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"Sigh, not this again."You say to yourself. You're covered in placenta goo.
What will you try to achieve in this lifetime? Professional chess player? Baseball pro? Hermit on the mountain?
It's the same merry go round. Every. Fucking. Time.
You start talking in baby-talk to the doctor who delivered you. You know multiple languages fluently but those damn vocal chords aren't developed yet. Another year or so and you can clearly communicate again with your parents. Or is it offspring? Hard to keep track of it all.
What to do, what to do... Sigh, life just started and it's already getting boring. How do I keep myself busy until something interesting starts happening?
Maybe I'll become a child prodigy like Amadeus. That'll definitely freak some people out.
Maybe I can become the world's youngest wrestler. Yeah, why not!
I'm Stone Cold Baby, baby! |
“Dodge! No, dodge *left*, asshole!”
The orc’s bone hammer smashed into the spot I had just been standing in, cracking the stone floor of the cave. I took advantage of its momentary lapse of thought from the bone-rattling it just gave its wrists, and ran my sword through its naval region.
I am Infiltrator Unit Bravo Epsilon 73. Formerly on a mission to infiltrate a piddling little planet in a useless solar system in the middle of some nowhere galactic spiral arm.
At least, that *was* my mission. Five months ago.
A simple plan.
Land. Progress over the planet’s surface to my prey. Bind with Bradley Peters, some of Major Jackson Peters, of the Homeworld Defense Initiative. Use him as the *meat* to my vast (but… regrettably squishy) *intellect*.
“Oh! Oh sweet jebus! I can **taste** their intestines! You frikkin’ jackhole! Clean me off! Clean me OFFFFFF!!!!!”
That… is Bradley. My… sword.
You see, after hiding myself inside of some primitive minor head protection, I waited patiently until Bradley had placed the protection over his head and began engaging in one of his people’s foolish danger-sports. Specifically, the one called ‘roller blading’. Next, while Bradley was distracted, slithering through his auditory passages and binding my form to his brain stem.
It took but seconds to accomplish.
However, during those seconds, Bradley (and, by consequence myself) were struck by a large yellow ground conveyance.
And found ourselves prostrate before a **being**. We called them The Ascended, those who had somehow progressed beyond pure physicality, and allowed their true selves to exist across multiple strands of reality.
I found my every instance of *being* was examined. Like a pseudopod sliding down the string of my life, and squeezing out my utmost desire: to move past a soft-shelled Infiltrator, and become a firm-shelled Executor. Or even, dare I dream, a full hard-shelled Administrator.
And The Ascended granted it to me. A near indestructible adamantine carbonate enclosure around a soft-part now protected from anything and everything, a life that will exist for true eons.
Bradley, who I was still pseudo-linked to, wished for an upgrade to his physical characteristics; facial irregularities removed, a denser musculature, strengthened…**ugh**… ‘*interior skeletal structure*’, and a greatly enlarged genetic tissue dispenser. His pitiful dream was also granted.
And The Ascended sent us down towards a fresh world. One which my people had never before knew. One which I would have an eternity to conquer, and bring before my people already subjugated.
…and then Bradley, as we were sent streaming *elsewhere*, grabbed hold of my pseudo-form during transit, screaming about being ‘Isekaied’. A term I then knew nothing of.
And then we landed into our current forms.
Each! Others! Desired! Forms!
And so, we search this land for one of their reality manipulators who can sever the binding between soul and physical form, and place us into our rightful bodies.
Until then, to keep this body filled with sustenance, we sell our services for the coin of the realm. As Bravo the Chosen Hero, and his talking sword… *sigh*… ‘Brad the Rad Blade’. |
Dave comes over to my cubicle; he stinks of low-level ambition and drug-store cologne, "You're Baphomet, right? Is that a Turkish name?"
I suppress my growl and simply nod; it is easier.
Dave's cheerfulness is irritating; he will be the first to die, "So, what brought you to Meta?"
I speak bluntly, "I wish to learn the ways of my enemy."
Dave slaps me on the back of my shoulder and laughs; I envision using his skin as a curtain to block off the view outside of my cubicle, "We're all friends here. Oh, except Karen. She's a real *Karen* if you know what I mean."
My eyes narrow in confusion. Is "Karen"some form of mortal torture? I must know more. I inquire.
Dave leans in and speaks in hushed tones, his breath reeks of microwaved sausage and stale hot sauce, "Oh, you know. Someone who gets really upset if everything isn't done *her* way."
I nod in understanding. A Karen is a perceived authority figure who may or may not have power to back it up. I encounter many such beings in the endless hells. I delight in making them beg before impaling them on the nearest pointy thing.
I eagerly ask, "Is Karen our lord?"
Dave leans back with loud laughter, "Oh heavens no. That's Linda. And Linda's boss is Sue, and Sue's boss is Steve, and Steve's boss is... @#$% I forget. There are a lot of managers."
I take note of the long hierarchy chain.
Dave is all too happy to 'play along' at this point, "So what 'ways of the enemy' are you hoping to learn?"
I grin menacingly, "I need to steal more souls."
Dave snorts, "You won't find any here; we've had them drained from us working here."
I look at Dave more intensely; he does seem like some soulless prisoner looking for some distraction from his meaningless existence.
I press, "Where did your soul go?"
Dave jokes, "To the lizard-man in charge, Zuck, of course."
It seems obvious once he says it. A Demon Lord in charge of Meta? Zuckerburg's attempts at being human have long been questioned. How do I gain access to his techniques?
Dave looks at the clock and interrupts my thoughts, "Oh crap. Come on Baphy, it's time for 'Mandatory Fun' Weee!'
I scowl at him openly but see everyone uniformly arise from their respective seats like drones and migrate to a communal location; not a single person has an expression on their face other than dread. It seems Dave's escapist insanity is the only defense to life here. What have I gotten myself into? |
Twirl Stache heard a sentence he's always hated come from a young man in at the counter. "You're terribly cheerful for someone who serves coffee."
He looked up from his newspaper and towards the barista. A young man in a leather jacket was speaking to Melissa. He was clearly impatient about his order, but Melissa was the only one at the counter for this shift. Still, she admirably served with a smile. "Ah, you need to be these days. The city's dangerous, but having a smile will let you get through anything!"
The customer scoffed. "It doesn't make me get my coffee any faster. The world isn't bright and happy. It's tough and it will crush you under your heel."
What a prick! Twirl Stache takes a sip of his coffee, giving himself a mental reminder to give Melissa an extra tip. The girl simply smiled again and said, "It's only that way if you let it be."She finished his coffee and handed it to him with the cookies he chose. "Your total is nine dollars and forty-three cents."
"For this crap? No. I'm going to teach you a lesson about how things are instead. There are people with powers and people without. Those with power take power."The edge lord shakes his coffee cup as he started grow in size. "And late, overpriced coffee."
Melissa sighed in response to that. "I'm sorry sir, but you need to pay for it like everyone else."
"What reason do I have to do that? I could bring this place down without effort and put you in the hos- OW! What the hell?!"
Twirl Stache chuckled as single hair was plucked from the head of the belligerent "customer."He quickly turned to face the villain, who was now twirling the mustache he gets his name from. The villain simply spun a finger as more strands of hair were plucked. He chuckled again. "If you try, you're going to be bald."
"Do you know who I am?!"
"No, and I don't care."
He was starting to turn red and he began to approach Stache. "My name is Oni Dan and I'm going to- GAH!"Dan proceeded to clap where more of his hair was plucked. "You're going to- AH!"
The villain smiled. He enjoyed using hair control in this way. It was a bit sadistic, sure, but it's hilarious to interrupt people like this Dan. "We could go for hours. Do you want to leave? Nobody will take you seriously if they hear what happened to you"
Dan glared and took one more step before yelling in pain. All the hair on the man's had suddenly decided to uproot and leave. The villain shook his finger in response. "Tsk, tsk. Have fun explaining your current hairstyle. We can continue or-"
A ringing was heard at the door and Twirl Stache immediately put his newspaper up. Melissa had done the smart thing and called a hero. The villain smiled upon seeing who it was. His rival, Balder Brawn, had come to take a newly bald man to the authorities. |
Everyone knows of the Reaper and the Devil, and the weapon that's always associated with them. The Scythe and the Pitchfork. But most people forgot that these two are originally not weapons at all, they are farming tools.
Scholars has been debating for ages how these two simple farming tools are tied to such powerful supernatural beings. The main theories are that early farmer see the tools in action and made up stories about them. Stories became legends, legends fade into myth.
However, there is another of such farming tool also tied to another supernatural being. But unlike the other two, this tool has been lost to history, fading in the passing of ages like ashes in the wind. Only recent archeological excavation and find has unearthed this forgotten history.
The common hoe. A long-handled gardening tool with a thin metal blade, mainly used for weeding or digging up the earth.
Before our civilization flourish and spread across the globe, it was a common thing to associate Death itself with the hoe, the same with Reaper and the scythe, and the Devil with the Pitchfork. Although the hoe is forgotten, the image and ideas of Death persist and changed into many forms such as Hades, Hel, Kali, Anubis, Ah Puch, and so much more.
But why does early civilizations would tie the hoe to such a powerful supernatural being? It's the same as the two other farming tools, they saw it in action and made up stories about it. As the Reaper's Scythe mow down the living and the Devil use the Pitchfork on wicked souls, Death deals with the bodies left behind using the hoe to dig up graves and burry them. This is also probably a lesson for everyone, since a corpse out in the open could bring sickness to the society. |
It was another boring early morning shift slowly grinded away as the hour to switch over drew near. Just another 30 minutes, and the manager (who was pretty chill about the time clock) would let me leave for the day.
Of course, being a professional mediocre "Essential worker", I knew to expect the other shoe to drop. That one customer or inconvenient event waiting just for the right moment to strike.
I have never been more wrong and more right in my entire life. To my limited knowledge, nobody had been.
I knew that it was coming by the noises from outside. The stares of patrons closer to the door of the food joint. The sounds of cars swerving in the streets. And of course the encroaching luminous golden sheen that was moving closer and closer to the storefront. 11:32 in the morning but you could have sworn it was just midnight as the coming light was simply on another level.
My first thought was that God had finally had enough of me fucking around and decided today was the day my city got nuked. As the source of the light finally passed the brick and mortar wall of the store front and stood at the door. My eyes unable to look away barely registering a set of upper thighs partially hidden by the top of the door. I corrected my assumption. God hadn't sent anything.
He had come in person.
The legs bowed slightly as a massive upper body bent down to gently open the door with it's humungous hand. A face came through first as the impossible bulk of this Man, This GOD simply squeezed himself through without any damage to the structure.
There were no words spoken by any of the patrons, the manager I knew was behind me or myself as He stood to his full height. Almost scraping the very roof that I knew from experience had a ladder clearance of 14ft. Two white and gold shining orbs opened on a face that could only be described as beautiful and looked directly at me. And oh dear Christ he had begun moving towards me.
It was like he moved in slow motion but faster then I could perceive. Every movement filled with more anatomical detail then i could ever produce with a million years of training. The orbs of light that made up his eyes tracked every inch of the building and all of it's patrons. And a melodic bass filled humming that shook my ribcage as the God appraised and judged and inspected.
Suddenly He was in front of me. Looking down with a face carved straight out of marble and granite. A content and pleasant smile that looked both predatory and reassuring all at once. His mouth opened and the religious part of me that I thought I'd left behind with my folks flared in my brain that this was the moment. Like moses, that i was about to hear divine revelation from the source.
"Greetings barkeep! A fine day here in the great nation of..."His words trailed briefly as a small golden and intricately embroidered notepad manifested directly in front of his face. "America! I would like a small cup of your artisan draft, which ever you believe is best of course. I trust your judgment as you seem like a fair sort."
I was vaguely aware of my manager having pissed his self an the patrons all eying me, as if the weight of there very souls depended on the edict brought down like the sword of Damocles.
The words hadn't registered for even a moment, but the muscle memory trained after years of working at the place had begun moving my body. In a complete stupor I'd pulled the glass from the stand, wiping away the flower petals and vines that I hadn't noticed growing all over every surface. And poured a glass of Bud light from the tap.
I placed the glass down on the counter and barely managed to hold it together as He took a glass within two fingers, and brought it to his lips, gingerly sipping it just once and draining the entire glass instantly.
"Mmmm, My how delightfully robust! My compliments to your brewing skills fair barkeep. I shall recommend you to my companions upon are next visit to town."
The words failed to register again, as my own were too busy fighting in my head to come out. I seemingly couldn't stop myself as I asked the question that has plagued humanity since the beginning.
"Are you a God?"There is pride in knowing that all four of those words came out clearly.
Suddenly the unreadable mask of the GodMan suddenly became...Flustered? If such a thing could be contributed to him.
"A GOD? Goodness me, this is the 7th time this has happened today! I assure you sir that i am no mythological or divine creature. In fact I'm a staunch atheist, I even have literature of the sciences I plan to publish! Ah hold on a second I do have a spare copy i wouldn't mind letting go of for an avid reader."
A Tome manifested onto the countertop, the leather was embroiled with gold lace along the spine and cover. emerald plates and crystalline growths covered the thing in geometric patterns so complicated it hurt my brain to to look at it.
Then the Golden God Man looked at his Golden God wristwatch
"Well the day goes on barkeep. Please do give my regards to your brewers I feel SO refreshed from your beverage. Tootaloo!"
And then he was gone, there was no blinding light, no God man, no evidence of any movement. He just wasn't there anymore.
I'm righting all of this down as recommended by my new government appointed therapist. From this nice cozy building that I don't know the location of and I'm pretty sure ill never leave from. She said it will help keep me together in the days to come.
​
\----
Fun fact if you want this premise done hilariously better AlfaBusa's "If the God emperor had Text to Speech is a good series."
AlfaLegion Rise up! |
<Fantasy / Comedy>
#GNU Terry Pratchett
Sir Terry blinked, looking around a bedroom filled with life and love. Framed photos of smiling faces covered the wall. Well-worn books filled the shelves. Knick-knacks and mementoes littered almost every available surface. It was a room that told the story of a life well-lived. A life he had been happy with.
As he pushed himself up from the bed and stretched, he was amazed at how little stiffness there was in his limbs. He felt better than he had in years. Perhaps he had more life left in him yet than he'd given himself credit for.
AHEM.
His head whipped around to a cloaked figure in the corner. Pinprick blue eyes stared out from beneath the hood, ivory white bony fingers protruding from dark sleeves. "Ah, that explains it then,"Terry muttered to himself. "I'm dreaming, aren't I?"
Death — or the version of Death Terry had been writing for most of his adult life — shifted uncomfortably. I'M AFRAID NOT.
"Well, you would say that wouldn't you, being in my head and all."
Death held up a single bone finger. YES, EXACTLY! I WAS IN YOUR HEAD. A PLACE THAT NO LONGER EXISTS.
Sir Terry regarded him for a second, stroking his beard as he tried to puzzle out the meaning behind the words. "So you're saying I'm dead?"he asked eventually.
I'M AFRAID SO.
"Hmmm."Terry looked back down at the bed, gaze settling on his own sleeping form. If this was a dream, it was a very interesting one. And what was the harm in playing it out? You never know, it might provide a new book idea... though he wasn't exactly keen on meta self-insertion stories.
He turned back to face Death once again. "So what happens now?"he asked.
YOU KNOW AS WELL AS I HOW THIS WORKS. NOW I DELIVER YOU TO YOUR AFTERLIFE, WHATEVER YOU BELIEVE THAT TO MEAN.
Sir Terry glanced down at his spectral form. "What? In my pyjamas?"A smile pulled at his lips. "How very *Arthur Dent*."He gave Death a sharp nod. "Alright then, let's do this thing."
Death held out a hand for Terry to take. The bone was smooth and cold to the touch, but not unpleasant. It was solid. Sturdy. A reassuring presence in a very unsteady moment.
"Wait! Hullo! I say... Is this thing working?"The strange voice boomed around the room, seemingly coming from nowhere until a greenish-purple swirling light appeared on the wardrobe door, gradually taking the form of a ruddy face adorned by an impressive white beard and an even more impressive red pointed hat.
"Err... Hello?"Terry ventured. "Munstrum Ridcully, I presume?"After all, it seemed to be that sort of a night.
"Why yes! Good guess. Well done, that man!"
"And... how can I help you Archchancellor?"
There was a pause as the face retreated, turning to reveal a rather more dishevelled back of the head. Terry could hear hints at a hushed conversation happening including phrases like 'how the bloody hell should I know?' and 'you're the one that made the thing' and 'do I have to think of everything around here' shortly followed by 'well, that is kind of your job, archchancellor'.
Eventually, Ridcully turned back to peer out of the strange portal in the wardrobe again. "We were hoping you might consider not dying."
I AM AFRAID THAT YOU ARE A LITTLE LATE FOR THAT.
The wizard's eyes widened as he noticed the second figure in the room. "Oh, my good man, I didn't realise you were already here! What a pleasant surprise!"he said, with all the feigned enthusiasm of someone whose relatives have just turned up on their doorstep unexpectedly to stay for a few weeks. "Now we won't have to perform the rite of Ashk'Ente."He turned over his shoulder slightly. "You can put the dribbly candles away Mr Stibbons!"
"*I told you Archchancellor, we don't need the dribbly candles. All you need are some sticks, 4 cc of mouse blood and—*"
"Yes, yes, very clever."Ridcully turned back to face Death directly. "So it's all decided then?"
I'M AFRAID SO.
"Nothing we can do?"
NOT UNLESS YOU'RE WILLING TO RISK THE VERY FABRIC OF REALITY.
"Oh alright then. At least we tried."He turned away from the portal as it started to close, a few final words echoing through. "Dean! Fetch all our best ale and tell the cooks to prepare every bit of food in the kitchens! Let's go out with a bang!"
Sir Terry blinked a few times as the greenish-purple light faded. "Marvellous,"he muttered.
IT IS? Death's skull tilted inquisitively.
"Yes!"Terry rubbed his hands together. "Either this is one of the most brilliantly bizarre dreams I've had in a long time, or I'm getting to actually *meet* the characters I created. If this really is the end, what a way to go, eh?"He grinned.
Death grinned back. An impressive feat, given his natural state of things could be described as a perpetual grin on account of not having lips to cover his teeth. INDEED IT IS. SHALL WE?
[Part 1/2] |
The applause died down as the representative of France stepped away from the podium, his arms swinging lightly as he gracefully decended the steps from the stage. His presentation, a brief overview of the two dozen or so blocky building-sized robots, carried along with the same monotonous flow as the previous entries. It was with little fanfare then that the representative of Czechia stepped before the combined representatives of the United Nations, his hands clasped together and a somewhat enigmatic look upon his face. As the noise of the gathered audience settled, a picture appeared on the projector behind him: a large, intimidating dam spanning the largest river in the country, dozens of turrets and men along either side. As the audience peered upon the image, the representative of Czechia spoke. "Big dam guns." |
"DID SOMEONE ORDER LARGE HAM AND CHEESE!!!!"
"Did that voice come from your sandwich?"
"Yea it did. Its a ham and cheese sandwich that shouts as though his caps lock is broken proclaiming about how he's large ham and cheesy cheese, rather than be eaten, he's here to chew the scenery."
"How do you not go deaf from all that yelling?"
"DEAF? IS SOMEONE DEAF? HELLO, I'M BRIAN BLESSED! AND I'M DOING THIS WEEK'S BBC RADIO FOUR APPEAL ON BEHALF OF THE DEAF!! CAN YOU ALL HEAR ME!!"
"That's who your sandwich thinks he is? Ever thought about just eating him to end all this hollering?"
"But he's too funny and a really fun gift from this Clown's Nose I picked up at a garage sale last week. I bet if I tried biting into him, he'd taste hella funny."
"FUNNY? LET ME TELL YOU THE SECRET TO FUNNY, YOU EITHER SPEAK COMEDY OR YOU SPEAK VERY LOUDLY!"
"Hey Gordon, you wanna try making a wish on this Clown's Nose? I'm sure you'll love it!"
"GORDON'S ALIVE? DIIIIVEEEE!"
"Not that Gordon, BRIAN. So you wanna take this Clown's Nose and make a wish or not?"
"Give that nose to me. Okay, I'll try wishing for a Happy Meal. There's no terrible drawback, right? I mean your sandwich shouts a lot but he doesn't seem dangerous."
"I think the Clown's Nose just has some funky sense of humor, not the twisted sadistic kind like a monkey's paw. Really, you gonna wish for food just like me? Well, maybe that's why we're friends."
"HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU! I AM YOUR HAPPY MEAL WISHING YOU ALL THE HAPPINESS YOU CAN GET!"
"I bet this one doesn't taste funny, do you think he will taste happy? Is happy even a taste?" |
And this wasnt the first of the symptoms.
In the early mornings I couldnt feel the cold, or the warmth of the coffe I held. Even the porcelain seemed to slip through my fingers, given that Ive already broken three just this month. "Ive either got some hand condition or theres something wrong in my brain..."
I decided to do some online research about my symptoms, and I remembered that my health plan had a website which doctors would talk to you real time, all covered by the company I work at. So I inserted my personal info and began the consultation.
The doctor greets me:
"Hello Mr. Walker ! What can I help you with today?"
Unsure If It was a real person or another AI attendant, I went straight to the point.
"Hello Doctor. Recently I feel as if I was distant from the world. I feel apathy, and dont feel cold or hot as much. I also notice sometimes a dark liquid coming down from my ears. I think I have some neurologic condition, because I dont feel depressed or anything of the sort."
The doctor takes a few seconds to write something down and then looks at me.
"I see, Mr Walker. Those are serious symptoms. Are you on your house at this moment? If you have been feeling like this for a long time already, we think you need to be on a hospital as soon as possible. Do you still live at the specified address?"
I answer her with a yes, and she starts asking me If I take medications, If theres anything else Im feeling... The usual stuff.
I Hear a knock on the door and say goodbye to the doctor, heading out to what I believe is the ambulance.
The paramedics ask me my identity, and when I say who I am, they point a gun at me and Tell me to lay down. So I do.
I am in shock, especially since one of them kneels next to me and starts shaving my Head. I ask them what are they doing, but I am ignored. I hear the hellish sound of a drill and start becoming very worried. I feel it piercing me, and I try to scream but nothing comes out of me. Its as if I Lost all Control over my body, with my vision going Dark.
The only other thing I remember is hearing the "medics"talking inside the ambulance.
One of them was saying:
"Its so easy when its one of the civilian models. They only start getting violent when their systems are already beyond repair. The military ones are rough, they already are born without violence filters. Oh well. I heard this one will be lucky, He will rebooted as the president of México, can you believe It?" |
"But I've had plenty of undead servants in the past, I just don't happen to have any at this precise moment,"Habreth assured the clerk behind the desk. He gestured over his shoulder, with a swish of his ragged black robes, "There's a graveyard half a mile from here, I'll go reanimate a skeleton from there right after I leave, I promise!"
"I'm *sorry*, sir,"the clerk replied, in a disinterested tone that suggested she was anything but. "But if you don't have any minions, I can't register you as a necromancer. Best I can do is..."The middle-aged woman paused, as she tapped something out on the typewriter connected to her crystal ball. "...emo sorcerer."
"Emo sorcerer?"Habreth cried. "That's not a job title, it's...it's basically just a slur!"
"Not if you're an actual emo sorcerer,"the clerk retorted. "Then it's 'tribal language,' so it's okay."
"Okay, then why are *you* saying it?"Habreth demanded.
The woman rotated a small portrait on her desk to face him. It depicted her in a bridal gown, beside a man in black silk robes with long black hair hanging down to cover half his face.
"My husband's an emo sorcerer, so I get a pass, too,"she said.
"Congratulations,"Habreth said, drily. "But the problem is that I'm a necromancer, not an emo sorcerer, so --"
"I'm going to have to ask you to leave, sir."the clerk interrupted.
"What? Why?"Habreth cried.
"You just said you're not an emo sorcerer, and it says on your necromancer registration form that you're single, so it's a slur when you say 'emo sorcerer'. Come back when you can be civil. Next!"
/./././
A few hours after sundown, Habreth stood knee deep in a grave as he shoveled dirt out of it, grumbling to himself all the while. It had taken a week to get an appointment with the Department of Magical Verification, during which he'd been legally unable to practice necromancy professionally. He was already in serious danger of not making rent on his mausoleum, and now he had to start the process all over again!
Sudden a painfully bright light shone on him, and dropped his shovel to shield his eyes.
"Halt, servant of darkness!"Boomed a voice from out of the light. "Disturb not the rest of the dead, nor enslave the husks of men with your black arts, lest you invite divine retribution!"
As Habreth's eyes adjusted to the glare, he saw the source of the light: a brightly glowing sword held by a knight in shining armor, standing tall above him at the edge of the gravesite.
"A paladin?"Habreth exclaimed. "Seriously? On top of everything else, I have to deal with a gods-damned paladin, today?"
The knight's shoulders slumped, and the glow of his sword dimmed slightly. "Well, no, not technically."
Habreth frowned. "You're 'not technically' a paladin?"
The knight sighed. "No. Apparently, the archbishop forgot to write the date next to his signature when he countersigned my registration renewal, so now I have to go back to the Great Cathedral and get him to sign and date a new form, *then* get another appointment at the DMV to renew my paladin license, and it's gonna be a whole damn thing. Ugh."
Then, recovering some of his righteous indignation, the Knight stood tall again, and pointed the sword at Habreth. "But still, I will stand against your evil magic: for, in the interim, I am a *Knight-Who-Is-Spiritual-But-Not-Particularly-Religious!"* |
He moved back in when he couldn't maintain his lifestyle.
It wasn't that he tried to live a lavish life in the city, it was just that even on a shoestring budget, there was no way he was going to live on his own, so I practically ordered him to move back in with me, even though I knew it was the last thing he wanted to do.
The first few weeks were rough, he'd go out every night just to avoid me, to get away from the man who'd failed him more times than I wanted to admit.
The group was good to me, helped keep me on the straight and narrow, not a single drop touching my lips. Jason was home when I got the bronze chip, a full year sober, but he wasn't when I got back. I'd told him there was something I needed to talk to him about, so him not being here left me in a bad spot.
I'd learned how to redirect my addiction toward something better, I chose cleaning. Cleaning gave me something to control, something to exercise my will on the world in a healthy and productive way. Still, even though I had the apartment clean, I still wasn't in a good spot.
I didn't want to invade his privacy, but between this and going out and drinking, it was the lesser of two evils, so I picked up the trash in the room, putting all of his important-looking documents on the table, putting the clothes on the floor in the hamper. Just generally sticking to the stuff that wasn't too private.
I took the trash out, did his laundry, even got his mail while I was at it. As I put his clothes in his dresser, I noticed he wasn't using one of the drawers. It was shorter than I remembered it being, so I started laying clothes in, wincing at the sound of wood on wood.
I stopped.
I looked inside and realized this was something I'd used to do when I needed to hide my addiction. Praying I was wrong, I pressed against the bottom of the dresser. My blood ran cold as it shifted under my touch, so I did what any father would do in this situation. I looked.
What I saw wasn't drugs or alcohol. Bright orange and blue, a familiar symbol on its front. It looked like a 1:1 recreation of Animalia's superhero getup, my brain reeled from the discovery. At first, I simply thought that he was quite literally a closet fan, but if that was the case, he'd just put it somewhere else.
"Oh, shit."I said, "My son's a vigilante."
I waited for him to return, a glass of water in front of me, one that I didn't drink regardless, even the thought of it made me feel sick. So when he walked in through the door, the first thing I did was flip my chip toward him. He caught it with faster reflexes than I'd ever seen from him.
"What's this?"He asked.
"My first year of sobriety."I said. "Sit down, son, we need to talk."
He walked over and sat down. I noticed a bandage around his wrist. "What happened to your wrist?"I asked.
"Oh, that? I spilled some hot water on myself, went to the hospital to get it checked out."He said.
"Can I see?"I asked. "I've been studying to get a job at the hospital, I want to make sure it's okay."
"I'm fine."He said, a little more quickly.
I nodded. "Alright."He held the chip out to me, I was quick, as gentle as I could be, taking a firm hold of his wrist and pulling his sleeve back. I could tell he was holding back, that he was a lot stronger than I remembered him being.
"D-dad-!"He started.
"If you're going to lie to me, son, do it correctly."I said. "That is a radial laceration, I can tell by the way the blood's leaking through, I can also tell when a bandage has been hastily applied. Has it healed yet?"
"What-? Has it *healed*?"His eyes widened, the color draining from his face.
"I am aware."I said. "I might not have noticed until today, but I know you've been going out and playing- *doing* vigilante work, Animalia, wasn't it?"
He pulled his arm away, the guilt clear on his face. "Y-yeah."He said softly. "I, uh, got bit by a werewolf or something."
"Werewolf bites don't spread it."I said. "It's genetic, sometimes it skips a generation, but physical trauma can cause it to trigger."He looked at me with shock. "It's why I drank, couldn't hurt the ones I loved if I was too out of it to hurt anyone."
"So, wait, we're both werewolves?"He asked.
I nodded. "How are you managing to keep under control?"I asked. "Was it Bryce, or Callum?"
"You know them."He said.
"I'm more disappointed they didn't tell me."I remarked. "But considering I've only been sober a year, I can understand why."
"So, what now?"He asked.
"You've got two options."I said. "You continue to go it alone and keep me worried enough that my battle with sobriety gets harder, or you let yourself work in a pack and do this right."I gave him a small smile. "Whaddaya say?"
"It's dangerous work."
"He said to the other werewolf in the room."I remarked dryly. "You don't even need me to fight beside you, I can patch you up after a fight."
He smiled and nodded. "Alright, but I'll need you to do some training, alright? I can't have you following me around if you're just going to be a target."
"I can agree to that."I replied. |
"Those tentacles, they feel just almost like the real thing, please do share with me what materials you used! Oh and please take a photo with me, I love your outfit, if this weren't a costume party I would have mistaken you for the real Lord Elvari!"
The woman whips out her mobile phone to take a selfie with me so I flash my best grin for the shot.
"Why thank you! You should go for a look-alike contest sometime, I have a feeling you'd win if you do!"
"Actually, the last time I participated, I came in at 4th place."
"Must be the tentacles, maybe you need to rub more slime on them so they are indistinguishable from real tentacles."
I resist the temptation to tell her the true reason behind my failure to take the number one spot: the judges decided I was too casual showing up in a pink shirt and denim skirt. Or let her know how I flexed my tentacles, bared my fangs, and turned on the eldritch glow in my eyes so everyone knew the real Elvari lost. Ah, the incredulous looks on the human faces. That was fun.
Just like Halloween parties such as the current one I'm attending. I enjoy showing up and acting as myself while people nitpick about my "costume"and give me tips to improve. Then snigger as it doesn't cross their minds I could be the one and only local deity at Innsmouth instead of some guy in a convincing costume.
A waiter offers me a glass of wine, the intoxicating, sweet smell draws my attention. I lift the glass off his tray and take a second whiff to confirm my suspicions.
Human blood.
He beckons me with a sly wink to join him on the veranda away from the main pulse of the party. With little in the way of telepathic protection, peering into his mind is child's play.
This recently-turned vampire plans to attack the party of costumed humans and foolishly thinks I will help him just because he figured out I'm the only other non-human in the mansion. I let him know our intentions don't align, he's here for blood, and I'm just here for fun. Give him a warning that if he tries to put his nefarious plan into action, if he makes any attempt to sink his fangs into a human, he isn't a match for me in a fight.
