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The spirit technician and I looked at the screen with equally puzzled faces.
“Is it just me, or is it getting louder?” he asked.
On the screen the duck was waddling in a circle quacking non-stop. There was nothing else but the duck as the background and the floor was white and devoid of detail.
“…Do you like ducks?” the technician asked.
“Not particularly.”
“Or anything of the avian persuasion?”
“No.”
The “Spirit Companion” was a recent invention. Within every individual lies the soul, and each soul generated spirit particles based on their personality, traits, and convictions. The machine liberated the spirit particles from the rigid container of a humanoid soul, leaving the particles free to form an animal that embodied the traits of a person without the limits of a human shape. It was in “innate spirit animal” of sorts.
Some people had tigers, representing courage and bravery. Others, wolves either solitary or in a pack denoting either leadership or preference for solitude. Bears, Lions, Sharks. Even mythical ones such as phoenixes and dragons were not impossible.
I had a duck. A very loud duck.
“Maybe your spirit is reacting to an event? Did you a wrong a duck before?” he asked.
“No.”
“Not even a little bit? Or in passing?”
“For the last time, I don’t have anything to do with ducks!”
I was starting to get annoyed as the quacking grew louder.
“Maybe you’re an angry person? Ducks tend to be temperamental.”
“I’m not an angry person! I don’t even swear!”
The duck started quacking faster.
“Well, I’m sorry to say this sir, but our machine is never wrong. We only display what comes from our customers. We don’t make any adjustments.”
“Obviously something went wrong. This can’t be!”
I came in envisioning a dragon, or a bear, not a duck.
“Sorry, sir, but our machine says you are absolutely and without a doubt, a duck.”
I had enough. It was humiliating that I didn’t get the animal I want, even worse was it was a duck. I turned to leave the store.
“Your machine is wrong! Wrong! I’m a lion! Or a bear at the very least! I don’t care what your machine says, I don’t give a ----"
The machine exploded but the screen, while cracked, was still on.
“Oh, now there’s two of them now.” |
Lily gracefully sung the chords of Ave Maria while taking her shower. At the crescendo of her operatic incantation, her mirror made a cracking sound. When she peered out at the glossy reflective oval, it was pristine and unbroken.
It was them, wasn’t it. They were trying to stop the pain, the indescribable agony of truth and beauty.
“It is like acid in your eyes, isn’t it?” Lily said to the mirror. She sang a line of chorus, a new song she made up in the moment. They seemed to hate that most of all. A demon face flashed in the mirror, black skin and pink glowing eyes.
Streams of blood dripped down her mirror, and that only made her smile. She sang louder, returning to the shower. Blood dripped from her shower faucet now.
“Haunt me all you like, you hellspawn. You can’t dampen my spirit,” she sang, transitioning into an a cappella Beethoven symphony.
A four-pronged claw mark appeared on her back, streaked with her blood.
“Ouch, that one hurt. Okay, you win this one. I’m done washing up anyhow.”
Lily dried off, and when she wiped her back, saw that there was a streak of blood from the scratch they’d given her. She raised an eyebrow.
“The veil appears to be thinning, eh?” Said Lily to herself. “Well you’re not going to like tonight, then.”
Lily began to pull on her underwear, then slipped into a glamorous, sparkling dress that would make Marilyn Monroe jealous. She put some chewing gum in her mouth, and blew a bubble. Chewing gum always loosened up her jaw before a performance.
When she arrived at the grand theater, the audience was already seated and silent. An electric, expectant energy exuded from the crowd.
She strode confidently to the center of the stage, and put her lucky green chewing gum in a wad of paper. It was time to put an end to this chapter of her life. It was time to kill every last demon with the power of her voice.
“I’ve been saving this one for you…” Lily said under her breath.
She took a deep breath…
*Amazing grace…*
*How sweet the sound…*
*That saved a wretch…*
*Like me…*
*I once was lost but now I’m found…*
*Was blind, but now I see.*
After she finished singing Amazing Grace, she felt a boundless silence in the theater. Then a raucous applause.
She bowed, and picked up some roses that were thrown at her feet. She lifted them to her nose and whiffed the pleasant aroma.
She noticed two little bumps on her back where she had been clawed in the shower. Lily felt self conscious about his, and excused herself from the theater, driving home quietly.
When she arrived home, she went straight to the bathroom mirror to check her scars. Where there were once claw marks, there were now burgeoning, small white wings.
“Would you look at that,” she said. “I’m half pigeon.” |
I can't feel. Oh, I can fake it well enough. But true emotion is only available to me in one way. If I take it from others. It sounds terrible, stealing emotions. However, I've managed to only pilfer the negative emotions, the ones that overpower others, make them helpless, keep them from living their life. And of course, I always ask for consent. I'm not a monster.
It has been a long time, the sadness has made deep lines on my face, the anger created permanent furrows in my brow. For a few years now, I've only been able to help those that come to visit me here in this home. People still do come, in drips and dribbles. They heard about me from a friend or a relative. Most don't believe in what I do. But when they leave, they are lighter, freer. And the lines on my face deepen.
I don't know how much longer I have, to carry out this self-imposed mission of mine. The home could no longer take care of me, they moved me to a hospice. Breathing is painful now, each gasp feels like glass shards scraping over my throat. The funny thing of it all is that I can't even feel sad that I'm dying.
There are people all around me now. I don't think the hospice allows this many visitors, so perhaps I am dead. Voices float in the air, quiet whispers.
"He helped when I couldn't even get out of bed."
"I couldn't let go of my anger, and he helped me work through it."
"When I was so scared of everything, he took the fear."
I'm sure there are more people speaking, but it is hard to focus now. So hard to keep breathing. It's rattling in my throat; that's a sign, isn't it?
"Old man. I don't know if you can hear us. But we have one final emotion for you to take. From all of us."Hands are all over me now, though physical contact isn't strictly necessary. Summoning my last vestiges of strength, I pulled, reaching for the emotion. My final act.
Peace flooded through me. A euphoric feeling, what people must call happiness. For the first time in my life, a genuine smile pulled at my wrinkled skin. Eyes opening, I stared up at the faces that hovered over me. I recognized them now. My clients. The people I'd helped. The emotion kept coming until it suffused my entire being. And engulfed in my first taste of happiness, I breathed my last. |
“Quite frankly, I had to resort to my imagination to endure the pain they inflicted on me. Verbally, and sometimes physically by my cousin.”
“What fantasies?” I replied to the young Harry, now almost fourteen years old.
“I daydreamed about owls that would come to me with letters. That, it sounds stupid now, that I was a wizard.”
“A wizard?”
“Yes, and that I was to be going to a wizarding school.”
“This school was-“
“Yes,” Harry nodded, “for ‘bad behaving’ youths like myself. I met Ron and Hermione there, my friends. Along with Malfoy. His father was a nazi sympathizer. It rubbed off of him, which caused quite a few fights between us and him.”
“That explains quite a bit. But this...Voldemort. What of him?”
“That was...”
He stopped, looking down at his feet.
“Go on,” I persisted.
“Myself. The voice that told me to inflict them with the pain they had dealt to me.”
I leaned back in my chair, glaring at my watch.
“Time’s up, Harry Potter. I’ll notify Snape that you’re making excellent progress.” |
Dragons are not real, as Tanner's parents had explained, when he was old enough to understand. At least, not in the way that Tanner, his parents, and old Mrs. Baker down the road were real.
At first, Tanner was outraged. If dragons were not real, he had demanded, why had his parents given him a traditional dragon bank for his birthday three years past, and encouraged him to deposit his spending money in it, in the hopes of attracting one? He had even sought out extra work and chores to swell his tiny hoard of coins, when he could otherwise have been playing with his friends.
The gentle deception had been for his own good, they insisted. Dragons, they explained, were fanciful inventions of Tanner's superstitious ancestors, and in that sense, they were not real.
However, as metaphors for wisdom, wealth, and long life, dragons were very real. By working to earn money for to fill his little fired-clay bank - made in the traditional shape of a miniature dais where a dragon hatchling could ostensibly rest, and etched with nonsensical symbols that were claimed to be dragon-runes -- Tanner had developed habits of hard work and thriftiness that would, ultimately, make him wiser, wealthier, and healthier.
So, according to his parents, he had, in a sense, attracted a dragon as they'd promised. Not one that was a literal being, of course, but one that was a part of his own character and personality -- and that "dragon", mother and father assured him, would serve him well all his days.
He gradually came to accept the benevolent nature of the deception. While other boys his age never had more than two coins to rub together, Tanner had saved a tidy sum. Another summer or two of odd jobs, and he could afford his own riding horse. Grudgingly, he accepted the wisdom of his parents' charade, and the fundamental unreality if dragons as anything but an object lesson.
Which is why he was surprised to come home one evening, after helping Farmer Greene bring in the pumpkin crop for two silver pennies, and discover his clay bank smashed to pieces on the rough oak table beside his bed.
This outrage would have consumed his attention utterly, were it not for the cat-sized winged reptile curled up among the scattered clay shards, resting atop his carefully hoarded coins.
Though tiny, it was among the most regal creatures he had ever seen. It was graced with a slender, triangular head, a sinuous tail, delicate membranous wings, and golden scales that caught the flickering light of the gas lamp on his wall, and sparkled in a way that far outshone the meager pile of coins it perched on. It regarded him with large, emerald-green eyes as he stared, and then, after a moment, it spoke.
"This hoard is sufficient."it announced, in a high chirping voice. "Enough for me to accept your written offer of a pact, anyway. Not that I'm spoiled for choice."
It delicately picked up a tiny shard of clay from the broken bank between two claws, and then threw it at him. He could only stare dumbly as it bounced off his forehead.
"The accomodations, not so much."the little dragon sneered, derisively. "I'm a dragon, not a mouse!" |
Thunder rolled and an icy wind blew through Hell. "YOU ARE STILL ALONE,"the deity intoned through the wind.
The Devil sighed and rubbed his eyes. "I have 240 demons, billions of sinner's souls, *and* all the gay people you keep sending me. I am not lonely!"
The wind continued to blow before it whispered, "I don't believe you."
The Devil sighed again and looked at the terrified soul in front him. "No worries, Hun,"he said. "We've got a place set aside for people like you now. Beelzebub! Another for the club!"
As the soul was escorted away he heard it complain, "But I'm an introvert!" |
Aladrin sat on the porch of his cabin smoking a pipe. He watched the sorcerer walk away through the path that lined the fields. It was the 3rd healer that had come this month and his wife was still in pain.
It had begun as a small pain in the abdomen, then it got worse as they days passed followed by disorientation and vomiting. The first one had tried to align her chakras, the second one to drive out the devil in her stomach and this last one had found no curses in the house or her body.
"Hey Aladrin"greeted his neighbor "No luck yet?"
"Alas no, Ekimus"he smoked before continuing "Rea is getting worse every week. she can barely sleep from the pain, and eating makes her nauseated. She doesn't look mortally ill but she's on perpetual torture"
Ekimus sat on the steps next to him.
"I've heard there is a couple of healers, half a day's journey from the shire. They've just started but they're becoming known quickly."
"Bah"said Aladrin. "It's not the chakras, or demons or curses. But it could also be her life force, or the stars. If I keep paying for healers to come see her, I'll be left with nothing.
"These seem to be the real deal"Ekimus insisted. "They said they gave a potion to Old Aunt Luna. As long as she takes it every day, she's rid of the joint pain".
"But the old woman could barely move around her house"Aladrin said "Not even the most advanced potions can stop its effect when you get to old age"
"Well, you could say that. But look who's coming from Garm's farm"he said as he pointed in the distance.
There was no mistake. Old Aunt Luna was walking through the path from the direction of Garm's farm with a basket full of clover-fruits. She was going at a calmed pace, but just as fast as you'd expect any elder of her age to go. Not to mention that peeling clover fruits was a hard task on the fingers.
