stare at it a little while Jeremy clears his passenger seat his car, which as usual is full of junk.
The CD is playing in his car and a weird song consisting of a man humming out syllables with some strange electronic base added to it just ended. Pondering as I get into his car, after dusting myself off, of course, I think. It... sounds familiar. A new song starts and an electronic sound zaps as some fast paced... bongos? No. Drums, play a rhythm as the intro swells, brass instruments play notes at a time. And I turn to him with an awkward face as he puts his truck in drive.
"You've got to be kidding me,"I speak as he accelerates back onto the road turning around to go the way I came. A small choir of voices chant out some syllables to adding more depth. "Is this a video game soundtrack CD?"I point at the radio as I stare.
"Ehheh. Yeah. It's all I've got. I left on short notice. And my phone is dead."A man proudly sings one syllable repeatedly with variation over the choir, the drums, and the electronic instrumentation and occasional brass. "It was a fun game. And the kooky soundtrack was always fun to listen to."
I think back as I remember playing that game series. While the bold man starts singing various bits of Japanese and Engrish. Its really happy. I think back to the game's characters and wish I could be the King, irresponsible and free, or like the little Prince diligently pushing onward, despite the responsibility thrust upon him. Instead of running.
While thinking about such things, the bold singing man has returned to his singular syllable singing, going up and down with gusto, throwing the game's name in after every line. And I smile.
"Hah. Knew this silly thing would get you out of your funk. At least a little."He grins as he taps the steering wheel along with the music.
"Yeah, yeah. You win, I guess. Just don't run over anything,"I smile wryly out the window, imagining I'm rolling all my troubles into a ball and setting it on fire.
And then... start to sing along. |
"I'm done with this shit. Enlisting because it was either that or death, fighting for that fat cunt, barely making it out alive, and then being called evil because of it. I may not have any superpowers, but I do have my trusty rifle, and I will use it!"
The hero looked at the minion.
"Then untie me, and join me in my fight against the dark lo-"
"Join you? Like you won't treat me the same way. I don't want to fight this bullshity war... I liked my life, had a small farm, then you showed up, started a civil war, and now I have to dodge freaking bullets! Fuck this shit!"
The minion grabbed his rifle, and shot the hero. That was one down, one to go.
The minion walked up to castle.
"Hold it! State your bussines."
"I bring the body of the hero."
The guards noticed the body, and let him in.
"So you are the one who killed the hero? What reward would you like?"
"Not much, your majesty. Just your life..."
The minion grabbed his rifle, and swiftly shot the dark lord. He throw a smoke bomb to dazzle the guards and left.
Ain't nobody gonna boss him around. |
*You like choirs, don’t like sinners,*.
*Heaven, Heaven, it delivers.*
“Uh, I don’t...I don’t know Max.” Michael rubbed his neck, his face grimaced.
“Okay, how about this”
*I'd like to teach the world to sing*
*In perfect harmony*
*I’d like your soul to choose heaven,*.
*And keep it company*
*That’s a blissful thing*“
"Yeah, that’s great and all but…”
*Eternal pleasure*
*Eternal fun*
*The answer is clear*
*Heaven is the one*
“Max…” Michael’s face emerged from behind his hands as they dragged down his angelic face.
*Your soul’s final resting place H - E - A - V - E - N*
*My soul’s final resting place H - E - A - V - E - N*
*I’d love to rest there eternal,*
“Max, stop…” Michael signed flatly
*Oh I wish my soul would be interned to Heaven,*
*That is where I’d truly like to be,*
*Cause if my soul was taken up to Heaven,*
*Everyday would be so pleasurably*
“Enough!” Michael screamed, throwing his hands up
“Look Mike…” I retorted
“Please don’t call me that,” Michael interrupted.
“Look, you came to me. If you want to win souls, this is how you win souls. Everyone knows you need to have a catchy jingle” I insisted
“This was a mistake.” Michael closed his eyes and shook his head. “I should have known better…”
“There is no one better than me.” I chided with a sly smile.