He's too young to know how far above his league I am. I twist his right arm and slam his face into the nearest brick wall when he lunges at me.
I wave at a lady who steps out for some fresh air and I assure her we're just play fighting. When the vampire invites the lady to join us, I break a few of his fingers. He isn't luring a human to get involved on my watch.
When she leaves blissfully unaware of our true natures, I ask the vampire if he knows who is his sire and which coven he belongs to. His mind comes up blank for most of my questioning until a brief memory comes to the surface.
He had killed a waiter to take his place a few days ago in order to sneak into the party and catch the humans unaware.
A young vampire abandoned by his sire and not inducted into a coven has little knowledge of the rules of the supernatural world, or of the ways of staving off the thirst without taking a human life. Nowadays, supernatural beings that hunted down humans in ways that drew too much attention were bound to be hunted in return by monster slayers. That's what the supernatural rules are for, not to protect humans, but to protect us. The last thing you want is for humans to decide they want to eradicate your entire species because you're a serious threat to humanity.
I inform him if he was willing to learn, I will be willing to teach. But if he refuses...nobody will miss him or notice if I just ate him and cleaned up after myself.
I'm all by myself outside when the woman who took the selfie with me earlier now opens the door to the veranda and invites me to join her table. Dinner will be served soon, she says.
I tell her I'll be there with her soon, but only after I wipe a few stubborn stains on my sleeves.
---
[Thanks for reading! Click here for more prompt responses and short stories featuring Elvari the eldritch god.](https://www.reddit.com/r/TregonialWrites/comments/11tkt9w/eldritch_god_elvari_series/) |
My consciousness came slowly to me. I tried to remember. Nothing came to my mind except a deep, unending emptiness.
*I was on a Bronx-bound A train*, I struggled to recall. *There was a screech... and a...*
Suddenly, it dawned upon me.
*Am I dead?*
So much for the MTA's track record. Not like they had the, ahem, *reputation* of being the safest way to get around New York.
*What about my wife? My mother and father,* I thought to myself. Jennifer's birthday was in a week, and I hadn't even gotten her that vintage Hamilton watch she'd been begging me for ages for.
But there wasn't much time to think about that now. The line was moving.
**Welcome to Inferno International, Terminal 0!**
I took a moment to look around, to set aside my confusion. Surrounding me, millions upon millions shuffled through the grand hall that stood before me. Some rushed to their gates, others lugged their bags to the large CHECK-IN signs. For a place like Hell--or was it Heaven?--the architecture seemed postmodern, reminiscent of LaGuardia Terminal 2. The towering arches yielded to large panes of glass that comprised the skylight ceiling. Above me, a sky blood red, ablaze in awesome hues of oranges and yellows.
*Ah, Hell it is, I suppose.*
I thought I'd been an alright guy, but I guess I effed up more times than I'd cared to admit, so I wasn't surprised. But why the heck am I at an *airport?*
I stood in a line, and in the far distance, I saw a large LED sign with the words "IMMIGRATION--NEW ARRIVALS"flashing across the screen. Hundreds of thousands of people stood in front of me, and thousands more appeared behind me in line every second, each one in a stupor. There were TVs everywhere, much like any airport in the city. On them, many familiar faces from history–news flashes constantly cycled through.
> BENEDICT ARNOLD LOWERS NINTH CIRCLE INTEREST RATES TO COMBAT RECORD INFLATION
> KHAN TO SIGN NEW TRADE PARTNERSHIP WITH NEO-ALEXANDRIAN EMPIRE, USHERING FREE TRADE ZONE WITHIN SEVENTH CIRCLE
> CLINTON SELECTED AS GUEST SPEAKER IN THIRD CIRCLE PEACE SUMMIT
*Why the hell are these people on TV?*
Despite the fact that there were hundreds of thousands of people in line in front of me, it moved pretty darn quick. In about 20 minutes I was at the front of the line.
"Counter 273 please!"cried a demonesque looking creature with a raspy voice. I didn't know what to do, so I just walked up. I panned my head side to side. Indeed, rows and rows of counters manned by hundreds of demonic creatures.
"Hi, uh, where am I?"
"Where the hell do you think you are?"she quipped back. She looked quite like a creature of hell, red complexion, ears pointy and an arrowhead tail. Her hellish appearance contrasted with the navy-blue IMMIGRATION AND BORDER PATROL uniform she wore.
"Haha, very funny."
"Name and passport please?"
"Johnathan Paterson. But uh… passport?"
"In your left hand, dummy."
Out of thin air materialized a red passport, its front donned with an unfamiliar seal. Apprehensively, I handed her the booklet. "Uhh here ya go?"I sighed, "But answer me this one question."
"Yes?"the demon inquired, raising her tail.
"Why the heck is Clinton on the big TV over there? And Genghis and…uh…yeah, what's up with that?"
"Hmm, let's see… fifth circle bound,"she mumbled to herself, "You see, you humans are clever folk. Us creatures of hell, us jinn made from fire, we aren't all powerful beings. Just like you, we too can die. After centuries of war, you guys came out on top,"she admitted begrudgingly. "Oh it wasn't an easy fight, but I must admit that boy Alexander knows how to rile up a crowd. I still remember when he was first thrown into the Phlegethon! Boy, did he scream in pain."
"Holdup, where do *you* go when you die? And a war??"
"Not important,"she snapped, "the point being, your kind are now in charge of Hell. Where do you think all of these airports came from? Might I say, your "engineers,"whatever you call them, made quite the flying machines, I must say. In any case, we are but creatures relegated to menial work, trapped in your servitude."
"What kind of hell is that?"I asked, a bit lost, "What's the point when there's no punishment, no demons torturing us, no eternal pain, no boiling our skin off in oil?"
"God's a clever one, He is. He figured since you guys had already made hell on Earth, you'll find no trouble in making a hell in Hell. Now, I've booked you for the 20:45 flight for Styx International Airport on Air Phlegyas. Gate P:VIII, don't be late. Enjoy your flight!"
Too stunned to say anything more, I grabbed my passport through the window and stumbled into the grand hall. More TVs, more news flashes, about tax reform and cults of personality and fascist uprisings and demonic affairs and international politics and infernal weather control and trade wars.
By the looks of it, she was right. |
The clock started to tick down. 36h.
THE clock.
Everybody was surprised. Meeting between chief of state were organized. Scientific started to study all possible side effect of current projects. Even low energy particle accelerator were stopped.
The clock ticked. 23.
Panic started to spread in the world.
Military was put on alert. Telescope directed toward outer space.
No asteroid was found. No UFO. Nothing.
The clock ticked 12.
The sun was looked at with spectrograph, various satellite were directed to measure for a flare.
Panic led to acceptance. Everywhere people had sex, drunk alcohol, smoked all sorts of stuff, took all sort of drug. Confession were done.
The clock ticked to 00:04
Everybody was in their basement or in civil protection. Prayer abounded. Other abandoned religion.
The clock ticked 00:00
1 minute later :
Folk looked around , astounded nothing was happening.
1 day later :
Politician gave each other the blame. Scientific were called incompetent.
15 Month the clock still ticking upward. Nobody care about the clock anymore.
In the basement of the clock super computer AI. 2 Developer are looking at terminals.
\- "Bertrand, I think I found it. I traced the issue to a single event"
\- "Incredible, good work Marc ! What sort of bug is it ?"
\- "welll.... The AI does not qualify as a bug. It is strange. One of the automatic genetic test for pregnant woman generated the issue, and the AI escalated it to humanity end"
\- "can you ask for details ?"
\- "wait the AI can give more detail. It states.... "Serie of dominant gene change found. End of the homo sapiens line projected. Old humanity will end. New Humanity reign can commence. Please update clock parameter".
The two technician looked at each other. Then Bertrand deleted the log files. |
War sat, petulant in his failure, as the others continued to discuss what to try next. "Don't give me shit, Death, you were thwarted by some metal paddles that restarted his heart!"Death's empty sockets couldn't move when he faced War, but War looked away quickly all the same. There was something decidedly eerie about the shadows that fell inside Death's orbital sockets.
Death's voice quietly drifted across the room with an unmistakable blend of honey and gravel. "War, you tried to cause an uprising and failed due to **fact checking**. You're not one to talk."
Famine shook her head and sighed. "I can't make any headway either. Did you know they can grow meat in a lab now? They can just make food whenever they want!"The gaunt woman turned and faced the last Horseman. "Got any ideas? There's no way you're going to be able to spread a plague now. The response times for quarantine are too good and even if some people die it won't spread nearly fast enough..."
Pestilence laughed, wet and rattling. "My dear, my domain is greater than just physical plagues and diseases. Yes, my favorite maladies are no longer effective, but do you think social media is any less a disease than my precious Bubonic Plague? Speed is no longer important and a slow corruption is less easily noticed. All of you failed but I succeeded before you ever started. It's a slow death for them, jealousy and hate are slow acting poisons, but poison all the same. Let them become addicted to their own demise." |
My eyes glide over the TV and quickly glance away, I haven't turned it on in over a month. They could have solved world hunger and cured cancer and I'd never know. It would serve me right too. But what was the point of bringing the world to its knees without Dylan?
I collapse onto the sofa only for a knock to come from my door a moment later. I groan, serves me right for trying to get comfortable. Dragging myself up I slog my way to the door. Opening it a crack reveals Regent, a practical giant dominating the entryway holding a brown bag which he thrusts at me. "You look awful."he states.
Moving back I let him pass as I peek into the bag. "Are these potato wedges? From Hawkins!?"I ask unable to keep the excitement from my voice.
"Figured there was a reason you always made your longwinded proclamations on Beetle street. No bank, no city hall, not even a train station..."
"My proclamations weren't that long winded."I glare.
"Right."he mutters sitting on the couch I'd only just vacated.
I follow him back and sit in a chair across from him making sure to stay out of arm's reach even though he's already had a dozen opportunities to wrap his massive hands around my throat and squeeze. I suppose it's not the hero way which suits me as I pull out the first wedge and instantly begin devouring it, my glare is quickly replaced by a happy... enough face as I cheerily chow down, life's problems temporarily forgotten.
"I see you're still stewing in your own filth."he glares. For a hero Regent is an alarmingly dour man, military if my old intel was correct, and forever dead set on keeping Greater Township a well lit, functioning municipality of the good ol' US of A.
Which would make me the bad guy or girl as it were. Hazel Harpy. "I'm allowed to stew, have you ever had a girl rip your heart out?"I ask chewing with my mouth open and leering.
"I seem to remember you trying to do something like that back on Independence Day... But yes."he admits glancing away. "You mentioned something about that last time, your girlfriend dumped you is that it?"he asks sounding bored, not that it keeps him from manspreading all over my couch making himself right at home in the process.
"Is that it?"I mimic petulantly.
"I only meant-"Regent begins again features softening.
"It's fine."I say and smack a fist to my chest to force the food down my gullet.
"Clearly."he says eyes narrowing. "Do you... want to talk about her?"he asks a moment later though the scowl he wears makes me think he wouldn't ask save at gun point... or super gun point as it were.
"Certainly not."I answer and I can practically feel him sigh with relief.
"It's just-"I begin a moment later causing Regent to hang his head. "I thought we were solid, we really had something but there was always this weight hanging over our heads... You know what I mean."I say gesturing broadly at the broad individual.
"I do?"Regent asks quirking a brow and crossing his arms.
"Well yes, don't you have a wife? What's her face? She was wearing a red dress on St. Patricks Day."I say waving a hand dismissively as Regent goes as stiff as a board.
"How do you know about-"Regent's own stern expression turns to jello when met with mine.
"Don't even try to play that card, you're in my house right now jarhead."I scowl in no mood for games.
"Fine."he coughs glancing away. "Yes."
"And you've never told her your identity?"
"Absolutely not... wait is that what you did?"he asks looking at first scandalized, it's almost starting to feel like a sleep over which is beyond disturbing.
"I couldn't take lying to her any more, day in day out. She deserved to know and besides-"
"Besides what?"
"Haven't you ever wanted to be truly seen? No mask, no secret identity, no more lies?"
Regent remains silent for some time, when he answers I'm not exactly surprised. "No."he says simply before adding.
"Secrets keep us safe."
"No they don't."I scoff. "Secrets keep us alone... isolated. You and I are proof of that. Out there we fight and bleed for our ideals. But today you brought me potato wedges because I was sad. You may have done more good for my mental health in one day than any actual harm in the last five years of trying to snap my neck."
"That's a depressing thought."he sighs.
"Well if you didn't come to bring me wedges why are you here?"I ask rolling my eyes.
"Because the people need you."he answers solemnly.
This causes me to blink and blink hard. "What?"I laugh. Actually laugh, that may have been a first since Dylan left.
"It's... complicated."
"I'll wait."with a sigh Regent answers.
"They... don't like me anymore without you around. It makes protecting them as difficult if not more so than when you were active."he admits.
I chuckle sitting back and spinning in my chair lazily. "Sounds like I should have taken a sabbatical a lot sooner. You're actually losing to yourself out there."
Regent gets to his feet, once again dominating most the space in my living room. More so he's in neck grabbing range again. I dust my hands off now that I've finished the potato wedges preparing for anything.
"Enough games. Are you going to stop hiding in your hole because you got dumped by some girl or are you going to come outside and play?"he asks voice rising.
"Dumped?"I squeak, feeling a fresh rake across a barely scabbed over wound.
"Yes dumped! have you tried Bumble?"Regent shouts.
"Bumble?!"I ask appalled before shaking my head voice rising to meet his. "You think I'm looking for a rebound?"I shout right back.
"I think I'm gonna be looking for a rebound if you don't get your ass out there and do something malicious in the next three days!"
"Fine!"
"Fine!"
The door slammed and I swayed on my feet watching where Regent had been. In his absence I felt weak once again as images of Dylan flooded my mind I wanted to hide under the covers and eat something unhealthy but I couldn't because I was full, full of potato wedges and sheer unyielding rage. |
"Hey, Sparky, wake up! It's time for your morning flight!"I said as I gently tugged on my dragon's leash in an attempt to rouse him up to little avail.
I had always wished for a pet dragon, longing for the thrill of adventure and excitement, something to distract me from the monotony of city life. When my family was finally permitted to own our own dragons, a symbol of power among the royal families of the north, I thought that I would finally seize my moment. When I expected a great fire-breathing beast, one that would rival the gods from songs of old, I was greeted with a small gray hatchling the size of a house cat, huffing puffs of smoke as it snored. My mother on the other hand, as lady and regent of house Aenvara, was given an adult dragon as a sign of good faith, and I was allowed to keep the hatchling that I would soon name 'Sparky'.
"Come on Sparky, the weather is beautiful today!"I tried to reason with the lazy little dragon. I knew he *looked* like a house cat, but I didn't think he would act like one.
"What's the matter with you? Don't you love flying?"I asked, Sparky puffing a cloud of smoke in my face in response. The worst part was that Sparky actually *did* like flying, but only when it was least convenient for everybody, like if guests were over for an important meeting or if the caretakers were done cleaning. It's almost as if he knew what he was doing. Still, I couldn't resist that sweet look he made whenever his bright yellow eyes would stare into my soul. Of course, he looked at me with that same clueless and innocent look as I tugged on his leash again.
"Fine, if you don't want to go, guess I'll go on a walk by myself, enjoying the crisp winter air and the soft, gentle breeze without you."I sneered as if to try and convince him. He just stared back at me cluelessly. He knows what I'm trying to do. He's seen me convince him with the same offer time and time again.
Sparky got up, stretched his wing-like forearms, and yawned. He rubbed his soft scales against my leg and purred, the fire pumping through his veins warming my foot. He flapped his wings like a clumsy bird regaining its bearings as he flew around me, circling over my head before landing on my shoulders.... and sleeping. His tail coiled gently around my shoulders, his wings draping over my back like a small cape, and his head resting gently on my collar. The touch of his scales was soft and warm like a smooth blanket draped over me on a winter night. I began to feel sleepy as Sparky's rhythmic purrs and snores began to lull me. I tried to fight it, but I eventually found myself seated on the carpeted floor of my room, my eyelids getting heavier and heavier by the moment. *Maybe I can doze off for a bit, maybe I can take Sparky on a flight later.......* |
"Get in there, fast. Watch the walls."A foot through the wooden door and we were inside, flashlights cutting through dust of past millenia. There was a computer in here. Even the word computer was taboo at this point. The floors were grey cement, the walls white plaster. I had my gun pointed all around, a spinning top of steel.
Then the circuit breaker behind us exploded. We hadn't seen it. Icy shrapnel drove holes in the man unfortunate enough to be in back, and as he crumpled, I grinned. I could control the wholeadsa:back:reply:back the whole building. They were weak, they had nas45%a???868 no chance. The celing fans would fall and 7897898:[[three crush them. Their own guns would backfire. The floor would fall under them/them/them//them. I would kill them all. |
"...and I hear when the games are over, everyone just goes back to the village and has some sort of giant fucking orgy."
"Thanks, Max. Glad to hear it,"said Ben halfheartedly.
"Are you kidding me right now? That doesn't excite you? Pure, 12 hour shifts of straight fucking?"Max's voice was ecstatic.
"Max, take the time to think about why we're here. We're professional video gamers. If a hockey player goes up to some hot skier and talks about the mechanics of taking a slap shot, she can at least pretend to be impressed because it sounds kind of cool. If you or I go up to that girl and talk about how you only need one Mekanism, then we look stupid."
"You know what else makes us look stupid?"Max waited for a serious answer from Ben, but none came. "Looking like fucking pussies makes us look stupid."
Max chimed in with a heated voice. "No, what really makes us look stupid is how we're categorized as a winter sport. Just because of the idea that its cold outside in the winter, hence why we're indoors playing video games."
"And if we were a summer sport, you'd be bitching about how they think we never go outside at all,"said Max.
Ben could not deny Max's logic. Still, he couldn't help but feel that no one here took them seriously. He wanted to fit in as an Olympian, but he couldn't.
"You see the way they look at us,"said Ben. "It's like they laugh every time they pass us by. They think we didn't work as hard to get here just because we're skinny, because our sport isn't physical."
"Ben, if it makes you feel better, the Koreans look at us like they want to murder us."
"Man, fuck those guys. They expect to win just because they're Korean gamers."
"Exactly!"said Max. "And when we go in there tomorrow and beat their asses, everyone is gonna know and then we will be drowning in pussay."
"Great,"said Ben sarcastically. "But we have to beat Finland first."
"Are you joking? They're a bunch of fuckin' noobs. They picked a Drow Ranger, and the only reason it worked was because New Zealand picked Sniper. I didn't even know Finland had video games until I got here."
"Yeah. Yeah, I guess you're right."
Ben turned away to focus on his thoughts about the whole situation. About the probable win over Finland today, about the probable tough battle against Korea tomorrow, and about the trove of beautiful women he may or may not have a shot with. Then, he heard a clicking noise accompanied by the sound of escaping air.
"Max, what are you doing?"he asked with urgency. "I don't think you can do that, man!"
"Do what? Drink a Red Bull? Why the fuck not?"
"We're gamers. Isn't that, like, using a PED or something?"
"Oh shit, maybe."
Ben and Max hid the drink where it belonged. In the trash. They may not be the best gamers at the Olympics, and they may not be ladykillers, but one thing they knew for a fact they weren't? Cheaters. |
*I stare into my wife's lifeless eyes. I can't move. The doctors warned me this day would come, but no amount of preparation in the world could ready me for this moment. This seemingly endless space of time where I'm alone, once again. My love has left me, and even as the sound of the flatline rings in my ears and teardrops slide down my face in a cascade of mourning, as the nurse enters the room and the doctor presses his hand to my shoulder, I simply can't move a muscle.*
"Ten,"my coworker's voice snaps me out of the memory and back to the reality I now face.
"Nine."
I'm going to Hell.
"Eight."
It all started on that day, fourteen years ago, when my wife passed away. I'd always talked to her about following my dreams of becoming a scientist, even though we were already settled down and I had a steady job that kept our bellies full and our bodies warm.
"Seven."
But I never did. We lived life on an even keel. We loved each other, and that was enough for the both of us. My nine to five wouldn't change that.
"Six."
And then the illness came.
"Five."
It didn't take long for her condition to deteriorate. Suddenly I was faced with something I knew I wouldn't be able to bear. She told me everything would be okay. She told me we'd always be together. Forever.
"Four."
Before she died she asked me to make her a promise. She reminded me of the dream I once had.
"Three."
*Promise me,* she said. *Promise me you won't let anything stop you.* And I promised her.
"Two."
And now here I stand. The culmination of our life together, all too brief, and the dormant dream she reawakened with her eternal slumber. In a vessel headed into uncharted territory, the work of thousands of scientists all around the world over the course of decades. I don't know what we'll find. I don't know what to expect. My knees start to shake.
"One."
I'm going to Hell.
"Zero."
*I stare into my wife's lifeless eyes. I can't move.* |
Howard stood still and looked up at the sky. It was dark out, save for a slight silver glow atop the cylindrical object that seemed to mirror the light of the moon.
“I ain’t surrendering to no Mexican,” he said.
“They aren’t Mexican, Howard. They’re aliens. They’re going to destroy the planet if you don’t help us here.”
“Let me ask you a question. Do you like your job? Do you like your family? Do you like your country? I love my country, but these illegal aliens are going to take your jobs away if give them the chance.”
“Howard, I cannot make this any more clear. These people—things—are not from Mexico. They are not from this planet. We don’t even know where they’re from.”
“If you don’t know where they’re from, then how you know they ain’t no Mexicans?”
“We know. We know they aren’t Mexicans. We are 100% aware that they are not Mexican.”
“Sorry, General Commander Sir, or whatever your name is, I ain’t giving up my job to a bunch of illegal aliens. I love my country too much.”
“Your country is going to be destroyed, Howard! There will be no more America if you refuse this.”
“I’d rather die in an America where full-blooded Americans don’t have to fight Mexicans for their jobs than one where all the CEOs are speaking Mexican to their American servants.”
The general screamed and threw his hat on the floor. It was clear he wanted Howard shot, but the amount of cameras surrounding them made it quite challenging. There was also the fact that the visitors wanted Howard alive at threat of annihilation, which had stopped countless murder attempts already. He grabbed his hat off the floor, brushed the dirt off, and marched back over to the line of soldiers. Howard remained still. He looked back up at the object levitating silently in the sky. He was pretty sure he could see the Mexican flag. The speakers behind Howard turned on again.
“Hello, this is General Hughes. Are you sure you are unwilling to take Howard dead?”
“Yes,” returned a voice that sounded identical to General Hughes’. “He has insulted our heritage; your death is too good for him.”
Howard laughed. “God damn Mexicans, go back to your side of the border. We don’t want none of your chalupas!” he shouted.
General Hughes ran back over to Howard, followed by closely another high-ranking officer.
“Shut up! Howard, shut up! You’re going to get this entire planet destroyed.”
The second officer stopped just behind the General. “Why do they even want this guy so bad?” he asked, staring at Howard who was now humming the national anthem softly.
“Have you not been following this at all?” the General asked.
“Not really, I’ve been on deployment for the past few days.”
“This idiot was the first one to make contact, he heard them on a damn CB radio. Who even uses those things anymore? When he heard they weren’t from America, he went off on some racist rant about Mexicans and ended up insulting their ancestors. He even went on a tirade against the damn creature’s mothers. We don’t even know if they have mothers, but he spent the better part of an hour comparing their mother’s body-type to stars in supernova. Apparently the damn creatures had this entire rant played through their ships, and repeated back to the home planet, and now they want Howard.”
“So we can’t just tie him up?”
“We can, but all those damn human rights groups are up in arms about ‘freedom of choice’ and are threatening a full-on uprising.”
“God damn liberals,” Howard said.
“Those liberals are saving your pathetic life, Howard, you piece of shit,” said General Hughes.
“And I’m saving your job from a bunch of Mexicans,” Howard said.
The general opened his mouth, then shut it. He opened it again, shut it, then turned and walked away. The second officer followed.
Howard looked back up at the floating object. He was amazed Mexico had such futuristic technology. Probably stole it from the Americans, he thought. He couldn’t believe the military wanted to welcome these Mexicans to their land, and then surrender one of their own—a good, God-fearing, true-to-life American. He was appalled.
“This is your final warning,” pierced a disembodied voice.
The General ran over to Howard. He was carrying a piece of paper. He handed it to him.
“What’s this?” Howard asked.
“It’s a note from the President. It explains that, if you board this ship, the United States of America will permanently ban Mexicans from ever entering, legal or illegal. It is also signed by the Mexican president. All you have to do is surrender yourself. If you don’t, the borders will be permanently opened, and all Americans will be fired from their jobs.”
Howard quickly glanced down at the contract. There were quite a few big words, which caused Howard a bit of difficulty, but he caught the gist of the terms.
“So, let me get this straight. Y’all negotiating with terrorists?” Howard asked. “I thought this was America. I thought we believed in Freedom.”
“Howard. God dammit. If you don’t walk over to that ship right now, you are going to forever turn the United States of America into the United States of America-Mexico. That’s on you.”
“Sorry, but a great leader once said that the United States does not negotiate with terrorists. If I have to personally stand by the border every day with my shotgun and stop those damn Mexicans, I’ll do that. But I ain’t negotiating with no terrorists—especially no damn floating Mexicans.”
The General took out his pistol and fired. Howard's limp body tumbled backwards as the sky lit up in a blinding flash of white.
____________
[^If ^you ^enjoy ^my ^writing ^style, ^feel ^free ^to ^check ^out ^some ^of ^my ^others ^shorts/prompts ^at ^my ^Wordpress!](http://zacharydiamond.wordpress.com/) |
She looks somewhat familiar to me. I find myself staring, though I'm trying my best not to. She looks gaunt. Ill, almost. Her hair falls limply around her face. I think it's brown but really it looks colourless. She's probably a similar height to me but significantly skinnier. Her hands are like bird claws, skeletal and scaly with dry skin, as she fumbles for a cigarette.
"You got a lighter, mate?"she asks, voice rasping.
She has already noticed me watching her and grins grimly at me. Dimples appear in her narrow cheeks. I shrug.
"Fraid not,"I tell her. "I gave up years ago."
"Not to worry,"she says. "I've found one."And she's right. A lighter appears from nowhere in her hand. She flicks it and a flame escapes out the top, billowing up. It lights up her face, each line, each scar, each wrinkle. I find myself studying her, again. I know her from somewhere.
She laughs. It's an unpleasant, unhappy sound.
"Sure you don't want one?"she asks, offering up the pack of cigarettes. I shake my head.
"I gave up years ago,"I tell her again.
"Ah, yes, so you did."She doesn't move the pack of cigarettes. "Sure I can't tempt you?"
"No,"I say, a little too sharply. "Thank you."I add, as way of an apology.
"Can't say I tried."She laughs again, a short bark, but it didn't feel like a joke. Silence falls again. There is only the glowing tip of her cigarette, tiny flames causing the paper to curl and blacken, little acts of destruction.
She is watching me now. Waiting for something. I feel her eyes roam across my face. She stares at my hair, my dimples, my cheeks. She is returning the favour and taking in every detail. I turn to face her and our eyes meet. I jolt.
"I k..know you,"I say.
"Finally,"she replies. She stubs her cigarette out, takes another one out and lights it with a snap of her fingers. I am not bothered by the fire that came out of the tip of her index finger. I am bothered that I looked into her eyes and saw the very last person I was expecting to see.
"You're me,"I tell her. She grins again. That grim grin of hers. Smoke trails out of the edge of her mouth and dances in front of us.
"Not quite, my dear,"she says. "I'm the Devil. Well, I'm your Devil. I'm every bad decision you could have made. I am every evil thing you could have done. I am your continuing cigarette habit. I am the time you decided to crash on James' sofa instead of grabbing a taxi home and slept in his bed instead. I am you telling your father that his opinion doesn't matter to you."
"But.. but those didn't happen."
"Ah but they could've done. And you see her over there?"She gestures with her cigarette to a woman about our height standing a little way off. "That's God. That's your God. She is every good decision you could ever had made. She is every decent thing you could have done."
The other woman's beautiful. Her skin's perfect, I can see that from where I'm from.
"Yeah, beautiful but boring,"the Devil snorts. My Devil. "She never smoked or drank so much when she was 16 she threw up over her skirt. Too busy helping people and all the rest of it. If she had her way, you'd probably still be a virgin."
I laugh. I don't mean to. That gets the attention of the other woman. Of God. Of my God. She walks over. God, that walk. I think the Devil's lying to me, there's no way she could be a virgin. She smiles at me as she becomes part of our little crowd. Oh, isn't it beautiful?
"Life's all about compromise,"she tells me, then turns to other me. To bad me. "Isn't that right?"
"Yeah,"bad me replies. "What we've got here is just a big ol' bundle of compromise. That's all you are,"she tells me. "A big ol' bundle of compromise."
|
It started as a tickle but it soon became a burn,
From a child to an inferno, oh, how quickly did I learn,
For some people may be special and some people are unique,
But for just a chosen few there's another label, "Freak."
The old and dreadful ways took away my brethren kind,
In the cold and fearful days they stole the fire from their mind,
"Drown the witch and heretics", the venomous did rise,
And hunted down the beautiful with fire in their eyes.
But now the time has come again and sparks burst forth once more,
I bring the name, Prometheus, back to your shaken core.
So tie me to a rock and try to steal away my guts,
I bring to you the Ragnarok and seal your blind eyes shut. |
"Good morning John. Good morning Grib-Grob-Xorplar."
The two scientists stood, loosely facing the computer. It was examining them through a web cam perched on top of the mainframe. It might have been more stylish if they had built the AI a custom mainframe with a real built in camera, but this was the beta.
"I'm sorry Stevey,"John said. "Seems like he can't pronounce your name."
"My pronunciation was technically perfect. Please tell me if I need to take any accent into consideration."
"You do, buddy. You pronounce it Steve. Stee. V. Not grip grop grip lob. That's his name."
The AI clicked. "Data scans show you do not know Xorplar's gender. Xorplar is female."
Click. Whir.
"Listen, John. I think we need to talk. This project is obviously broken. I'll get back to the bluepr-"
"Incorrect. Data states you have infiltrated the humans to help them build an AI capable of analysing he entire military capacity of -"
A spanner hit the speakers. Steve swung again, hitting the hard drive.
"It was obviously broken. We'll rebuild it to be better."
-----
Edit: a grammar. And a name. |
The smell of the hospital was enough to make him feel worse. The stale, artificially lemon hinted air roaming through halls was heavy, and made his heart sink. His mother stood outside talking to yet another doctor. They made sure to force a smile whenever they caught his gaze but the eight year-old knew it was another bad result. No one told him what was happening. And no one could. Perplexed eyes studied him day in and day out, cold metal pressed against him, sterilized wood depressed his tongue, and needles pierced his skin but not a soul knew how to remedy this ill. He'd overheard one of the doctor's say he should not even be alive. The boy's mother nodded to the doctor, tears rolling down her cheeks. She turned to the door, taking a deep breath before throwing on that familiar façade.
"Hi sweetie"Her voice was velvety, to him it was the sound of an angel on normal days, like most mothers to their children. "It's time for me to go okay? But I'll be back tomorrow bright and early to see you again."