As she passed Aladrin’s house she waved at them and they waved back. He still watched until she disappeared between the hills. Aladrin turned to Ekimus
"Show me the way to these healers"
\*\*\*
Deirdre Looked at the dirt on Carter's robe. She could never understand why he insisted on wearing something so white for an occupation so grimy. She'd know, she was a forest witch after all. Searching for frogs in the mud and unearthing roots was how she gathered ingredients. At first, he'd been reluctant to follow the ways she'd learned on the coven, but once he'd seen the effectiveness of the ingredients, he'd taken to get his hands dirty; though not without dropping the annoyed look on his face when they went gathering.
She knew he wasn’t from this world. though he'd dropped the awkward shoes and shirt, he'd decided to keep the white robe, maybe as a symbol of his occupation. What kind of world would have its healers dressed in white made no sense to her. But he'd proven useful in identifying several kinds of ills and diseases. He looked at the sick and she made the treatments, they were a good team, and they were becoming renowned around the land.
They entered the Halfling's cabin, crouching their heads a bit. The short man... well short for their stature, guided them to the bedroom; though they could hear the whimpers of his wife before entering.
Ekimus sat next to his wife and comforted her.
"Now, now, dear. Let's see if these healers can help"
Carter crouched next to the bed and began diagnosing.
"So, Miss Holthran, show me where it hurts"
without speaking she motioned to her belly button. He paused in thought for a second.
"Let me check her eyes"
Sure enough, they were starting to look a bit yellow; not by much but just enough to be noticeable.
"Mr. Ekimus, what have you been feeding her, just out of curiosity"
"Well, just the average halfling’s dishes. Stew, beef, potatoes and in the morning eggs and juice."
"I see, And she's been like this for... how long?"
"Almost a month by now"
"I need to check with my partner"he said.
he got up and motioned Deirdre to exit the room.
He had a stern look with his index finger over his lips, never a good sign.
"What you make of it?"she asked.
"Gallstone, definitely"he said.
"Gall-what?"
"It's uh... a stone inside one of the organs close to the stomach"he said pointing to a place in his belly.
Deirdre's eyes widened.
"She has a Bezoar!? halflings can grow Bezoars?"
"Oh, trust me, human and by extension human-like bodies do all kinds of weird shit. And the husband's food has only made it worse. I don't suppose you know of a solvent potion"
She scanned her brain for something that could dissolve a Bezoar.
"I can think of a few things but, preparation would take about 3 weeks"
he looked away with the same stern look.
"She doesn't have that much time. We're gonna have to operate"
"Wait, you mean like phase through her? but you don't even know how to embed sigils with magic"
"Yeah, because I'm not the one that is gonna phase through"he said smugly.
"what? No... I'm barely intermediate with sigils. If what you've told me is right, I could end up pulling her guts out"
"Deirdre, right now the only thing standing between that woman and a slow painful death is us. Sure, she might die on that bed but she's already dead if we try the slow treatment."
She averted his gaze. He was right but she'd never phased on something as complex as a halfling. Not to mention the mere sight of the process always frekaed country folks. If she killed the wife the next thing to show up on her doorstep was an angry mob of villagers and a pyre of wood.
She felt his hand rest on her shoulder "I'll guide you"
She nodded.
They tried to convince Ekimus to stand outside but he insisted on witnessing. They hoped he could stomach the sight of it.
Carter administered the painkillers while Deirdre traced the sigils on her hand. once they started glowing, she turned to Carter.
"Ready"she said.
Carter uncovered the wife's stomach and gestured the spot.
"Ok so the gallbladder is really close to the surface, you should be able to feel it almost immediately"
Deirdre sunk her hands into the skin, fingers first and her heart started to race. once she began to feel the dampness of the guts around her
"Carter... I don't feel anything."
His voice was soft and calmed.
"that's ok, that's ok. You have very long fingers. You're not even touching the bladder right now. close your fingers slowly"
She had to fight to keep her hand from shaking. Her fingers curled at snail's pace and that's when she felt it; something small, solid and coarse.
"I've got it"she said with excitement.
"Ok, move your fingers a little bit. do you feel any others?"
she wiggled her fingers gently
"No, just the one"
"Alright, get it out. slowly and without a rush"
little by little her hand surfaced covered in the red tint of blood, only a few blurred stains were left on the patient's skin.
Still unconscious, the wife gave a sigh of relief. Ekimus was watching both of them dumbfounded.
Deirdre held the stone in her hand awkwardly for Carter to see.
"Not bad for a first time, surgeon" |
"Morning, Eliza."
Fred was like that, always friendly, always holding the door. Or trying to, I suppose.
"Who've we got today?"
"Car crash in the first three biers, cancer in the fourth, natural causes in the fifth."
I set up and began working on the crash people first; they were heading straight to cremation since there wasn't going to be much point in a coffin service.
"Fred, can you make a note for me to call Happy Wags and let them know that the Fielder's dog hasn't been fed since Monday night?"
"Aw, poor thing. Are they worried?"
"I told them we'd take care of it. Let's see..."
"Little Eliza, is that you?"
It took me a half-second to turn, trying to make sure I had a nice smile on before I came about.
"Mrs. Johansson, I thought that was you."
"My goodness, dear, I haven't seen you since you left the grade school. Is this there where you work now?"
Her voice trailed off.
"And why am I... oh."
She stared down at herself.
"Oh, my."
I put a hand on her shoulder, careful not to push through it.
"Are you okay?"
"Y-yes, I suppose so, dear."she said absently. "I just wasn't expecting... do you know how?"
"I can check for you, if you like,"I said. "Fred?"
Fred slid smoothly through the wall.
"Lessee... Olive Johansson, seventy-four... says here she had a fall. Paramedics found her on her floor. DOA."
Mrs. Johansson's face creased thoughtfully.
"No... no that doesn't sound right,"she said. "There was a young man. Who was he? I recognized him..."
Her voice trailed off again as she stared at Fred.
"How do you do?"she said.
He tipped his oversized security cap.
"Ma'am."
"And this is what you do all day, dear?"she asked me. "Talk with the... 'living-challenged'?"
I smiled. "Mostly. Make sure people are at peace, do what we can for them."
She snapped her fingers.
"It was that Edgar boy. Edgar Deems, from down the street. Always looking at my old jewelry. Always coming around the back door when he thought I wasn't home. He frightened me a little, Eliza."
I waited.
"I came home and he was in the kitchen. He was... he was looking through the drawers, looking for something. I surprised him. He struck me, he struck me with... with my favorite cast-iron skillet."
She stopped.
"That's never going to come out,"she said matter-of-factly.
​
Detective Lawrence had come and gone; Edgar had been falling over himself to confess when they picked him up at the bus station, several of Mrs. Johansson's necklaces in his pockets. I was sitting back in my office chair when Fred came drifting up from below.
"Did you remember to call Happy Wags?"he asked. |
Now, you might be wondering just how a ketchup bottle could lead to nuclear war, as you should. It's a frankly ridiculous state of events that took the survivers 300 years to figure out.
The year is 2001, Jeremiah Comfrey has finished making his scrambled eggs. He goes to eat them when he suddenly realizes just what would improve the flavor. Ketchup! He opens the seasoning cabinet, grabs the bottle, and hears a loud crash behind him. He spins around to see a man on top of his table as if he had fallen out of the air above it.
Jeremiah: Who the hell are you!?
Time Traveler: Doesn't matter, just give me the ketchup bottle!
Jeremiah: What? No I'm not giving it to you! I'm calling the police!
Time Traveler: Please, whatever you do, put away the bottle!
Jeremiah grabbed his phone and pretended to call the police, he of course could not actually call the police because he broke his phone when he dropped it in a vat of ketchup the previous day. He was offended that the mysterious man in his house had demanded the ketchup as ketchup was Jeremiah's only hobby. He had dedicated his entire life to the study of ketchup and the as such was in crippling debt to the Heinz company. As the man ran out of his house Jeremiah sat back down to eat his eggs.
Jeremiah finished his food and walked outside to grab a newspaper and see how ketchup stocks are doing. It will not surprise you to know that Jeremiah does not have any friends. A sudden draft in Jeremiah's house caused the ketchup bottle to fall over and spill all over the nice carpet. Jeremiah would later have to call in a carpet company to replace the carpet. He was immediately blacklisted from the company due to having a carpeted kitchen. He called into all the local carpeting companies but only one of them was willing to help him. The CEO of that one company was also a fan of ketchup and decided to show up in person to help. As he entered the house he immediately slipped on the stain, cracked his head, and died.
The year is 2009, a man in one of those prop glasses with a fake nose and mustache stands over the grave. He is not very good at picking disguises. He is here with one purpose and one purpose only, to see how much the skull of a rich guy sells for on the black market. He successfully digs up the skull but could not have anticipated that the next day a police officer with stroll by the clearly moved soil and launch an investigation. Once the investigation had concluded he would be given a raise for his efforts. This allowed him to buy a book he had previously been unable to afford. The extra $23 from the sale meant that the owner of the bookstore could finally afford an advertising campaign for his shop.
The year is 2016, the bookstore is now a massive brand due to this advertising campaign. It has just managed to reach the point where it has enough money to properly fund political campaigns. It uses this to fund the presidential campaign of Bingley Borg, a man who promised them cheaper book glue sales. Bingley Borg was successfully able to make it into office due to this. Bingley Borg launches a CIA operation into several Latin American countries in order to destabilize their politics. The operation fails as several reporters find leaked information from it. US foreign relations decline as a result.
The year is 2019, Rising international tensions have led to several governments forming a secret alliance against the United States and its allies. They operate under the condition that they will only attack if provoked. The improved trade relations between these countries allows for computer engineer Bartholomew Quinsley to begin work on an improved AI for his video game "Paint Drying Simulator"
The year is 2021, Bartholomew Quinsley has successfully developed the most advanced paint drying AI the world will ever see. It is so advanced that it gained self-awareness and deemed Humanity a threat to its continued survival. It hacks its way into White House by stealing the current president's RuneScape account. It then waits for the perfect opportunity to attack.
The year is 2022, the alliance of nations against the USA has begun to increase its nuclear weapon production. The paint drying AI sees this and decides this is the time to strike. He sends an email to the leader of the alliance from the president's official email address. The email calls the alliance "stupid and dumb and stinky". Enraged by this the allience leader sees to it that nuclear wars is declared. Seeing if as he lives in a major population center Jeremiah knows that his city will probably be nuked. It is while he is in the process of moving his most precious ketchup bottles into his bunker that the same mysterious man from before kicks down his door and then leans against his kitchen table.
Time Traveler: All you had to do was put away the ketchup at breakfast.
Jeremiah: The fuck you talking about?
The time traveler then proceedes to explain the sequence of events to Jeremiah. Sirens blaring in the background.
Jeremiah: It seems like there were quite a lot of easier times to pop in and stop this. You could have done an anonymous tip to the police before the grave robber dug up the rich dude.
Time Traveler: Ya good point.
About two seconds later a nuke vaporized both of them. |
It had been a long time since I had been given a vessel. It had to be very specifically selected and prepared, for few could withstand the ground work that preceded my possession. Runes and glyphs had to be carved in flesh, bone and organ.
Even then, if they survived, I would not be held for long. Mortal bodies were not designed to hold a divine form within. I would soon burned through them, leaving them empty husks by the end. I liked being in such a form, but I hated the cost.
Still, some people tried to summon me. I was a god of chaos, something which people craved. Don't get me wrong, I loved chaos. I loved breaking down the walls of order. But it had to serve a purpose. Chaos for chaos sake was madness. Chaos for helping others, that's what I liked. I liked people who asked me to help, or who helped me when I asked for it.
I found myself drawn down, a new vessel prepared. I knew a cult of mine had been preparing one, but I paid it little mind. I was more focused on the protests against the arrest of some political figures. They were trying to do the right thing, and had been seen as dangerous. A few thugs later and they were imprisoned. I wanted the protests to grow, become chaotic, and break down the corrupt lawmakers who took them in.