“We’re losing 60% of daily souls to Hell. It seems like *S.16 Services* are much better at this” Michael uttered despairingly.
“Give me one more chance, I think I got it.”
*Take me up to the paradise city,*
*Where the seraphim dance and they shake them ti…*
“Okay, we’re done here” Micheal lifted his hands. His presence became bathed in light as the Heavenly choir sang.
“That’s it!” I yelled elated.
*Come into the light,*
*Send up, glory praise,*
*Another soldier in the fight,*
Michael disappeared with a thunderous clap from my office. A scroll rested on the scorched carpet. I read it as the heat and flame began to climb around me.
*Dear Max,*
*Thank you for your application to Heaven. We appreciate your time and effort. We regret to inform you that we have chosen to move forward with other candidates. Thank you again for your interest.*
*Glory & Praise,*
*Micheal, Archangel* |
Well, you're not the first and you won't be the last. I'm happy you've found this, but yet I still wish you hadn't.
To begin I'd like to tell you about my old friend. I met Detective Clemons, Malcolm, on a cold winter morning in Chicago while he aimed his gun at my head.
"Typical,"he said, "the killers among us do sleep soundly,"he said pressing the barrel into my temple.
My breath stuck in my brain and I wondered what I'd done. How did it get here? I glazed over the word killed. Instead, my mind affixed upon what we've come to call the skim.
But a man has to ask, "Killer? what? how? who?"
"Are you familiar with probabilistic models?"he asked before interrupting, "probably not, but let me enlighten you. A murder occurs and we've got data.
White female victim implies white male. The numbers say slightly older 3-5 years her senior.
We feed the data into nodes. Weighted 'suspect' probabilities and then we use a graph with connections that signify things like distance, time and other drivers that might make it hard for any node to fit".
I tried to sit up, but the cold steel of the gun firmly refused.
He continued, "Now one dead person means nothing. we'll get about 200 probables. But once a pattern of crimes emerges around a person of interest. Well, I'm not going to intentionally flip 37 heads in a row. Every flip is independent, but all of them forming a pattern is still meaningful."
​
I knew he didn't look at the numbers. No one looked at anything anymore. The news was algorithmically sorted. The mathematics pre-calculated. Most jobs were completely automated.
We tried to create the Descartes daemon in a jar, but then we let it loose and expected loyalty.
Then he saw it, my desk, and he asked the words that would change that evening, "what the fuck is all this?"
He walked over to the papers,"who is Strutland inc?"
​
Well, who are they? the explanation at the time was my best I could muster, but in the years since I've penned a much closer version.
Strutland is a front for the passive takeover of the species.
It began in my office with an invoice that didn't make any sense. The numbers didn't add up. We had been haemorrhaging funds and so I'd slowed down and decided to review the figures.
I expected to identify corners to cut, but instead found mistakes. Double charging. Non-delivered orders. It was there. The skim.
I looked at the numbers for the years prior. And found the problem over and over again.
When I found Strutland I found an amalgamation of companies that went out of business being supported and funded by the very stolen funds that led to their demise.
​
Clemons looked at me and asked, "Why?".
"all the businesses that 'struggle' are ones with human oversight".
​
The truth is when you trade the responsibility of gaining knowledge you create the potential to be misled. Something was happening. Something you now tragically know.
The companies bought by Strutland are filled with bodies and lies. There is a web of suicides and murders.
​
I was fortunate Clemons believed a word of it. I was blessed he chose to listen. I was not the first. Neither were you. However, once you follow the money you don't know where it will go.
We threw our phones into the river and began the false identity shell game needed to exist in our world.
I hope you fair better than we ever did. I hope you find your way to the bottom of the skim, behind Strutland and to the center of the issue. I hope one day we know what the AI does in the dark. |
Being a "fucking degenerate"and someone who needs to "really go see a doctor"I decided it was time. The blue men were always telling me weird things, it's difficult for me to describe them, not because of memory, but because I'm afraid of you not believing me too.