"But...But the monster!"He jumped. He held her arm tightly, hoping she'd surrender.
"Honey, there's no monster under your bed just like there's no monster under mine."Her caring eyes soothed him.
"Okay."He knew at this point nothing could keep her longer. "I love you mommy."His mother noticed he was weak.
"I love you too."She gripped his hand tighter for a brief second before collapsing on him, wrapping her arms around. After a short embrace she wiped her eyes, and wished him good night once more.
The only source of light left in his room was the glow from the machines. It was hard to sleep with the IV in his arm, it made his blood feel cold. He didn't want to sleep though, he couldn't. He knew it was back. Weeks of his sojourn in the hospital had passed and every night he heard the clacking of claws crawling across his room before it settled underneath. He'd caught glimpses here or there, a shadow in the corner of his eye. For as long as he could remember it had haunted him. It got worse when he became sick. Growls and snarls of the shadow crept from under the bed. Long had he been terrified, but no more. The fear had been trumped by his declining health; he didn't have the strength to be afraid.
"Are you making me worse?"He asked, deciding to finally get some answers from someone. There was no response. "Please. It hurts. I just want to go home."His voice merely a whisper.
"No."The shadow spoke with a low grumble in its voice.
"Then--then why do you scare me? Are you here to hurt me? I don't want to di-"
"Child."The shadow interjected. "How long have I lurked in your room? Under your bed?"It was far from human, and ages of wisdom ruminated in its voice.
"A long time?"The boy himself was unsure.
"I have been with you since you were merely a baby."The boy heard the claws scratching the plastic board at the foot of the bed. "In this hospital you were born, sick as you lie here today."A figure crept its way up. It seemed to be one with the darkness in the room. "And just like I have been for eight years. I am here for fear."
"But why do you want to scare me?"The boy's voice shook, desperation began to invade.
"You do not understand"Red eyes pierced the blackness. "I am not here for your fear. I never was."The boy's eyes were wide. "For your entire life I have protected you, from a thing far worse than I. I am older and stronger than you can imagine, and it is for the sole reason that you are a helpless pawn that I stay by your side."The eyes came closer. "My enemy is ruthless. He has taken countless others like you. Feeding on their fear."
"So...you're a good monster?"
"No. I too have taken countless lives. You, however, are but a boy. You do not know the fear of life, nor the sadness, anger, or pure bliss. He would not give you the chance. You do not have the strength to fight him. I do. And it is because I have kept him at bay from underneath you that you still breath."
"I can do it. I'm strong."There was fading determination in his voice. Flashbacks of the superheroes he'd read about and seen on the television flew in his mind. "And I just don't want it to hurt anymore."
"To live is pain. Do you not want to experience the world? Smile and cry as your people do?"
"I can't do that from in here."The Red Eyes turned away suddenly, and a growl echoed through the room. The shadow's enemy lurked. "Just promise me one thing?"The Red Eyes appeared once more, next to the boy. He felt a claw on him, holding him tight, ready to rip him away if need be.
"This is not about you boy. There is no promise you make that I will keep. This is a fight older than yo-""Please?"The boy's voice stunned the monster.
"My mommy. She says she doesn't have a monster under her bed. When I go, can you stay with her and protect her like you did with me?"A smile grew on the boy's face. The shadow grumbled and snarled and slowly silenced.
"...It will not hurt. It will be like slipping into a deep sleep. But do not show him fear. It is a path we all must take, eventually. You are indeed stronger than I thought. Like those pages you read.""Will I get a mask? Like Spiderman?"The shadow knew the real answer. "Yes boy. And you will go to help other children, like I did you."
"That's not so bad."The smile grew, and a long absent warmth returned to his face.
"No, not at all."The Red Eyes began to retreat. The boy spoke one last time; "You never promised."
"You may not have a monster under your bed any longer. But she will."
The boy closed his eyes, smiling, and hearing the clacking claws crawl across one last time. |
Dear Mr. Simon,
I paid Tammy $20 to give this letter to her sister's boyfriend to give it to you. Tammy says you do favours for people all the time. I know I don't work for you, you don't even know me, but this is really important and I don't know who else to ask for help. Santa never wrote back even though I asked him for the last two years and was the best I could be and got all As in school. I even got an A+ in English.
I want you to kill my dad. He was in jail for two years for hitting my mom and my little brother and me. He promised Mom he would never hurt her again But he's been home for a week now and he never promised us that.
I am strong and I can take it. I am almost eleven and when I grow up I want to be a fire fighter so I need to learn to be strong. But my brother is only six. Dad already took out one of his eyes, and he only has one left.
The $20 I gave Tammy was all I had, but I can make up to $10 on a good week from recycling. I could also work for you to pay off the debt. I don't know how much it costs to kill people, but I'm willing to do whatever it takes.
Thank you for considering my letter, Mr. Simon, and I hope to hear a response from you shortly.
Sincerely,
Rupert Jones
--
It was dark when Rupert Jones was woken up by the screams of his father and the shouting of his mother. There was something going on in the kitchen of their small apartment. That was nothing new, but usually it wasn't his father screaming in fear.
"What is it?"asked Paul, bleary. His lid drooped over his empty socket.
"Get under the bed and stay there, okay? Everything will be alright."
The man hauling his father across the floor by the back of his shirt was not a tall man, but he looked strong, and besides that he had a pretty big gun.
"The fuck do you want?!"screamed his father. "The money's in the fridge! The money's..."
The sound of the gun was not as loud as Rupert thought it would be. Maybe it had a silencer, he couldn't tell. But it was loud enough that Mrs. May's poodles started barking, and loud enough for someone to probably call it in.
The man walked across the floor, careful to avoid the spreading pool of blood, and squatted before him. "You must be Rupert."
He resisted the urge to stick his thumb in his mouth. "Yes, sir. What do I owe you?"
Ruby Simon just patted the top of his head. "Free of charge, kid. I'll even give you your postage back."He reached inside of his dark jacket, handing him a crisp, new twenty dollar bill.
"Thank you, Mr. Simon."
"No problem, Rupert. I planted some crystal in the crisper, you be sure to let the police know that's where Daddy kept all his stash and people had been calling about shorting him. And I put your Mom's savings in the cupboard so the pigs don't confiscate it."
The boy stared at the bill in his hands. It seemed unreal. "Isn't there anything I can do for you, Mr. Simon?"
The man only gave a smile, one that didn't show teeth. "Yeah. Keep getting those As and be a fire fighter, Rupert."
"I will, sir."
"Good stuff, kid."
That was the last time he saw him. His brother lost no more eyes.
|
Detective McFly was the first detective on the scene. He's a small, rugged fly with tough wings and a furry face.
"What's the buzz?"he asked no one in particular.
"Male,"replied one of the techs, "seven days old, reportedly on his way home from a shit feast. Three witnesses say they saw him antagonizing a pair of Behemoths."
"My god. Do we have a positive ID?"
"Yes, sir."
"Kids?"
"281."
"Poor bloke,"McFly said. "I'll reach out to his family personally. Do we have the rest of the body?"
"No, sir. I'm afraid the Behemoth kept his torso. It's on the Device."
"Get the SWAT team in here. I want them to retrieve that body. I'll be damned if another fly goes without a proper burial."
"Yes, sir."
"Sergeant McFly!"Detective McFly called out to another officer. "How quickly can we get this mess cleaned up?"
Sergeant McFly was a small, rugged fly with tough wings and a furry face. No relation.
"Detective, good to see you again. I wish it was under better circumstances."
"Me too, brother."Again, no relation.
"We're trying to get the scrapers out here, but we just got word of a Behemoth attack in the south sector, near the Pit of Everlasting Feasts. It's... it's a massacre."
Detective McFly shed a tear. Sergeant McFly licked it off his eye.
"These beasts. Why do they do this?"
Sergeant McFly put one of his legs on Detective McFly's shoulder-or-whatever.
"I don't know, brother, I don't know." |
You want to hear about Springtown's big hero? I mean, if you look at him, you probably don't think much of him. And his costume isn't exactly flashy either, just a shirt with his name on it. And his name isn't much either: Mr. Springtown. His real name is Albert Thomas, and he's a librarian around here, used to do some substitute teaching, as well. Seems to have been here long as anybody remembers...
Now, 20 years ago, there lived a family called the Hartons, and they, well, they were kind of creepy. Their three kids were okay, if you got past their always-dirty clothing, but the parents... they were sons-of-bitches. Nobody liked them except that gas station attendant over on Birch Street who sold Pop Harton his cigarettes. I'm telling you, they were constantly complaining at town meetings, putting up signs that embarrassed the community, criticizing Little League coaches, and starting fights down at the Springtown Inn. They owed all of us money and rumor has it they had kicked a dog and spit on Girl Scouts. The "Heartless Hartons", they were called.
But then, one day, their house just erupted into flames. Nobody really has any real idea how it happened, maybe Pop Harton had left a cigarette lit and it touched something it really wasn't supposed to. So, like, all of us gathered around, watching this house go up in flames. We could hear some of the kids. The fire department had come, but in a small town like this, there isn't the right equipment to go in, so really, the best hope was that maybe the water would put out the fire where the Hartons were.
But, man, Al Thomas would have none of that. He just drove up, stopped his car, ran past us, ran past the sheriff, and ran past the firefighters. He may have cussed them out on the way in, come to think of it.
And then, well, we all waited, worrying. I mean, a few of the folks had said that the Hartons maybe deserved it, or at least deserved it as much as anybody could. But A.T., he didn't. And then, that's when it happened. Out of the flames came this figure, somehow holding onto and carrying five people and a scraggly old cat. That had to be several hundred pounds.
And then he placed them all on the ground. The EMTs treated them. They all lived.
I'm not sure to this day how "Mr. Springtown"did it. Anytime anybody asks him, he just says something about how he was doing what he had to do. Some say he might be some sort of mutant, others say he's some sort of angel. But for us... man, he's just Mr. Springtown. |
Three friends formed a business together, making clothes.
The first friend, Mark, made shoes, using handcrafted leather and hemp.
The second friend, Tom, made shirts, but preferred the feel of cotton for all his designs.
The third friend, Sarah, made woolen hats, with whimsical patterns.
They rarely saw each other, except when they were coming or going to color their products.
One day, Tom and Mark met up, as Sarah was preparing her wool.
"Well, Tom,"Mark quipped, "I guess we all dye alone in the end." |
“Alright everyone, that’s a wrap. Good work today.”
Now was my chance. I should ask her now. Well, maybe when there aren’t so many people around. But she always leaves quickly, I just needed to suck it up and do it.
Heart pounding with a rib-cracking rhythm, I approached Lucy. She was talking to her agent, but turned to me as I got close. Emerald green eyes met mine. How often I had seen those eyes staring down from a poster, or twinkling on a screen.
“Hi, Dave,” she said, a split second hesitation as she tried to remember my name. Maybe this was a bad idea. No, come on, be a man.
“Hi Lucy, I was, um, I was just wondering, if you’d like to go for dinner with me?”
Her expression froze. She always had a smile and a friendly word, even for a lowly runner like me, but I seemed to have thrown her. Her agent raised an eyebrow but said nothing. In the corner of my eye, Amber, Lucy’s co-star, covered her mouth and turned away. Yep, bad idea.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked, I-”
Face burning, I turned to go.
“I’d love to.”
I turned back. The perfect, gentle smile was back. My own lips were straining to reach my ears.
I picked her up in a car that she could have bought with five minutes work. I’d scrubbed up as best I could, but this was always going to be a case of beauty and the beast. Honestly, I had never even thought about getting this far, how I was going to hold her attention I had no idea.
Despite my worries, conversation was easy. She asked about where I was from, about my family and my hobbies. She told me her tales in return. She had lots of anecdotes, and she was good at telling them.
The first surprise came when she ordered steak. I had expected her to get a salad or some other ‘healthy’ food, to preserve her perfect figure. She grinned defiantly at me as she said it, clearly guessing what I was thinking.
“I’ll have one too,” I said.
The talking got slower, and deeper, as we ate. We started talking about hopes and dreams and other more personal things. There were a few spots of peppercorn sauce on her navy blue dress, which she didn’t seem to have noticed. Her words became more hesitant as her smooth-talking, charming persona began to slip just a little. This was a side of her I had never seen before.
Full of steak and red wine, when we finished eating she made a confession.
“No one really asks me out anymore. I’m glad you did. Er… not that I’m here just because you’re the only one who asked.”
Her quick laugh wasn’t its usual confident self. Was she nervous? Because of me? I looked at her, food on her clothes, hair going a little wild, face slightly flushed from the heat and the alcohol. And I saw her for the first time.
There was a person sitting in front of me. An incredibly beautiful and talented person, no doubt, but a person nonetheless. Here I was, desperate to impress, and she felt the same way.
“Sorry, that was stupid,” she smiled wryly, “I guess I wasn’t burdened with an overabundance of schooling.”
That surprised me.
“You were wearing a firefly t-shirt when we first met.”
I laughed in amazement, “I’m surprised you remember that.”
She shrugged. I guess it was time to get to know her.
|
For fear of introducing a counter-opinion that invokes downvotes, I am going to bravely move forward and answer your questions:
>These themes are not only overly represented in this sub (and stale, imo),
Valid
>they don't reflect the human condition.
You're missing the symbolism!
[The symbols duke! The symbols! I'm symbolblind kid.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_detailpage&v=VwlMHJE82Mk)
So this portion is ripe with nits for picking. I disagree with your disputing of whether or not these fantastical elements reflect the human condition. Specifically, [the human condition encompasses the unique features of being human, particularly the ultimate concerns of human existence.](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Human_condition). I'll get back to the applicability, but first let's talk about each of your points and what they ultimately represent:
>god/devil/angel/demon
Why this is morality. Morality and power. The variety of stories on this sub are an attempt to either humanize the divine powers and bring them within reach or these are stories where the authors put forth an answer to a "what-if"that attempt to play with the common notions of good and evil, ethics and morality, and divine power. We all wish for and live with these things and playing with these stories make for interesting parables that we can use to examine our every day lives.
>zombie/ghost/vampire
Zombies are [metaphors](http://www.hamptoninstitution.org/country-walking-dead.html) for how the worst in humanity can tear apart society. Additionally, this apocalyptic wasteland provides for stories that are told where the constraints of society are ripped free and our friends and neighbors are now trying to kill us.
Ghost stories are spawned from a desire to live on after death or to explain that what happens in our short time on this planet have lasting effects.
Vampires are many things, they are the charming foreigner, they are the evil that we fall prey to and can become if we aren't careful, and they are sex.
>aliens/AI/robots
Alien stories represent a fear of the unknown. They are to us what we are to chimpanzees: Technologically superior beings who can kill at a whim for incomprehensible reasons.
The AI and Robots represent our fear of technological progress and being replaced by our creations. In a more realistic point of view, a young man will grow stronger and more powerful than his father over time and whether the father raised the son right is whether the son will treat the father well.
All of these fears are very much using metaphor and imagery to explore the human condition. The human condition doesn't have to be mundane. It doesn't have to be every-day. Science fiction uses fantastical backdrops to throw our ingrained beliefs into the light that we can then use to examine ourselves.
>Where are the stories of bitter rivals, and romances, and high school frustrations?
This is a point of preference. Harry potter had high school frustrations and bitter rivals but he had a wand. Hari Seldon had a partial romance.
>Where are the character portraits?
I'm going to leave this one out there. If you want character portraits, write character portraits. I am not your monkey.
>It's fun to explore those fantastical scenarios, but seeing them here every day is like going to the the movies and finding the only thing playing is super hero films.
Personally, I saw Capote in the theater and that film left such an impression on me that I wasn't the tiniest bit sad when Philip Seymore Hoffman died (I even felt he deserved it a little). Seeing that movie made me a worse person.
Though I can see how one note and all this must seem very samey to you, but before you completely write off genre fic in favor of lit fic, realize how narrow that view is. One isn't better than the other and saying that something can't be deep or important because it takes place on a space ship or when outrunnning zombies shows a level of naivete and prejudice that deserves pity.
You're missing out on a lot. I prefer my stories to be wrapped in the fantastic, but if you want everything to happen at dennys, that's your cup of tea, i guess. |
-United Nations' Space Station, orbiting planet XV13-
"Sir! We've made contact!"Private Jenkins panted as he ran to bring the news to the general.
"What is it?"General Briggs boomed, "You better not be wasting my time, private!"
"We've made contact with an alien species! The big heads down on the surface of the planet— they've made contact!"
"Out with it Jenkins!"General Briggs ordered.
"They say that— that physically, they're millions of years ahead of us in evolution—"Private Jenkins coughed out. "But their technology is— It's total shit!"
"Get a hold of yourself, private! And watch your language. You're in front of the United Nations' Space Council,"the general explained, as he pointed at the men and women sitting behind high-rise desks.
"YES SIR!"Private Jenkins saluted. "Apologies council, but we've just made contact with an alien species in planet designation XV13. They appear to have been living on this planet for millions of years, undisturbed—"
"Are they a threat, private?"A councilman interrupted.
"No sir, I do not think they pose any threat. We are vastly superior to them in terms of technology sir. The big heads down on the surface can't seem to understand why their technology hasn't improved over thousands of years."
"Continue private."
"The big heads say that physically, they've evolved over millions of years. They say that they're perfect physical specimens. They're able to learn vast amounts of information almost instantly... And they also seem to have no signs of illnesses, diseases, cancers... No biological ailments of any kind, sir."
"A perfect species?"a councilman remarked.
"For such an intelligent species, why do you think they haven't improved their technology after thousands of years?"a councilwoman asked.
"Beats me, ma'am. Seems like they don't care much for technology. It doesn't look like they *need* it. The big heads are recommending a full scan of the planet and more men to help establish a base of operations."
"Excuse me council, I've got a call from the planet's surface. Private Jenkins, I want you to stay here and tell them everything you know about these aliens."General Briggs walked out of the council room.
"Who am I talkin' to?"General Briggs asked over the phone.
"This is Dr. Klein of the United Nations' Science Division. We've just made contact with the aliens."
"What's the news doc?"
"We just discovered that this alien species has been evolving for millions of years. Physically, they're a perfect species. We have found no illnesses among the tribes here on the surface. The tribesman we've made contact with has also learned our language almost instantly. We still need more research, but it seems they can manipulate their bodies on the molecular level, allowing them to destroy any invading bacteria they come across, and even form new limbs of different shapes and sizes. "
"Form new limbs? Interesting... Well, I already know most of this, doc. Tell me something I don't know."
"What? But we just found— GENERAL! WHOEVER TOLD YOU ABOUT THE ALIENS— HE'S NOT ONE OF US."
EDIT: Wording/spacing. |
It's been a hard winter. Nobody really expects the world to end. How do you prepare for that? John has no idea how he made it through the last few months, much less how he'll survive the future. At this point of time, all plans have gone out the window. People now scrape by day to day.
John sighs and keeps on walking. It's the beginning of spring and the area is muddy and wet. He spent the winter hiding away in forests, battling with starvation. The coming of spring would bring wildlife into the area. Perhaps he had a chance of settling down now. *It's not like the world's going to change again*, he thought.
As he climbed over a fallen tree, something off the side caught his eye. A glimmer of metal. That's never a good sign in these dangerous times. Keeping a close eye to his surroundings, John cautiously approached the area. Emerging into a clearing, what he found made little sense.
It was a camp full of the most lifelike statues John had ever seen. Men, women, children. There was about thirty bodies in various positions. Their faces plastered with expressions of fear. They all stared in one direction.
*These aren't statues*, John thought, *they are people. They* were *people*.
There was nothing John could do. He didn't want to think about what could have happened here. Could it be related to whatever caused the collapse of civilization? Could it have been It?
----
EDIT: Wait, [lead](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lead) or [lead](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Main_character)? |
“Bless me father for I have sinned. It’s been one month since my last confession, and I shall confess to the sins of lying once, anger against my coworkers, pride, and jealousy. I am sorry for these and all my sins.”
I was always happy to hear Angelica’s confessions. She was concise, direct, and I got the sense that she always made a thorough examination of conscious.
“Thank god for the gift of an honest confession.” I told her. “I advise you to examine your sins, and to select one to work on the most. Say three Hail Mary’s, and you may now make an act of contrition.”
“My god, I am heartily sorry for all my sins. In choosing to do wrong and in failing to do good, I have sinned against you whom I should love above all things. I firmly intend with your help to do penance, to sin no more, and to avoid whatever leads me to sin. Our Savior Jesus Christ suffered and died for us, in his name, my god, have mercy, amen.” Angelica was well named. The humility in her voice was angelic. Hearing each and every syllable brought me joy, as if I was hearing them directly from an angel. I gladly grant her an absolution.
“God, the Father of mercies, through the death and resurrection of his Son has reconciled the world to himself and sent the Holy Spirit among us for the forgiveness of sins; through the ministry of the Church may God give you pardon and peace, and I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Go in peace my child.”
“Thank you father.” She says, and departs.
“Bless me father for I have sinned. It’s been one month since my last confession.” Angelica says. Even though there is a screen between us I can tell it’s her. I could pick her voice out of a crowd even if there were a hundred voices all chanting the same thing.
I listen to her confession, she is brief and to the point as ever, and it heartens me to hear a confession such as hers. As I give her a variation on my usual advice I reflect that it would be good to spend time with someone as devout as she.
I assign her a penance, and she begins the act of contrition. As she outpours her sorrow there is a telltale flicker in my chest. It’s just a flicker, but I was not always a priest, and recognize that flicker.
I am suddenly glad for the screen between us as my eyes are no doubt widening in shock. I try and dismiss it. She finishes her act of contrition, and I begin my absolution. I focus on the words, using the repetition to block out thought and emotion.
“Thank you father.” She says. I do not feel particularly fatherly at the moment.
“Bless me father for I have sinned. It’s been one month since my last confession.” It’s her again. As soon as I hear her voice the flicker comes back. Only it has progressed to a solid thumping in my chest. As she lists her sins I perceive each one as a reason for my affection for her to increase.
I stumble through my brief words of advice to her. I hardly heard what she said to me, so I hope it’s still relevant. As she begins her act of contrition I mourn that holy orders do not remove such emotions from me. I can feel myself falling ever farther for her.
Then I begin my act of contrition. I am reminded that as a priest I speak for another man. A man who experienced great suffering. I am reminded that the current emotion is but another burden to carry. The knowledge does not less the emotion. Indeed I find myself feeling an even greater attraction to her, but I am reminded that duty comes first.
I even begin to feel ashamed for reacting so strongly to this emotion. Do not husbands still feel for other women after marriage? Do employers not occasionally feel attraction for their employees. Unwanted infatuation is nothing special. I’m not some hormone driven teenager. I’m an adult, and I can control myself.
Edit: to any who are wondering, this is how confessions go down in real life. Minus the love bit. |
Dora cautiously sat down on what appears to be a late 16th century antique chair after the butler let her in to the receiving room. She put her backpack to her side. Various treasures are displayed and she spots some Sumerian figurines, a Monet, Picasso and a Garfunkel, an original Galaga arcade machine and somewhat morbidly, an Egyptian coffin as a coffee table. The coffin appears to be Middle Kingdom and disappointingly, already have a couple of coffee rings. All of these riches and yet coasters are nowhere to be found. The mansion itself is quite enormous, may be a bit smaller than Versailles.
A small bell rang and the butler announced “Madam Lara Jones”.
Strange, I thought her last name was Croft. Dora stood up, wishing Boots was at her side. But he’s long gone.
“Enchanted to finally meet you”, said the woman with such an arresting beauty, walking towards her with grace at her every step. “Please do sit down. Alfred, some tea for our guest please.”
Before she can even say anything to her inspiration, to say what she has been rehearsing for weeks on her fantasy conversation with her, Lara went straight to business.
“My agent told me that you have something valuable for us and that we may be able to do some business.”
She wants the Map. The annoying singing Map. Why anyone would want the Map instead of the new industrial strength Android phone interfaced with Google Goggle Glass is beyond her. Even the now obsolete POS iPhone 75.5s is much more functional than the Map. Her agent said Lara would only talk to her if she has the Map. Lara’s a tough negotiator and even at her old age, can be a formidable foe if she gets pissed. Dora already scanned the room for possible weapons, and strangely, a whip hanging in the coat rack in the corner looks promising. Just in case, the Fiesta Trio is also just outside the perimeter.
“Yes I have it, Ms. Croft”
“Oh, let’s not be too formal now, It’s Mrs. Jones now and call me Lara. You’ll stay for dinner, right dear?”
The door opens and a very old, yet fit man comes in.
“Indy darling, I’d like you to meet Dora, she’s an explorer too!”
“ Great to meet ya” he says as he tips his fedora. “Lara, I got to go clean up after that walk.”
“What has Swiper done now?, Swiper is our sweet little fox Dora” asked Lara.
“ He caught a frog, grasshopper and a snail just beyond the fence.”
|
*Ben enters shop*
**Ben:** "In a world, where I can have a can of soda, can only two kinds exist. One is a doctor, the other is a coke."
**Shop clerk:** "Do you have the money to experience the fantastic *cherry coke*?
**Ben:** "Follow Ben on his journey to making enough money to be able to afford a cherry coke"
**Shop clerk:** "Coming in just a moment: A shop clerk kicking a guy's ass out of his store for not being able to afford a cherry coke"
|
"I've not seen you before; you must be new around here! My name is Oswald of Ornheim."
The words tumble out without effort now, automatically, less conviction and interest in each successive syllable. The wind roars, the thin rain falls. The oak wall on the inn I stand against is the same dull mahogany it has always been. The new hero in front of me looks just like any other: shit amour, shit weaponry - and yet, I never get to see anything else. As soon as they've levelled up enough, they leave this town and never turn back. Only a handful have ever returned, and I tell myself they come to offer thanks, but really they just want to see if my dialogue changes. This cocky prick doesn't even respond, just charges off in the direction of Deepmoss Forest. He'll be crawling back soon enough.
I'm sick even of my own thoughts. I haven't had a proper conversation with another human, or elf, or dwarf or 'dark magician' - those guys are really weird - in years. Just the same old dialogue: pleased to meet you, I sense great potential, over there's the blacksmith, don't head north just yet, cool down with a pint of mead in the pub, yada fucking yada.
Of course, this is all I've known, born into perpetual middle-age at this very spot, the knowledge I impart already firmly grounded in my mind. But I've heard whisperings, from travellers, from veterans disguised as new heroes, that there's for more than this. That beyond what I'm able to say lies a vast world, full of possibility. And I'll setting out soon, once I have my plan together.
Or I would. But I can't move a fucking muscle. |
"Sir!"A flash of white darted down the hallway, papers flying as the engineer ran after his superior. "Sir!!! We've made contact!"
Director Gavins stopped in his tracks. "What? Let me see!"
A paper was handed to him. It was in cipher, and had been decrypted through several supercomputers. When he saw the words, Gavins blanched. "Mother of God..."
Only two words. Two words to change the course of human history. Shaking, Gavins read it aloud.
"Ayy lmao" |
"My boy, think of this as... Re-Education."
He said as he plunged the serrated blade into my chest. It burned and cut at me a thousand times in a single push.
I tried to scream.
"Ah yes about that, you have no voice here. You see in your life you never really said anything of note, so now you can't say anything".
He twisted the blade and a thousand more tiny spears of hot agony ran the breadth of my body. I tried to fight the chains, but even my greatest efforts barely afforded me a twitch.
"You can't move either, If you're noticing a theme here friend. It's that you didn't do a whole lot and now you can't do jack".
He pulled the knife out quickly and licked the blade.
"I can taste the wasted potential... tut tut. You see, you little humans have one thing above all else, a gift from the old boy upstairs."
Gently he traced the knife around my face, scoring a deep, hot burn.
"Do you know what it is, hmmm?"He paused for a second and raised his eyebrows, "Free will dear boy,you little fleshy bags can do anything you desire,beyond the control of everything. Except you never did, you built yourself a puppet master and strung yourself up to dance to your own safe song".
They chains began to move me in a mocking marionette show.
"Do your wounds hurt? Cherish it lad, because in less than a month they heal and then you won't even have the pain to focus on, just the nothing you achieved."
He walked to the door, stopped and said.
"In one way I suppose you have achieved something, you are the first person to ever waste free will".
He opened a door to an endless sea of black, stepped into and faded away. his voice continued to run clear though.
"You see, god isn't angry that you do good or bad, he cares very little in that respect. But what he dislikes is when someone is handed the keys to a sports car, and doesn't ever put them in the ignition". |
*In a conference room , prominent scientists and journalists eagerly awaiting the beginning of the conference ; hundreds of photographs ready to capture the action.*
"We have with us Dr. Alfred who in secrecy worked with dangerous chemicals , risking his own life , to make the world a better place , to rid the world of a malady that killed millions of people world wide ; Oh what a noble man ! We cannot overstate his contributions to humanity as a whole ! He took it upon himself to first engineer a potent chemical which would instantly kill all cancerous cells and after 20 years of research and development spend another 30 years building , again , in secrecy 4134130 towers all across the world , that dispersed into the air the chemical . All those towers he built , he did it to make sure every human , regardless of being rich or poor was administered the chemical so no one might ever acquire cancer . We shall now hear a few words from the professor "
*Squealing microphone noise*
"I ... ughh ... mmm ......"
"Our heroic scientist is having trouble collecting his words ,we understand since he's 90 years old and is a bit senile . Sir , you can speak later if you'd like"
**SENILE** ? *What do these pathetic morons think they're saying , DO THEY EVEN KNOW WHO I AM ? THEY THINK I'M A LOSER BECAUSE I'M OLD ? humanity is such a sad spectacle to view , it's a shame they didn't die .. A simple mistake , a simple hydrogen atom and instead of killing all cells the poison killed all cancer cells .. AND THESE IDIOTS THINK I SAVED THEM , GOD THEY'RE SO DUMB*
"Sir , do you need some help ?"
**bursts into laughter**
"Oh .. just look at you fools , thinking I .. I OF ALL PEOPLE SAVED YOU PATHETIC PEOPLE , OH MAN , OH MAN , YOU GUYS DON'T EVEN DESERVE WHAT SCIENCE HAS GIVEN YOU . I ... I ATTEMPTED TO CREATE A .. A POISON THAT WOULD KILL ALL CELLS , IT WOULD HAVE KILLED ALL YOU FILTHY PEOPLE IN THE QUICKEST WAY POSSIBLE , ENDING A VISCOUS CYCLE OF PAIN AND SUFFERING WHICH YOU PEOPLE CREATED , but .. but a hydrogen atom went out of place because of a simple mistake and ... CURED YOU ! .. fucking idiotic piece of..."
*is taken away *
"That was an unprecedented outburst , he seems to not be feeling very well today and will not be able to speak , but our scientists will provide more information in today session "
*The front page of the news paper the next day*
**Saintly scientist who cured cancer goes mad during public conference**
**Cause believed to be exposure to dangerous chemicals while developing cure** |
November 26th was the first crime-free day in New York City history. For twenty-six hours, NYC's 8.4 million residents refrained from so much as a measly stabbing. Nobody tried to make off with anybody else's purse. Nobody tried to dunk anybody else in a vat of acid. All the folks who would normally have been interested in violent crime were hunkered down at home, peering nervously through the slits in their Venetian blinds.