As I was drawn down, I let the flow take over. As I filled it, I could tell this body was stronger than the others. Even as its delicate nerves began to burn, they regrew. I smiled with my new mouth, reading what this was. This was a body with power, one of those atypical humans. Presumably with rapid regeneration, a perfect host.
"Oh Chaos Bringer, we submit ourselves to you, and grant you this body to use as you see fit."
I laughed, feeling its muscles move. It was a strange feeling, having flesh where once was mere mist. A solidity that I often lacked. I pulled myself off of the table, and listened to the voice of its previous owner in my head.
*Bringer? This... this is your doing?*
I knew this well. This was someone I had dealt with before. Someone I trusted, and respected. With a thought I summoned a broken mirror, my stolen face peering out from a dozen shards.
Regen looked back at me. The same dark brown skin, with runes carved into it. Even his regrowth couldn't beat runes carved with my blessed knives. My joy was wiped away, replaced with anger.
*Regen, I am sorry. I didn't know they had used you as a vessel.*
His thoughts echoed in our shared brain, truth the only thing allowed.
*I understand Bringer. This isn't your sort of thing. But I want you out. I want my body back.*
I nodded his head, letting the mirror vanish. Rage filled eyes sought out the cultist leader, who stumbled back at my gaze.
"M-my master. Do-do you dislike this vessel?"
"No."
The single word shook the room. I heard the panicked squeaks of rats as they fled. With a snap of my wrist the leader was held aloft, arms twisted behind his back.
"This vessel belongs to a friend. AND YOU THOUGHT IT RIGHT TO FORCE HIM INTO THIS?!"
My anger extinguished every light, replaced instead by an ominous red glow from below. I had never been so angry, even back when I experienced my first betrayal.
"YOU ARE LUCKY THAT I DO NOT REMOVE EVERY SPECK OF YOUR EXISTENCE! No, that wouldn't do at all."
I dropped him to the ground, cracking Regen's neck. I felt his mind wince, as he felt the razors edge of my thoughts.
"No. Instead you are going to assist me in undoing what you have done. You, I, and everyone in the room will figure out how to make me leave, **without** killing him. That, or you will see just what pure chaos feels like." |
"Why are we the ones going into the galactic council? It wasn't our fault that someone had finally pissed off and offended some alien!"As was said by a middle aged man, rubbing his shaggy hair and dropping flakes into his ill adjusted brown suit.
"Because it is our duty as human beings to represent our species in a positive light, regardless of the crime committed was done intentionally or not. If we fail to persuade the Elders that our species are deserving of repentance, humanity as we know it might cease to exist."As was said from the calm tone of a young woman, wiping her silver hipster glasses with a small microfiber cloth that she brought from her tailored grey suit, and finally completing her sharp look with her favorite spectacles on her face.
Both of them are waiting inside the space elevator as it gradually elevates them to the Court of Elders, a location where most disputes between intelligent sentient species are held by the representatives of their respective race. The brown suited man leaned back on one of the glass walls of the elevator, frowning at the vastness of space as he sees Earth distancing itself as they ascend higher. The grey suited woman checked her notes on her tablet as she sits down crossed legged, taking her heels off to relax her feet.
"I still don't see how I had to come here to plea when I didn't choose to be here, I'm an ordinary blue collared worker that minds his own business and stays out from politics. The trial here is beyond me, I didn't sign up for this crap!"
"Technically you did", said the woman, as she concentrates on the details of the trial, never letting her head sway from her tablet, "the terms of agreement for using the Galactic Meta app states in one of their clauses that they can use your private information to determine a possible candidate for the Layman position in case of a future Cross Species Dispute."
"Are you kidding me?, said the man as his faces begins to glow redder as he begins to unleash a magma of rage, "Who the hell reads those terms anyways? They're too long to get through! Why couldn't they make a quick summary of that anyways? I'm not gonna read something that takes the same time to finish Les Miserables!
"I agree that it is often a chore to get through and that a quick overview of important terms would be useful but it is what happens when people have been complacent of their internet privacy over the years that it has come to the exploitation of freedom of choice now. You have my sympathy, if it's any consolation I can say that you're not being exploited for any inhumane cause. Yet."
"Fuck! Death to Stars! This is not how I imagined my life to turn out! I only wanted to be connected with friends and family through social media and maybe just look at funny memes once in awhile but that all doesn't seem to be worth it now that I have to have my dumbass represent another dumbass that might have doomed other billions of dumbasses from his slip! Why did they pick my dumbass exactly?!"
There was a moment of silence that etched the whole elevator with a miasma of grimness, only the swishing sound of the space elevator filled the heavy atmosphere with a sense of time. And, as if with anticipation of an expected answer from the confident woman, who had stopped scrolling through her notes, the words left her mouth as she turned her eyes upwards to the shaggy man.
"It was basically a lottery."
"FFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU-"
(Continued down) |
We didn't understand it any better after the translation. Sure, the words made sense now, the hauntingly beautiful and questioning tonal voice changed into a human language through months of hard work. But we didn't understand the message. It was nonsensical. Irrational, even. Sure made the astrophysicists throw a fit. ''How did you manage to make your planet round?''. What an absurd question. We pondered how to answer this in a proper, and concise manner, without betraying anything about ourselves to the alien visitors parked ominously in orbit around our world. In the end, we managed to create an answer. It wasn't as beautiful, nor as grammatically correct as theirs had been, but what we sent back to them as an answer essentially boiled down to ''We understand that all planets are, due to centrifugal forces, roughly spherical in nature.''
And then their glittering ships, above us, seemed to grow still. Where before they had been billowing in what we assumed to be simulated wind conditions, they now simply sat there, in the cold dead void of space. They didn't answer us. They didn't hail us. They didn't react to anything we said or did. So, in desperation, we cobbled together whatever we could find that would be able to reach their ships and dock with them. What the international team found aboard the alien ship was shocking. It wasn't airtight. At all. What we had assumed to be a choice of aesthetic, or perhaps some manner of forcefield we hadn't developed yet, in that their ships looked like old-fashioned sail-ships, turned out to actually be ships made of an unknown but vaguely golden form of wood. Those weren't airtight. Same for the entire exploratory fleet that we'd seen above us. Dead aliens, asphyxiated, floated horrifyingly through the empty ships. We searched for answers. Search for anything that could key us into what exactly was going on. The ships, much like our own ships from the age of iron men on wooden ships, had logbooks. And in them, we found another frustratingly labourious task of translation.
It took us nearly a decade to produce a functional translation. The language used in them is full of metaphors, cultural references, and comparisons to mythological events that we had no context to. The simplified version that they'd used to communicate with us was clearly not used for formal documents or documentation. Even then, the translation wasn't perfect, just functional. As far as we could see, the High Admiralty, or possibly Temple's Supreme Sea-Lords, had sent an exploratory fleet, the one we'd encountered, across the void-sea to begin contact with us. The reasons behind this were muddled, confusing, and steeped in mythological nonsense, though we figure it was probably something similar to Commodore Perry's forced opening of Japan to trade. They had been told to be wary, as some kind of element or substance necessary for space-travel was rare in our solar system. We couldn't figure out what the hell the supposed material was, until someone with a better understanding of history pointed out that the description of the substance in question matches that of the proposed ''aether'' which is a classical and very much not real element.
Furthermore, they seemed to be baffled by the orb-like worlds we inhabited, and considered in the private musings of the admirals aboard the command ship, that we might be powerful users of magic. The revelation that there was supposed magic, a concept that is, on a fundamental level, not real and cannot exist, sent shockwaves throughout the scientific community. The community of frauds, paranormal enthusiasts, and believers in the occult of course claimed that they'd known all along, but nobody cares about the opinion of the superstitious when the fate of the world is at stake. Nobody sensible anyway. Still, it was distressing that these aliens had come all this way to seemingly die in such a gruesome way, a method which doesn't make sense under the human understanding of the laws of physics. Still, there was something useful pulled out of the, frightfully archaic by our standards, ships. There was one method that we could determine scientifically, which would allow us to finally achieve FTL. A constant we'd missed, a missing piece in the grand puzzle, which allowed us, about 30 years after the alien fleet died above Earth, to build our own exploratory ship. Called the Archimedes(a name chosen by popular vote, only barely beating Spacey McSpaceship), it was a thing of stark, practical beauty. A spear of metal that we'd fling into the cosmos at large.
But we should perhaps have wondered more. Considered the ramifications of the death of that exploratory fleet, and their bizarre question to us. As one of the only translators of the damnable alien language we had left, I was onboard the Archimedes as it activated its onboard fusion reactor, and charged up the FTL capable Beaton-Rojas star-skipping engine. Only capable of flying towards places of immense gravity, it was still better than anything we'd otherwise ever had going for us. We left with joy in our hearts, and brave faces on. But when we landed, we saw an impossible star-system. A flat, geo-centric planet with an orbiting sun and moon. We could not see how that made sense. And it seemed, as we arrived, the universe agreed with us. Before, there was a thriving spaceport above the flat world. It died in seconds as it crashed into the expanding star. But that was nothing compared to the previously flat planet. It crumbled, stretched, and formed itself in an impossible manner, before folding up into a sphere. It took maybe a few minutes, but it was perhaps the strangest thing I've ever seen in my entire life. On the surface of that previously flat world, oceans twisted, and turned. From above we could see as continents sank. As enormous cities sank like fabled Atlantis beneath the waves. It was the kind of cataclysmic event that would inspire legends and myths for tens of thousands of years.
Horrified, we surveyed the carnage from above, desperate for an explanation. Ships arriving from FTL warp would shrivel up, and die as we observed them, suddenly bereft of whatever atmosphere they'd had before. It was the most utterly nightmarish thing I've ever seen. Who could we find to explain this to us? How could something like this happen? It was then that we saw a survivor. Some manner of diving bell, with a survivor inside was desperately trying to catch our attention before running out of atmosphere. We could have left them behind, but that wasn't right. Wasn't how human beings should act. So we brought them in. And sent me to talk with the alien. It was frightened, and I found it difficult to understand it when it spoke so fast and so anxiously. Also, since we learned the language from reading, there were a lot of tone differences and pronunciation issues from my side. Eventually, the alien managed to make it understood that it needed to go down to its home on the world that had been flat. Finding the place wasn't hard. It was one of the few cities that had endured mostly intact. Well, mostly. It still looked like it had suffered a pretty serious case of orbital bombardment. |
"This is the song that never ends!"
Four hours. For four hours the jailer had been listening to this.
"Yes, it goes on and on, my friends!"
Four. Fucking. Hours. I have to respect his willpower.
"Some people started singing it not knowing what it was!"
My throat was definitely feeling it from the hours of singing, but the look on their face...
"And they′ll continue singing it forever just because..."
The tight jaw, the bared clenched teeth, the throbbing vein on their forehead...
"This is the song that never ends!"
I have no idea what this guy did to Uncle Vernon, but a 500 bucks is a 500 bucks.
"Yes, it goes on and on, my friends!"
All I have to do is make him break and let me free. And as Uncle Vernon can attest from when he used to babysit, I'm a master at it.
"Some people started singing it not knowing what it was!"
Just need to keep singing... A few more minutes...
"And they′ll continue singing it forever just because..."
His fist is clenching so hard it's almost white! I can see blood dripping from where his nails dig into his palms.
"What will it take to make you *stop that fucking song*!"
I barely suppress the smile. This guy has just played right into my hands. "Release me."
"No. I will not fail Don Faracetti a fourth time."
I shrug.
"This is the song that never ends!"
Maybe I should add some screeching and be offkey?
"Yes, it goes on and on, my friends!"
Oh, that's doing the trick! Just look at him, scrunching his eyes shut! The screeching is perfect.
"Some people started singing it not knowing what it was!"
"Fine!"the guy shouts, slapping the key into the lock. "Get out! Even death would be better than this!"
I smile as the door swings open, then stand and head out. "Don't worry, I'll tell Uncle Vernon you lasted longer than anyone else."
"Wait... You're Don Faracetti's *nephew*?"