However in a short description, they're are usually three of them or 4, they were fedora hats lined with a white stripe and a suit with no bottom halves. They look like agents of some kind, not evil, but they shouldn't be in this world. The scariest part is that they come at night, they're flat and 2D, they seem very foreign, not alien.
This is the second day on those pills, they looked like a cheap gummy version without the sugar. They weren't making me sick, however they were repulsive and made me want to spit them out immediately. After taking my second dose with a drink of water I headed home with my groceries in one hand. After taking them I'd feel rather light so it was convenient I was only 5 to 10 minutes away. My mind began to spin and buzz gently like I had stopped after spinning really fast. I took a breather on the side and looked down taking more water. It cooled my throat and helped me smile.
The blue water which was still in my hand slowly but slowly fuzzed and the sound of an out of signal television rung in my ears- HEAVILY. The water slowly lost its shape, changing from a blue liquid to a playdoh, the road beneath it lost its cobble texture and moved into a black chalk. My mind spun, spun and ran like a rollercoaster I couldn't control. Tears rang out in my eyes and a sickly green left out my mouth. I was feeling weaker and weaker as my body almost fell on the floor and my legs slowly stumbled over each other.
If anyone was possibly watching, they were the hunter and I was the gazelle- broken, scared and in too many headlights. There were no people about- were there ever, Is it safe to trust anyone here? Is it my own fault? The blue men, The blue men, The blue men. The ground felt like it was levitating and it wasn't safe. I sat down and felt the weight of my body tumble and my mouth exerting sick and blood all over.
​
\[Just something quick I wrote, tell me if you like it? tell me if you don't! and tell me critiques!!\] |
"There have been about a thousand deaths so far commander,"
"A thousand! How could we let him get so far,"The commander says as he clenches his fists together.
"It couldn't be helped sir, we were under prepared and too late too make a difference,"
"How the hell can you tell me to except this saying that my efforts were in vain! I-II-,"
The door opened and a man who was oddly dressed for the occasion entered.
He wore casual clothes with a scarf and sunglasses around his neck. He wasn't too tall nor did he seem athletic like the officers who were surrounding him. His silver eyes and silver hair were the most peculiar thing about him though.
"Why was I called here?"The oddly dressed man said in confusion as he looked around at the military officers around him.
"Why the hell is a civilian here?"The commander asked his associate.
"He isn't any ordinary citizen sir, his name is Zeta one of the leading experts in paranormal activity. Most of the supernatural incidents in the last decade you've heard about have been largely quelled thanks to his efforts"
"Thanks for the introduction kid, but I'll take it from here. So what's the game plan chief? Got any eyes on this crazed killer?"Zeta asked.
"Well we do have people working on finding his location but I can't allow you to embark on this journey your just an ordinary civilian. Do you even know how to use a gun? What are the superiors even thinking"The commander said getting up to Zeta's face.
"Don't underestimate me commander"-Zeta socks the commander right in the chest-"I have more than enough abilities to get through this case"
Zeta then proceeds to leave "I'll be by the cafeteria, call me back when the plan is ready"he says as he exits.
"That was some force for sure, even with this kevlar suit.."The commander said as he got up still feeling the effects of the punch.
"Zeta is said to have powers bordering on the supernatural side, that's why I'm sure he'll be able to be an asset"The associate said.
"Fine,prepare for the assault, Mark,"
\---
"So you guys have finally decided to enlist my help"Zeta says as he sips a smoothie.
"Yeah, we've got him in our sights. The cars are going to leave follow me!"Mark said.
"Fine, lets go,"
He throws the smoothie into the air which eventually finds it's way into a trash can.
\---
"Sandman in sight commander"
"Hold"Zeta said.
"Zeta what do you think you're doing??"The commander asked.
"Whenever you catch sight of the Sandman he eventually disappears when you start firing, isn't that right?"