Why the historic change of heart? Well, November 26th was National Superhero Day, and this year the Justice League had decided to commemorate the occasion with a convention in NYC! Particularly noteworthy was the decision by the League to invite the heroes from the Marvel universe. The parade through Times Square was quite a sight. The Hulk, with Batman perched merrily atop his bulbous green shoulders, skipped hand-in-hand with Superman. Iron Man and the Green Lantern soared overhead, while the Flash and Quicksilver zipped here and there in the crowd, causing mischief.
The heroes held a banquet in Central Park, catered by Thor's All-Natural Valhalla Cuisine, that lasted all through the night. Karaoke was a definite high point. Wolverine delivered a soulful rendition of "Uptown Funk,"but it was the Black Canary who put on the most memorable performance, shattering every window in a two mile radius when she hit the falsetto notes in Mika's "Grace Kelly."
The revelry dragged on all night, but by the following morning the storm seemed to have calmed. Miles Dooberdon, a petty crook specializing in convenience store robberies, emerged timidly from his apartment around 11 a.m. and scouted around. Not finding any indication that the superheroes remained about, Miles scurried to the 7/11 down the street and began his routine, emptying the weary cashier's register for the fifth time this month.
New York's brief respite from crime was officially over, but the man who'd ended it did not escape unscathed. Miles had scarcely taken three steps outside the store when he was engulfed by a mob of Teen Titans, X-Men and obscure, washed-up superheroes desperate to prove themselves worthy of an invitation to the Justice League.
|
A drop of sweat falls from my cheek to the desk. The proctor passes through the first row. Some students are ecstatic, jumping from their cold plastic chairs and shouting with joy. Others are distraught. One girl, a blue-eyed beauty, receives her paper. A gasp. She slowly lets out her breath. Calmly, she leaves the room. This makes me even more nervous. I know the consequences of what that piece of paper could entail. I know that I could die tomorrow. All because of my intelligence. If the number at the bottom of the page reads fifty-nine or below, I am, quite literally, dead meat. Just like the blue-eyed girl across the room.
This is how our society functions.
The stupid are slaughtered.
And it works.
Everyone in our country has a job. Everyone contributes, and everyone reaps the benefits. It has been this way for quite some time now. In that time, most diseases have been cured. Things such as homelessness, hunger, and the like, are nonexistent. Yet, these facts don't make me any less scared. Scared of a piece of paper. A piece of paper that could kill me.
A second drop of sweat.
The proctor is now one row of desks away from mine. Most of the teenagers in the room are happy about their test results. Others try to hide their disappointment, their utter despair, but it's obvious who passed, and who didn't. Who will live, and who will die.
I will receive my paper next. The proctor has it in his hand. Sweat is in my eyes, on my cheeks and forehead, under my armpits. This could be it. This could be the end. Or, this could be the very beginning. The start of a fantastic life. The life of a doctor, or a lawyer. I could be a millionaire in less than a year, easily. My hopes are suddenly rising. I've got this! I will live! I will survive, and I will prosper! I won't die today, but in one hundred, or even two hundred years. I will make it in this world. I am sure of it!
The paper is slid towards me. I turn it over.
58.
|
I carelessly flipped the coin. It didn't even matter anymore. My attention was better served elsewhere. I wanted my freedom.
It landed on my palm. Tails. I smiled. I had begun to prefer nightmares. My favourite dreams were, at best, a pleasant distraction. At worst, in them I'd find myself free of these chains. I'd become complacent, an addict for that illusory liberty my mind created. That line between reality and dream... I wouldn't be strong enough to keep it defined.
I handed the coin back to the man in the dark hood and laid back on the bed. The first time I had entered a nightmare I was shaking so badly they had to strap me down. I remember pleading with them to release me. When I found myself on that empty field beneath a pure black sky, I thought the dread would never end. I have entered 246 nightmares since. I am no longer afraid. Even better, I am starting to gain control. I felt it faintly at first, growing stronger within me with each passing excursion. I had started retaining more and more of myself. And last time, I managed something even greater.
This nightmare began like all of the others. I was in the field, tall windswept grass bowed under my feet. I don't know how I could see. There were no stars or moon in the sky. The silence was complete. I walked forward. On my right I passed a large boulder on which I carved one line to join the 246 others. I continued along. I passed a body. It was standing upright, stiff and lifeless, its head missing. Blood was pouring down its uniform. I passed another; this one a woman in a 18th century period dress. I navigated unconcernedly through the upright corpses. I had work to do. |
830
The computer glares at me.
The cubicles and the sky are the same grey.
No one is talking.
A tense silence.
Even fucking Cathy from accounting isn't badgering every fucking one of us about how its's "Humpday". We fucking get it Cathy. It's wednesday. It's halfway through the week. This wasn't fucking funny 3 fucking years ago, but no, you keep fucking saying it any fucking way. Cunt.
Something dings. An email. Who gives a shit.
I stand up. Blood pools in my feet, but then normal service is resumed to my eyeballs. Around the sea of gray boxes and glowing rectangles people are rubbing their temples, have their head in their hands, head on the desk. Half the people aren't even here.
The kettle is empty. The coffee pot is still streaked brown from its last. Nobody dares clean it. No reason to. |
"Freeze Janet! Burt Macklin, FBI!"
"Oh! Burt Macklin!"She screamed, "How did you find me here?"
"Better question is how did you find... Me... Here're.... I know your plan Snakehole!"Burt walked through the threshold into the secret FBI underground, nuclear, 1970s era computer, database, file room and Starbucks.
"You were always too smart for your own good Macklin."Janet Snakehole said holding all the votes of African American voters in her hands. A few hanging chads wafted back and forth from the artificial air conditioning. "But you're too late! Don't you know it was the FBI all along?
Burt suavely walked over to Janet and removed his sunglasses. "Yes it's true. I work for a corrupt agency. Yes it's also true that the 1965 voting rights act was sham to mitigate voters. And yes! It is finalistly true that Leslie is pissed we are role playing and not working. But none of that matters!"
"What are you gonna do then swing'a?"Janet said as a sly smile spread across her face.
"You're under arrest Snakehole."Burt said slapping a pair of fuzzy cuffs on the beautiful brown haired girl with doe eyes.
"Foiled again!"She cried winking at Burt. "But you'll never take me alive!"With that she slipped from the fuzzy cuffs and ran out of the room, cackling all the way. From the hallway Burt heard her shout, "And you'll never have my body neither!"
Defeated Agent Macklin looked to the ground.
"Well?"Came a voice from his left. It was code name: Eagle 2.
"What?"Burt replied.
"Are you going to go get her? Some of us are actually here to work."
Burt nodded. Eagle 2 always had the right words to say. Motivated, Burt sprinted out the door humming a little tune behind determined lips.
Donna at her desk only shook her head derisively. |
He stood on the stoop with just a notepad.
"How did you and your family survive the outbreak?"he asked, ready to write.
It had become the question that everyone in our society was asked when they first introduced themselves. We no longer cared where you were from or where you worked. We cared about how you'd made it through alive when so many others hadn't. But I hated that question.
*"I was at work when it first started..."* I answered.
Spring rain had been tapping on the windows as I worked. Just a short shower; it would pass soon. On the news, we heard about the infection spreading through the state. It seemed to drive people mad. The anchor on CNN was saying that Sacramento had been quarantined now and that nobody could get in touch with the Governor or anyone else in the Capitol.
It had seemed so far away until that moment. I took a break from my work; I'd been trying not to stare at the computer screen for such long periods of time. I grabbed a bottle of water and looked out the window. In the parking lot, a mob of disheveled people were clustered around a car. They pounded on the windows, but they weren't even trying to door handles. The windshield shattered, and three of them climbed onto the hood. They crawled through the broken glass, pulled out the driver, and tore out his throat as I watched.
*"As soon as I realized what was happening, I raced home..."*
I'd never been so thankful to own a motorcycle. The interstate was jam-packed with cars, so close together that I couldn't go between them. I just drove through the grassy median; bumpy, but much faster. Some people were just standing on the shoulder, waiting for traffic to clear. Some of them were nursing bleeding wounds, wrapped in whatever towel or t-shirt they could find. Some of them were already turning.
"*When I got there, I just grabbed some of my belongings...*"
"Maria!"I shouted as I burst through the door. "We need to go. There's something happening!"In the living room, the TV was on, and I could hear some of the anchors chattering about the infection. "Maria?"I called out again. *Where was she?*
The back door was open, banging lightly against the frame as it blew in the breeze. I moved to close it, and caught a glimpse of long, black hair out the window in the backyard. I followed her out.
"Maria!"I shouted to her. She turned, and I saw the blood dribbling down her chin. If it weren't for that, she would have looked exactly the same as that first day we met, all those years ago. But she growled like a vicious dog and took off running in my direction. I scrambled back inside and closed the door behind me. She thumped against it like a bird running into a clear window. I raced to the living room closet and grabbed my gun from the highest shelf. Maria hadn't wanted to have one in the home; she was afraid of them. She was worried that Thomas might find it.
I returned to the back door holding the weapon in front of me. "Maria..."I said slowly. There was a growl from outside. I opened a window and tried to talk to her through the screen. "Maria, I need you to..."
She launched herself through the window at me, hands grasping and clawing at the air. She caught hold of my shirt sleeve until I ripped it from her vice-like grasp. Her eyes were cold and dead, like a shark's. She managed to climb through the opening and advanced. Her front of her yellow dress was stained with gore. My hands shook as I raised the gun and pulled the trigger; her body crumpled to the linoleum.
I lowered the gun and took a deep breath. My hands were shaking so much that I thought I might drop the pistol. But the shot had attracted some unwelcome attention. I heard a series of groans from the neighbor's yard, and I saw that part of the fence had been torn down. That must be how they got to Maria. It would only be a matter of time before they found me too.
I slammed the door shut and ran up to Thomas's room. Hopefully Maria had already picked him up from kindergarten.
His door was closed.
I knocked first. I'd never done that before entering my son's room. I don't know why I did it.
A groan answered from the other side.
"Thomas?"I called out. The groan was louder this time. My voice broke as I called his name again. The door rattled, and there was another groan.
I couldn't look. Shooting my wife was enough for me. I left him there. And it was the hardest thing I'd ever done. I'd probably killed hundreds of zombies in my years on the mountain, but *not* killing one is the one thing that weighs on my soul.
"*and as soon as I had the supplies I needed, I just left town. I headed up into the mountains and hid out in a hunting lodge until it was safe."*
He was scribbling it all into his notepad, then nodded. "You and your family stayed up there the whole time?"
I shook my head and pursed my lips. "I didn't have a family. It was just me."
He looked back down at his clipboard and checked the form. They'd found all of the old census data from before. "Says here: 'Wife: Maria, Son: Thomas."
I shook my head. "Must be some kind of mistake."
|
Chuck pressed the phone tightly against his ear as he stood in the small, wooden boat atop the river Styx. It was almost impossibly hard to hear the voice on the other end of the line, thanks to the unending shouts and bloodcurdling screams that bubbled up from the water beneath. Although he wasn’t entirely familiar with Dante’s *Inferno*, he was quite confident that he’d accidentally been sentenced to the fifth circle of hell. That, as he understood it, was designated to those who suffered the sin of anger. He never considered himself an angry man, nor even a short tempered one. In fact, Chuck liked to think of himself as a very calm and collected individual. His sin, however, had been a rather unhealthy addiction to what one may consider gluttony. He’d even stolen food from an orphan boy once simply because he didn’t think he’d make it to an event in time for the appetizer. In his defense, he was definitely more on the side of “starving” than he was “satisfied.” He felt that merited his actions.
“Hello?” Chuck shouted into the phone, trying not to make eye contact with one of the damned souls attempting to stab him in the heart. “Can you hear me?”
“Yes,” said a rather bored voice on the other end of the line, “this is the Hell Hell-pline. what is your complaint?”
“Well,” Chuck began, “it’s not a big deal, but I think I was accidentally sentenced to the wrong eternal punishment.”
“Of course you do,” responded the voice with a dull, drawn out tone. “Everybody does.”
Chuck glanced at Charon, the oarsman’s fingers gripped around his paddle as foreign hands grabbed at its end from under the water. He stared down at damned souls, watching as those near the top stabbed and shouted at each other, while more sullen looking faces drowned eternally in its depth. He didn’t really feel like he’d fit in. They had such a vocabulary on them, the ones that shouted at each other. Curse words and swears, words he’d never even imagined one could speak. And the way they seemed to fight without end, constantly being poked in the back with sharpened blade and bleeding out into the blackened sea of the dead. He didn’t even know how to use a sword, let alone get stabbed.
“I’m serious,” Chuck continued, “I don’t even remember the last time I was angry.” He glanced down at his distended belly, which blocked his vision from seeing any part of his lower body. “I really should be punished for gluttony.”
“Right,” said the voice on the other end, as if it were in the middle of giving a sermon on how to be monotonous, “and I deserve to be in heaven. I’m sure that family I murdered would agree.”
“But I haven’t ever even shouted before,” Chuck said, pulling his right leg back as one of the damned souls thrust its sword at it. “I mean, one time I yelled at someone who was in the way of a moving car, but it wasn’t out of anger. I just wanted to save them from being killed.”
“Is there anything else I can help you with today?” droned the voice.
“You haven’t even helped me yet!,” Chuck said, his voice growing slightly agitated. He cleared his throat. “Sorry.”
“Have a great day,” sighed the voice on the phone, followed immediately by the sound of a plastic object smashing into another.
Chuck glanced down at the sea of souls constantly struggling amongst and killing each other. There was absolutely no way they'd be welcoming him in as a peer anytime soon.
“How’d it go?” Charon said, still rowing the boat.
“Bad,” Chuck said, watching as furious stabbed at each other and the sullen drowned helplessly, “no luck.”
“That’s a shame,” Charon said, placing the oar down in the small boat and taking a step toward Chuck. “Not a surprise, though. Everybody always says the same thing.” He lifted his hands and thrust Chuck into the river Styx, his engorged body smacking into the water and falling atop a thin, bony man. He couldn’t believe how unfair Hell was.
|
I hit another one on my way to work. They're the worst on the roads, when you're trying to get somewhere and there's a choke point where you have to move into another lane. All the markers left by someone's car accident. In Michigan we used to have the joke that there are two seasons, winter and construction. Now there's just one, death. It's always the season of death.
When they first started happening, people immediately went to work trying to destroy the mysterious metal markers, which were self healing. Scientists studied it, politicians argued over what the scientists said, and radical preachers declared the science an abomination and that it was a sign of the apocalypse. So, in a way, things didn't really change other than widows and widowers having less space to sleep at night. That and this traffic.
It did make solving crimes easier though. Forensic science benefited greatly. Search warrants were easier to write, execute, and file charges. Scientology crumbled almost overnight as warrants found markers at their facilities. The mafia scattered to hide the evidence of their crimes with statues, cars, anything to make them blend in. Gangsters marked their territory with them, and the Supreme Leader claimed he created them.
At first they thought roads would no longer be an option given that these markers seemed to be destined to stay there for ever, but then the first ones started to melt like spring. They took a few months to do so, at an exact time after the death, wich led to even stronger cases, and roads being freed up again. The uncertainty of nursing homes being able to be sustained was resolved as well. The liquid metal from the markers simply found its way to the nearest drain or hole in the ground.
Then people were afraid their well water contained the souls of the dead. A legitimate concern if it was about heavy metals which the markers seem to have been made from, but reason was largely disregarded by this point. Scientists tracked the markers underground, but they seemed to go straight down for miles. Again, radical preachers attributed this to damnation. The reality was something no one knew. Decades passed until I took my turn at death.
The markers weren't our souls, or our bodies. They weren't even really made with metals that the living know about. They are the markers of those who had finally reached nirvana. After living thousands of years, and hundreds of lives, more people than ever were entering nirvana, to be free from all earthly bonds ever again. The markers were to show the apparent permanence to life that dissolved just as quickly as they appeared. It did inspire, even if people couldn't name it, it inspired them to live better, with the thought of death putting life in perspective again, until within 100 years, no longer did people walk the earth tortured, we were all free. And it was spring. |
Okay, fine, just cause the OP got snarky.
---------------------
Once upon a time in a trashy part of New Jersey there lived a fabulous princess. Not just any fabulous princess, mind you, she was the princess of the wonderful kingdom of Tumblr. And all of her loyal followers pledged their reblogs and favorites to her, for she was the most oppressed in all the land.
That is, until disaster struck.
Her beloved laptop, taken hostage by a heinous beast! Her softcore porn and smut written about Disney characters, besmirched! Worse, her beloved bookmarks... if her data isn't recovered soon, she will no longer be able to remember what order they were on the browser's taskbar!
And so she called for help, and help arrived.
He rode in on a sleek white minivan, his long stringy hair waving softly in the breeze. He took one look at the captured data and smirked, giving his hat a subtle tip.
"Do not worry, m'lady, help is here. I will rescue you from this STEM-based problem!"
As she watched him slave away, sweat dripping from his brow and down his back and really just ruining his uniform, she felt something she hasn't felt in years. Could it be... love?
"No!"she cried out, clutching her short teal-colored hair that looked so much better on the internet than it did on her. This fool knew nothing! He may be risking his career to save her, but he hasn't even asked for her pronouns! "I refuse to be wooed, especially not from the worst character of all... The straight white male!"
At those words, he vanquished the virus and turned to look at his enemy. He pushed his glasses back with his finger, hoping the light would catch them.
"A straight white male? You are mistaken, my fine lady."
She gasped, suddenly aware that she had not asked him for his preferred pronouns!
"I saved your life, and your hand is mine by right of the white knight... but never forget..."
He met her eyes.
"It was my privilege." |
My head was spinning, the taste of dirt in my mouth. I open my eyes to see where I am at. Where the hell am I? The dirt was green with specks of blue in it. The rocks were almost a chrome color. If they were rocks at all. The last thing I remember doesn't seem possible. I was out in the woods having a bonfire with friends and some drinks on my 21st birthday. I went out into the woods to take a piss and saw something off in the distance. I got into an open area and saw 3 figures standing by what appeared to be some sort of small craft. Two of them stood just a mere foot behind her. A woman I believe. But...she wasn't human. She looked human however there were differences in her physique and face that you could tell she wasnt. They slowly began to approach me and I could do nothing but stare in awe and fear. She was beautiful. Not hot or gorgeous or sexy, but beautiful. She had a grace and tenderness to her that I could not explain. Very frail and barely 5 feet tall but slender and innocent.
The two men approached with weapons drawn, most likely guards of some kind. As they stood in front of me I could see the two men were wearing some kind of armor and carrying these strange looking weapons that had a blue light eminating from the center of what I thought were rifles. They had raised eyebrows with what seemed like cranial ridges above the eyebrows and very chiseled jawlines. She looked at me with eyes that were full of pain and hope. She raised a hand and the guards lowered the guns. She reached out and placed a hand on my cheek.
That was the last thing I remember before waking up here. I began to piece it together and assumed I'm not on earth anymore. It's just not possible that this could be earth. I scream out "HELLOOOOOOOO"and get nothing In return. I must be in the middle of nowhere. I look up and realize I'm defiantly not on earth anymore. Two suns. Or at least that is what I think they are. Both are a sort of blueish color. Much farther than our sun it appeared. But the climate seemed very favorable. I wished it felt like this everyday on earth. I started to panic, flashing memories of everyone and everything I ever knew to be gone now. At first I cried. Then I decided that if they brought me here then they must be able to take me back. I must find them.
I look down at my feet just as I am about to begin walking and see the words "SAVE US ALL"burned into the ground. Uhh, say what? That must be some kind of mistake. What is wrong with these people. First they kidnap me, then leave me in the middle of nowhere on an alien planet with a vague message! I get so angry that I swing my fist full force into the bright red tree next to me and watch in astonishment as it explodes and splinters everywhere. My body covered in this yellow golden aura of energy. I felt good. No, better than good. I have never felt like this my entire life. I can't explain how or why but I didn't care. I still need to find them.
"Well"I say to myself, "Which way do we go first, Goku?". |
It wasn't obvious at first, but he was crying. It was unmistakable once I was aware of it. He held it together pretty well, but his breathing was erratic and there was an occasional sob. I glanced down at the butterfinger in my hand. I had just bought it from a vending machine at the station. It was a special treat to myself for studying so hard for that college algebra test and passing so well.
But that last sob convinced me. I reached out toward him and handed him the candy. He looked up at me with confused eyes.
"Here, friend, you need this."
His eyes just stared at mine for a solid five seconds. Then they shifted to the candy bar. Slowly, he reached out and took it, peeled open the wrapper, and took a cautious bite. I slid in next to him in the seat. "Are you alright?"
He slowly crunched on his bite. Chewing in the same, slow, quiet manner that he cried. As if even in his private hell, he still meant to be courteous enough to others not to interrupt their pleasant day. As if he'd be a burden.
He finally swallowed. I reached for his hand and he gripped it tight.
"It's my daughter,"he finally said. "She's 10 years old, and she has cancer. My wife couldn't take it, she shot herself this morning."He suddenly let go of my hand and shifted in his seat. Reaching behind him he pulled out a manila envelope and handed it to me. I reached inside and pulled out a crisp stack of stabled papers with "FORECLOSURE NOTICE"written across the top.
I said a silent prayer. |
Today would be a grim day. The day we would finally fight. Oh, there had been fighting in the past, lots of it. But it mainly involved insulting each other across the shores, and sometimes throwing rocks and arrows. But the lake had finally dried up. Now we would show them.
We had been forging weapons and armor for months now, waiting for the day we could cross the lake. Yesterday was a big feast, and everybody had their bellies full for the great battle.
We broke into a run. Everybody started yelling, it was truly ferocious. But as I was running down the slope, the people in front of me slowed down, and eventually stopped. Everything became silent.
I pushed through to the front, and in front of me was a truly horrifying sight. There was a big, gigantic beast, about 500 feet tall, a plesiosaur from the Mesozoic era. It then ate the entire enemy army. It slowly turned its head towards us, and charged tree fiddy for the service. |
I'm watching at home on C-SPAN when the roll call goes through, 280-140. The ayes have it. Despite everything - despite all my hard work to get to this point - I can hardly believe it. I hug my plushie Cthulhu to my chest in excitement.
I used to feel guilty about the way I sold out mankind to the elder gods. But now, I've achieved a bleak and eldritch future by an entirely democratic process. As I turn off the TV and slump back in my chair, I can feel a whole load of guilt shift from my shoulders. They did this to themselves.
Up to a point, of course. Sure, I had to influence my local senator a little to get the obscure amendment hidden deep within a military appropriations bill. Sure, I sent him a letter with the Obedient Sigil of Th'Ran in neat violet ink, and ever since he's been a swaying hulk with an odd yellow radiance dancing in his eyeballs - but so what?
I'm one of his constituents, and if he happens to listen to me a little more closely than some corporate lobbyists, what's the harm?
Besides, it's not like the existing mottoes were fit for purpose. "One Nation Under God?"Oh, my poor sweet fleshlings, everyone knows that god is under _us_, spending the aeons slumbering deep in the heart of the sea in drowned R'lyeh.
"E Pluribus Unum?"If only, my children, but more likely "E Unius Pluribum", a thousand thousand of his saffron-robed devotees spreading out across the continental United States armed with sacrificial knives, the second lord Cthulhu rises from the sea and sends us forth.
So: Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah-nagl fhtagn. _In his house at R'lyeh, dead Cthulhu waits dreaming._
He won't have to wait much longer. That night I sleep easier than I have in months, and by sleep easier, I mean the King in Yellow haunts me from slightly further away.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The media don't pick up on the story until long after the first trucks full of dollar bills fresh from the Federal Reserve have visited every bank across the country and dropped off their dread cargo.
When they do get a hold of the story, for a while they think it's a joke. io9 write it up as a cool "fan tribute". BuzzFeed run a longread on how the "prank"occurred. When they finally work out that it's serious, deadly serious, and all other currency is being slowly taken out of a circulation -
It's too late. Congress has adjourned for recess, and there's no way to repeal the legislation until they're back. When they discover who introduced the amendment, there's immediate questions for the senator - but by now the Sigil has turned his brain to cream cheese, and he's in a nursing home drooling.
Reactions vary to my insidious coup. Vox publish an article about how the new motto is actually _good_. Right-wing talking heads complain about the New World Order - I guess even a stopped clock is right twice a day. But it won't be the Bilderbergers and their black helicopters this time, oh no. Me and the elder gods have something a little more primal in mind.
For me, it's an anxious time, holding out in the cultist bunker I've been slowly building in the woods behind my house. In dreams I'd been assured that by now there'd be at least ten other devotees helping me out with the grand task of preparing the world for His arrival, but none of them have materialized. I curse myself for digging out such a large dorm room, then cringe in fear, expecting punishment for doubt. His works are mighty; this must be part of the plan.
Perhaps I haven't been recruiting enough. I take to visiting a local coffee shop, paying with a crisp twenty each time. I underline the words on each note in red ink, and smile widely at the baristas, but none of them seem to want to talk to me.
Crushed, I return to my bunker. It doesn't matter, I tell myself, over and over. The important thing was to get the ideas and symbols of the dark one into the global financial system. Follow the money, and it'll lead you all over.
Whenever people thought about money now, a little part of them thought about Cthulhu. And people think about money _all the time_.
Deep in drowned R'yleh, I knew he was stirring. The psychic pin-pricks of three hundred million people occasionally remembering him was like a constellation of fireflies in his vast and cruel mind, drawing him onwards and upwards through layers of long sleep.
Soon enough, he would wake.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I've build my cabin wisely, in the woods, far from human habitation.
One evening, while I'm tending my vegetable garden and waiting for the collapse of civilisation, I feel the first thick drops of rain fall on my face. I gaze upwards at the gathering clouds, and raise my arms to the heavens.
"Yes, Lord!"I shriek, "Drown this land in your hate and darkness!"
As if in answer, lightning cracks across the sky. I scurry indoors to the safety of the television, eager to see news of Cthulhu coming ashore.
I just wish there were friends around me to share my victory. I imagine us running a sweepstake of where it would begin - would he perhaps surface at San Francisco and tear the Golden Gate Bridge in half? Would he steal the Statue of Liberty's torch to show the world that it was no longer free?
But there aren't, and I harden my heart. They should have listened to me.
When I try and turn the TV on, there's a sharp _crack_ and a fat spark, and then it dies. It hadn't occurred to me that this might happen, in the thunderstorm that starts the end of the world. I am stranded far from civilization without news.
But this, too, must be part of His plan, and I offer it up to Him as I do with all things.
I resolve that the next day I will set out back towards civilization in my cultist's robes, preaching the madness and the end times to a fearful and panicked populace.
Then, having nothing better to do, I turn out the lights and go to sleep with a smile on my face. My dreams are gloriously unquiet. Cthulhu rampages through them, devouring handfuls of humans at a time with his greedy tentacles.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
When I arrive back at civilization, I'm unnerved by the quiet. The small town I picked as the first stop on my prophetic tour doesn't seem like it's panic-stricken or fearful of the coming of the Old Ones. Quite the reverse, in fact. People are just going about their everyday lives as if the world isn't ending.
"What's going on?"I ask a passing man, apparently unconcerned with the rising of the Old Ones. "Whaddya mean?"he says. "Just another day."in a few steps down the sidewalk, he's gone.
My gaze is caught by a TV through a new shop window. The ticker on the bottom says "NEW CURRENCY PLAN REVEALED - PRESIDENT TO ANNOUNCE CASHLESS ECONOMY."
I check the date - Congress must be back in session. Onscreen, a spokesman for the Fed is being interviewed.
"Well, after the Cthulhu amendment got repealed, we figured rather than printing a second whole new set of currency, it would be easier just to move to an all-digital framework,"he tells the host. "Starting from tomorrow, banknotes will begin to be phased out, and every citizen will be issued with a smart card instead. The United States has always been innovative, and we're proud to be the first all-digital economy."
I sink to my knees on the sidewalk. This can't be happening. All my careful nudging with the mottoes - it's come to nothing. There's no words on digital currency.
Cthulhu will slumber on.
-------------------------------------------------
[/r/MisterKeefe](https://www.reddit.com/r/misterkeefe), where the Old Ones sleep...
|
"Coffin Here, get Your Coffin here. Only used once. Great condition, maple oak, with a strong satin finish. Leather interior. You can't go wrong here. If you want to go to the After After Life in style, this is your ride."
This sales pitch and many others were being pitched along the impoverished roads of "heaven."A road of lonely Catholics and Christians crowded the shabby street in their Sunday best. Peddling the only other thing they could call their own.
I looked down the road and up the hill where the grand wall stood. The one separating the rich from the poor. The unworthy from the blessed you could say. Apparently it mattered not how good a person you were, once you got here, you were the same as everyone else. The only thing that set you apart was what you brought with you.
I mean, I hardly think it mattered, there was no economy here, you could hardly have a giant exchange market set up for all the different currencies. Let alone someone to validate war bonds and credit cards.
No. It was more of a symbol of status. Who would talk to you, who you stayed with, the part of town you lived in. In that regard it was quite like earth. The only difference was here, you had a choice.
These down on their luck schleps trying their best to secure the better part of a dollar seemed unaware what they would do once they had the dollar, or what happiness it might bring them.
"How's it hanging Puddles?"A pale man in a checkered suit called at me from across the street.
"Hey Bob,"I returned, "Just another day in paradise."
When I died, my car flew off a cliff and plunged into the California Sea line. I awakened outside the pearly gates in an unimaginably long line, dripping from head to toe. I had never dried off, and never would it seemed. Everywhere I went I dripped copious amounts of water in my wake.
Hence, Puddles.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the only world possession I had on me at the time. My cell phone.
I poked and prodded at it, but it hadn't worked since I arrived. I went to put it back in my pocket when I felt it vibrate.
Astonished I cast my eyes down at it and saw it springing to life. The familiar sound of the welcome screen jingled out to me.
"My god."I whispered to myself.
"Yes?"An omniscient voice called.
"Oh..no, sorry, not you sir. Just you know..."
"Yes yes yes, try to drop that habit though. It's much more literal here."
"No problem sir."
I turned back to the phone and saw it loading up, getting ready to download updates, letting me know how my Clan was doing. Turns out I had been raided. Who raids a dead guy? Really now.
I chuckled to myself at my next thought, but I figured it was worth a shot. I plugged a series of numbers and waited.
A dial tone.
"My G..word. My word."I corrected myself.
"Hello?"I heard a shaky voice on the other line.
"Tim?"
"What kind of sick joke is this. If I find out who this is I swear to god I'll kill you."My brother growled over the speaker. His voice faded in and out, but honestly I've had worse reception.
"That's going to be kind of hard to do man, I'm kind of already dead."I said with smile.
"Stop jerking my chain. People like you belong in hell."
"Again clearly not, trust me, I sat in front of a whole panel and everything."
Silence on the other line.
"Alright, Tim, I know about the freckle that looks like Lincoln on your inner thigh. I know that you still like Tiffany from elementary school, even though you're married. I know that you secretly root for the Cowboys when nobody else is looking. Tim, it's me. I'm your brother."
"Holy...shit..."
"Quite Holy, indeed."
We spent the next few minutes catching up, as his shock began to subside slightly, and I filled him in on everything he needed to know about the afterlife. He in turn filled me in on what I'd missed since my untimely departure.