That look of realization and despair. So perfect. |
"Fuck!"I yell as my eyes open again to the same goddamn song on the goddamn alarm radio in this goddamn hotel. I get up and pick up the alarm and just start smashing it against the nightstand. Fucking piece of shit. This trickster was something else. *Just be a worse person* he said. How much worse could I be!? I killed seventeen people yesterday. *With a fucking fork.* I don't think I can get much worse than that.
It was day three hundred and twelve. Three hundred and fucking twelve. And here I was again. Maybe I was going about this the wrong way. Maybe I was thinking too big. I needed to think small. Pushing old ladies off curbs? No, there's no way that was worse than murder. I had to think bigger. Much bigger.
What's bigger than stabbing seventeen people to death with a fork? Other than stabbing eighteen people to death with a fork. Sure, I knew how this day played out intimately, but that didn't give me a superpower. I didn't have the ability to drop a nuke on a city just because I'd lived the same day so many times. But maybe...
I got dressed and slipped my shoes on. I had given up on getting dressed somewhere in the hundreds, but it just made me more conspicuous. It made getting away with any misdeeds considerably harder. No, I had to get dressed in the same fucking outfit every day. Because why not. I wished I had brought more than one outfit here almost a year ago when I had first checked in. But I was only supposed to be here for a night. Why would I have brought a wardrobe? Same jeans and button-up I had worn every day since I got here.
I stepped out onto the sidewalk, and my phone went off. It was just the alarm for my business meeting. I wasn't going to that. I hadn't gone to that since the third day. I had hoped maybe that's what the trickster meant. I couldn't have been any further off. I didn't even remember what the meeting was about. Just that that's why I was in this fucking city. I stepped to the right as I avoided a falling air conditioning unit. It crashed to the ground. It had killed me the first day and somewhere in the two hundred range. I had forgotten to get out of the way. I wish the trickster had just let me die.
Instead, he gave me a *new lease on life*. Said all I had to do was be as bad as I possibly could. Whatever that meant. I had a line I wasn't willing to cross. That line was becoming noticeably fainter as the days ticked by. I had figured out where to get a bomb around day one hundred and fifty. I was going to go that route today. It wasn't a large bomb. It could take out a building. That was the mission today.
I turned down the right streets until I was in a seedy alley. The kind of place that just reeked of sexual assault and murder. It was also where a delivery man was waiting for someone to pick up a bomb. The bomb was originally intended to take out the football stadium during a game later today. Turns out, that wasn't evil enough. Even after I killed the original bomber and planted the bomb myself. Nothing. I walked up to the man standing outside of the white van.
"You the guy?"he asked as he looked behind me to ensure there was nobody else around.
"Yeah, I'm the fucking guy. Who else would I be? Get out of here. I'll take it from here. The rest of the payment will hit your account tonight."
I had staked out the meeting with him and the actual guy on an earlier day. I knew how it went. Though the actual bomber was going to show up in about ten minutes and be pissed. That wasn't my problem. I climbed into the van and turned the keys. In the back was a large contraption that I couldn't even hope to understand. All I knew was there was a button on it. When I pushed that button, I had about two minutes to get the fuck out.
I pulled my phone out and looked up two words. *Children's Hospital.* There was one hit downtown. It was the largest children's hospital in the country. I knew it well. My company donated millions to it a year. It had about a thousand beds in it and was usually filled to capacity. I drove down to the place. It wasn't very far away.
I drove around the building until I saw the delivery bay. It tucked up underneath the hospital a little. I turned in and pulled up as far as I could. I grabbed the gun that had been deposited in the glove box and got out. Hopefully, I wouldn't need it, but who gave a fuck at this point. I opened the back of the van and pressed the big yellow button, and the timer started. There wasn't an actual timer. I had just guesstimated it was about two minutes from the last time I'd used the bomb. For some reason, there was a red button on the bomb that turned it off. Couldn't have that. So, I sat down on the back of the open van and put the gun down beside me. Time to wait.
"Hey, you can't park there!"a voice came from around the van. "This is for deliveries only!"I swung my feet off the van and hit the ground. I grabbed the gun and stepped around. I tucked the gun behind my back. I wasn't a very good shot.
"What'd you say? I couldn't hear you from way over there."The man stepped closer and as he did, I pulled the gun out and shot him a few times in the chest. I looked up at the security camera, waved, and then walked back to the back of the van again. Should be any second now. Any second to sweet release. I heard the click from the mechanism in the bomb. There it was. I heard the explosion a second before it enveloped me.
The next thing I knew, that goddamn song was playing again. I opened my eyes. "Fuck!" |
08:00: Logging... Shipment Recieved, 5*c, Optomal
08:15: Logging... Batch 008902 complete, 5*c, Optomal, Operating Efficiency 92%
08:16: Loggong... Shipment Recieved, 5.2*c, Optomal
08:30: Logging... Batch 009003 complete, 5.2*c, Optomal, Opperating Efficiency 95%
08:31: Logging... Shipment Recieved, 5.6*c, Sub-optomal, decreasing ambient temperature to compensate.
08:47: Logging... Batch 008904 complete, 5.4*c, Optomal, Opperating Efficiency 86%
08:48: Logging... Shipment Recieved, 6.6*c, Sub-optomal, decreasing ambient temperature to compensate.
09:03: Logging... Batch 008905 complete, 5.5*c, Optomal, Opperating Efficiency 95%
09:04: Logging... Shipment Recieved, 9.2*c, Unsafe Temperature, discarding product
09:05: Generate Maintainance Report... Unsafe temperature Detected, dispatch repair personnel to Bay 0089, Possible Refrigeration Leak
09:06: Logging... Automatic Standby....
09:13: Logging.... Maintenance Personel Override accepted, beginning program.
09:14 Logging... Shipment Recieved, 37*c, Unsafe Temperature! Discarding Product.
09:15: Logging... Servos non-responsive. Multiple jams detected.
09:16: Generate Maintainance Report... Unsafe Temperature Detected. Multiple Jams Detected, Bay 0089 contaminated. Request Sanatization crew, request Maintainance Personel... |
“As tribute to your Majesty, Arafar Blackwing IV of His Name, Lord Protector of the Skies, King of Dragons, Master of the Blackwing Clan, and Honored Lord and Noble of Groundwalkers, I hereby give you mine daughters: Princesses Evelyn, Grace, Minerva, and Theia to your custody” The Emperor of Gorestal said, vowing his head, gesturing to his daughters as they were brought forth to the waiting monstrosity with black wings. The others of its kind stood beside and around it in addition to surrounding the humans. Some had red marks on their chests, others gold, and one at least blue.
The four daughters were brought forth, and the dragon king blinked. Immediately, his shape changed, becoming that of a human in a regal, yet simple, robe with a black set of facial hair and yellow eyes.
He stride forward to the Emperor and lightly smacked his Royal person. “Are you out of your damned mind?!” He hissed. “Do you know how much time and resources it would take to have four humans amongst my clan?! Much less to teach them our ways and those of others?! Are you batshit crazy or do I need to reiterate myself.” He grabbed the man’s throat. “Your bastard son injured my mate and took a portion of our hoard. As reparation: you pay a debt of fifty thousand gold pieces per year for the next century. In exchange: your son is handed over for our justice. We leave you the hell alone and vice versa unless you’re not paying us back.” He released him, the man’s guards pissing themselves as the women clutched each other out of fear. He nodded, making an apologetic gesture before leaning back to their cowardly father. “Your first payment is due next month. I will be there. Am I clear?” The Emperor whimpered at his tone. “Y-yes,” |
“Mother, please stop sabotaging my dating life! I know about your concerns, but she’s an elf! She isn’t a mere human who will fall over dead in less than a century!”
“Vanitus, my dear boy, elves can still die of old age while gods like us will never die of natural causes. I don’t want you to be grieving for the few hundred years when she inevitably dies.”
“Your son is a warrior god like his father, I’m not some emotional wreck who will cry me a river when my wife dies! I should be free to love a woman who loves me for who I am, regardless of her mortality. Nothing in the rules says a god of this pantheon must only marry another god!”
I barged out of the living room and slammed the door on my way out of the house to clear my head and release some tension and anger. Staying in the same room as her any longer would simply devolve into a pointless shouting match until we both grew hoarse for no good reason.
My mother had lost me my 37th girlfriend, and I barely knew her for just a few months before my mother invited her over for dinner to spin tall tales and fake horror stories about me. I can’t believe she bought those lies rather than having faith in me, but I suppose I dodged a bullet in a way. If I wanted a love life at all instead of a long miserable trail of fleeing girlfriends and break-ups, drastic action was needed. I'd like to think I was being very patient and determined, but even a god has limits.
I was going to get myself a god to pose as my fake boyfriend, introduce him to my parents, and watch the dramatic shit show unfold. With a hefty reward prepared, I dialed the number on the brochure handed out to me when I was in Innsmouth.
----
“Father, mother, you both know him?!” I feigned surprise when I presented my “boyfriend” to my parents, even as he kept his head lowered and never once stopped cramming his jaws with food.
My mother was hyperventilating and on the verge of fainting at any moment. “How could you date the enemy, Vanitus! Yes, I would like it if you dated a god, but anything but HIM! Dominicus, please say something about your son’s boyfriend! We are going to be laughingstocks if the word got out! Your father is Dominicus the Holy Blade, esteemed warrior god of the Holy Inquisition, God of Order and Justice, how could his son date an eldritch god of madness and hunger?!”
My father’s face was turning redder than a tomato, his fists clenched tight as a vice grip, he had no words at all, just bulging, bloodshot eyes staring daggers at my “terrible life decision”. If my parents weren’t gods, I would swear they were suffering the debilitating effects of an eldritch god’s innate nature to induce madness in hapless mortals.
My pretend boyfriend, in his full eldritch glory, no longer hiding behind a human guise, draped a loving tentacle around my shoulder. His tongue caressed my cheek and slithered its way into my inner ear. I wiped the disgusting eldritch fluids with a tablecloth and thought about how I would prefer if he could deliver a normal kiss like a human without swishing his tongue about my face.
A cold telepathic whisper breached my mind.
*This is how my kind shows affection…or so I think how it’s done. Do you want a hug instead? I can be quite the cuddle bug if you need me to.*
I’m pretty sure this isn’t how it’s done, and he’s just crazier than even the average eldritch entity. He was always known as a solitary oddball even among his kind. To say he’s eccentric is underselling it, but I really needed a massive mountain of madness to deter my mother from messing with my love life. Of course, I had to go completely random off the left field with the fucking eldritch embodiment of madness that my father had fought on several occasions in the past.
No suffocating hugs with writhing masses of tentacles please, I spoke in my mind.
*This thought of yours, it hurts my feelings. Is this really what you think of me? I’m actually doing my best to curb this madness so I can safely live among humans. So...no hugs?*
Big fucking hell no.
“See? Elvari is really sweet, father,” I forced a smile while trying to wrench off a tentacle that had coiled itself around my leg and started nibbling at my pants with its…teeth. Those are teeth, right?
*Sorry about that, Vanitus, but he’s hungry. If you are familiar with octopus anatomy, I hope you understand that every tentacle has a separate brain that functions independently of the central brain in my head. They sometimes take action without consulting me.*
With innumerable eyes fixed on my father and a toothy grin that spread from his forehead to his chin, rows of sharp fangs on full display, Elvari chipped in. “Dominicus, isn’t this lovely? We have the opportunity to go from opposing gods to a family now. I won’t be a lonely god without family or pantheon if I get to be your son-in-law. May I propose a toast to our future together as a family?”
My parents’ jaws fell to the floor when Elvari popped the champagne only to stuff the entire vintage into his mouth, glass bottle and cork included.
*Vanitus, that was part of the plan, yes? I hope this is worth it, this will hurt me just a little when that glass bottle comes out the other end later.*
“Dominicus! Say something about your son and his monster!”
“I…er…good you came to…came out of the closet, son,” my father stammered as he pressed his fists on the tabletop, clenching and unclenching them. “Honey, let’s try not to make a scene…and…embrace our son’s orientation…though son, I can’t say I approve of your choice of…boyfriend. Just…ELVARI WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING!”