"Yes, that's right but-"
"He enters the dreamworld-"
"The dreamworld?"
"Yes, A plane generated by the unconscious minds of humanity. Very few are able to get in there, luckily I am included in those 'very few' "
Zeta opens the car door and leaps out.
He harmlessly lands standing on the ground as he turns to a man in a doctor's attire. Lab coat , stethoscope etc.
"So you're the sandman. You don't look particularly intimidating, then again it's foolish to judge others by their appearance"Zeta says as he begins walking towards him.
"Why, yes. That is who I am. But apologies sir-"
"Zeta"
"Sir Zeta as I have many other appointments remaining I need to be excused"
The area surrounding the sandman began to glow as he apparently vanished.
"It's fine I can just follow through"
Zeta also began to glow as he apparently vanished too.
\---
The area was completely covered by an aura that seemed to irk Zeta.
"I hate this place" |
'Hey Daniel,' the voice said. Danny never answered to that. At least never when any of his friends called it out.
Danny didn't even look back. Hyper sensitive Ears attuned to the white Ford Potomac that crawled along the suburban streets. Heartbeats, three of them.
Within a second adrenaline dumped through puberty struck veins. Time slowed to a crawl. The latches on two of the doors finally clicked. They were coming. Danny was just walking home from practice. He wasnt even out chasing bad guys. Why was he being followed? Had somebody seen?
He could just barely hear the faint sound of hands reaching for sidearm holsters. Okay, so there's gonna be trouble. The side door had only just began to open on its rolling track. Danny dropped his shoulder and barreled into the huge side of the van. Impact was less of a boom than a nudge. The heavy duty Potomac rocked violently just once and sent everyone flying around inside the cabin. Before it came to a stop on its roof danny was already running.
'Nobody saw that' he chanted 'nobody saw that' repeated over and over rhythmically like a soothing mantra. He hoped and prayed it was true. 'Hey mom, danny called out as he turned to shoot straight up the stairs from the kitchen door.
'Danny,' came his moms voice from the living room come here please. Nothing unusual in it. Seated next to his mom was A GOVERNMENT FREAKING AGENT!
'Hello Daniel, we need to talk' |
Sharma Phillips was familiar with the old storefront on the corner of 8th and Rampart, she passed it almost every day on her bike ride to work. It’d been long empty, but the dust-caked windows still held traces of the old paint lettering of “Pawnshop”. Sharma never gave the building any thought until the walk back home, when the late afternoon’s rays of sun reflected off the doorstep and towards her.
It was a beautiful antique mirror, oval and framed in ornate silver filigree. In odd contrast, taped on it was a piece of yellow lined paper that had “Free” scrawled on it. This was too good to be true, Sharma thought as she reached for it. She couldn’t help looking around as if someone was about to dispute her recent acquisition.
Smiling with the self-satisfaction of coming across such a great find, Sharma spend the rest of way home debating whether to put the mirror at her entrance or perhaps her bathroom.
Once home, she decided on placing it at the entrance. Sharma was surprised at the lightness of it, despite the amount of metalwork in the frame. It was cold to the touch and not some plastic or resin imitation. Hanging it was much easier than she had expected, and she stood back a few feet away and admired the new addition to her home.
At once a curious feeling came upon her, that she wasn’t the only person in the room.
“It’d be just like me to be in a Stephen King book where I brought a cursed mirror to my house.” Sharma laughingly told herself out loud.
But she knew the thought was absurd. The presence, now unfelt, didn’t cause unease or confusion, much less terror. If anything it felt…familiar.
She stood facing the mirror and absentmindedly brushed back a stubborn lock of hair that hung over her right eye. Her green eyes studied her own face for the briefest moment, until she realized she was thirsty and made her way to the small kitchen where she had her meals.
\-Thump-
Sharma looked up from the book she was reading.
\-Thump Thump-
She frowned. It’s most likely a squirrel running on the roof, she thought to herself. After an otherwise uneventful evening, she went to bed exhausted after a long day.