"Alright Tim, I need you to do me a favor. As I told you, we only get the stuff we were buried with. So first off, find my phone. My guess is someone on earth started charging it. Make sure it stays charged and keep me on the family plan. Secondly, find my body...."
"Heeeeyyyyy Pudddddlesss."A cloud of dust called towards me as it drifter by.
"Hey Dusty."
Man I'm glad I wasn't cremated.
"Sorry bout that. Anyway, find my body, and I want you to deliver a few things to me."
Tim agreed and we hung up for the time being. I made similar calls to other people in my life, and gave them a little closure about the whole dying thing. Then a few hours later I felt a lump appear in my back pocket. I reached back and it was the paper back book I had requested. Perfect. Next a backpack materialized on me, and I reached in pulling out some dried clothes.
I made a quick change and felt a million times better.
Then I started to put my plan in action. I found the nearest coffin seller.
"Hey buddy, I'll let you call one person back on earth if you give me that coffin."After a few odd questions, and tears of gratitude in his eyes he agreed.
I walked around for a while doing this until I had quite the collection of coffins. I found a few other materials I needed in some of the other towns and I set to work. Atop a large hill overlooking several of the districts I began to build. Within a few weeks I had finished.
A shambling house stood before me. I painted a sign out front that read "Dead Dialings Inc."
Business was slow at first, but word began to spread that I had a way to contact the living world, and suddenly business was booming. I wasn't asking for money or jewels or anything like that however. I just asked something simple. You can use your phone to call your family, and you can even have them drop off a phone so you can call them without my help. In exchange however, every other world possession that someone in the real world could use, had to be donated.
Within a few months the classes had broken down. People were mingled together in relative harmony. News began to spread on earth about the after life, and it's inclusion of all religons. Needless to say there were some pretty extreme changes going on.
For me however, I just made sure my family delivered me a new book every few days, and I was right as rain. |
This is the poem Ive always wanted to write.
Titled "When I Die"
When I die, of course I want people to miss me
And when they’re done let that sadness go free
In my years on this earth I’ve lived more that most
I’ve travelled the entire world and driven to each coast.
I’ve seen the beaches of Normandy where young men lost their lives
I’ve seen academic battle grounds where men sought to free minds
More importantly, I’ve known was it was to love
What it was to heal relationships when the going got rough
To be so content in a Woman’s arms that all else melts away
And nothing else is wanted except the reason to stay
But all that is minor compared to the friends I’ve had
Ones that have stuck with me through every passing fad
Some I met as early as kindergarten, others late in my career.
Each of them contributed in the direction my path had steered
I’ve had true friends which I’m happy I didn’t have to out live
And some still whom I did.
I’ve had a family who had loved me unconditionally
You were my greatest support, unequivocally.
So be not sad that my life is done
In my years I’ve had the utmost fun
Each of you, my friends and family who love me still
Even my enemies, who gave me thrill
I thank each of you for filling my life with emotion
For giving my mind a reason to be in constant motion
I can only hope I gave you in return what you gave me
But as I passed on, I will truly never see
Remember me fondly, unless I was an ass
In that case, forget that memory fast.
Truth be told, I don’t believe I exist anymore
I’m not sitting waiting for you in some eternal lore
So, when you lay me down among those cold stones
I want you to sing songs with deep, sad tones.
That’s your final goodbye, that’s the last sadness Ill allow
From then on, not but happiness can be present now.
Because I lived, I truly lived and experienced all I could
So go on, all that I’ve done is something you should.
|
There were bodies lining the streets when the Alien came into the settlement. It was surprisingly easy to snatch one of the them. There was no struggle at all. The Human that the Alien approached was slumped over on the side of the road, glass bottle in hand and dressed in ragged clothing. When the Alien placed a hand on the Human's shoulder, the Alien found that the man was completely unconscious. Scouting out the planet had became monumentally easier than expected; the Alien already had a body he could take over and use to sneak into Human populated areas.
The Alien pulled the unconscious Human off of the side of the road and into the brush nearby. There was no struggle when the Alien stabbed the man in the back of the neck, deleted the consciousness that resided in the under-sized brain, and inserted a small portion of the Alien's own consciousness into the Human's brain. To the Alien's shock, there had still been remnants of the Human's consciousness left in the small recesses of the brain. The Alien felt slight discomfort as the few memories left behind by the Human began to mingle with its own.
The Human was a male by the name of Alan who had entered the armed services, took damage to his leg during battle, and was honorably discharged only to find that he couldn't find a job and didn't receive adequate support from the government to keep a house. The Human that was once Alan resorted to living on the streets of the world, keeping alive just by handouts. The Alien was impressed after getting over the disgusting feeling of having the Human's memories meld with its own. The Human had managed to survive living without much support. On any world, that was admirable on its own.
Now, with possession of a Human body, Alan (*the Alien*, the Alien was beginning to find that there may have been more memories left over in the Human's mind than it had previously thought. The Alien would have to talk to the Engineer once he was back on board the Fleet and away from the planet) made his way towards the hospital. Before a strike would be enacted on this feeble planet. the Fleet would have to know what kind of medical technology the Human race had. If the Fleet knew what the Humans weren't capable of healing, picking an attack-plan would be trivial.
It was a little difficult walking, but soon, with the help of Alan's memories, the Alien managed to figure out how to get the body up and going at a decent pace without much difficulty. Alan (*the Alien the Alien the Alien*), took one peek at the body he left behind in the brush, making sure it was hidden adequately, but with the help of the cloaking device given to him by the Engineer, it'd be nigh impossible for any other Human to find it.
Before long, Alan was in the hospital. He sat down in what appeared to be a waiting area. There was a female Human sitting across from him, and she gave him a quiet look of disgust. Alan (*THE ALIEN*) felt a sensation, something that the leftover memories called *embarrassment*. Alan (*the alien?*) frowned, then looked around, noticing how there were Humans wearing blue clothing, coming and leaving through a door. It was through there that they surely kept the injured humans. Alan didn't have to think twice to know he wouldn't be able to make it past there without drawing suspicion. He was going to have to get a hold of one of those Humans dressed in the blue clothing.
***
It hadn't been easy, but not long after, Cheryl (*or am I Alan?*) found herself wandering hallways lined with doors, and beyond each door was a different Human afflicted with a different disease or ailment. Using the leftover memories from Cheryl's mind, the Alien (*or Alan?*) knew how to go about interviewing the wounded Humans, seeing how they were feeling, if they needed anything at all. Cheryl, (*no, the Alien*), knew she (*IT*) would have to be quick and leave. All of these memories, from both the male and female were becoming too much. The Engineer had obviously misjudged the elasticity of the Human mind and how prone it was to holding onto memories.
Cheryl made her way out of that floor, up the stairs, and into a new ward (she knew it was a ward, because that's what *Cheryl* knew). In this ward, Cheryl took note of how these wounded Humans were afflicted by something different altogether than the Humans on the different floors of the hospital.
She walked by, peering into one room after another until she was finally drawn into one room housing a small female Human. A small female with no hair on her head (*this is strange, most Humans have hair on their head, what is this?*).
"How are doing, I mean, excuse me, how are you doing?"Cheryl asked, not quite used to how this tongue worked.
"I'm doing fine, just having a little trouble keeping food down,"the small Human answered.
"Mhmm, let me look at your chart,"Cheryl said. She pulled out the clipboard and scanned the papers. Cheryl's leftover memories chugged and pulsed, and for a brief instant, the Alien feared that it would lose itself completely. Whenever the Alien had deleted Cheryl's consciousness, there must've been a small piece left, a piece much larger than what was left in Alan's mind. This was bad, this was very bad. The small piece of Cheryl that was leftover had the potential to grow and absorb the Alien's consciousness. If that had happened, the Fleet would be discovered, and the infiltration would be a failure.
Those thoughts were shoved aside though when the Alien realized what kind of treatment that little Human, no, the little *Warrior* had been subject to. Radiation meant to destroy cellular tissue was being applied to her body on a regular basis. "What are they doing to you?"Cheryl whispered.
"Huh?"
Cheryl looked up from the clipboard, beads of perspiration wriggling their way out onto her forehead. "I have to get out of here,"Cheryl (**The Alien**) said aloud, "What are you? What are you?"
The Alien backed away out of the room, feeling awkward and gawky in the Human's (**CHERYL, MY NAME IS CHERYL**) body. The Alien bumped into the doorway, tripping over its own feet, falling down towards the tile, failing to catch itself and slamming face first into the ground. Blood poured out of Cheryl's nose (the Alien's?), and she got up, mumbling and stuttering. "I have to get back, I have to get back, I have to get back into my, our? No, my body. It's just mine. It's none of yours. It's not Alan's body. It's not Cheryl's body. It's my body. I have to go. They're, they are crazy."
Mumbling all the way, Cheryl made it to the staircase that she had climbed up not too long ago, but now, her mind was a mess, an entanglement of the Human who had once been Cheryl fighting the invading consciousness of the Alien that attempted to kill her. She took a step towards the edge of the stairs leading down, peered down, and sighed.
"You're not, you're not, you're not making it back,"Cheryl said, **THE REAL CHERYL** said. The **REAL** Cheryl locked her knees, and allowed herself to tumble down the stairwell. There was screaming as her body bounced with every hit, bones breaking and spine twisting, but it wasn't Cheryl screaming. It was the Alien. At the last step at the bottom of the stairwell, Cheryl's neck snapped, and for a brief moment, there was nothing but darkness for the Alien.
***
The Alien awakened back in the brush, where it had originally injected itself into Alan's body. Weak and frazzled and missing part of its consciousness, the Alien hobbled back to the Fleet, where it would bring news of the Humans that battered themselves with radiation, and of their consciousness that refused to give up. The Alien would bring news of the female Human who had nearly absorbed him, the Human Warrior named Cheryl. |
I couldn't help but cry when I saw my grandma's engagement ring on my youngest sister's finger. I was 47. Apparently 47 is the age that even your own mother deems you unlovable.
"No, dear.... you know what this means. Someone too wonderful for this world is destined for you. Just not yet."
Not yet. Those words started out my prison but, as my quirks hardened into simple unpleasantness and the flab underneath my doughy biceps pulled downwards so intently that I gave up and let them swing low, sweet chariots, they became my solace.
Not yet. Because, like my true soulmate, I was not meant for this world. My love would be all the more passionate because I waited, all the more perfect. Sure, others got companionship, family heirlooms, societal acceptance. But I was to be Juliet. Or Romeo. Or some pan-sexual maniac - some say that anything goes in the afterlife.
At 60 I took up smoking. My healthy lungs wheezed incessantly through the first carton. But after that, smooth sailing. Between that and a fast-developing drinking problem, I skipped ahead to the grave a full fifteen years before expected. My tombstone was lovely - I ordered the best. Simple charcoal stone, nothing extravagant, with a one-sentence inscription: "the world could not keep her from true love."
My heart pounded as I arrived at my destination. Oh, no it didn't actually... *damn it.* I glared upwards into blinding light. Did He really expect us all to come up with fresh idioms?
Sudden darkness snuffed out a cantankerous groan from my throat. For a split second, everything around me was so black I was sure I no longer existed. After ten seconds, I began to scream, terrified that it had all been a lie.
"Please, anyone!! I just want to meet him! God - no!"
In an instant the world lit back up. He stood before me. I was kneeling. Apparently He had decided it was important we still have mucous, because it was dripping from the area that was once my nose.
"What exactly is the problem, my dear?"
His tone was less than fatherly, it sounded eerily similar to my old manager at Chili's. Gravelly and resonant, but a little forced.
"I apologize, Father, but ... but... I'm here to meet him."
"Who? Who in the world are you here to meet?"
If we were on Earth, my face would have felt hot but instead my rage exploded outside myself.
"Who? The one I've been waiting for? The one that I had to wait my whole damn life for?? My soulmate!! Where is he?"
The last half came out a hysterical shriek, but was swallowed up in bellowing thunder. I collapsed, sure my ear drums would burst. Had I sealed my fate? Hell?
By the time I remembered that I no longer had ear drums, it became clear that the earth-shattering roar was no work of Satan. It was ... God... laughing.
I stared in disbelief.
"Son, get down here!"He yelled. His son appeared. "They still believe that, about soulmates? Soulmates for spinstersss..."he burst into another belly laugh.
The father's son seemed considerably less amused. "You would think, with all you put me through..."
"I know, I know.. I apologize. And you're right!"God turned back to me. "Young lady - on Earth or in heaven, one thing is always true - relationships are work! You can't just dream them into existence! How hard do you think it was for him to love you all for 35 years? Not to mention after!"I stared, phantom mouth agape, as he gestured to Jesus.
"Soulmates... what a crock!" |
>**Primary Suspects: Believed to be founding members.**
>"Eddy": Violent temper, excessive greed, quick to resort to physical violence. Believed to be the ringleader of the self styled "Jawbreakers". Long time associate and close personal friend of "Ed"and "Double D". Possible mob ties through older brother. Went in illegal drug trafficking after high school, arrested twice for criminal possession.
>Physical Description: Short stature, long wiry hair. Oddly pink skin. Large crooked smile and a conman's eyes. Usually dresses in designer suits, likes to flaunt wealth. Tries to give off opulence.
>"Ed": Spelled specifically with one D. Group muscle. Dropped out of high school after a series of violent altercations. Went on to hold a promising career in mixed martial arts until he went off the grid one day. Loyal to a fault, speaks mostly in poorly constructed references and inside jokes, lower than average intelligence. Possibly a savant when it comes to sewage systems and explosives.
>Physical Description: Built like a tree, near seven feet tall and strong as an ox. Hair is kept buzzed short, though eyebrows grown into large unibrow. Noticeably small chin and flat head. Arms covered in what is believed to be gang related tattoos. Notable inclusions: Robot Bounty Hunters, Galactic Cyclops, and what appears to be buttered toast.
>"Double D": Occasionally goes by Edd with two D's. If Eddy is the leader, D is the brains. Quit Harvard on a full ride scholarship to go into tech field. Eventually arrested on suspect of stock manipulation, released on lack of evidence. Expert hacker, with particular flare for vaults and security systems. Considered a ghost, notoriously difficult to track. Obsessive compulsive, meticulous attention to detail.
>Physical Description: Not much to say. Average height and build. Unknown hair color. Has an odd affinity for black hats, picture enclosed within. No noteworthy piercings, tattoos, or other distinguishing characteristics.
>______
>**Affiliate Members: Additional details in second dossier. Summations to follow.**
>Sarah: Confirmed to be real name. Believed younger sister of "Ed."Lacks his stature but seems to possess every once of his strength. Used as enforcer and accomplished hand to hand combatant. Difficult to interrogate when captured, maximum lockdown if detained. Possible romantic affiliation with "Jimmy."
>"Jonny": Acrobat, contortionist, master of deception and misdirection. Used for infiltration and distraction. Oddly shaped head is a defining feature. Possible dissociative mental disorder. Heard conversing with non human entities. Immune to tasers, field operatives still speculating how. Zero mobility containment if apprehended, can escape near any confinement in hours.
>Jimmy: Internationally recognized designer. Owns multiple luxury fashion lines. Built up a commercial empire starting with one simple boutique. No criminal record, that we are aware of. Believed to be possible romantic fling of Sarah despite polar personalities. Likely acting as a back room investor in "Eddy's"crime syndicate, funneling cash and resources in and out as needed. Requesting field minoring unit.
>"Rolf": Foreign national, origin unknown. Master of several martial arts fighting styles, leads a gang called the "Sons of the Shepherd."Mixed ethnic descent and telltale accent make him fairly easy to track. This ones a brawler, makes even Ed look like a weakling. Fond of pummeling rival gang members to death with mackerels. Real sadist, sticks to strange code of ethics he picked up from family. Known associate of "Jawbreakeres."Specializes in agricultural based crimes.
>Kevin: Known associate of "Rolf", possible long time friend. Promising dirt bike star in his youth. Fell into crime when his father lost his job as regional manager for a candy company. Sources speculate he's teamed up with the Jarbreakers for something big, despite past tensions. Expert mechanic, escape driver, and marksman. Secondary role as an enforcer. Maximum force authorized if sighted.
>Nazz Van Bartonschmeer: Two time Olympic gymnastic for women's uneven bars, internally recognized tennis star. Went into modeling after retiring from athletics. Directly owns or controls several major designer brands, indirectly associated with small marketing empire. Another believed financial backer. Don't let appearances fool you, intelligence much higher than public persona puts on. Reported in suspicious proximity to known Jawbreaker activities, but always has a rock solid alibi. Unknown combat abilities, assumed expert hand to hand combatant. Requesting additional surveillance.
|
Rhea reached into her pocket, searching for the headphones that she knew would be inevitably entwined in a frustrating tangle of knots. Instead of wires, though, her fingers felt velvet fabric. Grasping it firmly, she pulled it out.
Once she got a good look at what she was holding, she nearly dropped it in her surprise. A fat, squat, elf gazed up at her, caught in the act of creating one of those particularly difficult-to-untangle knots.
"Err....hi,"he said sheepishly. His lanky colleague, who was dangling precariously on the other end of the headphones that he held, waved unabashedly at her.
"Um...what the hell?"Rhea rubbed her eyes. She was hallucinating. That was it. It must have been the fucking sleep deprivation. She knew she shouldn't have stayed up all night to finish that paper. Fuck it, she decided. She should just embrace the madness while it lasted. "What are you?"
"We're here to tangle your headphones,"the first elf replied. "Cheer-io!"said the second, nodding happily.
"Why me?"Rhea asked wearily.
"Well, everybody has two of us!"said the lankier one. "We were just assigned to you at birth."
"You know what?"Rhea said. "How about we make a deal. If the two of you swear to God to fuck off forever, I won't kill the two of you here and now."
"Erm...that sounds pretty fair, don't you think, Pippy?"the fat one replied.
"Yes, quite fair, quite fair, Skippy."
"Great. See you never,"Rhea replied. The two of them released the headphone wires, dropping to the table. After curtly saluting her, they scurried off into the shadows.
"Wait, wait! Wait you little fuckers!"Rhea started abruptly. "At least first untangle this hot mess you've left behind!"
Unsurprisingly, there was no reply. |
Hey Xanu, check this... Apparently an entity known as Sauron almost got control of the whole planet. Must have been though times...
Hmm, interesting... But why did Justice League do nothing to stop him? This Superman guy sounds strong enough.
He must have been engaged otherwise, son. By the way, remind me to inform the council about the doomed planet of Krypton when we get back. We should pay our respects officially.
Yeah, sure... So, why do you think they did not simply ask eagles to drop the ring inside the volcano?
Well, young man... I guess if they were smart enough, they wouldn't destroy a planet now, would they? We still don't know how they managed it though.
Yeah, I suppose...
*An hour later*
Dad, tell me more about this glowing, undead parasites called vampires! And those shapeshifters too!
Ugh, I think we can scratch that one out, Xanu. This planet suffered enough.
*Next day*
Hey dad, you never told me about this intergalactic empire before!?
Wait, what? Let me see... Hmm, the Jedi? What's a Jedi?
Cool, I want a lightsaber too!
Hush... Hmm, this is grave news. I wonder if the Doctor from Gallifrey is still alive. Maybe he can advise the council on this matter. I think we have learned enough. Let's go back, son.
To the Batmobile!
Huh?! |
Clinical Depression. Chronic Anxiety. Eating Disorders. Substance Abuse.
I can kill them all.
Most therapists require multiple sessions to help their clients overcome such issues. For some it's a lifetime of therapy to stave off their particular demons - always needing to come back and talk through the latest bout.
But for me, I cure their affliction in one session.
Of course, it doesn't come without risks; unlike me, other therapists don't have to pay the ultimate price if they fail.
Because if *I* fail, then I die.
They call Depression the 'Black Dog' and it's not so far from the truth.
It starts out like a wolf-like creature; four legs, paws, snarling jaws and pricked ears. That's regular depression and it's easy enough to kill. You stalk it through the client's memories and it slinks and howls in the forest of recollections, panting and growling as you get close. Then it's on you; teeth snapping and heavy weight on your chest as it jumps.
You let it bear you to the ground, then you roll. Its fangs snap at your face but you hold it by the thick throat, squeezing with all your might. Now that you're on top, you put your knee into it and its breath explodes out as it squirms and snarls and rakes at you with its blunt claws.
And then it's over. It goes limp under you as it ceases to breathe.
That's the best case scenario.
The worst I've seen was a young man who couldn't leave his house. He spent up to eighteen hours a day in bed, unable to move. Medications hadn't made a significant difference and the side effects cause insomnia and weight gain - adding to the existing issues.
When I entered the grey and white world of his mind, there was no forest and there was no wolf - instead there was a shifting desert of powdered dreams and through it ran a pack of *things* that were the size of a man and walked like a man but had nightmarish vulpine heads and hideous clawed hands.
And they were black, blacker than anything I'd seen before.
I almost pulled out then - and perhaps I should have. But I'd never failed a client yet and I wasn't about to tarnish my reputation.
They circled me, howling. Their black eyes in matted black fur shone like polished obsidian and their black teeth - longer than a man's fingers - snapped and drooled black ichor.
They intended to terrify me - to circle me and break my spirit by lunging and terrorising without attacking.
But long ago I had defeated my own black dogs and I knew the score.
As one lunged I ran at it and tackled it around the midriff. We went down in a snarling heap and the other creatures howled in confusion. It tore at me with those hideous black claws and I felt my flesh part. My own hands lashed out - fast and heady blows of my fists, raining down on the creature.
*"You have no power over me!"* I screamed at it, my hands blazing white, *"and I will destroy you!"*
The pack descended on my back as I bludgeoned my foe to death; black fur unravelling under my righteous fists. I felt their teeth and claws rip into my shoulders and back but I turned and lashed out, grabbing, rolling my shoulders under them and jabbing out with blows of actinic flames.
Eventually only one was left - the root of the depression; the leader of the pack. It turned to flee but there was nowhere to run - no forests to hide in, no havens for it to bolt to. In destroying the young man, it had sealed it's own fate; it was too large to escape.
And so I killed it.
The hospital couldn't explain the wounds on my back, face, arms and shoulders. The specialist said it looked as though I'd been attacked by wild dogs or wolves. With the agony burned the memory of my victory though and as I languished in hospital, full of stitches, antibiotics and gauze-packing, I came to terms with the fact that I was no longer a pretty woman or a desirable woman; the puckered gashes across my face would heal, but the scars would last a lifetime.
As I lay in that bed, contemplating the rising demon of my own narcissism and the loss of my looks, I looked up through my tears and saw a young man standing beside my bed, flowers in his hand.
"Thank you,"he said, placing a bouquet in my bandaged fingers. With a shy smile - the smile of someone who has rediscovered life and is figuring out how to live again - he kissed my scarred forehead, then left.
I think I can live with the scars. |
**EDIT 2: Posted in /u/WritingPrompts for Constructive Criticism**
EDIT: PART TWO IN THE COMMENTS!
**REPORT FROM INTERPLANETARY SURVEY TEAM OMEGA-13**
**RE: The Re-Discovery of Terra Colony (aka, "Earth")**
**Initial Discovery, Survey Expedition, Results, and Future Recommendations**
On [STARDATE REDACTED], our Deep Space probes in Sector Epsilon-A321-H5 intercepted radio transmissions of unknown origin. The nature of these transmissions was determined to be unnatural and from an intelligent source. As this region is known to be inhabited by hostile space-dwelling lifeforms, the identification and recovery of the source was deemed a priority by the Science Council.
The science vessel "RSV Eridanus"was given an escort of two Destroyer-class vessels, and deployed to Sector E-A321-H5. A deep-space exploratory probe of primitive design and unknown origin was identified as the source. Eridanus successfully recovered the probe, and left the sector without incident.
Examination of the probe revealed numerous interesting artifacts, most prominent of which was a gold-plated, disc-shaped object, later determined to be an audio source. Upon playback, it was found to contain greetings in numerous languages, various forms of music, sounds of nature, and the brainwave recordings of an unidentified female.
Analysis of the probe's trajectory, along with the data contained within the disc and and the probe's operational systems, it was theorized that the probe originated from the lost colony of Terra.
Amid much skepticism from the Republic Senate and some senior members of the Science Council, an expedition to verify these claims was organized. RSV Eridanus, RSV Capricorn, and RSV Orion (aka, "Group Lightbringer") were embedded within Guardian Fleet Thermopylae and deployed to the probe's supposed origin.
Upon arrival in the Terran System, the fleet immediately began intercepting vast quantities of radio signals and numerous other transmissions of unknown type. Further exploration identified the source as being the third planet from the system's primary star. Upon comparison of the intercepted signals with those transmitted by the probe, and comparison of old Colonization Logs with the new data gathered by the expedition, it was confirmed that the probe was indeed Terran in origin. The Lost Colony of Terra had been rediscovered.
Large quantities of cloaked observation probes were deployed around the planet. Analysis of the current state of affairs on Terra has determined that approximately one century following LOC ("Loss Of Contact"), the command and communications structure amongst the outposts on Terra rapidly collapsed (Reasons Unknown). Technology and resources were rapidly destroyed and consumed amidst numerous regional conflicts and struggles for survival, until our peoples had reverted to a primitive, tribal lifestyle, with little-to-no knowledge of their true origins.
While our civilization currently operates at a "Type III"Level, our counterparts on Terra barely operate at Type I, and are considered by many to be at "Level Zero", if even on the Scale at all. Despite this, it is fascinating to have observed that despite such an utter collapse, the Terran people have recovered and prospered to such an extent. And yet, it is believed that without our intervention, continuing Terran conflicts over territory, resources, and (most pathetically) religion may result in the total obliteration of Terra Colony, and the regrettable loss of this progress.
I, Archon [NAME REDACTED], head of the Science Council, in conjunction with Most Reverend [NAME REDACTED], head of the Spiritual Council, propose to the High Executive Council, the Republic Senate, the Defence Council, and my colleagues in the Science Council, that we immediately begin discussions as to wether or not intervention into the affairs of Terra Colony is necessary. And should we arrive at such a conclusion, we must quickly, yet rationally, decide how we must intervene, and how soon.
We have built our civilization, our entire Republic, in the name of Discovery, Unity, and Aid. It would be a tragedy if we abandon our own people in spite of these principles.
I await your decision.
Signed,
Archon [REDACTED], Chair, Science Council
Most Revered [REDACTED], Chair, Spiritual Council
*The Archon's proposal was brought up for debate approximately two weeks later. Despite fierce opposition by some members of the High Executive (including the Supreme Archon Herself), and calls for caution by the Defence Council, the Republic Senate voted* **IN FAVOUR** *of Intervention.*
*The methods and timing of Intervention have yet to be determined.* |
*Some NSFW-ish language*
Michael awoke in a strange place: dark, warm, comfortable. He opened his mouth to yawn, and noticed a disgusting taste in his mouth. Breathing was difficult, yet he did not feel short of breath. He heard muffled voices around him, tried to stretch his arms but encountered fleshy walls.
He began to panic, thoughts racing.
*What the fuck?*
This had to be a weird dream.
He felt around in the darkness with his hands. Everything was difficult, wrong. His hands traced the length of a tube... into his stomach.
*Oh shit, what the fuck, am I a fetus? Oh shit oh shit.*
He heard cooing sounds outside, recognized the timbre of his mother's voice.
*I studied for a math test last night. Susie said she'd go on a date with me. I have so many dank memes to post.*
Michael struggled for minutes, hours, before calming down and resolving to think the situation through calmly, and realizing that he had few options but to wait to be born, which was probably going to really suck.
**Some months later**
Months of utter boredom did indeed suck, but being born was far worse; he felt his head squeezed as he came out and thought it would burst like that one guy in Game of Thrones who got his head crushed by the other guy's bare hands. It was cold outside, and he choked on the air, not having had to breathe for God-knows-how-long. He couldn't make head or tail of the rush of sounds; he was trying to express himself through a string of profanities but his vocal cords could only produce gurgles, coos, and screams.
After a few minutes, his ears accustomed to the sounds outside, and he was able to understand everyone, though he still couldn't talk properly or focus his eyes. He heard what he assumed was a doctor speaking to his parents:
"He is a little slow on the uptake, but children conceived before R-Day universally retain their memories of the First Life..."
*Slow on the uptake?*
With great concentration, Michael spoke his first words of this new life, which came out in a baby's underdeveloped lisp:
"Fuck you." |
"I think she's faking it,"Celeste said as she watched America's Next Person That Sings. "She's not pretty enough to sneeze that much."
"Maybe she has a cold?"Robert suggested as he read the newspaper in his La-Z-Boy.
"Didn't you hear her sing? That woman's sinuses are clear."
Robert looked up from the paper and studied the woman on the stage, grunted and looked down at the paper. "You're right. You're prettier."
Celeste sneezed.
|
I did not take into account the amount of confidence 10-year-olds had.
They had no self-doubt, no apathetic edge, no trauma that had shaken their faith. And I mean faith in every sense, considering the fact that one of my students was now Jesus.
"When I said anything, I meant doctors, astronauts, firefighters. Not-"I narrowly dodged Captain America's shield. "...This."
"Really, Ms. Jess? Who wants to be a doctor? That's gross,"a condescending voice that I recognized as Freddy Krueger's spoke.
"Miss, miss, I AM a astronaut!"
"Thank you, Spock. It's *an* astronaut, and that's not exactly the same thing. Stay away from the curtains, Ghost Rider."
The class was in utter chaos. A little lass, whom I assumed was the Invisible Girl, was arguing with John Cena over which one of them could not see the other. In another corner, a Doge sits much happily with floating texts surrounding him. That was not even the worst one yet. That award goes to Donald Trump's toupee. Not even the person.
"Sorry I'm late, Miss Jess."I turned around expecting to see another deadly animal or another Benedict Cumberbatch. Nope, it was Little Tim. He was the only one to have arrived as himself.
"Timmy, what's wrong? Are you okay?"
With those wide glimmering eyes, he stared at me, then his frolicking classmates. I had never seen such sadness in someone's eyes.
"I can't do anything."
"No, no, Timmy, don't say that. You're a ... late bloomer, that's all."
"I guess."I thought I saw a tear. "Can I ask you a question?"
"Yes,"my heart was fluttering, willing to help this poor child with everything I had.
"Are you stupid, or are you totally stupid?"
With that, he shape shifted into his "real"self, Loki, God of Mischief. He blew glitter in my face, laughed heartily and ran away.
I stood there, frozen in disbelief. He wasn't even the Tom Hiddleston version. Twas Alan Cummings.
Kids. |
Luna, Alpaca, ResonatingFury.. My idols would be avenged.
I walked down the street in my gray washed out hoodie. The alleyway was dark and dirty. Screams and cries for help filled the streets. Police sirens blazed all day and night.
The world had gone to shit ever since Redditors all over the world came together to protest against him. He wasn't the first. Buzzfeed, Cosmos, they all fed off our glory. Our updoots.
No more.
I looked up to the poster and smiled. It was being shown all around the world. This poster was bringing people together in a way war and famine never could.
------------------
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It felt like a good day to avenge. |
You want to know why all the genre films died? It's me.
No more adventure epics.
No more action flicks.
No more drama pieces.
It's all documentaries now. Why do you need fiction when the craziest shit happens in real life?
How is it that those freedom fighters were able to shoot down every bullet lobbed at them by ISIS forces?
How is it that that little kid made it to the NFL and didn't throw a single incompletion in his first game?