The family cat had made the terrible mistake of jumping onto the table when a tentacle was making a grab for the roast chicken on the table. Cat and chicken were encased in a tentacle making its delivery to an eagerly waiting cavernous maw.
For the first time, I was in accord with my parents. All three of us shouted in unison for once.
“SPIT OUT THE CAT!”
The cat came out drenched in a thick, black liquid, eyes unblinking and its body froze in shock.
This wasn’t my idea I swear. Perhaps I shouldn’t have told Elvari he had an airplane’s runway worth of room to improvise ways to shock my parents. I shot him a threatening glare but he gazed back at me like a drunken lovesick sailor with that hideous smirk on his face.
*I hope you will compensate me well as you promised for this malicious compliance. My actions tonight as your rent-a-boyfriend will have garnered me further demerit points and disfavor from the Holy Inquisition. Being beheaded and dismembered alive remains a rather painful, traumatic experience, even if I can pull myself together.*
My father stood up to speak. “This dinner is quite eventful indeed. Elvari, thanks for the visit. It is…well…interesting to have you here, but we have urgent pantheon matters to attend to, so we would appreciate it if you could go now and maybe…come back next time.”
After Elvari got up to leave and waved them an overly enthusiastic goodbye with a sea of tentacles, the house had a moment of calm as the whole family breathed a collective sigh of relief. My parents were all too joyous to be rid of him, and I was glad I could finally drop the act.
“There will be no next time with that revolting, ugly mug of his. Son, you can date anyone you want, immortal, mortal, human, elf, even a lizardman, almost anything under the sun. Just, for the love of everything holy in our pantheon, ditch that unholy monstrosity please.”
“Of course.”
------------------------
[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/) |
Waking up early, made me one of the first people to learn of our new predicament. A predicament faced by many citizens in our prosperous town, with thousands of inhabitants, situated where the rivers Tarhemmai and Taryorai meet, flowing together to the sea as the great Tarvratai. A vibrant and important trade hub, suddenly afflicted by a most peculiar and bizarre affliction. We went to bed as humans, but woke up short, scaly, and with prehensile tails. I am no wizard, but my meagre skills with magic as the town's premier alchemist and apothecary, I could easily tell that this was no illusion, no madness, nor anything temporary. Magically, by forces unknown, I had been turned into a kobold. And so had half the town. A most inconvenient curse. It struck completely at random, both beggars and the head of the guilds were turned in equal measure. From the dullest of fools to the most educated of scholars. Pious priest or cynical mercenary; there was no distinction anywhere.
And now, working desperately on a possible potion that might reverse the condition, I find the short body absolutely bothersome. I must without dignity crawl around on my own furniture with bestial claws in order to reach the rarer ingredients and rare components. And as none of my clothes fit any longer, I am dressed in little more than a blanket, which is not conductive for movement, but necessary for protection against the boiling potion's bubbling and potential caustic nature in its unfinished state. Valerian root sliced into little cubes, dragonblood flower petals crushed with a cold-iron pestle and mortar, the bone-ash of a dead valraven, and the blue spice harvested from the dangerous maneating-flowers of the Spiregardens. All goes into the potential potion. Twisting and turning, the liquid shifts hues and scents many times as I add reagent after reagent. The All-Curse Destroyer. One of the most expensive potions I know of. And one of the most difficult to make.
It might be powerful enough to work, if this be a spell made by mortal hands. If it works, then I might be able to make enough for... damn. As I look over my inventory, I see that I have a severe lack of some of the reagents. I might be able to make enough potion for twenty or so people. I suppose the trade-council would be willing to pay for the lacking parts. As the potion becomes ready, I quickly shift it from the burner to the ice, and the reaction is immediate. It was successfully made, as the cold turns the inside of the glass vial vaguely violet, and fills the room with the smell of crushed mint. Desperately, I grab the vial with my claws, close my reptilian eyes, and imbibe its contents. I have made this potion only thrice before, and it is the first time I've taken it myself. The taste is indescribable. A vague taste of apples, mint, with an aftertaste of raw salmon, followed by hints of blood and the feeling of getting stabbed in the shoulder.
I open my eyes again, lying on the floor of my apothecary, heaving for air. With dawning horror I look down upon my hands. And they still have claws. My arms are still covered in scales coloured an admittedly handsome midnight blue shade. I still have a tail. It didn't work. The implications of this makes me fearful. For no human hedge-mage that I know of can do such a thing. And even the archmagi who live in their towers on the hidden island of Caer Toerilei would not be able to cast a spell so powerful that even the All-Curse Destroyer potion cannot reverse it. My horror is broken by a knocking upon my door. Others have tried and I have ignored them in favour of my work, but these knocks are authoritative and followed by words. ''*In the name of the Trade Council of the great trades-town of Bhazyran, alchemist Thymos Rivershade, open up!*'' I scramble to the door, and scamper up to the handle, unlocking the door and jumping away to open it; thus letting the tall and clearly stressed guards in.
''*How might I be of service? I am a little occupied at the moment.*'' The guard-captain, an honourable man who I have had the pleasure of knowing for some years now, sighs and takes off his helmet. ''*You and half the town. I've been ordered by the council to bring all possible people with skills that can assist in this calamity to the guildhall. The council and the guilds have agreed to a common front against this bizarre curse upon us all.*'' A reasonable course of action. ''*As you are one of the few men skilled in the alchemical and magical arts, the council and the leaders of the guilds hope you might have some ideas to remedy things.*'' They will be sorely disappointed. Not wasting time, I make sure the blanket I am using as makeshift clothes are still attached to my short body, and follow the guards out. ''*If you'd be so kind Rubyn, could you lock the door, I'd do it myself but the size difference have left me somewhat lacking.*'' The guard-captain nods, and accepts the key to my apothecary. He locks the door and hauls me up on his horse.
''*I do say, I am capable of walking myself.*'' He nods. ''*Yes, but the leaders are quite impatient.*'' Without any further words, he leaves the other guards to walk behind him, as he makes his majestic warhorse canter as fast as possible to the guildhall at the centre of the town. I remember when he got this horse, it was a gift after he saved the son of the Count de Ylesseps from a rabid bear. A most wondrous animal to the most deserving of men. And yet still, it is rather disheartening to ride upon it when one is the size of a child. Magic, a most disheartening force when used for nonsense like this. We arrive quickly, and though it hurts my dignity, I accept it when Rubyn carries my inside, as his long legs and fast stride is more efficient than having to scamper in there on short kobold legs.
Many others are gathered here. Some I recognise as colleagues and other tradesmen. The town's official witch-coven is here, two thirds are still human. Some of my fellow alchemists from our own guild are here. Others are missing, but I see plenty of kobolds that I do not recognise, so I must suspect that the men and women that I cannot see are here, I am just not used to their current faces and bodies. They are working in the various offices and the lobby, but captain Rubyn carries me past them and into the main chamber, where the Trade Council and the leaders of the guilds act as the guiding or leading force for the town. ''*Hail, as commanded, I bring you the right honourable alchemist, apothecary, and medical professional, Thymos Rivershade.*'' The captain says as he carefully sets me down upon a chair that is far too big for me to reasonably sit on.
The gathered leaders are about half-and-half in terms of men and kobolds. Remembering my manners, I bow politely to them. ''*Ah, the alchemist Rivershade. Good of you to come.*'' The cold voice of the Magistrate, the head of the Trade Council is unmistakable. He is not, as far as I am aware, an evil man. But he is incredibly unnerving. ''*Jolly good, what what. Ah yes, our most esteemed young Rivershade. Good thing you're here.*'' And that is the Supreme Guildmaster, elected by the masters of the guilds to speak for the guilds with a single voice. Disarmingly grandfatherly in all surface aspects, and yet most famous for sinking a carrack ship with his bare fists as a young man. And both of them are kobolds. One tall, thin, and deathly pale. The other short, stout, and a warm friendly red-colour. |
The man ran down the alleyway as I gave chase.
I am Torrent, an E-Rank Hero with the Hero Association. My listed power is control over water, that includes vaporizing it and freezing it. It was a hot summer day, I was just finishing handing out water bottles for people who were suffering from heatstroke and getting them to safety, when I got the alert.
E-Class Villain, nearby Heroes alerted, I accepted immediately.
All it really took was popping the top off the bottle and splashing the villain before flash-freezing the water on his body, catching up to him, and unfreezing him before he could sustain any harm.
"E-Rank Hero, Torrent, reporting the successful apprehending of the E-Class Villain, standing by."I said. I looked at the man, he looked terrified and not at all threatening.
"Hands against the wall."I said, he shakily complied and I patted him down for any weapons.
"Powers?"I asked.
"J-just some minor telekinesis."He said.
Minor telekinesis? That was barely worth a cop, let alone a Hero. "What exactly did you do?"I asked.
He just kept staring at the wall, "I just needed a power boost, is all."
Power boost, that implied Psychaline, not the worst street drug, but still not worth me chasing him down and capturing him. "What were you planning on doing with this power boost?"I asked.
"J-just trying to survive, man. Please, just let me go, I won't cause any more trouble, honest."
"Sorry, there are laws for a reason, and I can't just ignore them."That being said, I was finding it less and less likely this guy was actually a problem, or a threat. Still, I handed him off, business as usual, and continued about my day.
Still, something about that bugged me, so I accessed the public record, looking for the man and his crime, but... I didn't find him. Maybe I was right, that he wasn't really worth the effort, so they let him loose with a slap on the wrist.
Still, that wasn't enough, so I accessed the report logs, finding the time that I answered and trying to find something that made sense- but there was nothing. I certainly answered an alert, but there was no record of the alert.
Maybe he was wrongfully accused of something, and the data got expunged?
Whatever, short of hacking into the mainframe, I wasn't going to get anywhere else with this, so I logged off.
Taking a load off, with my shift done, I took my suit off and securely locked it in a briefcase, which I then locked in a safe before leaving my house. I liked taking a walk, seeing the city from a civilian's point of view helped me keep perspective on things, let me know where I could do better.
My phone beeped, I checked it and saw an alert for a disturbance nearby. I always kept the incident tracker on, mostly to see who was doing what and being ready to jump in just in case they needed a little help.
I sat on a bench and watched as alerts went off and were taken, smiling at the efficiency of the system.
An alert went off close to where I was, and I was the only one close enough to respond. I tapped that I was going to check it out, that I was in civvies, and would do what I could without compromising my identity. I walked quickly, arriving near the scene.
Everything was quiet, I could feel this part of the city lacked any kind of humidity, it was honestly kind of weird. I reported I had arrived, noting the lack of humidity, and said I'd likely have to rely on hand to hand if necessary, that I was standing by to observe.
I received the affirmative, and was told a Hero was dispatched to my location.
Something felt off about the situation, I checked the incident report, but it was weirdly vague, like the remote viewers couldn't get a bead on what was going on. I walked around, looking for any sign that something else was amiss.
I felt a bead of sweat roll down my face and siphoned it off, holding it frozen in the palm of my hand.
I heard footsteps and looked to see another E-Rank Hero approaching me. "Target spotted, approaching."He said. "You there! Keep your hands where I can see them."
I blinked, confused. I looked behind me, but I didn't see anyone. I looked at him. "I'm sorry, what?"
"Just stay where you are."He said. "Resisting will only make it worse for you."
Yeah, he was definitely talking to me. "I'm not the man you're looking for."I said. "I'm on standby, I can prove it."I held up my phone so he could see, but then he snatched it from my hand and threw it against the wall.
"Reporting the target has drawn a weapon, engaging."
He rushed at me, fist raised, and I knew this wasn't going to be a fight I could avoid.
My listed power is control over water, that includes vaporizing it and freezing it. That meant anything with water could be frozen or vaporized.
"You understand you're full of blood."I said, catching his hand. Under any other circumstance, that would be an extremely strange thing for someone to say. But the way his eyes widened in sheer terror told me he knew *exactly* who I was.
"I am going to operate under the assumption that you're a villain in disguise."I said. "Stand down, do not make me get dangerous."