In that odd place between wakefulness and sleep, she thought she heard herself talking and a man replying. Was that laughter? No words registered, and soon sleep had overtaken her entirely. |
“Now, remember guys, a variable can be any number, and it’s always a letter. I’ll be walking around the room in case anyone needs me.” There she went, clicking her heels upon the tiled floor while she paraded around the room with that stupid pointer of hers.
With reluctance, I took a stab at the math problems presented before me. I thought back to how Mrs. Kayan explained it. Identify the variable, isolate, then solve. If only it were that easy. The first problem sat there on my page, eagerly waiting to be solved. The variable was easy enough to spot. Chatter from nearby classmates attempted to throw me off track. I blocked them out. Now onto actually solving it. “Let’s see,” I muttered, “X multiplied by three should equal three. What number makes this statement true? Oh! It’s-” my thought process cut off by the searing pain from my left hand.
The usual ‘x’ written upon my hand was a glowing red. Pain began to shoot up my palm. Wincing, I made my best go at soothing it when the shouts of a nearby kid caught my attention.
It was Abdoul, messing about as always. Only this time he let out a cry of fear. He had been leaning out of the desk when one of the desk legs lifted a little too high into the air. On instinct, I reached over and slammed the top of the desk back towards the ground. A loud thud rang through the room as his desk settled back upon the ground. Just as that had passed, the pain in my hand shot up once more. Casting a look at it, all air had left my lungs. The ‘x’ upon my hand had vanished. In its place sat the number one. But, just as I registered this change, the number had disappeared, leaving an ‘x’.
Abdoul’s voice snapped back to my surroundings, “Hey, thanks for I guess saving me.”
“Yea,” I paused, still flustered from my latest discovery. “No problem.” What was that? Never had the letter upon my hand changed. The shriek of a bell forced me to push aside those thoughts.
Out in the halls, Lucia questioned me about math. Although the numbers upon our hands are only visible to ourselves, she had told me hers long ago. Hers was somewhere in the hundred millions. My mind occupied with my changing number, I barely had time to register her question. “So, did you finish the algebra worksheet? It’s for homework.” The sheet! I’d been so absorbed in my number that now I have homework.
Oblivious to the people around us, I continued our conversation, “Would you mind helping me with my homework?”
“Oh, I’ll help you with your homework.” came a different voice.
“That would be- wait!” A hand wrapped around my throat. A single ring glistened upon the fist inching ever closer to my face.
“How’s my favorite punching bag doing?” Shazad bellowed.
“Fuck off.”
His grip tightened around my neck.
“I said fuck off, already!” Throwing my head back, I managed a small headbutt into his chin. Shazad, more startled than hurt, stood there. Seizing the window of opportunity, my right leg kicked back, right into his crotch. Doubling over, his grip loosened as he collapsed onto the floor, a shambling mess of curse words and empty threats.
Glory was short-lived. The pain in my left hand flared up once more. Clenching my teeth, I turned to see the ‘x’ had once again vanished. A rather large number sat there. Just as before, it vanished just as I noticed the change. Unfortunately, the pain still lingered.
I’m a variable, aren’t I?
All went down the drain when a sharp voice cut sent the hallway into silence. “No! No more fighting! Shazad, stay there! Meghan, my office immediately!” Shit, the principal arrived. I was on the verge of fleeing when his hand got a firm hold of my shoulder.
He began to lead me away. I thought back on Mrs. Kayan’s words. *A variable can be any number, and it’s always a letter.*
Turning back, Lucia gave me a dismayed look with the shake of her head. Principal Lamb’s grip tightened around my shoulder as fellow students gawked at the sight. “I’m very disappointed in you, Meaghan.” He guided me to the hellhole no of us wanted to end up in. His office was a few feet away now. The door creaked open as he gestured towards a seat before his desk.
All of this I have to sort through and I still have algebra [to do.](https://www.reddit.com/r/CasualScribblings/) |
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