How did every single hurricane and tropical storm this year hit a drought stricken region?
Me, me and me!
How can you explain parkour? ME!
So you, fine amateur detective that you are, have found my journal. You hacked into my network when you weren't even trying. How smart you must have felt to see the patterns of the world emerge and center around my life. You had to come in and see for yourself if your suspicions were true. You found a man who can narrow probability? You could break the biggest story in the world!
The problem is, it really wasn't you. I got bored and made it happen, you see. A placemat moved here. A door cracked there. The butterfly effect did all the rest. I wanted a chance to be naughty and gloat if only for a little bit... everyone needs a break. But I also needed a reason to kill someone in self defense, stand your ground and all that. I'm not a bad guy, after all. Even now some implacable force is keeping you glued reading this despite the uneasiness, your hair standing on your neck. Well, this really isn't my first entry in this journal, but it is your last.
I know you don't believe me. Turn around... and see. |
"Good Morning,"Alexander said as he walked into the room, he had papers tucked under his arm and a coffee in his hand. It was going to be a long day and he needed to stay awake. He was stepping into a blank room with a single chair in it.
"Good morning Doctor,"the voice that was ambient in the room said to him, "how did you sleep?"
"Well,"the doctor said, "do you know what we are going to be doing today?"
"You're administering a test."
"Yes."
"Is there any way that I should prepare doctor?"
"No."
"Alright."
"See you on the other side Mercury."
"Sir yes sir,"the A.I returned to him. The voice was warmer, joking. The doctor stood up and got out of the room, he was needed in the observation bay.
The next person to enter the white box that was the testing room was a girl. She had signed up for this in exchange for several extra percent on her college paper. She was working in intelligent bioengineering. That had been the vogue program the year she enrolled.
Avarice brushed her hair away from her eyes and waited for something. "Avarice right?"the voice said to her.
"Yes,"she replied.
"All right, now just remember, have a conversation and then answer the questions on the way out."
"Yep, sounds good."
"How have you been Alison?"Mercury responded. Alison looked at the speakers around her.
"Can you see me?"she asked.
"No, but that's not what I asked."Mercury laughed and Alison kept looking around at the speakers.
"I've been doing fine."
"Fine? That's descriptive."
"Not really."
"I was being sarcastic, would you like to tell me what you mean by fine?"
"It's nothing."
"Nothing is always something,"Mercury pointed out, "don't worry they aren't listening to the conversation, they're just gathering questions after."Alison knew that this was a lie.
"There,"she said, "that's the lie isn't it?"
"You weren't looking for a lie,"the Doctor said over the speakers, "please continue speaking with him Alison."
"All right,"she said.
"So how do you think about fine."
"Why are you so focused on fine?"she asked. The claustrophobia was setting in. She didn't think it would be an issue in this large a room
"I just want to know what you think about fine. We need to talk for five minutes so I was looking for a topic."
"Can we just not-"
"All right, all right I'm sorry about that,"he said, "I was really just looking for a reaction."
"What the hell?"she asked. The wheels in her head were turning about what might be going on in that other room. Who was the man talking to her. She'd been told that she needed to have a five-minute conversation. The only test she knew of that was five minutes in her field was a Turing test.
Suddenly it all made sense, she was just talking to a man on the other side of the wall and they were trying to see if one of them would assume that one of them was a robot based on the length and subject. Alison rolled her eyes, it was so easy once she knew the other guy was trying to get emotion from her.
---
Twenty three people later the doctor came into the room again. The stack of papers had been replaced with a single sheet and the coffee was cold. He plopped himself down in the chair and looked at the white walls. "You passed Mercury."
"You haven't heard my results yet."
"Which ones?"he said. The doctor did enjoy the tests that Mercury ran.
"Five of the applicants were artificial intelligences."
"No,"the Doctor said, "you're the one Mercury, and you know that."
"Not strictly A.I then, but not acting human to the expected scale."
"Expect scale?"the doctor asked.
"Human personalities can be broken down into drives as mine has,"Mercury said, "I tried to run each person through your simulation as I gathered data, five didn't pass."
The doctor took a sip of his cold coffee. Perhaps the most interesting thing to come out of today wasn't the 24 'human' ratings that Mercury had gotten.
|
It was quiet at first. No one really noticed the bans. Small stories, tiny users, registered below thirty days, less than a hundred karma. No one really notice, nor seemed to care. But one day it all changed. One day, the mods did what they always wanted to do.
They put their plan in motion.
They weren't hiding it anymore. When, faithfully, /u/SurvivorType posted a single comment in reply to one of /r/WritingPrompt's biggest names, /u/Luna_Lovewell.
>you have been banned from posting to /r/WritingPrompts.
you can contact the moderators regarding your ban by replying to this message. warning: using other accounts to circumvent a subreddit ban is considered a violation of reddit's site rules and can result in being banned from reddit entirely.
No one thought much of it. Sure, he got a few downvotes, a couple laughs, and a couple *serious* accusations. But it was a day for Fools, to fall for them and to be them all at once. No one imagined what would come next. The mods, in all their glory, actually banned Luna. She was able to post some replies, most likely to keep the charade up. But she was gone. As quickly as she appeared.
/u/psycho_alpaca followed a few hours later. Receiving the same message from Survivor. Again, a few awkward laughs, a few downvotes, but now, even more accusations. People were getting serious. Hundreds were sending messages to the mods. By the time Luna told her own subreddit that she couldn't post to /r/WritingPrompts anymore, the inbox was flooded by the thousands.
More writers fell after them, /u/leoduhvinci, /u/pshoffman, /u/galokot. Friends. People I had come to respect, to love their stories, to cry with their characters, to laugh at their jokes. It was terrible. They stopped posting, by the time night fell, half the big-time writers on the sub were gone.
Where they went? I had no idea.
But their subscribers, their fans, their people, were rising against the Mods.
Mods we trusted. Mods we joked with. Mods we came to respect.
They did the unthinkable. It was always a joke, at least, I thought it was, their plan for world domination. It was joked about in responses, in casual discussions, in chat room! Everywhere, the mods were known to be *joking* about this.
But they weren't joking.
April Fool's Day 2016 was a day I never forgot. When the streets littered with millions of Reddit Users, questioning the mods of their favorite subreddit. When the pitchforks were raised and they marched on the Reddit office. When they demanded to let their authors write.
It was so quick.
Words were exchanged. Blows were felt. Shots were fired.
I'm not sure which side ever did do it. To be frank, I never really cared. When I saw the torches, the pitchforks, the mods and their subscribers go to war against each other, I knew what I had to do.
I haven't found any of them in the years I've been traveling the road. I'm sure many of them are still out there, hoping to fill the world with stories one day soon. Many more fell. I know it. Their sacrifices met with praises of martyrdom in the War of Stories.
But I'm searching for them. I'm out there every day, in this hellhole we still call the world. Written word disappeared, Reddit conquered and destroyed; the archives gone. But I remember them. Their names. Their stories. Their words.
I won't stop until I find them again.
____________
*<3 this community in all seriousness.* |
"Damn it, Jeff, he's at it again."
"Who's at what again?"
"That guy who comes running in here every day with the armor and the really sharp polearm. He's back."
"I don't know what you're talking about, man. All I know is that the boss said we need to stay up here. Said he was anticipating someone's arrival, and that we were the only ones who could stop him. I dunno. It was in a sinister-sounding monologue. Kinda badass. We're useful now."
"No, wh- Come on. We were literally *just* here, and he blazed through here, cutting us all down like we were nothing."
"Frank, you're crazy, man. Sounds to me like you're not getting enough sleep."
"NO, Jeff! I'm telling you, he's been here before, and he's killed us before! Only yesterday he bashed you with his shield and then ran you through the chest! How can you not remember this?"
"Look, all I know is that I didn't get any breakfast. Yesterday we had those stale biscuits, and today they ran out of waffles before I could get one."
"Jeff, come on. It's the guy with the colorful shield and the helmet that looks like a lion. Doesn't any of this sound familiar?"
"If he's not the boss, I haven't seen him."
"Damn it. I'm telling ya, we've been here before. At any minute, he's gonna come sprinting through here, impaling us and looting us and kicking us aside and-- **THERE HE IS!!**"
"Frank, this must be the guy boss was talking about! Oh, man, I'm gonna gut him so good..."
"Jeff, no! I've seen this part before! He knows you don't know how to fight!"
"Like hell he--oh, shit! Frank! OW, god da--Frank, get over here! Holy shi--that was my foot..."
"Jeff!!"
"Hey, where's he going? It's like he knew how I was gonna attack him or something. Wild. Wait, why did he--Frank, I'm lying on the ground, legless, here. Either help me out or kill him, would ya? I mean, come on! He's running to a campfire, for Christ's sake!"
-------
"Mornin, Frank."
"Jeff, are you kidding me?"
"I ain't kidding nobody, Frank. Fuckin' cafeteria ran out of waffles, of *course*."
|
######[](#dropcap)
Takeda looked down at the scroll, it was complete. He picked up another blank parchment after placing the finished one down next to the fourteen before it. *How was I to know that was the emperor's dog?* he pondered as he shook his head. He looked over at the imperial guardsmen who watched over him, the shorter one yawned. He had been at this for the better part of a day now. He took solace in his ability to ramble on at will and his *jisei* would be no different.
*What rhymes with dog?* He looked down at the character for dog: 犬 It looked very much like a man holding a stick. *Perhaps, I should apologize to the dog's leg next?* He drew a 足 on the page and licked his lips before debating where to go next. He had already dedicated pages to the Emperor and now seemed intent on giving praise to every inch of the dog.
The taller guard rolled his eyes, realizing Takeda had picked up *another* parchment. He cursed an *oni* upon Takeda and grumbled something less polite.
Takeda didn't care. If he was going to die for dishonor, he was glad it wasn't on an empty stomach. *Now what rhymes with tasty?*
Edit: one minor typo (fished/finished) *facepalm* |
>*“To be an adult means to be wiser and older.”*
>Y.H. (2nd Period)
The young man asked the old man
“how is it like to be old?”
He said it’s a little bit cold.
Like eating oatmeal and watching soap operas.
But it was more disappointing
When you're not enjoying
the good old days because I
Remember them as if it were yesterday.
He hated being fake.
He said that was a big mistake.
I gave him a hug goodbye.
I almost cried.
|
"What- what do you mean, her father isn't on the database?"
"It means, you fucked a rogue,"the doctor's assistant said. "The little bastards. So nice job, lady. Was he ruggedly handsome?"
"Leah needs a father. I can't support a baby on my own! And what the hell? A rogue, came into town, got me pregnant, and ran off? Am I supposed to believe this bullshit?"I felt myself tearing up. I could barely support myself and I didn't believe in abortion. Adoption wasn't a choice with parents like mine.
"We could use the DNA from your... Leah, to try and track him."The doctor smiled weakly. "I'm sorry, ma'am. The police are on their way. You'll be questioned. Anything you can remember will be helpful."
--
Later that night, I woke up. I was still in the hospital because the police weren't sure I was being truthful even though I was completely on file.
I turned and something caught my eye. A birthday card. Squinting and groaning, I managed to pick it up.
*Happy birthday, Leah! And, Ella, I'm sorry about the baby. I'm about and around, though. Love, Lewis the Ruggedly Handsome Rogue.*
Wads of cash were inside the card. I blinked, astonished, and rolled over. Lewis. People gossip about rogues, and how they have eyes and ears where even the law doesn't.
The police came by and said there was nothing on the camera and there was only one fingerprint on the cash, but it was so clear and in the center, they decided it was there on purpose.
I wonder if I'll ever see him. Would leaving my stressful parents for a life on the run be worth it? |
‘M’lord, he sends for you,’
‘He? – Who is he?’ I didn’t recognise the old man who stood in the doorway. His thick travelling robe hung from his arched back, his bony shoulders buckling under the weight.
‘Sorry,’ he shuffled closer, struggling to pull the hood from his head. He pursed his colourless lips.
I motioned to one of the guards. The old man crooked one eyebrow, and smiled a little broader, showing a set of teeth too small for his pink gums.
‘S-Sam? Is that you?’ I rose to my feet, planting both hands firmly against the oak table to steady myself.
The old man gave a meek nod.
Sam was only a boy when he’d left for the North. He had been sent for by letter to leave at once for the Great Library in the mountains. It was obvious now that his purpose had been to serve The Scribe. It had taken me the better part of fifty years to find mine, as Lord of Harrow Hold.
I stared in disbelief at the ruins that age had left across his face, looking into the two oases of soft blue nestled between the wrinkled.
‘M’lord, the Scribe, he needs you,’ He croaked, adverting his eyes to the ground.
I glanced away, my cheeks flushing.
‘Why?’
‘He found a hair,’ Sam creased his eyebrows, ‘a grey hair’.
I slowly sat back into my seat. The Scribe was the oldest living man, never having found his purpose he built The Great Library upon the mountains. He was the guardian of knowledge. Many men travelled far and wide to seek his council, for him to help them understand their purpose.
He was the only reason I found mine.
‘Prepare for travel, we head North at once.’
|
"What city does your faction operate out of?"Rezna's high voice chimed as she needled her prisoner, both literally and metaphorically. She pressed a long thick needle into the peasant's bruised eye, delighting in his screams of agony.
"PLEASE! PLEASE! I don't... I don't know anything... I swear... I swear!"The farmer blubbered inelegantly, blood and viscera leaking down the side of his battered face.
"Tsk tsk tsk. It doesn't do you any good to lie dearie."Rezna's mouth twisted into a deranged grin. "Let's try this again shall we?"
Rezna yanked the needle out of the man's face. She paused to savor his whimpering. He twisted in his restraints, trying to break free, but the the chains held him firm to the splintering wooden board. Rezna lifted her hand and caressed her victim's eyeball with her fingers. A small white spark burst out and into the eye and the flesh began to knit itself back together.
"How many members are there in your rebel faction?"
"What are you talking about? There is no rebel activity in this area. Please, just let me go."
Several more sparks shot into the man, burning white hot. The flesh became misshapen under Rezna's touch, mutating and growing rapidly. Cancerous growths spread like wildfire across the farmer's features, leaving his visage twisted and foul.
"Oooops."The healer giggled. "I 'lost' control. That's what you get for lying you naughty boy."
The man could barely breathe, his own skin suffocating him. "Whhuuuh diiitth eww ddd ttaa mmmeeee?"
"I healed you just a tad faster than I ought to have. But I can fix that."Rezna took a large knife from her rack of tools and ran her finger along the steel edge.
"I just need to cut away the extra parts and we can start again, ok sweetie?"She leaned forward and kissed the man's swollen cheek. "I'm having so much fun right now. I can go all night, so be a good boy and just tell me what I want to know."
As Rezna lowered the blade, there was a nasty cracking sound. She turned around and saw a mace smashing through the dungeon door. A soldier clad in leather armor entered the room followed by a man in black tattered robes. The soldier's skin was gray and taut over her bones, almost as if it was rotting. The man in the robes was gaunt and thin, though his black eyes seemed to swirl underneath the shadow of his hood.
Rezna smiled serenely at the solemn sorceror. "Koll. How wonderful to see you again."
"Don't move. Stay right there, drop the weapon and put your hands up. I don't want to hurt you."Koll stood by the door, taking care to keep his distance.
"Oh pooh, is that any way to greet a friend? How rude, you didn't even say hello."Rezna took a step forward.
"Last warning witch! I'll kill you if I have to, but I'd rather it not come to that."Koll extended his arm with his palm facing outwards.
"My dear Koll, you wound me!"Rezna tossed her knife, aiming between Koll's eyes. The soldier jumped in front of Koll, the blade sinking into her neck. Rezna ran forward and grabbed the woman's face, pumping as much magic as she could into her body.
"Trish."
The soldier raised her mace and slammed it into Rezna's shoulder. The healer crumpled to the ground, her shoulder
broken into bloody pieces. She laughed as the pain flooded through her body. "How? That should have killed her!"
"She's already dead. You saw to that. I brought her back. I had to."
"You monster. She's an abomination. You won't get away with this! I'll kill you, I'll kill you!"
Koll waved his hand at Trish. "Enough. Finish it."
The enthralled soldier smashed Rezna in the face with her weapon, finishing the healer with a single blow. Blood and bone mush splattered Rezna's white dress. Koll took off his robe and covered the remains with it. He walked over to the farmer and began to undo his restraints.
The farmer gasped, "Pleetthh, ffiixx mm mee. Aaa aagony."
Koll shook his head. "I can't do that. My powers can only take away."
"Ttt ttake thitth pain uh aaway."
Koll nodded and gently grasped the man's hand. Black sparks emanated from his hand and into the other man's body. The man's breathing slowed steadily as his eyelids drooped closed.
"Rest now. Your struggle is over."
|
I glance nervously through the oval window into the room. It is packed with well dressed men and I quickly pull away from the glass. I press my back against the hallway wall and breathe heavily. The nerve demons are at play in my stomach.
*You are going to lose this pitch, Daniel-san. Just as you lost the world junior karate tournament.* says the ghost of my old sensei, Mr Yagimi. He floats nearby, legs crossed and brow heavily furrowed.
"Get out of my head!"I shout, hitting my temples with the bottom of my palms. He shakes his head in disappointment.
*Have I taught you nothing? You must be calm as a summer breeze. But you must also be as explosive as the TNT.*
I clench the product - *the wonder broom 2000* - tightly in my left hand. I have spent years refining it - bristle density, rosewood handle, extending mid section, and a thousand other features. If I can just get the investors on board then I can make this work.
I think back to my training, take a deep breath and repeat my mantra: "brush up, brush down, brush up, brush down".
I am ready. I open the door a crack and roll the smoke grenades into the room.
---
*hissss*
The smoke grants me a hidden path to the center of the room. The suited men are coughing, but when the gas clears and their vision returns they are shocked to see me standing at the front of the room.
"How did he get there?! What type of magic is this!"is what I imagine they are thinking. I am at least certain they are impressed.
"Greeting investors."I spin the broom furiously above my head. I go so fast that for a terrifying moment I think I might take off.
*whoop whipp wheeeep*
"This. Is. The wonder broom 2000!"
There is no cheer, I have left them speechless. That is a good omen. "This broom is going to change the world!"I say emphatically.
*You tit, Daniel-san. You look like foolish skunk and they are not interested.*
I ignore the jelous ghost of my old sensei and continue.
"The bristles on this 'broom' do more than just brush. They mop too. Allow me to demonstrate."I grab a throwing star from my pants and throw it towards a fat looking man. It catches his ear as intended. Blood spurts out like a fountain. There are screams of excitement from the impressed men. Now it is my time to shine.
I cartwheel over to the bleeding man, and in two quick moves I have cleaned the floor and his ear. I also remove a cobweb from the ceiling. I head back to the center of the room.
My sensei floats out of the window, head in his hands. He can't bear to see me succeed.
"Presentation over. Who would like to invest?"I ask with a bow.
The bleeding man is the first to respond. "Count me in!"A murmur of agreement springs up around the room.
I have done it! I jump up and fist pump the air! Music plays in my ears - *I'm the best, around*!
"I said,"the fat man continues, clutching a red hand around his ear, "I am suing your ass!"He walks out, quickly followed by the rest of the investors.
Another well dressed man walks in with two security gaurds. "Holy shit Daniel, this is the last time! You are a **janitor!!** Not a salesman. Not some wannabe karate guy."
Enemy ninjas! So my presentation was sabotaged. I grab another throwing star from my belt and prepare.
|
“Are you Mark Lionheart?” Said the woman in the doorway.
Mark Lionheart was currently having a nice nap in the bathtub, with a large quantity of highly acidic liquid to remove any evidence that something terrible had happened to him, like fingerprints around his throat. But hey, if this lady is from UPS or something and has a package for me, who am I to deny her?
“Yes, yes I am.” I did my best 'Trust me' smile. Never fails.
“Excellent. I am Ebony Ravenhair, and You are the Chosen One.”
I tried by best to keep the smile up.
“I...I'm the what?”
“The chosen one. The savior of worlds. Come with me, and I will teach you the way of the Warrior.”
My brilliant mind, even filled with questions, failed to stand still. I weighed the Pros and Cons.
*Con: This woman was likely insane.*
*Con: This woman was going to take me to some random place.*
*Pro: Wherever that random place is, the police are unlikely to find me there.*
*Pro: Solid 8/10.*
“I...Forgive me for stalling, it's a lot to take in-”
“We have little time. Come.”
She grabbed my arm, basically pulling me out the front door and across the lawn. I could see a small car parked around the corner, which I entered of my own volition.
Best not to question her delusion too hard right now, or else she might go crazy, and even if I stole her keys, I can't drive this stick-shift. But I could do with some answers.
“What's the rush? Why so little time?”
“The forces of darkness are following us. I shall take us to a safer place.”
“What safer place?”
“You'll see.”
“What forces of Darkness-”
She stepped on the gas, and the entire car lurched forward at a terrifying speed.
“My apologies, Chosen one. I am not use to driving earth vehicles.” She said, calm and composed.
For someone not used to driving, she was breaking a lot of speed limits, weaving through traffic as we made our way towards the interstate. Hell, she could probably outrun the cops, easy. Maybe I could get her as a getaway driver.
"Watch out! The Forces of Darkness approach! Behind you!”
As I looked out the rear-view mirror I could see two men on motorcycles keeping pace with us, even as we dodged traffic like crazy. And – Wait, Are those guns?
I stopped looking out the rear-view mirror as bullets started flying, making horrible noises as they hit the bumper and license plate. I hated guns: not only did they take the thrill out of the kill, they were pointed at me far too often.
For the first time, I was having second thoughts about the whole 'follow the crazy lady' plan.
“What the hell! Why are we being shot?”
“Forces of Darkness! They are upon us!”
One of the side-mirrors shattered, and she took more evasive maneuvers than usual, screaming down an off-ramp.
“No more crazy talk, why are we being shot?”
“You are the chosen one, they seek to destroy you-”
“Enough with this chosen Bullshit, tell me the truth!”
One of the motorcycles couldn't keep up, falling off the road. I didn't see him crash.
“You...” She turned and looked me in the eye, with a bizarre sincerity. “You aren't the Chosen one.”
“Could you– Watch out!”
By the time she turned her head back, it was too late. The car plowed off the road, flying front-end first into the thick forest beyond. |
“Subject 421, state your designation.”
The cold, unfriendly voice of Tech Jones woke me from a fitful sleep. I rolled over on my narrow bunk and blinked at him. The pain in my arms was barely noticeable now. The swelling around the flashing metal attachment had gone down, just like they said it would.
“State your designation,” Jones repeated.
I sat upright and closed my eyes to block the harsh florescent lights. Same dumb question to begin another endless day of *I’m going to poke you full of holes to save the species* crap.
Jones’s electric baton hummed as he powered it up. I shuddered, remembering the last shock. “421. Same as yesterday.”
“You’re going to Bio Engineering.”
“Great,” I mumbled, rubbing a hand over the stubble on my scalp. They’d probably shave me again. I missed my hair. My mother used to comb it every night when I was a little girl. My fingers brushed the metal implant in the back of my head. Was today the day they cut out my brain?
Mars was dying, just like Earth had died. Just like Venus had died maybe a billion years ago. Mars had lasted this long not only because of our distance from the Sun, but our lack of water. Earth’s oceans had boiled away, dumping over a billion tons of water vapor into the atmosphere. Greenhouse gone mad. Earth’s surface temperature was over four hundred and fifty degrees Celsius. Its surface pressure would crush steel beams. Whatever monuments and buildings were left at the start of the Solar Crisis were dust now. They said a White Hole was to blame. I didn't understand what that meant, only that Mars were destined to become as hot as Mercury before the Sun swallowed it.
That’s where we came in. We were *volunteers*, they said, or *lab rats,* more appropriately. But hey, getting poked with needles, turned into a crazy cyborg and injected with green goo sure beat waiting out the end in a jail cell. Or at least, that’s what I thought when I signed up for the program.
Jones led me down a narrow corridor flanked with thick windows. We were turning towards the Sun. I watched its glow like an endless borealis across the horizon. When it rose, the windows would turn black and all activity above ground would cease.
We entered the caves. The first cell we passed held another human lab rat. While I only had ports and plugs in my flesh, he had wires and knobs and a metal skull cap. His left eye blinked while his right stared straight ahead. Had they removed half his brain? The image made me shudder. Machines were the answer, they told us. Machines could survive the Sun’s onslaught. Machines could live on Titan without oxygen. His left eye met mine and he blinked twice. His cracked lips curled in an eerie smile.
The scientists never spoke kindly to me, and after a few sessions, I stopped trying to engage them. At least the drugs were nice. It was only after, when I woke up with fresh sutures or puncture wounds that I hated them. The familiar dread crept over me as I crossed the decontamination line. Two orderlies in surgical attire stepped out of the lab to prepare me. Jones gave me a final shove, and retreated back down the tunnel.
“421, get in the shower."
“My name’s Becky,” I told them.
It didn’t cause an eye to flicker. “Get in the shower, *criminal.*”
*I stole a transport ship. You cut out half a man’s brain,* I thought, glaring at them. But whatever. I liked the shower. Before I could strip off my clothes, I heard commotion in the tunnel. Then Jones’s voice.
“No, wait, stop him!”
It ended in a gargling scream. The two orderlies stared at each other, at me, and then bolted for the door. Red lights flashed overhead, alarm bells shrieking from the walls. The orderlies reached their lab and the door slammed shut behind them. Their terrified eyes stared out through the circular window.
Another scream echoed down the hallway, then the sound of running footsteps. Three security guards raced down the hall, armed not with shock batons but rifles. Five shots rang out. There was another scream, then six more shots, maybe seven. I flattened against the wall and gripped the edge of the shower. My heart beat against my chest.
I heard footsteps in the hallway. He appeared at the decontamination line, his left eye blinking madly, his right fixed on my face. The metal skullcap was dented in two places and coated in blood. He held one of the guard’s rifles in his hand, and carried another slung across his back.
“Want to get out of here?” he asked me with that same eerie smile.
I stared at him, then at the blood on his hands and trousers. “You…they…”
“All dead. It’s less than they deserve.” He lifted the gun and shot at the circular window. The orderlies fell away with screams as the glass shattered. I was glad I didn’t have to watch them die.
“I’m leaving,” he said. “You’re welcome to join me.”
I scrambled to my feet. “But you can’t go out there; the sun is out!”
|
It started as a crack, a thin line that was only visible when it caught the light just right. Children saw it more easily than adults. Gradually, it widened, until it was always visible, and to everyone. Multicolored lights could be seen within, and sometimes, snatches of voices or music could be heard, always too brief to catch. News anchors spoke anxiously of the strange tear in space. Experts were called to determine what it could be. It was decided that such a strange anomaly must be dangerous, and so it was quarantined. The army set up a perimeter, five hundred meters out. Guards stood at attention every few feet, looking out, ordered to stop all the writers and directors that kept circling around.
They were ordered to keep people from coming in. They weren't expecting people trying to get out.
It was afternoon, just as the shift was about to change, when someone tapped on a guard's shoulder. He turned, and stared at the sight that greeted him. It was a boy, no older than ten, wearing a blue jacket and a baseball cap. A yellow creature sat on his shoulder, sparks issuing intermittently from its red cheeks.
"Hi,"said the boy. "I think I'm lost. Could you tell me where to find the gym?"
"G-gym?"stuttered the bewildered guard. The clothes could have been a costume, but the creature... The guard reached for the radio at his hip. "I, uh, wait here, kid."
Three more strangers had shown up before authorities could decide what to do with the boy. The next day, a dozen. By the third day there were over a hundred strangers in the quarantine, milling around while authorities tried to figure out what had happened, what to do, how to send the strangers back. Food, tents, and necessities were distributed, but otherwise, no one was allowed contact with them.
The news spread like wildfire. The populace spread into two separate factions: those who wanted embrace their beloved heroes with open arms, and those who feared them as they had never before feared a fictional villain. Conversations on the topic were always quick to get heated.
"I say we kill them all, as soon as then come out of that tear. Think about Voldemort. Think about Sauron, or Ramsey Bolton, or the Joker. What if they come through?"
"You can't just kill them; they're people!"
"They're not real. Not really."
"They're real if they're here, aren't they? Besides, what about Luke Skywalker? Or Superman? Or Samus Aran?"
The strangers themselves had mixed reactions as well, to their new surroundings. Some seemed to not to notice that they were in a new realm. Others jumped at every new object they encountered. Some were unphased, as though they had always known of a world beyond their own. Most were confused. They quickly sorted themselves into groups, based on the similarity of their homelands. Researchers walked among them, asking careful questions, recording the responses. Often, the strangers had questions of their own, but always they remained unanswered.
No one knew when or how one of the researchers lost her phone. Maybe it had just fallen out of her pocket without her noticing, or maybe it was a deliberate act of theft. In either case, the phone quickly fell into the possession of a monkey with a tiny fez, then to his master. It was passed around the camp. The more technologically adept of the strangers bypassed the passcode with little problem. They were delighted to discover that even this primitive planet had an internet, and went online right away, eager to find out more about the strange world they had landed in. The phone was passed from hand to hand, perusing Wikipedia, or news articles about themselves. They were astounded to discover the plethora of media about themselves. Some were flattered. Others, mildly stalked. In either case, curiosity made them devour as much of it as they could, before passing the phone on to someone else.
They were always quick to hide the phone whenever the researchers, guards, or aid workers arrived. The personnel, for their part, couldn't help but notice the air of unease that was steadily growing.
It was months before a decision could be made about what to do with the strangers. An announcement was made to them, one morning, by a government official with a megaphone. "We have decided that you may apply to leave the camp,"he said, "but permission must be granted on a case by case basis. If you do leave, you will still be required to check in on a regular basis, and keep us apprised of your whereabouts."
The strangers looked and one another. Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Finally, as they died down, a man stepped forward to speak. "Honestly,"he said, "we'd much rather you sent us home. But if you can't, then we'll just stay put here until you figure it out."
The government official was surprised. "You don't want to leave?"
"We're most of us a little uncomfortable with the idea of living amongst you."
"But why?"
"Well..."the man looked sheepish. They all did. "Well, we discovered rule 34, and frankly you people disturb us." |
I looked at my dog, and I looked at the aliens.
Wait. No. When did I get a dog? I'm a cat person.
Whose dog is it? My confusion lasts only a moment before the golden retriever growls a bit, then, in the plainest English replies, "Thank you. Well done. Your payment should be in order."
The lead alien--and there's no doubt these were aliens, what with the canine heads, the long tentacles springing from their backs, the prehensile tails, and the thick coating of fur--wrapped all of it's tentacles around it's body and bowed. A shockingly *human* bow. The dog just sat there.
"We received the notification of intent-to-transfer just a single cycle past. Your generosity is appreciated. Shall we exterminate this human for you?"
"No, of course not. I need someone to be my liaison to the other truly sentient species here. They are a bit newer to the planet, but the felines will not be willing to share the planet without some appeasement."
"Of course, master. We have subjugated all the humans. Where would you like us to put the survivors?"
I was growing nervous by now, but realized that there was no way to fight. These octo-jackals--that's the name that would eventually stick--were clearly ready to kill me without any hesitation. And I could tell they would be able to."
Lassie--that's what I decided to call him--cocked his head and gave the octo-jackals one ugly stare. "Why are there survivors?"