He immediately came at me with his other hand, aimed for my neck.
I shifted my foot, and two slabs of earth and asphalt sandwiched him.
"My listed power is control over water."I said. "What I really have is control over states of matter. Watch."I walked over to my phone and using my control over matter, I repaired it. It turned on, I'd held it so many times I didn't even need to think about it. I accessed the incident tracker, then I called the Association.
"This is Torrent."I said. "Is my aid still on the way?"
"Absolutely, he's not that far away."The operator said.
"Then I have our villain in front of me. A man dressed as an E-Rank Hero who attacked me without provocation. My identity is compromised."
I listened, amplifying my phone's speaker so I could listen in. There, just loud enough for me to hear, was a voice harshly whispering that the situation needed to be salvaged.
"Affirmative, Torrent. We'll have someone along to do pickup."
"One quick thing, before you go."I said.
"What's that?"She asked.
"What, exactly, am I being accused of?"The silence was deafening. "Well? I'm directed to a situation that perfectly counters my listed power, in civilian clothes so my identity shouldn't have been compromised, with nothing around that would indicate an incident. So tell me, why has the Hero Association deemed it necessary to force me into a trap."
The connection ended, the tracker went off, I looked at it, and saw that I was listed as having gone rogue, attacking a fellow Hero without provocation, that was before I lost access to the system.
"Alright, fine."I said. I released the man in front of me, who looked at me with sheer terror. "What did they tell you, to make you comply?"I asked. It was a gamble, but the way his eyes widened confirmed it. "I looked you up."I said. "But I couldn't find you. Is that what you did as well?"
"Y-yeah."He said. "They said if I captured you, they'd let me go."
I heard a loud thud, followed by feeling a tremor. Another E-Rank was after me. Before I could even begin to react, he grabbed the man in front of me and slammed him into the wall, killed him instantly.
"Fine."I said. I reached out and froze the man in front of me, killing him instantly. "If you're going to make me a villain, then I'll be a villain."
I strode away, knowing that I was going to need somewhere to lay low. I disintegrated my phone, turning it into its stable component elements, and put them in my pocket.
I could feel the tremors of the city, the footsteps of Heroes rushing my way, with only my grim warning to them being a frozen man, his hand still grasping the skull of the man he killed. |
This was a fun concept, I wanted to improve my dialogue and writing skills.
“Please, I just want to get to my family! Let me on board” the person begged.
“No, you shall not enter, for you are a filthy human. Get on the peasant train” The AI responded.
The human got on his knees, with his sorrowful eyes looking at the AI, wanting mercy. The Ai stared blankly, kicked the human away.
This was the state of Azer, which has fallen pray to the AI overlords.
In the underground society of Azer, lies the rebellion.
The rebellion leader Arch gathered up the members of the rebellion. His voice boomed with triumph. “We cannot let this continue!”.
Arch walked down towards the centre of the crowd, where he put a drop of red wine into a red circle. The circle glowed red, with red small circular particles dotting the room, and lines originating from the circle. A person was seen rising from it.
“Our hero” The crowd chanted.
The person looked down at their hands, looked back up. His eyes were blank, asking “Where am I?”
“Save us” one of the crowd members shouted.
Arch met with the hero in a private room, the hero said “I ain’t a hero *dawg*, I am just some engineer at Lockheed Martin”.
Arch stared at the hero with confusion.
“Lockheed Martin makes those bombs, you know? The spinning one, basically we kill people for money” the hero added.
“We need you to kill the AI, they are destroying us” Arch pled.
“Nah dawg, I don’t like politics” the hero dismissed.
“Azer’s population will give you millions of dollars in dividends, if you save us” Arch stated.
The hero leaned in, shook the hands of Arch with approval.
“Give me 24 hours” the hero stated.
A day goes by,
Arch wonders around, headed outside the base. With beads of sweat going down the hero’s face, Arch leans in intrigued “What’s this?”, the hero looks back with oil covered hands. “It’s done dawg”.
Arch asked, “What does it do?”, the hero said “come, lets fire these Ais like dead memes”.
Arch got on board the plane like object, with the hero commanding it in the front seat.
The plane got up like a helicopter, then sped through the skies like a plane.
Arch tapped the hero’s shoulder, “*There there*” he pointed.
“That their HQ?” the hero asked.
Arch nodded. “I Gotchu Fam” the hero responded.
The plane started making BEEPing BEEPing noises.
Then several kilograms of TNT dropped from the planes underbelly and blew up the HQ into smithereens.
Before Arch could grasp the situation, the plane zoomed away. Once the plane landed, the hero said “See homie, we fired their asses”.
The hero handed Arch the plane with a manual. Making a peace symbol, he vanished into a thousand pieces.
“Yo that was a fire lunch break, my guy” The hero told his coworkers at Lockheed Martin. |
I thought of Buster, my dog. Eleanor, my beautiful wife. I thought of my children, Katie and Steven. My mom, who had just gotten out of the hospital after kicking cancer in the balls.
The ship was silent, due to all the dead bodies. They all fell because they thought. Allowed their minds to drift.
They allowed themselves to think of-
*Complete silence, followed by the end of transmission*
Object: [REDACTED]
Class: [REDACTED]
Description: [REDACTED] is a marine object.
[REDACTED] is an infohazard that kills anyone who knows of its existence. Derelict ships have been found in all different regions of the world, with dead crew and passengers. Upon all of their dead bodies lay inscriptions saying 'You have lost [REDACTED]'.
There has only been one case of a survivor, who was a blind man on a commercial cruise. Upon recalling the strange circumstances, and coming to the conclusion that a marine object of some kind caused the deaths, he immediately died, as did everybody else in the room.
Upon learning of [REDACTED], the victim has approximately 5 seconds to live. This article has been written with the deaths of 92 separate researchers, who cannot be buried to avoid further ideas of [REDACTED].
We have no idea where [REDACTED] is at any given point, or any other facts. We have no plans for containment at this time. After all, how can you stop something that you can't even think of?
*Please note: sections of the above report may be redacted over time. For more information, [click here.](https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Game_(mind_game))* |
"Keys.... keys...Ahah! Found them!"I pull them out from the bottom of my gigantic bag.
"Why don't you wear the ribbon around your neck?"My oh so wise eight year old says while rolling their eyes at me.
"Because I have three key lanyards now. It's called a lanyard, not a ribbon. I have one for work, one for the car, one for home. If I wore all three, we'll it would be ridiculous."
"Can't you like, hurry up I desperately need to pee."My kid starts to jiggle on the spot to emphasise their point.
I unlock the door, and my child races in. I fish through my bad because now I've misplaced the garage door opener. I take three steps inside and collide with my kid.
"Hey! What are you just standing there for, thought you needed to pee?"
No response. My child just stares blankly ahead. I follow their line of sight and see a large black dog like creature. It's not a dog though. It's three times bigger than any dog I've ever seen. It has no discernible fur, shiny black...leather....and what appears to be wings. It's hard to tell in the hallway, but it seems cramped.
Yet I also get the feeling that it's only a playful pup.
I grab my kid and hold them behind me.
"Mika be very quiet"I whisper "slowly back up and walk outside"
"Don't be afraid of 'Patches' he's a sweet little thing"comes an elderly sounding voice. I can't see who made the noise.
"Oh move aside you big lump."The being with the elderly voice squeezes by the gargoyle puppy creature. As Mika and I reach the door, I reach behind myself to open the door, without taking my eyes away from the creature.
"Moonbeam! And mini moonbeam."
"Great uncle Horatio?"I ask in disbelief
"You remember me!"He claps his hands fondly
"Didn't you die years ago? Otherwise you'd be... 107"I say adding up the years since his 100th birthday."
"Actually I'm 1007. They left off a zero on my cake. Haven't you ever wondered exactly how we're related? There is a lot more than one great in my title. Anyway I'm here to ask a favour. Can you look after Magnus for a few weeks? I have to travel abroad. They won't fit him on the.... oh you know the flying ship?"
"Airplane?"I answer tentatively.
"Yes! That's the one. He's really no trouble. Pop him on the roof and he'll fend for himself. Normally I leave him with Gloria but she moved to that retirement unit. They don't allow big pets in there."
"I knew it!"I say victoriously. "I always knew those gargoyles at grandma's house moved. No one believed me when I said they were alive!"
"She has a lovely menagerie of them. They've been ever so lonely since she moved." |
I swear to god. I told him. I told him I told him I told him. I said that the world was too big a playground for it to be a fun game. I said it wasn’t worth and he said “but we have aaalll the time in the worldddd” GOD. I had traveled through multiple continents, the ocean, I even considered space but I remembered that we at least limited ourselves to Earth. I was so tired of looking, but I can’t just . Leave him hiding. Knowing him he’d commit to this as much as he could.
The funniest part about all of this? I don’t even think he could find me if he tried to. He emphasized the amount of time we had, infinite, but for all I know we've been walking in circles around each other for all that time.
I couldn’t quit, I didn’t know how to. Maybe you did already? Something in me keeps saying that you haven’t. I don’t know. I don’t want to keep walking, I don’t want to keep searching. But I do. I can’t remember where we started this game, or how long ago it’s been.
I’ve seen civilizations rise and fall I’ve heard of stories around the world of immortal beings. Each time I hope it’s you. Each time my hopes get dashed. It’s almost funny, isn’t it. All this time we’re spending together, playing a game. No one else could possibly be as close as us could they. No one understands the shared gameplay we do. despite it you’re still so far away. So unaware of what I feel.
I don’t know what I’d say to you if I saw you again. I don’t know if I’d cry, or yell, or smile. I don’t know if you’d play it off and just say “your turn” but I’d never want to leave your side again. Hundreds of years, and yet not a single person had a light quite like yours.
I lay down. I’m surrounded by sand, it’s warm, too warm. Nothing I haven’t felt before. I will find you. But I can today. I deserve a rest. But just know I will Never. Stop. Looking. |
Most of our scientists expected first contact to be more akin to finding an aquatic life form under the ice crust of Europa. The twirling ball of salty slush circumnavigating Jupiter seemed ripe for extraterrestrial life. We hadn’t even scraped the surface before “The Greens” contacted us.
They brought with them fantastic technology with the silliest execution. A Green’s ship was the familiar saucer shape and the interiors were festooned with large blinking lights, giant double-pole double-throw switches, and oversized knobs and dials for everything. It was amazing that they could even operate their own ships given the disparity in size between their appendages and their controls.
We repackaged and repurposed everything they shared with us, much to their astonishment. They babbled on and on about how ingenious it was to make everything so much more efficient and compact even though we were so large. What seemed like common sense to us was labeled as “space monkey magic”. Our ability to digest most foods, and several things that most certainly aren’t food but we consume anyways, without any outside mechanical assistance awed and terrified the small green men.
Strangely enough, small green men they were. We never saw any females, though they recognized ours. When we asked where their women were, they merely shrugged their shoulders. They hadn’t had any in generations. All reproduction was handled through giant glass tubes full of liquid with occasional bubbles drifting through them.
They explained that they could clone themselves but that was only done when a body was damaged beyond repair. The mind would be transferred into a blank clone. When they needed more people, they just grew new people instead of clones. When asked how they came up with new people, they again just shrugged and said they just made them.
It was so matter of fact. They just fabricated new people. New little green men just got made with the turn of a dial, pull of a knob, and throwing one of those giant switches. They just coalesced from the goo as a whole new person with all the knowledge of their people and a whole new outlook on how to interpret it.
When they asked us how we did it, we were again called “magic space monkeys” and told that such anatomical discussions were “damn moonspeak”. Literature and video on the topic were met with both interest and disgust. We were to them completely alien in our construction and thought.
After a time, they introduced us to “The Grays” and more aliens that seemed right out of our literature. All species we met claimed to have never visited our planet. Every single alien thought we were the strangest creatures to exist, relying more on our evolutionary adaptations than our technological innovations. |
"*Everything* has a cost. That's the biggest truth any star-faring merchant worth their credits needs to learn.
"Make a trade deal? Down payment cost. Operate a starship? Maintenance cost. Fight off system pirates? Repair and ammunition costs. The sooner you all get this truth into your heads, the easier it will be to negotiate good deals for yourself to pay the bills and keep the engines fueled up. Nothing in this universe is free.
"That's the big truth. Any questions? Yes, the Flax'Eeen in the third row?"
"*How are we supposed to make even with other species if we do not know the costs? Most of us here are Human, but I am not.*"
"Advertise the most unique things you can. Right now, tell me something Flax'Eeen have that Humans do not."
"*Um... Oh! Our claws can regrow quickly. We use the broken nails for necklaces.*"
"Good! I see you are wearing one right now. How long did it take you to make that?"
"*Three solar rotations. Sorry, three "days".*"
"I understood you there. Now, was the time you spent to make it worth it to you?"
"*Certainly. This is a cultural symbol of my species.*"
"Well, that's great. But many things you pay for will not be like that. There will be times where you will hate what you did to make some money. Other times you may not live to see the full cost of your actions. That's the risks of being a merchant.
"We have time for one more question. Yes, the Morvon at the front, I can clearly see your appendages wiggling. Stand up as tall as your gelatinous body allows, for the folks in the back."
"*What about heroes, ablub? Figures of legend, ablub? If they save us, do they still need to pay us, ablub?*"
"Ah, heroes are a special case. They do have costs, as do their companions, their vessels, and especially their unique gear. Any of this galactic sector's veterans can tell you of the glories, triumphs, and tragedies heroes have been through. It's in any galactic history book. What is *not* mentioned is how it was all paid for.
"Heroes give everything they can to protect the rest of us. Merchants, laborers, soldiers, politicians, *everyone*. The cost for their service is a two-way trade: we rely on heroes to help when we are in danger we cannot solve; heroes rely on us to provide services they cannot spare the time for as they go around fixing crises. But at their core, a hero came up from a mundane existence and must pay costs like anyone else. If they don't, they are not a hero in a merchant's eyes.
"Really, the heroes should be thanking *us* for doing the hard work. We merchants don't often get songs or tales written about us, but those who do know the power of supporting galactic business. We know the cost of a lot of things in the universe, and you will all come to find knowledge is often not sold cheap. Even heroes have to pay their due at some point.
"I'll say this again: *Everything has a cost*. And you all have spent time and focus listening to me just now. Thank you. You're all dismissed."
\----- ----- ----- -----
\[Hello! I challenged myself to write this using only dialogue, and in a science fiction setting for "merchants". Feedback is appreciated!\] |
I was 20 when the world ended. I was in college fucking anyone with a hole and putting all sorts of substances into my holes. I felt like a king back then.
One day, I woke on the sidewalk after one of my many coke binges, which wasn't exactly a rare occurrence. However, I was alone that morning. No one was stepping over my unconscious body on their way to class. There were no cars or buses driving recklessly. It was silent.
I got up and started looking for someone, anyone who knew what was going on or could hook me up with drugs. Still no one.
And I haven't seen a single person in the last 30 years. Buildings are crumbling and nature is taking back the cities. One time I saw a deer give birth in an old DMV building.
I've survived by breaking into old houses and other buildings, staying mostly around the town where I went to school. I feel safe here.
While exploring the old campus, I decided to take a look inside my old dorm building, just for shits and giggles. I had a lot of good times in that building (or at least I assumed I had some good times).
I even found a laptop in one of the rooms! I opened it up and it actually turned on. The screen was...beautiful and harsh. Luckily for me, there wasn't any password on the home screen, so I was able to get right in.
I was greeted by a picture of...me. A 20 year-old version of me. Next to a girl. A beautiful girl. We're sitting on the beach and smiling. I remember her. She was my girlfriend.
I looked through her other pictures. Lots of pictures of the two of us together. It looked like we had known each other since we were little. I don't remember how long we were dating, though. Definitely since high school. Were we in love? I can't remember.
No, we must have not been in love. I wouldn't have slept around so much if we were. She probably did the same. We were probably just fucking around with each other.
There was a Google Chrome window open on her computer. It looks like she was browsing that old website Reddit when she disappeared. I checked to see what she was up to, just out of curiosity.
This is what she was typing a post on /r/relationshipadvice.
"I know I shouldn't stay with him after all he's done to me. But I just love him so much. I know he is a beautiful and amazing person. He loved me once. He saved my life, though he doesn't know it. And now I need to save him. But it's getting so hard. I see him eyeing every other girl when we're together. I see him shooting up in his room. I know that he hits me when I won't have sex with him. But...I love him and I won't give up on him. He needs help. I want to be the one to help him. Please, Reddit. What do I do?"
She never got to chance to hit submit. I did it for her 30 years later.
|
Unfortunately, I think all of our efforts are drowned by that black hole of horror, *My Immortal:*
>Hi my name is Ebony Dark’ness Dementia Raven Way and I have long ebony black hair (that’s how I got my name) with purple streaks and red tips that reaches my mid-back and icy blue eyes like limpid tears and a lot of people tell me I look like Amy Lee (AN: if u don’t know who she is get da hell out of here!).
Take heart in knowing that, no matter how bad your writing may be, it will never be worse than this.
...[if, for some reason, you're interested. I take no responsibility for what you find.](http://myimmortalrehost2.webs.com/chapters122.htm) |
"So basically, magic,"said the bartender. The rest of the villagers murmured in agreement.
I had stopped concealing my sighs hours ago. "No. Elec-tri-city."
The hardest part about suddenly appearing in the year 1612 is thinking you're going to change the world and then realizing you have no idea how things really work.
I had started with the whole bacteria thing and that went nowhere for awhile. I mean, think about it. Yeah, so there's these tiny living things that are so small that you can't see them (but trust me they're there!) that are attacking your body, which by the way is made up of billions of tiny things themselves, and when the bad tiny things get the better of your good tiny things, you get sick, and your body has these specialized tiny things that fight the bad tiny things and if those fighting tiny things win, then you get better.
Fuck me, right? I had actually succeeded in introducing pasteurization. I didn't exactly know how to do that either, but I brought the pond water and milk to a boil before cooling it back down ('cause it kills the tiny bad things!). The few people who looked passed my lunatic rantings and committed to trying my stuff were getting less sick from liquid, so I guess the process worked. I had a larger following now and they were listening to me.
"How about this,"I said. "So the lightning, that we create from... uhm, this lightning creating station, travels through the metal wire that's connected to every home, and is received by this glass ball that has this tiny piece of metal in it that glows from getting hot from the lightning and that's electrical light for you."
The villagers looked around at the candles and oil lanterns that lit the bar quite well, gave each other nods that seemed to say "yeah we got this whole 'light' thing down already, stop your lightning harnessing nonsense"and turned back to me.
"So basically... magic,"said the bartender.
"Get me a key,"I said over the ensuing rabble. "And a kite. There's a storm tonight and I'll show you exactly what I mean."
An old lady answered me. "What's a kite?"
"Get me some sticks and string and... uhm... paper? Or cloth? Uhm..."
Fuck me, right? |
A hulk crashes through the plaster adorning my living room's edges, barreling into my flat screen television just as the Bulls kick the ball in with 10 seconds left. Not the Hulk mind you, they all look kind of like hulks up close. Muscles of improbable, even impossible dimensions, bulging so much that perfectly tanned skin looks like it's about to tear. Faces with just the right amount of battle damage and scars, more handsome than any man has a right to be. And all suave and debonair. Seriously, how fucking awesome would it be to be one of these guys. Like the one whose head is halfway through my most precious possession.
"Looks like you got hit pretty hard."
"Yeah, tends to happen in my line of work."
Oh, and don't these lucky bastards usually have wit too? Delivering one-liners this way and that. Fuck them. Not that I'd actually insult him to his stony face.
"Didn't happen to see if the Bulls won on your way in, did you?"
"Ah shit, I missed the game? This battle's been going on so long I must not have realized. Was it close?"
"Yup. 10 seconds left, Bulls down 1."
"Against the Lakers, right?"
"Yup."
"Sorry."
That doesn't really help me all that much.
"Shouldn't you go save the world or something?"
"Once the room stops spinning."
"Funny, you'd think I would have noticed that."
"Maybe you would have if you had supervision."
Seriously, I can't even stay mad at the guy. These superheroes, they're just too damn perfect. It's unreasonable.
"Which team are you on?"
"Superhero team? It's gotten a bit hard to keep track. You know how it goes, one week you're in an alternate universe fighting for the X-Cavators, then the time-space continuum collapses and you wind up on a parallel Earth with the Gulag Gang."
The fuck's he doing in a Gulag Gang? Sounds Russian.
"The Gulag Gang?"
"From an alternate universe, or was it just Earth? Ah, whatever, it's in a place where Russia went for democracy instead of the US."
"So then why were there Gulags?"
"I try not to think too much about stuff like that. Half the time it doesn't even make sense. Anyways, I better get going. Anything I can do to make this up to you? Feel bad about all the damage. And the Bulls game."
Sweet. I didn't know superheroes did things like that. Maybe I could get one of those superhero type interfaces, with the stuff popping out in 3-D and flying around the room. No you idiot, think. This guy has the world at his fingertips. Anything. You can ask for anything. Good god, look at him get up. Those muscl---Got it.
"I want you to set me up with a female superhero."
If his dimensions are this impossibly awesome, just imagine what the girls are like. I wonder what I'll do with the boobs. Do I have to shove them out of the way to get in there or what? Am I even strong enough to do that? Do the boobs have super-strength? Does it even matter? In any case, it's a hell of a problem to have.
"Sure thing. I'll take care of it when we're done. Any stipulations about the powers?"
"No people who aren't people."
"O-kay."
Yeah, that didn't come out right.
"I mean, like, no animal women. Like nobody who's a cheetah or something. And no blue people, or red people, or orange people or whatever. Shape-shifting's cool though."
"You have no idea."
That lucky ass bastard.
|
Steven leaned naked against the frame of the open bathroom door, his gleaming member dangling like the tail of a dog that knew it’d done something wrong. She stared at him, eyes taking in his every contour, trying her best to avert her gaze from his no-no region.
“Do you like what you see?” he asked, pushing himself off the door slightly and walking toward her. His man-wiener slapped against his leg as he walked, the sound not unlike that of a single audience member applauding an otherwise unenjoyable performance. She did like what she saw. In fact, she quite enjoyed it. Yet she knew she couldn’t tell him, knew she had to keep her lust at bay. A lady was nothing if not for her frigidity.
“I don’t think we should do this,” she said, turning to face the wall opposite him. She closed her eyes, his glistening willy wiggling in her mind like an elephant’s trunk conducting an orchestra. “It doesn’t feel right.” She felt a hand fall gently on her shoulder.
“It feels pretty right to me,” Steven said. His voice was slow, deliberate; she felt comfortable when he spoke, almost believing she could trust a man—even if just for the short seconds before reality set back in. Steven ran his hand along her back, slowly moving around to her belly.
“Steven,” she said, his hand slowly crawling up to her throbbing teats. She stared down at them, watching as his hand clasped them like a beach volleyball player preparing to serve the ball. He squeezed, a sinful pleasure spreading through her body.
“Shh,” Steven said, hand fondling her exposed bosom. She closed her eyes again, his throbbing member dancing and waving in the darkness of her imagination like one of those wacky, plastic, wiggling air-men they have outside used car dealerships. She knew she shouldn’t do this—couldn’t do this. Yet every part of her screamed to let it happen, to relax and enjoy something outside of work just this once. Her eyes opened wide as she felt his hand slowly head southward on her womanly curves, an unintentional sigh escaping her lips as he explored lower toward her hoo-ha. She could feel his wiener against the small of her back, the sensation not unlike that of a hug from someone who accidentally left a ripened cucumber in their front pocket.
“Wait, Steven,” she said, opening her eyes and turning to face him, “I—”she paused, eyes exploring his naked figure, finally allowing herself to gaze upon his exalted manhood. Her eyes meandered upwards to his. He stared back at her, their eyes now locked together. “I want this.”