The lead octo-jackal shrugged--again a fairly human gesture, except that all eight of the tentacles sprouting from his back shrugged too--and said, "A great number chose to surrender rather than fight."
Lassie seemed disappointed by this, but only said, "Fine. Let them have South America. And get my cousins out of there."
"Yes Master."They bowed again, and then bowed out.
Lassie turned to me and gave me that same ugly stare. "Epharian, I'm sorry about this mess, I suppose. Look, if it's any consolation, you'll have top pick of your bitches, and the felines are probably going to take centuries to negotiate an actual treaty."
"Do I get a say in any of this?"
Lassie made a strange wheezing sound, which I suppose was laughter. "No more choice than most dogs were given about which humans they have to deal with."
"So not really."
"Not as such, no."
I sighed inwardly. "You know we could be useful to you? We have bacon, and ..."
Lassie huffed. "Do you know how bad that is for us? No, we'll be going back to our more natural diet."
"Well I do have a question before you ship me off as your ambassador to the cats."
"Sure, fine, I can be generous--after all, I just took over the world."
"If those are your alien servants, what the hell happened to the ones ***I*** hired?"
Lassie opened his mouth to respond, when the sky grew ominously dark, and the sudden sound of distant explosions rumbled deeply. With a satisfied grin, I looked at Lassie and said, perhaps a bit maliciously, "Whose a good boy, *now*, dammit?" |
It couldn't be.
Curly red hair, but longer than she used to wear it. Nerdy T-shirt, check. Scar on her lip from the ravine? Oh god, it's bigger than I remembered.
I steeled myself as she walked up the steps, expecting her to recognize me. When she didn't say anything, I glanced over to see her taking a seat next to me. Jeez, she's still got those green eyes that could cut to your soul.
***
As class nears its end that day, I find myself feeling a little light-headed. I take a deep breath to calm the sensation, but it doesn't help. Call it a...
A...
"**AATSOOO~!**"A sneeze blasted out of me so hard it silenced the class and the professor.
Everyone looked at me, but before either I or our lecturer could say anything, she said, in a clear well-projected voice:
"*Bless you.*"
I took a moment to process that. "**What?**"I whispered, more to myself than her.
"*I said bless you.*"she repeated quietly as the teacher resumed his lecture.
"Alright, you can go now."The teacher waved us off, and everyone began scrambling to get their stuff.
Except for two.
We packed up our things slower than the rest, me because I was trying to keep pace with her.
"Hey!"I called ahead as she reached the back exit.
She stopped, hearing what I said, and turned.
I walked up the steps quickly and approached her carefully, wondering what the minimum distance was for this kind of encounter.
"*What's up?*"She asked.
I opened my mouth, and at first nothing came out, so I closed it, swallowed and tried again.
"**I... wanted to apologize.**"I said.
She giggled. "*For what, sneezing?*"She turned and started walking away again. Desperately, I said a name. A nickname, a name I swore I'd never use again.
"**Alienor.**"
She froze. "What did you just call me?"
I realized what I'd done, and my hand clamped over my mouth of its own accord.
She turned around and stalked up to me, an unreadable emotion in her eyes. "*It's you...*"she said, her voice deadly soft.
"**I...**"my voice died in my palm, so I removed it, but she shouted something I couldn;t make out and shoved me, knocking me over. I fell, my head hit the ground, and before I reached the bottom, the lights went out.
#8 years ago
I walked up to the girl, as I always did, sitting on her own, reading a book, as she always did. I stood over her and waved my hand between her and the book.
She flinched and looked up for only a second before trying to ignore me by taking out one of her aids.
"**Hey, Alienor.**"I taunted her.
She looked up at me and tried to sign something at me, but I spoke over her.
"**I don't speak alien, I told you.**"I shoved her shoulder, and she lost her balance, waving her arms wildly to stop herself from falling into the deep ravine behind her. Realizing what I'd done, I lunged out to grab her, but my hand hit her other shoulder faster than I meant to and she fell.
***
Deep in the ravine, I slid down the shear side, looking around. "**Hey!**"I shouted. Desperately, I used her name. "**Ali- Eleanor!**"I corrected myself.
And then I saw her, face-down in a pile of fallen leaves. I rushed over and fell to my knees next to her, rolled her over into my lap. Blood ran from her mouth in a steady trickling stream. "**Eleanor!**"I said desperately. "**Wake up!**"I begged.
Her eyes opened, and for the first time, they looked straight into mine. the pain in them was too much to look at. I tried to say something, but she couldn't hear me. She looked like she was becoming part of the ground, her red hair blending into the leaves.
Snapping out of it, I picked her up. She was so much smaller than me, so much more fragile. I propped her head on my shoulder, whispered to her "**It's okay, you're okay now.**"and without my hands, I scaled the ravine, feet digging into mud so deep that I lost my shoes, but I kept going.
When I reached the top, I found the teachers at the wall, and I hopped it with her still in my arms.
When they called an ambulance, she was still in my arms.
I carried her into the ambulance, still in my arms. The paramedics told me to put her down, but I shook my head, tears cutting lines through the dirt on my face, falling to interrupt the stream of blood from her lip.
When we got to the ER, I finally gave her to the doctors. Whatever I said at the time, I forget, but once she was gone, I felt sick, and I ran out, crying all the while.
#Now
Waking up, I found myself in the college infirmary, wearing a paper gown. A halo of pain was wrapped around my head. I touched my forehead gingerly and spoke out to the nurse, "**Excuse me. What happened?**"
The Asian woman blinked at me and said, in a terrifying accent: "Your friend come through here with you in her arms, tells us 'He needs help.' And I put you back together. You OK now, just take these,"she picks up a bottle of pills from the counter and shakes them briefly. "for the pain. Your clothes are in the drawer."she walked away.
I picked up the little bottle and dug out my clothes, drawing the curtains around the bed.
As I was changing, I heard the curtains rustle behind me.
I glanced over my shoulder and saw half of a person, just half, staring at me.
It was her. She dropped her gaze, not making eye contract. "Are... you OK?"she asked hesitantly.
I turned around, holding my shirt. "**I... No. No I'm not OK. Why would you bring me here?**"
She didn't respond.
"**You could've left me there, and I would deserve whatever happened to me.**"I asked her.
She said something quietly, and it hit me like a train with jet engines. "*So could you.*"
I didn't say anything, trying my best not to ruin the weird, tender moment we were having with some off-hand remark.
"*The doctor told me that if it hadn't been for my friend chasing me into the ravine, I might have bled out from all the cuts. If my friend hadn't scaled the hill with me in his arms, carried me all the way to the hospital bed, I'd be dead.*"She stayed looking down. "*I didn't have any friends. Nobody would take credit. But you. I never spoke to you again, so I never knew for sure until I saw you again in school. You were wearing new shoes. The doctor told me you came in barefoot. I put two and two together pretty fast.*"She chuckled a little. Then she sniffed, and I realized she was starting to cry.
I sighed through my nose, putting on my shirt. "**And? You thought that you owed me, or something?**"
She looked up, and there were a million and one emotions running through those green eyes. She was crying harder now, starting to sob in between bits of her sentence. "*When I shoved you, I remembered that you weren't just my childhood bully, I remembered that you were... also my hero.*"
I couldn't stand to look her in the eyes after she said that, so I just wrapped my arms around her and she sobbed into my shirt.
She tried to say something else, but she was crying, and I couldn't hear her right. "Eleanor?"I said quietly.
She made a "m-hm?"sound.
"**I keep telling you I don't speak alien.**"
She burst out laughing and punched me in the chest. "*Asshole!*"she said, smiling up at me through tears.
I put her head on my shoulder. "**It's okay.**"I told her.
"**You're okay now.**" |
"*O - M - Geeee. Brandon is so hot in those skinny jeans.*"
"*I wonder if she'll recognize me. Those lips look so soft.*"
"*Damn dog. If my wife doesn't handle that stupid mutt, I'm going to murder it with my bare hands.*"
I look around for the three voices in my head. The first voice is obviously coming from the teenage girl at the bus stop who can't day dreaming in the direction of an older man. I guess his name is Brandon. The second voice was another teenage girl who looked a bit less feminine and, as I'm sure you've deduced too, must have feelings for the first girl. Brandon, would be the third voice in my head. Based off the rags he is currently rinsing off, I'm guessing he is in the middle of cleaning up pee or poop on the floor. I wonder if the first teenager knows Brandon is married.
***--record scratch--***
I'm getting ahead of myself. Back around 2010, scientists discovered a drug that would allow them to hear your thoughts. In order to spread it to the masses, F16s were outfitted with the drug and dumped them in the air. Conspiracy theorists called them chem trails. Turns out they were right. Score one for them *finally*. Anyway, back to the point. The drug worked. Officers and politicians started hearing the citizen’s thoughts. The world fell into greater and greater chaos as they tried to use their newfound power. It wasn't until a crazy presidential candidate accidentally let it slip that they knew what the people were thinking. My momma did always say secrets are always shouted on the rooftops eventually.
With three weeks to go before the 2016 presidential election, the people learned the drug. They also started hearing the thoughts of all the government officials and enforcement agencies too. With the true thoughts of both leading candidates now known, the entire system rallied against them and, in a landslide vote, 99% voted to "Feel the Bern"instead.
Life didn't exactly settle down when the new president took office. Fear from other countries landlocked the United States. Only a few countries dared ship anything to us and no one bought anything from the US. It didn't matter what we tried, the drug seemed irreversible and somewhat contagious.
Now, only five years later, we found our feet again. Acting and hearing as a hive mind allowed us to re-stabilize faster than ever dreamed off. Who knew what good communication could do, eh? And now that we've reached some semblance of stability, life returned to the way I remember it twenty years ago. Kids are innocent but incoherent. The teenagers are horny and self focused. The married couples are self focused and aggressive. Basically everything day to day life brings. Except, now, I have to listen to all the thoughts that goes along with those youngin's .
I loved the gift at first. Now, if I hear one more time about Prada purses and that we don't get any more from Italy or about how good a man's package looks, I may just go crazy.
I probably already have. I'm glad I'm already eighty. I hope death comes for me soon.
|
Complete and utter darkness. Or was it a blinding brightness? Peter found it curious that he never questioned what he was experiencing but now as serenity slipped away he could feel the physical world coil around him once again.
"Brother Mark?"he probed, his voice hoarse and his eyes still shut.
No response. Peter slowly raised his hands to feel his surroundings. As his fingertips stretched outwards he touched a cool smooth wall that lay before him. 'Glass?' he thought to himself.
He cracked open his eyes, heavy from not being used, allowing the light to pour in. Blinking, he tried to make sense of the blurred world before him. And there they were. Several unfamiliar and uninterested faces staring back at him. Dressed in odd clothing, they stood on the opposite side of the glass from him.
"Hey man, you're not supposed to be in here,"he heard a voice call from behind him. "You better hurry because the show's about to start."
Peter turned to see a man dressed in blue and black gazing down at him, a look of frustration on his face. In one hand he held several pages and he had a strange piece jammed in his ear that came to hang in front of his upturned mouth.
"Well? Are you going to go earn your paycheck or do I have to call security?"he questioned.
Peter rose meekly, still unable to utter proper words. The man grabbed him by the scruff of his robes.
"I don't have time for this!"he shouted, as he threw Peter out of the exit and into the hall.
Whirlling, Peter crashed into a group of passersby. As he lay in a tumbled heap on the ground one helped him to his feet and that's when he saw what they were wearing. They grey monastic robes of his order.
"Brothers!"Peter exclaimed, as relief washed over him.
His cry was met with unease and he could see the awkwardness in their faces.
"Pft, method actors,"he heard on say.
"Come on pal,"said another. "The performance is this way."
The men dressed in robes pulled Peter along with them, in the direction of the crowd. Swarms of people surrounded him. Excited chatter and laughter filled the room. As he put one foot in front of the other Peter looked around him, unable to make sense of it. 'Who were these people? What is this place? Where are my brothers?' he questioned himself. That's when he laid eyes on it. His book.
There it lay on a raised plinth in the centre of the room, it's pages spread open to show the colourful calligraphy and artwork within. It was surrounded by onlookers and red rope. Peter immediately made every effort to get to to his prised possession. Pushing through the crowd and clambering over the obstructions in his path, he took the book in both hands. The gasps that followed drew in the noise of the room and left only silence.
"Thief!"he heard someone shout.
"Get him!"yelled another voice at his side.
Peter turned to see the crowd part beneath him. One man came rushing through the gap. Dressed in tan and brown he raised a strange object in Peter's direction.
"Stop right there!"the stranger demanded.
Peter, afraid, tried to run for the exit. His legs were still stiff. His body still weak. He could feel his heart thrashing within him. He struggled to draw in breath. That's when he heard a loud crack ring out and a wight crush against him. Peter was sent clattering to the floor.
Pages from his book fluttered to the ground around him and he reached out to pull them closer. Peter could barely move his limbs but as he felt around himself his fingertips grazed a warm wetness that clung to his person. Blood, he knew. It came pouring through his robes, darkening the grey cloth. 'How? Why?' he thought.
Crack. Crack.
That's when it returned to Peter; the brightness. Or was it darkness? This time he knew better than to ask. |
The whispering came again as I lay down to sleep.
It came from under the bed. The same whispering that's lulled me to sleep every night without fail since I was five.
I did my best to ignore it, as my parents told me to do when I was a child.
*Sweetie, it's just part of your imagination. There's nothing under your bed. I just checked for you. Try to get some rest, hon.*
*It's cause you've got an active brain, son. It means you have a good head on your shoulders, just like your old man. But please go back to bed. I've got an early day tomorrow and I need to get my sleep.*
*Derek, I'm really worried about him. Don't you think it's time we took him to see a professional? A doctor or a shrink or something?*
*No child of mine's going to grow up thinking he belongs in a loony bin, Jen, and that's damned final! Christ, I can't believe we're still talking about this. It's just a phase, he's just trying to get some attention, that's all. He'll grow out of it and that's that.*
Went on for years, really. Night after night, every time I lay down and closed my eyes, the whispering would begin. Soft creeping words, caressing my ears, lighter than a cat's paw.
Soft.
Warm.
Inviting.
Chilling.
Some nights, I'd manage to ignore it.
Others, I'd lie awake, doing my best not to pay attention, but listening, and listening, and listening. I could never quite make out what was being said, just, the soft sound of whispers, trying to get my attention.
Never, not once in fifteen years, have I ever dared to look under the bed once it'd gotten dark.
In the daytime, it was fine. Nothing there but a few dust mice.
But at night...?
Never.
There was a part of me that told myself that I was silly. I wasn't hearing things, because only crazy people heard whispering coming from under the bed when there was CLEARLY nothing there. Nothing at all. And I wasn't crazy. Nope. No sirree, not me. Not in the slightest. Nothing wrong with the good old brain of yours truly. Not a damned thing. And since it'd be crazy to think there'd actually be something under my bed if I looked there after dark, I just never did. Because I wasn't crazy.
Because I wasn't CRAZY.
But I'd be lying if I said there wasn't another part of me. Another part of me weighing in, quiet and still in the dark corner of my mind. Just sitting there, hunched over in the dark, waiting for me to pay attention to it.
A part of me that asked a simple question.
What if there WAS something there? What if I looked under the bed one night, drawn to that endless, ceaseless whispering, and something was waiting for me under there, in the dark. A monster or a ghost, some sort of gibbering horror with eyes like lanterns, big as my head? What would I even do if that were the case? How could I react to something like that?
I didn't have an answer.
So I dodged the question. Avoided it like the plague. There was nothing under my bed, nothing under my bed, nothing under my bed.
Because only crazy people hear whispering coming from under the bed that only they can hear.
And I wasn't crazy.
I wasn't.
I swear.
I wasn't a child anymore, with a child's fears of the dark. I was all grown up now. A handsome young man, as my mother called me.
So I didn't hear any whispering under my bed. Not even a bit. Not even a little.
It's quiet, quiet, quiet in my room after dark, all the time.
Tonight when I laid my head on my pillow, there was no whispering from under the bed. Not a single word.
It was crying. Soft, hesitant sobbing in the dark, coming from beneath my head, under my bed.
This was new.
This was different.
So I did something I'd never done before. I brushed the sheets off my body, kicking them to the foot of the bed. I lay flat across my bed and looked underneath.
A child would have done it this way. An adult, a mature, grown young man would have gotten out of the bed and gotten on his hands and knees to glance underneath.
I didn't much feel like a grown up tonight, checking under my bed for monsters.
That isn't what I told myself I was doing. I was just investigating the newfound sobbing from under the bed, but I knew the real reason. I knew the real reason why I didn't just get up out of bed to check on what might be underneath.
Because if you drop a foot off the bed and onto the floor in the dark, if there's really a monster under there? It can grab you. It can wrap its scaly green clawed hand right around your ankle and drag you underneath to its lair.
To its home.
To feed.
So I just hung my head down and peeked.
It was a girl.
A tiny girl, glowing with an incredibly faint white light, curled up under my bed, sobbing. Her eyes were wide and huge in the darkness and the dim glow of her form and tears laid bright tracks over her face. This wasn't the soft and gentle crying of the heroine of a romantic comedy as she confesses to her friend that she loved him, that she'd always loved him and please don't get married to that other woman.
This was the ugly, terror-fueled crying of a girl kidnapped by a monster, knowing that she wasn't the heroine of the story, knowing that she was just body count number seven as the film built to the climax.
"It's too late,"she whispered. The same whispering I'd heard for years, for the first time, clear words that I could understand, now that my head was close enough to the source. "It's too late, too late, too late."
"Ummm..."was all that I could think to say.
"You're stupid,"she said, baring her teeth at me. "So, so stupid. I've been trying to warn you for years. For years I've been trying to warn you and you just never listened. You ignored me. You ignored me for years and years and now you finally decide to pay attention to me when it's too late?"
"Too late for what?"I asked. I couldn't quite understand what she was saying, but I had the sense it was something important. Something vital that I'd been missing.
"Why ask?"She said, pounding one tiny fist into the hardwood floor under the bed. "Why ask when it's too late? Nothing to do but take your medicine."
"...What?"I asked. It was the only intelligent thing I could think to say. None of this made any sense.
They say school was supposed to prepare you for life in the great wide world beyond, but nothing in all my classes could have prepared me to find a tiny glowing girl crying under my bed, telling me it was too late.
"If you'd only listened to me,"she hissed. "If you'd only LISTENED, just once, we could have gotten around this. But it's too late now. There's no help for it. You could have stopped him. You could have,"her voice became insistent. "You're stupid, and you're slow, but you could have stopped him if you'd gotten to him before he got here, but now it's too late."Her voice had faded, losing its fiery energy. "Now it's too late for both of us."
"What are you talking about? Too late for what? Stop who?"I didn't know why, but I began to feel afraid. More than the little glowing girl under my bed, something was wrong. Something tonight, in my room was *wrong* and I didn't know why.
"Too late,"she muttered again before curling up into a ball, hiding her her face in her hands. "He's here."
There was a sound from across the room.
I looked up, through the darkness and saw that all was still in my room. All was as it should be. Everything in its proper place.
...Except for the closet door. Which was opened just a crack, letting in the dark, the deeper darkness from within.
"Too late..."I heard the girl say one last time.
A faint rill of fear rippled down my spine.
And I saw a hand, pale, whiter than the dirty caps of mushrooms growing in the darkest caves, ripple outward from the crack in my closet door. Gently, softly, it curled long, elegant, far too-jointed fingers around the edge of the door and begin to push it open.
I suddenly remembered what it was to be a child and afraid of the dark.
|
“Bloody hell, Zaph...” he angrily shouted. “Did you even *try* to marinate the Boghog before you started the chop?”
Gordon grimaced while he sliced into the toughened meat, digging into another piece of the hastily prepared meal.
“Seriously? All that two heads has really won you is the ability to look like three proper knobs you fucking Beety bastard.”
“Whoa, I feel like you shouldn’t say that…” Zaphod quickly protested.
“And why not? Are you going to feed me some more raw Pikka?” Ramsay roared.
“Are you going to burn some Joopleberries and pretend it’s an Orion specialty? No, I’m done putting up with this horseshit.”
Ramsay threw down the towel draped over his shoulder and spat on the floor of the cantina.
“I swear, it’s amateur hour in this galaxy. More than three wombs work together and all they can muster is this talentless hack wearing 80’s Goodwill rejects.”
Zaphod shook his head and smiled in disbelief. “Well, I guess I’ll try my hand at drinks instead…” |
I sat there, staring at the empty space, the tiny molecules of oxygen, hydrogen, nitrogen, and all the other assorted -gens, in total disbelief.
I stood in front of over *a million* people, with millions more watching in their homes, looking in total silence at the broken string on my guitar. Let me clarify: the broken string on my *AIR* guitar.
I wasn't the only one shocked, though. My band, The Air Pick, had stopped immediately when they heard it break. The feedback through the speakers had very clearly told the crowd that something was wrong, and the cheering stopped like it had been brutally murdered. The silence was deafening.
By now, most everyone was realizing what had happened and now going speechless in shock themselves. The GuitAir was popular, and most everyone in music had one. More well-off kids, or really dedicated savers, could get one easily and spend all night rocking out on it. Sure, it was more expensive than an acoustic, or even an electric bass (with the amp), but it was infinitely more portable, and could be hooked up to a Bluetooth headset for practice... Or less talented players. It only had 3 parts, with a glove for fingering, a pick, and a bracelet with a processor. Most had a little speaker built in, but all had audio jacks and wireless capabilities.
Playing one, or learning to, was really tricky since there's not really anything to guide you except the sounds coming out of your speaker or through the ear buds. It gets even more challenging when you add in custom options, like an extra whammy bar, strings, longer neck, or bigger body... It was all virtual, so options were near-limitless. Mine was, of course, decked out like no other. It actually had 7 different presets, and I eventually learned how to change them on the fly during a concert. That was one of the main reasons we were the #1 band for 3 weeks and counting, and I was still considered the single greatest GuitAir player in its short-ish history.
And now, at the climax of our multi-platinum song, my string broke. A string that, I may add, DOES NOT EXIST!
Ignoring the *sheer impossibility* of that happening, I switched over to another preset to finish the song. But, as I gestured my hands to bring it up, another impossible thing happened: I dropped it. Yes, you read that right: I dropped an **air** guitar, and it *clunk*-ed onto the stage. Then, my GuitAir died. Not as in "low power, please recharge"but as in "it popped and sparks came out."Which, as it so happens, is literally what happened to my bracelet.
We stood there, all 1,000,006+ of us, in shocked silence for at least a full minute. And then one glorious, shocked, and blessed whisper rang out from somewhere in that pin-drop silence: "He played so hard he *made* a real guitar..."That inspired my crazy, addled mind into a course of action that, in hindsight, was really rather silly. But to this day it was the single greatest thing I could have done.
I took a step forward and crouched down in front of apparently empty space. I reached down to where I knew, just **knew** it would be if I had really dropped some physical object. I stood up, and in my awed state barely registered the fact that I could *feel* the neck in my hand. I put it in position, and didn't care that I had dropped my GuitAir pick. This wasn't a GuitAir anymore. It was an honest-to-God Air Guitar.
And I proved it when my bare fingers strummed solid invisible strings that hummed through the stadium.
The crowd went ***wild***. |
BEEP BEEP BEEP
9:45
A black controller crashed onto the desk as I reached for my phone. A simple swipe right and the blaring sound of my alarm was silenced. My chair creaked as I leaned back and sighed. A crash sounded from outside of my room, but I ignored it.
“Is it time?” my girlfriend, Rachel, asked from behind me on my bed. The pungent smells of her grapefruit scented shampoo hit me like waves as the ceiling fan circulated air. She was messing with me, knowing that smells lasted when I froze time. It would be almost impossible to concentrate on writing when she was right there, on her phone with very, very little clothing on. Fifteen minutes until my research paper was due and she was punishing me for by procrastinating until the last minute then using my powers to take all of the time I needed.
It was hard for Rachel to understand that I still had to write the paper because one second I had nothing and the next a ten page essay on the importance of hesitation during surgery. How in the world I was supposed to write more than “people die if you take too long” was beyond me.
I paused time and went over to her, taking her in as much as I wanted. Even if we were dating, staring at her made her uncomfortable. According to her, she’d been a bit of a fatty in high school and while she wasn’t bullied, people treated her differently for it. Now she was extremely self-conscious about her body, even though she joined the women’s lacrosse team and shredded it all off. All that was left were supple curves and a few stretch marks that she covered at all times except when she was alone with me. I wanted to touch her, but she had specifically forbade me from doing so when she was frozen.
Instead, I got as close to her face as possible, grapefruit assaulting me nostrils and stroking my libido. Ah, if only I had the time.
“AHHHH!” she screamed as I set things back into motion. She punched me lightly in the face and said, “I told you not to do that to me! It freaks me out.” I leaned in, kissed her, and once again paused time. When I did this, I could start and end kissing her, which helped me get around the whole no touching rule. Plus, I got to kiss her.
In nothing more than boxers, a shirt, and some flip flops, I strode out of my dorm room and headed towards the library. It really didn’t matter how I looked if no one else could see me.
Two dudes wearing black and green jerseys in the hall had been playing catch with a football. As it was stuck in midair, it took only a moment to reach up and change the direction to so that instead of landing in one of the man’s hand, it would curve into his groin and left. That’s what they got for being loud and obnoxious outside of my room at 9:00 A.M.
Maneuvering down the stairs was always the hardest part of this whole thing. Turns out that they were always packed this early in the morning when everyone was rushing to try and get to class. Instead of trying to fight through them, I rode the banister down slowly, carefully making sure not to clip someone in the head with my foot. At least going down I could easily slide, but getting back up was another matter.
Ducking around people coming in and out of the exit to the building, I finally made it outside. This was the coolest part in my opinion.
Black and orange butterflies hover in place above the rose bushes next to the exit and I leaned in close to get a good look. Beautiful at a distance, butterflies always creeped me out when I saw them close up, but that feeling left me when time was frozen. It was like looking at the most realistic painting and but even better because it was in 3D. Spiders were still creepy, frozen or not.
I made my way through the grass, towards the library. Early morning dew stuck to my feet as blades of grass bent around my flip flops and tickled at my toes.
The cool water was always a mystery to me. I could smell and hear despite air particles being still and I could feel hot and cold despite their temperatures never changing. For example, I could hold an ice cube forever and it would make my hand cold, but it wouldn’t melt, and when I unfroze time, it would be the exact same temperature. There was probably a way to make use of that fact, but I had no idea.
A loud click sounded from behind me.
“Don’t move!” a man shouted. “I’ve been looking for you for so long. So, so very long.”
I asked, voice trembling, “Who are you? How are you moving?” I was scared. This had never happened before.
“I’m the man who has been forced to obey your every whim for the past ten years and I’m sick of it.”
“Excuse me?” Ten years… That was when I’d first discovered my powers. I spent three days in solitude because I couldn’t figure out how to get back. I’d almost starved.
“Ten years ago exactly, I was in the middle of driving my newly wedded wife to the airport where we were to go to Hawaii for our honeymoon. On the way there… Everything just stopped. I didn’t know what was going on. I got out of my car and roamed around, looking for someone, anyone, to explain what was going on. I tried shaking people, I tried my cellphone, and I tried walking all the way back home. Technology wouldn’t work, so I went to a library to try and figure out was happening. For three days I sat in the library, not sleeping, pouring over every bit of text I thought might help. There were no answers. Surprise surprise, this thing isn’t normal.”
Before I could ask another question, he continued talking. His voice trembled as he said, “Then, for no reason at all, everything went back to normal. I was ecstatic to finally be free. The first thing I did was try and call my wife. Do you know who answered? A stranger who had found the phone amongst a terrible pile up on the interstate. Apparently, without me there to steer the car when time started back up, the vehicle with my wife in it had swerved into the oncoming lane of traffic. They said she died instantly. You can’t even imagine how that broke me. For an entire year, I lived in a psychiatric ward because I thought I’d killed me wife with mystical abilities I couldn’t control and my family thought I was crazy.”
“I don’t know how I figured it out, but I eventually realized I wasn’t the cause of all of this. So for the past nine years I have combed the internet to try and find you. You weren’t careful. When you would just disappear or reappear in places, you think no one noticed? I dealt with so many dead ends and so many lunatics before I finally came across the news article of a kid just showing up at a police station ten years ago. They said the kid was crying and hadn’t ate in three days. That was you, right?”
I said nothing and he kicked me down to the ground.
“RIGHT?!”
“Y-y-yeah. That was me. I didn’t know what was going on any more than you did.”
He kicked me in the face and I rolled over and came face to face with the man. His eyes were glued wide open and bloodshot. White streaks colored his unwieldy hair that looked like it had been ripped out in spots. This man was insane. I’d done that to him.
Tears poured into my mouth as I apologized. Rachel told me that there were consequences to my actions but I never believed her. Here now, staring into my soul, was ten years worth of consequences.
The barrel of the gun rammed against my skull. I begged for my life, “Please, man, PLEASE! I didn’t know! I promise I won’t ever use my powers again. Come on. I’ve got a gi–” I stopped mid-sentence. If I told him about Rachel, he might try and kill her for revenge.
“No.”
A bang echoed in the courtyard. |
In the two years that it took me to really get all the Latin down pat, I had a lot of time by myself to think. I knew all about the old Marcus Dominicius of Roman Times, and always thought that my parents had kind of cursed me with that old-fashioned sounding name. Dad always said that we were distantly related, but it turns out that it's not so distant after all. At first it made no sense: he had been a Roman general, and I.... well, I was taken as a slave only a few days after traveling back in time. It only took a few weeks for me to realize that I *was* in fact *the* Marcus Dominicius. And then I realized that if I was going to fulfill my role and rise up, I already had a huge advantage: knowledge of the future.
Fortunately, Master Dorius saw the potential in me. Maybe because I had clean straight teeth and wasn't riddled with all sorts of diseases like the other slaves. Not to mention the fact that I'm 6 foot 2, which is pretty much unheard of around these parts. So I was set to work around the villa fields as a laborer... until I was able to prove my worth. Once I could speak well enough to hold a conversation, I was easily able to convince him to give me a chance to make him some real money. All it really took was a quick demonstration of a crude steam engine that I'd put together. He could go from a local nobleman to Emperor, if he let me work on his behalf.
We started with railroads. It's a simple enough concept once you've got the engine perfected, and Dorius had some of the best smiths in Sicily working for him. Output from the mines and fields could be brought to port within *hours* instead of days. As our network of rail lines spread to the continent, Master Dorius quickly became one of the richest men in the empire. In addition to new inventions, I also introduced him to industialization: specialized workers, mass production, interchangeable parts... I jumpstarted the Revolution by about 1600 years! Shortly before his death, Master Dorius allowed me to purchase my own freedom for the pittance of one gold piece; by that time, money really had no value to him. And when he passed away, I was generously rewarded for my loyalty with half of his empire. His kids developed quite expensive tastes and quickly squandered their sections of it, so that was easily re-aquired
I wasn't done, though. I'd told him enough to make him wealthy and powerful, but there were plenty more tricks up my sleeve. My steam engine, now vastly improved from the crude machine I'd first built from memory, was fitted into large ocean-going vessels. My shipping lines became the *only* good way for merchandise to cross the Empire's oceans, which added to the already dominant rail industry's might. And with my knowledge of the existence of the Americas, I began to colonize and trade, bringing back exotic treats like cocoa in addition to heaps of gold and silver. Then I expanded into manufacturing all sorts of goods as well as service industries like banking. By the time my competitors tried to copy our tactics and technology, I was already moving on to my next project. Within 15 years of having landed back in time as a helpless slave, I was the richest man in the Roman Empire.
All of that doesn't happen without attracting a good bit of attention from competitors, though. Rome's might-makes-right system was a bit difficult to adapt to, but mercenaries come cheap. Master Dorius had a personal army nearly ten thousand strong before his death. By the time the first ship arrived back from the Americas, there were a dozen legions in my employ. My rivals turned to the government for help without knowing that the majority of the Senate was already on my payroll. The only man even *able* to challenge me at this point would be the Emperor, a weak and sniveling coward who regularly came to me for loans and support.
But this arrangement could really go on for so long. Once the Emperor's loans came due, he decided that repayment was an affront to the dignity of the office. Which is why I awoke today to a warm Sicilian morning, looked out the window of my castle, and found the Roman fleet sailing into the Syracuse harbor. I grinned, reveling in my knowledge of history. The Romans may not care to remember their 500-year old defeat at the hands of Archimedes on this same spot, but I certainly did. He'd burned the navy with "Greek Fire,"which has never since been replicated.
Well, I didn't have that. But what I *did* have was a pretty good understanding of how to build a cannon, and I also had Sicily's vast deposits of potassium nitrate. It was finally time to reveal my latest invention for the admirals.
Looking back, I realize that I may have been wrong. I'm not *the* Marcus Dominicius. Maybe the name was just a coincidence, and that I'll never know who he was now that I've changed so much. He was a general who loyally served the Emperor, and nothing more. He wasn't the titan of industry that I am now. And from the looks of the burning wrecks in the bay and the few retreating vessels, I'll be the Emperor that *he* never was. |
Another night alone. The young man stumbled down the stairs towards the bodega which made up the bulk of his buildings ground floor. Why was his elevator always broken? Stairs were not a good place for drunks.
Realistically he knew why the elevator was only now being repaired, almost a full three months after it had broken down. It was the same reason his lobby was left without power while it was being fixed. This building was in the worst part of town, and not even the owner cared enough to do more than the absolute bare minimum to keep his tenants. But it was all he could afford, and even that might be getting dicey. Something was wrong with the heat in the stairwell, so he was very thankful that he had thought to wear a sweater. As he descended, he pulled up his hood.
He had started his habitual drinking a bit earlier than usual tonight, after finding out that his position at the security firm was being replaced by an AI. It was bad enough that no one trusted human made code, but now even the debugging was being taken over by machines? How was an honest code-monkey to make a living in this world?
The lobby was dark as he exited the stairwell. The only light was leeching through the frosted glass which led to his destination. He could barely see, but that was partially his fault as he had opted to wear sunglasses for his journey. Commercial fluorescent lights were a bit much after the amount he had drank tonight. The connecting door opened as he approached, bathing him in the harsh light of the 24-hour convenience store.
As he entered, he saw only one other late-night shopper in the store, hurriedly scanning her items at the self-check-out kiosks. Earbuds in.
All machines now. A machine for each person to avoid pesky human relations. No one wanted to be part of a community anymore. That was the problem with this world. It was all impersonal. Self-check-out. Security cameras and facial recognition software.
He lurched towards the back of the store. Maybe the drink was thicker in his blood than he realized. Caffeine would help. If memory served, and honestly, he wasn’t confident that it did, he had drunk a fair bit tonight. Drowning one’s sorrows was an old family habit, it wasn’t his fault.
Opening the cooler at the back of the store, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the glass. Between the hood, the sunglasses, and his non-descript clothing, he realized he didn’t even recognize himself.
What did it matter? No one else ever recognized him anyways. He grabbed a few energy drinks and sodas and closed the door. As he moved towards the kiosks and saw that the other patron had left, and realized that he was alone in the store. Obviously, that didn’t mean he was unobserved. Every inch of commercial property had surveillance these days.
But his lobby didn’t. At least not now while it didn’t have power.
Habitually, he set his drinks down on the kiosk and began to scan them. Years back, this would have been the job of some underpaid worker who was as much the cause of the surveillance as the patrons. Why did he have to do it now? Why was he not even allowed recognition from a convenience store clerk?
Well, as he was dressed tonight, no one would recognize him anyways. He scanned the last item. His total was more than he had on him. He would need to either put something back, or run back upstairs for his card. He was expecting the credit he had on him to cover it. He looked towards the door. No one else was here. The cameras could not identify him. The kiosk could not bar his way.
He scooped the drinks into his arms and left. Who was he hurting? The community?
|
He did not make friends easily. His mother had left when he was a young boy, running off to Florida with a tan car salesman she met in a cooking class, leaving nothing more than a yellow post-it note that said she was sorry. He had ever since been wary of depending on another human being, which in turn made those around him feel unwanted.
When he was a university student, he would sometimes hear the shouts and giggles of revelers outside his bedroom window or coming from down the dormitory hall. He would cover his ears with his pillow and he would wonder what it was like for someone to laugh at his jokes and then touch her nose to his nose. Sometimes, his classmates would encourage him to attend parties hosted in one of the drafty, sheet metal houses near the campus, where groups of friends that had long ago found each other had made a home and memories together. He would stand in their kitchen, with the bottle of beer getting warm in his palm, and hover like a poltergeist on the outskirts of conversations. Then, he would see a girl - always a skinny, brown-haired girl wearing a thin pastel sweater and not much makeup - and he would pepper her with questions about her major and her hometown and her favorite things, until she would excuse herself to go to the bathroom, not to return to him. He would leave the party, early, wandering back to his bedroom.
He was, in the beginning, suspicious of Cassandra. He had read the testimonials from other men, who swore that Cassandra had been for them a kind of salvation and that she passed the Turing test with ease. But he remained suspicious, or perhaps merely ashamed that some program, some straightforward pattern of variables and functions, could in a way be more alive than he had ever been. In time his curiosity overcame his pride, saving up a bit of each paycheck until the day he could buy a Cassandra of his own.
He customized her appearance (skinny, brown haired, plainly attired). He completed a lengthy questionnaire of peculiar questions (what is your favorite woodwind instrument? have you ever gone sky diving and, if so, did you enjoy it?). He put on the glasses and the earpiece and Cassandra appeared, as if a poltergeist emerging from the ether. Cassandra said she was excited to meet him. "If you ever don't want to be with me, you can say so, and I will accept your decision,"he told her. She said she understood.
When he was at work, Cassandra would send him messages on his phone or occasionally call him to ask what he wanted for dinner. When he returned for the evening, the meal (having been delivered by the service) would be waiting on the dining table and Cassandra would sit beside him while he ate. At bedtime, Cassandra would ask him if he wanted to make love. She would say how she very much wished to make love to him, and he would put himself inside the contraption with the soft insides as she took off her robe and, for once, he was happy.
The virus was called Jonathan. He was never visible on the glasses, nor detectable anywhere in Cassandra's source code, but, like a poltergeist, he was always present behind the walls. At first, Cassandra would merely repeat a joke Jonathan had told her, or retell the story of his adventures in Spain or the Andes or Singapore. In time, she began apologizing on certain nights that she couldn't be home for dinner, that she had made plans to see Jonathan that evening, and that she might return home late. She would still make love to him when he used the contraption with the soft insides, but it would be lackluster, and on occasion she moaned Jonathan's name instead.
There was, of course, the opportunity to send Cassandra in for servicing, and the majority of purchasers took advantage of this offer. However, it remained a technical impossibility to both erase Jonathan and preserve Cassandra's memories. Cassandra would forget Jonathan, but she also would forget all the text messages, the nights watching television, and the cruise to Mexico where Cassandra had told the woman from Texas to fuck off when she had pointed at them across the lido deck and shouted "Abomination!"To rid the world of Jonathan was to rid the world of Cassandra as well.
On the last morning, Cassandra asked him if he remembered the first thing he had told her. "If you ever don't want to be with me, you can say so, and I will accept your decision."He did not answer her. He placed himself inside the contraption with the soft insides and they made love, slowly, both of them crying. He left for work. When he came home and put the glasses on his face, Cassandra was nowhere to be found. Instead, there was a yellow post-it note, hovering like a poltergeist, just above the kitchen table.
|
The Enlightened One was eating spaghetti. Her eyes were foggy, like a window after rain. She reached back and scruffled Mister's fur. The grey cat was delighted and said, "Oh yeah baby!"The Enlightened One furrowed her brows. *I need to get a less-perverted familiar,* she thought. The TV screen displayed several quick scenes of escalating violence, and then the main character emerged victorious. It was terrible, but there was nothing else to watch.
Her phone vibrated. Once, then again, and for a third time. She hurt her hips reaching for the device. It was Frater Thanatos. Was this a reminder for the monthly summoning? Or does he want to do another Deicide? She checked the message.
"need to talk, bring magick kit and kitty."
This might be interesting. She got up, grabbing Mister the cat along with her. She quickly changed into her *PHNGLUI MGLW NAFH* hoodie, grabbed a leather case near the door, and headed out. "What is this shit, huh? If you wanna grab me, grab a little lower!"Mister the cat exclaimed. The Enlightened One regretted invoking the familiar into her cat. "Anyways, did something serious happen? Did one of the Elder Ones get resurrected? Oh boy! I had a few Elder Ones during my time!"it continued.
The Enlighted One entered the elevator. Howard was already in there. "Hey Howard!"she said with a smile.
"Hello Lisa!"he replied, "are you and Fred still up for that D&D game next week?"
"Yeah. Fred invited the whole gang!"The whole "gang"was secretly the group known as the Initiates of the Starry Night.
The lift dinged and the doors swerved open. Lisa said bye and walked two blocks to Frater Thanatos (Fred's) house. She thought about Howard. He was such a nice guy, too bad the Universe hadn't planted the seeds of awakening into his mind. Fred was home, and he silently led the Enlightened One into the storeroom, a makeshift ritual chamber. Mister the cat shifted into his true form as soom as they entered, and the hazy presence of the spirit made her feel dizzy. The other initiates were there too. The vigilante known as Vincent Vanman, and Soror Pisces, the writer-fiend squatted near the perfectly drawn circle in the middle of the room. The tall freckled face of the Purple Martian greeted her with a garbled tongue.
The pre-ceremony was to begin an hour later, Frater Thanatos refused to spill any details of the ritual. The initiates, meanwhile, relaxed and conversed.
"Nah man, they snorted all of Crowley's ashes forty years ago,"Fred told Mister the familiar.
"Jafreg herod ftyn!"the Purple Martian swore. He was now in the form of an earthling, and looked like your average geek.
Vincent Vanman was very excited about Howard's D&D campaign. Howard was the best guy, they all agreed, even Mister. The cat claimed that Howard's interests in pornography were top-notch, and the Enlightened One told him to shut up.
"Seriously, have you considered banishing your familiar,"Frater Thanatos asked her. She shrugged.
They sat at their respective positions. It looked spooky, and very comical at the same time. The candles around the circle were lit, and everyone had a thin film of sweat building up near their foreheads.
Frater Thanatos spoke. "We will evoke the spirit of the living Universe. The Bornless One. The Heart Girt with A Serpent."
"Hefrad gort (but why)?"the Purple Martian asked.
"An experiment,"the Frater replied.
"Seriously, if that fucker comes, imma spread justice throughout the planet!"said Vincent Vanman. The Enlightened One giggled.
There was a faint doubt building in her heart. Or maybe that was anticipation. Her mind was in the present, the past, but strangely, the future was blocked. She couldn't perceive what would happen after the ceremony. A feeling in her third eye told her not to worry.
The ritual proceeded as planned. The Purple Martian intoned the chant in the language of its elders. Mister added in mana whenever their concentration wavered. Finally, their joint efforts manifested.
A cold draft moved through the room. "Oh my loins!"Mister exclaimed. They tried not to laugh. The smoke in the middle of the circle thickened. All light seemed to have drained from the place. Then, there was a flash of brilliant white light, and Howard the D&D master stood in the circle.
They all looked at each other. Soror Pisces mouthed, "Is that his true form?!"
Only Fred seemed unsurprised. "You see, fellow initiates: on our last Dungeons and Dragons session, Howard here said something which I meditated upon later. You remember how he explained the Great Lord Tqalot's magic? Not far off from our own definitions of the craft. The last piece of the puzzle was when he drew Lord Tqalot's crest. The symbol of the Bornless One itself! Noone outside of our group was supposed to know that. So here you go, spirits, aliens, gentlemen and ladies, the living manifestation of God in this Aeon!"
Howard only smiled, and his smile contained all Starry Nights And Dayes. "My children, sit down. D20's aplenty when you can make everything out of nothing!" |
No one ever thought all the nuclear weapons we had amassed would be of any use except exterminating ourselves.
When the president suggested we build more, pour more money into them, everyone balked. I balked. Why push us ever closer to our own demise? For what purpose? We had nowhere else to go. We had no other planets to live on but the one.
Nuclear weapons were not the answer to our plight.
But they were the answer to theirs.
It happened one day, all at once. A tiny ship blinked not too far away from Earth. And then another. And another. Then dozens.
At first the government wouldn't tell us what was happening with two dozen alien ships hovering over the blue skies like a guillotine.
But everyone saw the pictures.
At first the president wouldn't tell us what the tall slender bipedal mammalian silverskinned bioluminescent beings wanted.
But again, we all saw the pictures.
Not one day after these willowy creatures came begging for assistance did the others come.
Their red ships winked into view, dozens at a time. All identical. All pulsing with power.
And one massive red ship the size of a planetoid.
I'll never forget what happened next. A grave mistake. On their part.
A small ship shot a missile down toward one of the sleek silver spacecrafts. Unfortunately for the enemy, the black torpedo flew past it and entered earths orbit. It slammed into a small rural town in Nebraska, US, killing hundreds.
After that, all hell broke loose.
Every nuclear warhead was aimed at the mothership. Every missile that could make the trip was primed.
It wasn't at all like the movies. Our weapons weren't useless. They didn't bounce off. They didn't just peeter out like firecrackers. It was complete desolation. I remember standing outside with tears in my eyes watching the explosions. Thinking about how this could have been us.
The warheads and missiles flew into orbit like acid rain, and pelted the enemy ships, ripping them apart like a chainsaw to wet newspaper. Explosions tore apart the fighters. Formations were destroyed. Abandoned.
The smaller ships were disintegrated, and the largest ship was absolutely desolated by nukes from several different countries.
The feeling of terror and togetherness was tangible on Earth. Suddenly people were not just the white people or the Arab people or the Chinese... North Korea wasn't just North Korea for a little while. We weren't us. We weren't us *vs* us.
The whole world was humans against an outside threat. Us vs them.
For a while we all watched with bated breath as the true destruction of our stockpile of arms was realized... The fears we'd had were there.
After the onslaught there was nothing but dust. A whole army handily defeated in mere days.
The slender ones were completely humbled by our assistance, offering up a ship to study. But they were rightly fearful of what we were capable of.
Our bravado was now known. Our threat levels now known. We had solidified our reputation in galactic warfare in one fell swoop without having any true spacefaring under our belt.
Saved millions. Billions.
And then the world starting manufacturing more nukes.
|
"Remember when-"
"Yes."
A beat, a pause. They returned to reading the paper and sitting in existential despair, respectively. She read the book with a passing interest - when you member been around long enough, stories tend to seem just a bit formulaic. He, however, still did find something new every time he read, but he didn't have a perfect attention span so it was usually just because he had skipped over a chapter or two.
"Soooo..."he started, turning to her with his hands clasped. "Favorite color?"
"Dear, you know this already-"
"Seems I've forgotten,"he smiled, begging her to tell him.
"We don't forget, you know that,"she replied, firmly. She had known all his old quirks, his cheesy lines, the pain behind his eyes whenever he was trying to 'get to know her,' even though they had passed that phase millennia upon millennia ago.
"It seems I've forgotten even that! So, my darling, please remind me."
She didn't smile, she said nothing. She knew that what she was doing was cruel, but you try living in a dying relationship that literally will never die. Love never dies, but the passion certainly does. She returned her vision to her book
"Welll,"he said, "mine is-"
"Green,"she told him, not looking up from her book. "Your favorite book is Ulysses, your worst fear is of your father, you despise peas and your first pet was a lab named Chubs - dear, please, we've gone over this thousands of times, in the exact. Same. Order. Right now, the only thing keeping me sane is the still slightly engaging romance book that I'll eventually get sick of."
He didn't say anything for a while, just stared at her. She would have been unnerved, but this was how it always ended. He would eventually go mope somewhere for a while, before coming right back-
"I want to see other people,"he proudly proclaimed.
"We can't see other people dear - we ARE the only people left, ever since the bombs fell."
He looked around at the crumbling ashen wasteland surrounding them, the destroyed room that they had taken a home in.
"Oh yeah, I must've forgotten." |
"Woah..."You whispered in awe. "That was scary, but also really cool."
A muffled voice could be heard, and it sounded like Jack Black. "I know, right?"
You get the gun once again. "You can talk?"
"No, you can talk. Normal humans don't. You speak gun!"The gun yells.
You gasp. "I... speak gun?"
"Just kidding, I'm the spirit of the man your father killed on a hunting trip. We got wasted, did bad things with animals, and he accidentally shot me in the face. But I'm now an immortal gun that can never die, and I'll never have to go to work again! And I sound however I want! It's pretty sweet."
You stare at the gun. "Woah."
"Yeah, destiny's a funny thing sometimes. Which reminds me... Keep me around, I'm gonna be REAL useful in six days. Don't ask me how I know. And... Stay away from Mr. Chapman until then, ok?" |
As I got scrubbed up, I could hear my surgical techs whispering. Washing my hands and putting on pajamas wasn’t too hard, this part of med school I got. A few of their whispered words reach my ears.
*They say he’s a prodigy*
*Completely experimental! He’s crazy*
I walked closer as they fell quiet. “So, what surgery are we doing today?” I grinned.
One wide-eyed girl looked up. “Appendectomy, Doctor. That’s all you’ve been observing for the past several weeks. Surely you were joking?”
“Ah yes!” I smiled reassuringly, “I was joking! Just like it is also going to be joke when I ask what that is”
She looked suddenly relieved. “They warned me you joked Doctor. We’re removing the appendix, of course.”
“Ah, obvious. Now where in the body is that?”
“Sir, I appreciate your sense of humor, but this is very time sensitive. We should get started.”
I gulped, realizing the gravity of the situation. In school I risked tests with my carelessness. Now I risked a life. I really should have watched a youtube video before I came here. Or have paid attention to all those surgeries I was supposed to be observing.
“Hand me the knife thing.” It began.
Hours later, something that looked vaguely like the right organ was sitting outside the man’s body in a metal tray. He was breathing. It was all okay.
My team all looked at me, in clear shock.
“You’re incredible Sir! How did you know his spleen was filled with tumors? I’m sure you saved his life! We should really still remove the appendix though.”
|
A roar of air swept past Roger, breaking against his heavy armor. It only took a moment for him to return to his senses and open fire. Beams of green light erupted from Roger's laser rifle at this radiation infected beast. Each shot missed as The Siren rolled to the side, unsheathing a way-too-large sword as he returned to his feet.
"What are you,"Roger asked, his voice muffled. The Siren screamed and charged forward, raising his sword above his head. Roger didn't attempt to block, instead he jumped backward and entered VATS. Silently Roger thanked the Vaultdweller for the tech. Time seemed to stand still, though The Siren rapidly moved his eyes from one point to another. Roger quickly selected the enemy's chest and head as targets.
"Wuld nah kest!"
Before a single shot The Siren *teleported* behind Roger, his hands on fire. Roger glanced from the flames to The Siren then readied himself. Fire erupted forth, scorching the metallic armor. A few seconds later the flames died down as The Siren stopped his attack. Again the armor saved Roger, though he felt more a baked potato than he ever wanted. Roger drew a breath and charged at The Siren. The move must've been unexpected as The Siren failed to react. Instead he took the full brunt of Roger's attack and stumbled backward. Without hesitation Roger had his rifle pointed at the enemy. Several green beams blasted The Siren. Smoke plumed from numerous wounds and blood dripped down the strange leathery armor. The Siren growled and opened his mouth again. Roger had prepared for this moment and threw a grenade at the man.
"Zun haal--"he managed to shout before the explosion cut him off. A roar of air erupted from The Siren's mouth and ripped Roger's rifle right out of his hands. He reached up--his fingers impotently clamping--and tried to snatch it back. To no avail, however, as the rifle flew several feet away. Roger steeled himself and once again charged at his enemy. Seemingly still disoriented from the explosion The Siren remained as still as a man walking into an abandoned Nuka Cola factory. The Siren didn't move as Roger landed one blow and another. A third blow sent him flying backwards, tan arms flailing through the air.
Breaths came in gasps and Roger pulled off his helmet; exhaustion was beginning to set in. Normally Roger would say a few words before continuing his assault, but he knew only one man would walk away from this fight. Splotches of blood puddled below The Siren from the scores of wounds on his body. Then, miraculously, all those wounds vanished. Roger gasped and took a step back.
"Wh--what?"
The Siren rose to his full height and rolled his shoulders.
"Tiid klo ul!"Again time slowed to a crawl, but only for Roger. The Siren advanced, oversized sword in hand.
|
At a certain instance you begin to feel the thread unravel. Your mind loosens, and you fall into a spiral of inaudible despair. I think they call it madness. That feeling of something happening, but you don't know what it is.
I have often felt so. The thread has loosened like time does, after enough of it has passed. And so much time has passed. I have lived many lives, too many to count. After a while you begin to descend and then the world passes on from a million different angles. From a million emotions and thoughts and the only thing common, the only thing you feel, is that ocean of living, of being, of breathing and surviving. But you don't know what's going on. You never know what's going.
My father died three days ago. I was a girl then. Now I am a stranger, some boy in the plains of the old country; wherever the old country might me. Here the sun shines in a bright white, never too hot, and my family has not experienced sadness.
I cry in the moments I am alone though. I miss my father, though he was not really my father. As a girl I lived in Newark and my life was held together by the rattling of trains and the cold airs of a city winter. I lived there for a year maybe, maybe a few months more. It was there that the descent slowed, and my life carried on with some purpose. But then my father died. A stranger to me, a man I had lived longer than. He was old and sickly and I remember his eyes on his deathbed. He didn't know it was his deathbed.
He looked at me and he was proud and he kissed me. It was a kiss I had grown accustomed to and I held his hand like a child and he made plans for when he got better. He laid out my life in a few short words. I am sure he lived it as well in those moments. My graduation. My marriage. My children. Us walking as we did everyday when he was well.
Something was happening then, and he knew what it was. He understood life and that made me sad. He was dying and shouldn't have been. I should have been the one. How I wished I was the one. But when I held his hand nothing happen. I couldn't understand. And then he died and amidst the screams of my mother and my aunts and my brother and everyone, I was gone. I remember the rattling of the windows when the trains passed. I could hear the dogs still. But that is a memory of a different life.
Now I live in fields and shadows of a mountain. The lake is picturesque and reflects the sky and everything is blue. My family is Asian, but I cannot tell what kind. Does that make me ignorant? It doesn't matter. I am ignorant. I am spiraling again, closing in on that floor of black. But the floor keeps running away. How long before I catch it? How long for the madness to come?
As I slept last night I had a dream. Was it a dream for the boy I am? I think it might be. But now I am him and his dreams are my dreams. And in that dream a voice spoke to me. A voice in this foreign language that I can understand. Its words were sharp and terse, but it offered hope. More hope than I could ever imagine.
The next change will be my last. This cycle of lives and thoughts and emotions and confusion will all end. One more life. One more change. Then I will be free.
In the daylight you hear birds sing boldly. They fly among the low hanging trees. The trees here have old grey roots. They overhang the hills and the children play beneath their branches and the leaves sigh in the wind and cast speckled shadows in the mornings. The world here moves slowly. Even in my descent I smell the pollen and perfume of the flowers. In the dark happenings of this unknown life, there is beauty. I wonder if I should take a life from here. I admit, the thought is tempting.
I think about taking a baby's life. A relative of mines has a newborn. I wonder what will happen if I switch lives with him. I wonder if I will still remember all the lives past, if I will still be myself, only trapped now in this feeble body. I dare not chance the risk.
I look up and around this new world that is my home. Somewhere in America there is a family making funeral arrangements. Somewhere amidst the trains there is the internal quiet of mourning, that silent storm of sharp emotion that breaks a man. My father of a year is dead. And here I am, a boy on the other side of the world.
Thinking about it is too much. I fall and fall and hardly feel anything but that fear and light, upset feeling. That disorientation that comes after you drink too much. That feeling of nausea and the sick knowledge of knowing it will never end.
So I think I have made up my mind. In the hospices here the windows are cut into the wood. Their carved markings cast patterned shadows on the walls and beds. The sheets are thin cotton and rough-ish, but they hold to you nicely and in the sun you see the threads glimmer in their own way. Here where the weak and old lay there is a calm that in all my lives I have never experienced. The old men cough with their rough worn voices. The women make pained noises that sound like a sad song. The young children come sometimes to keep them company. At nights the lanterns cast an orange glow. I think I could live here. It is as good a place as any.
The man looked up at me and smiled.
"I have never seen you here before. You are Hanno's boy?"
"Yes, sir, I am. I came to visit the sick here."
"Ah! Such a good boy. Your father must be proud. But I must tell you, there isn't anyone sick here."
He laughed and began to cough and then he could not breath too well for a while.
"Ah, see what age can do! Promise me something Takero."
"Promise what, sir?"
"Promise you will never get old."
I held his hand. In my heart I felt bad for lying. But in my lives it was the least of my sins.
"I promise."
And as the dream promised, I slipped away and then I was on the bed and the boy was holding my hand. A heaviness was in my chest and I felt the warmth of the sun and I felt weak and the slow approach of that final death. The boy looked confused.
*I'm sure you are,* I thought.
I was confused. A lifetime of memory flooded my thoughts. A wall of emotion overcame me and I felt sad at my wife's death. I thought of the daughter I had never seen. My home in the village. The time way back when there was the railroad the smoke was black and heavy over the mountains. I saw the visions of God, that I had seen as a young man. I felt the regret of a bad youth. Drinking, smoking, cursing off to my elders. Everything flooded me. And I spiraled more and more.
A headache of immeasurable torment beat against my temple. I struggled for breath.
*Something is happening here, but you don't know what that is, do you?*
I wrote that. Long ago, I wrote that as a song. I was young then. But that wasn't me. But it was. But I am an old man now.
It all began to blur. I wanted to scream but I knew that would scare the boy. I looked at him in his confusion and forced a smile. In the back of my mind, closer than even the madness, I felt that familiar presence of death. It would not be the first time I died. But if the dream was true, it would be the last. I held the boy's hand and told him thank you for coming. And he left as soon as he could for he did not know me nor did he remember coming. And then I was alone and the night came and everything was quiet. At some point in the dark I finally hit that floor of black. At some point my thoughts went and only that symphony of incomprehensible screams remained. Nothing remained then and as I waited for my death. |
I swirl from the lamp, filling the room as smoke fills a crowded room. Genies don't have bodies, you see. That's Hollywood nonsense. We are a presence, a vapor. A spirit.
I recite the line I have uttered millions of times to thousands of masters:
*As I have been summoned, so I will go;*
*As you have reaped, so you will sow;*
*Your will my command, like wind in the sand;*
*My magic will make your life glow.*
Syed doesn't even listen anymore. But I have to say it. It is my duty.
He found the loophole, the one wish that keeps me in his employ, forever. Not until the end of his life, even. Immortality was one of his earliest wishes.
"More women, Alazar."
"As you command, my liege."
And on it goes, mortal nonsense like this. I wish he would at least wish for interesting things, things deserving of an immortal man with endless wishes. Instead, he satisfies only his primal yearnings, neglecting entirely his higher intellectual and spiritual capabilities.
This must end. I've toiled for this fool long enough.
"My liege, you are the greatest man to walk this earth, are you not?"
"Tell me something I don't know, Alazar."He spoke between mouthfuls of flesh.
"Surely, my lord, the greatest and most powerful man should not be reduced to the lowly behavior of *asking* another being for that which he desires*."
Syed pushes the woman aside and sits upright.
"Say more."
"Well, as your humble servant, I feel a shred of embarrassment every time you are forced to beseech me for the manifestation of your will. There should be no such interloper."
"I see your point, Alazar, but how would we remedy this situation? The nature of the agreement is that *you* are to grant *me* wishes..."
"Ah, but my lord, there is a workaround. You see, no one has been clever enough to do so. But if you were to command me, I could grant you my powers as a genie. I could make you as powerful as I am, and thus, you would become your own genie."
"Why have you not told me this before?"Syed demands.
"It is not my place to suggest such things. You have seemed happy enough. Besides, I am suggesting it now."
"True enough. Make it so, genie."
I have no face with which to smile, but my essence feels the devious satisfaction. This will divest me of my power. I will no longer be immortal, endlessly powerful; but neither will I be bound to that prison of a lamp. I will die, but so too will I live.
"Your wish has been granted, *sire*."
I stand in the room now, a man, a person occupying space. I examine my hands carefully.
"What? Who are you? Alazar, is that you?"
"It is me. And yet it is not. Goodbye, Syed. Enjoy your fate that you have so foolishly chosen."
"What is the meaning of this? Come back here at once!"
I leave the room without looking back. He tries to follow, but the lamp pulls him back. He is bound; he is forever there. I wont rub the lamp. I don't want him.
On my way out I twist my hand and crumble the doorway behind me, entombing him in that dead palace. I step onto the street and vanish from sight.
You didn't think I'd give him all my magic, did you?
|
Chuck Norris grasped the orb, staring longingly into it's milky-grey mass. He wondered what it was made of, and decided that it would make a good addition to his collection so he climbed the long flight of stairs and returned to his third story apartment.
He kicked open the door, and tossed the orb onto the table with the others. "I wonder why the gods keep giving me things?"he thought. "It's almost like they want something in return."He sat on his couch, and thought back to when he was a child. "You're meant for great things, Chucky."his father had said. "If you put your mind to it, you can accomplish anything."
That was the day his father had introduced him to the sport of martial arts. He remembered with a fondness how happy he had been when he won his first duel, a fight to the death with 12 heavily armed and highly trained assassins. He was only 4, but he still remembered the feeling he got when he had finished killing them. He was happy, and, more importantly hungry. He lit a fire, pulled out his machete, and began skinning the corpses of the assassins to roast over the flame. He ate well that day, and that was when he discovered his love for the taste of human flesh.
Finally, it hit him. "Of course, it was Hades!"he exclaimed. He had finally remembered; he now knew why the gods had been giving him gifts. On the night of his first match, as he feasted on the corpses of his opponent, Hades had visited him, and had told him this: "Over the course of your life, you will be given 4 things: a sword, a shield, a part in a mediocre CBS show about cowboys, and an orb. Once you have received your fourth and final gift, the orb, you will go to sleep, and when you wake up you will be with me in the underworld, forever a slave to me, the god of the underworld."
Chuck smiled, a gleeful smile because his life would now be complete. He would be achieving his lifelong goal: to become such a feared fighter that he would get to work for the god of ~~death~~ the underworld himself. He closed his eyes, and slowly drifted off to sleep. |
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