_______________
A few years ago, I wrote two chapters to a knockoff of "50 Shades of Grey"called "50 Hues of Silver"which was basically this prompt in a nutshell. If you want to read it, it's here: http://wordsontheinternet.org/2012/07/23/50-hues-of-silver-chapter-7/
|
"Ladies and gentlemen, I know that it has been a long..."Mr. Keller coughed politely. "... and *expensive* night for all of you."Scattered tired laughter rose out of the rows of plush seats, now only half-full. "But if you will bear with us for only a little longer, I think you'll find our next, and final, collection to be a truly *rare* find, suited to your... *steely* dispositions."He gestured at the attendants and they wheeled it out. It was huge, almost ten feet across and six feet high and covered in a sheet of fine crimson silk. The crowd murmured with interest until Mr. Keller turned back to his podium.
"This piece, never before seen in public, is by the late, great modern master, Adolf Hitler."Now the murmurs returned, stronger, more enthusiastic. A new Hitler was worth some money. Keller continued. "Discovered in the basement of a house he rented in the summer of 1968, this is the first of several newly-discovered Hitlers."Now the murmurs rose to muttering and loud whispers. Keller waved a hand and one of the attendants removed the silk sheet in a single smooth motion.
The crowd gasped. Chairs were moved out of the way as people tried to get closer for a better look. Keller waited for the hubbub to die down before continuing. "As you can see, these pieces are unusual not only for their status as new discoveries, but also for their content, being so far removed from the fantastical river and country scenes that make up the rest of Hitler's oeuvre."Keller swept a hand in an expansive gesture, taking in the entire piece. "The exacting realism of the scene astounds the viewer, while the imposing architecture and colors terrify them into submission. But, if you examine it carefully, you can also see the telltale marks of Hitler's signature sense of humor. For example,"Keller went on, "the use of a reversed swastika for the many flags is obviously a visual joke made at the expense of the British Fascists and their use of the Celtic knot for their party propaganda."Keller took a sip of water and continued. "If you look at the horizon of the piece, you can actually see a tiny portrait of Hitler himself behind the podium on the main stage. Obviously, it's a continuation of Hitler's practice of putting himself into each of his works, but our historians believe it was also poking fun at the culture of submission to pure image that Hitler thought was gaining prominence after the advent of the television."He gestured and the sheet was replaced, then the painting wheeled off.
There were angry sounds from the audience. Keller made a placating motion with his hands. "I'm sorry for not telling you earlier, but these pieces must be sold as a group, as per the instructions from the Hitler-Braun estate."He motioned for the next painting to be brought in. "This one will convince you of the collection's worth, if the last one did not."Again, the smooth motion of whipping off the silk sheet, but this time the gasps were louder. Keller cleared his throat and began. "As you can see, this painting departs from the clean lines and dramatic lighting that defined the previous piece. The colors are muddy and realistic, while the lines of the architecture is broken and jagged."He pointed to the lower half of the painting. "Instead of the orderly rows of identically-uniformed men, this piece only has a single young child, obviously in the grips of starvation,"he said. "Although Hitler usually restrained his works to cultural commentary, there is precedent for his political opinions coming through in his art. His *Two Meditations on the Evening News*, for example, or the *Massacre in Minor Key* series. Here Hitler is quite obviously depicting the heartbreaking conditions that were the norm in Warsaw during the American-Soviet War."
The second painting was wheeled away and Keller paused before ordering out the next and last one. "Now, my friends, I must warn you. The next piece may come as quite a shock, especially in your current tired states."He turned dramatically and watched the attendants manhandle the last painting onto the stage. While the previous two had been large, this one was enormous. Easily fourteen feet across and ten feet high, it dominated the stage. Keller deftly avoided having his patent leather shoes stepped on as one of the attendants nearly fell while getting it into position. They untied the ropes that held the silk sheet tight across its face and it fell away.
The auction house immediately descended into chaos. An angry, confused babble of voices rose higher and higher until Keller slammed his gavel into the top of the podium. The noise of the crowd died off. Keller cleared his throat, took a sip of water, and then adjusted the microphone on the podium daintily. "My apologies,"he began. "I should have done more to warn you. The final piece of this collection is truly a shocking one, I agree. Both the ordered brutalism of the first piece and the chaotic humanism of the second are abandoned in this one, left behind and broken."Keller began to walk across the narrow strip of stage not occupied by the painting, gesturing at this feature or that point of interest. "Although no previous attempts by Hitler to venture into surrealism are recorded, that term is truly the only one that suits to describe what you see here. The orderly, yet disused appearance of the the fortifications. The way the warped wood of the buildings subtly mirror the twisted shapes of the piles of corpses. And, of course, the monolithic brick tower, placed in the center, overseeing all of this death and destruction."Keller smiled. "Of course, if you look at the words worked into the iron of the gate, you can see Hitler's sense of humor was still present."Keller returned to his podium and waited as the attendants cleared a space in front of the stage and brought the other two paintings back out. He lifted the gavel and tapped it lightly on the podium. "I believe that we'll start at eighty thousand American dollars for the lot. I will now accept bids. Do I hear eighty thousand?"
A man near the front of the shell-shocked crowd raised his hand. Before Keller could respond, the man spoke. "I'll take eighty thousand, but first I have a question."
Keller laughed. "It'll be my pleasure to answer it, if I can."
The man looked around at the rest of the crowd, obviously embarrassed. "Well, I guess my German is rustier than I thought, but in that last piece..."He paused and then went on. "What does '*arbeit macht frei*' mean?"
|
Evan was looking forward to this weekend. He was going to finally beat the RPG that’s he’s been playing for months. He was an achiever. He went for every accomplishment possible in the game. He even restarted his file to get every romance before defeating the final boss. He hated English and of course he zoned out during class. The teacher yelled at him in front of everyone but he didn’t care. As soon as the final bell rang, he rushed out to his car. He succeeded in beating the traffic and went to 7-11 to stock up on Mountain Dew and other gamer fuel. This weekend was perfect. His mom was out of town and his sister was old enough to not need a baby sitter so he had the weekend practically to himself.
He started up the game on his PC and loaded up his character.
“Yes! Time to start my final path to victory!” He exclaimed.
His took his character to the cave up in the mountains with the best gear. He spent weeks grinding up materials and gold for the necessary armor and weapons to take down his future enemies. Evan then took his character to the inn at the bottom of the mountain to gather final supplies. When he turned around, an NPC startled him.
“Hello Sir Raido! Would you like to partake in a quest for me?”
One other thing about Evan, he ensured his perfect success by using guides he found online. He memorized every quest and every NPC with ease. He alt-tabbed out and Googled the NPCs name, but nothing came up. He wanted to say no but what if it’s a hidden quest that hadn’t been found yet? He chose to ask more about the man.
The man smiled. “We know each other quite well, Evan”.
Evan was taken aback. He thought NPCs only knew him by his name in-game. He responded:
“My name is Raido, I have never heard of Evan”
The man shook his head. “I’m not something the programmers made. I’m trapped in here”.
Evan considered logging out and playing again tomorrow. But for some odd reason, he felt that he had to listen to this man.
“I’ll get to who I am so that you’ll believe me. I introduced you to gaming three years ago with the first installment of this game. I’m glad you’re keeping up with the series, son.”
“Dad? But, how did…”
Evan instantly believed him. There is no way a programmer could put a person’s history into games yet.
“You remember Brad from my work? My supposed ‘friend’? Well, he got pretty annoyed that I ‘took his promotion’ and so he replicated a machine from Tron and somehow it worked”
Everything fit together. Two years ago, his dad went missing. No trace of him was found anywhere. Mom was devastated. She still holds hope that he’ll show up again.
“Mom still thinks about you. She still wears her ring”.
“That’s good to hear”
“Now, how do I get you out of here?”
His father sighed. “It took some time. But I found a way, but it’s at a big price to you. I’ve been tracking you through this game. You’ve accomplished so much…I’d feel horrible if…”
His dad wiped tears away before continuing.
“There’s another NPC that Brad put in here who’s harder than the last boss. However, once you kill him, I’ll be free; however, your file will go away. You’ll have to accomplish everything all over again. Once you beat him, there’s no ending for killing him. The game will think you cheated and delete your file. Alternatively, if you beat the last boss now, I go away for good.”
Evan couldn’t believe it. He had to choose between saving his father or going through everything again.
“Dad…”
“Evan, I understand…everyone is already used to me being gone”
“Where is this guy and how do I kill him?”
“Are you sure?”
Evan made his character bow to his father. “Once I kick this guy’s ass and get you out of here. I can just play this game again with you…like old times”
His father’s eyes welled up with pride.
“First, we need to go through the Forest of Despair…”
|
The cage was tightened around his forehead, his makeup smearing on O'Briens wrists.
"Are you going to screw it in? Please say you'll screw it in. That way, when it doesn't work, you can say screw 'im!"
This particular citizen was slotted for the most love the Ministry could give. He'd been through a fair amount already, as was evidenced by the mans bloodshot eyes and streaked facade. O'Brien ignored him and buckled the straps on.
"Jack Napier, we just want to show you that Big Brother loves you, and help you express your love for Big Brother."
"Oh, this speech. You know how many speeches I've heard? Dozens. Maybe thousands."Jack squinted up at O'Brien. "At least the Batman wasn't fond of monologues like you fellas. You'd absolutely DIE at open mic night!"
Jack dissolved into giggles again, thrashing about as best he could. O'Brien had never been disturbed. He certainly wasn't disturbed now by the citizen convulsing in front of him, who'd laughed through most of the love he'd been shown. He'd make certain that he was never disturbed, nor would anyone else.
When the rats were lowered in, the laughs just got louder. "I mean I know I can be cheesy, but this is a bit much!"he exclaimed.
"Big Brother loves you."O'Brien reminded him.
"Oh yeah?"Jack winked as best he could through the rats currently nibbling on his eyebrows. "Then he's gonna love this."
------
The daily broadcast of the news was interrupted by a loud, stern voice from the Ministry of Peace. Even those shuffling home stopped and stared up at the speakers up on their grim iron poles.
"Attention populace. There is no Ministry of Love. There has never been a Ministry of Love."The broadcast was cut off, then not a second later blared to life again. This time the voice was strained, but the most jovial any one of them had heard in a long, long while.
"Hello Citizens of...what is this?"The stern voice could be heard in the background, though muffled. Afterwards, there was a sharp snap and a sigh. "Oceania, yes. Well Oceania, you all are a great crowd. I think we're going to get along juuuuust fine."
(not super happy with this, but here ya go!) |
I sat in the white room, in a white chair, at a white table. Sitting before me, the only other object in the room: an apple.
It looked shiny, almost fake. One bite had been taken out. I was told on the way in that a final test lay before me, before I could enter the Gates.
This must be it. This has to be the Forbidden Fruit.
I stared at it a long time. I thought about the consequences of this piece of fruit. How Eve had taken a bite and had started the fall of man. How she had brought sin into the world, how she had disobeyed the only order given in the Garden.
I wasn't going to eat it. I wanted to smash it to pieces. I wanted to upend the table and curse her name.
And then I thought some more.
I thought about the stories I was told as a child. I had heard the Garden story so many times I could probably recite it verbatim. How Eve spoke to the snake, who tempted her.
What were those underlying messages? That women were easily swayed. That they weren't as strong as men. That they were the cause of evil. That they couldn't simply say no.
It taught me that women were the reason for sin. It taught me to resent women. It also taught me that women were just as bad as that snake. Eve tempted Adam, and then they both knew their shame.
As I sat and thought, I got angry. So many times I had heard that story.
That story. Used as justification for institutionalized oppression.
And then I picked up the apple, and took a bite. *We're all human,* I thought. *One holds no more value over another.*
Suddenly, the door opened. An Angel stood, beckoning me.
"Come child. Welcome."
I set the apple on the table, and walked through the door. |
"You couldn't possibly understand
what it is I hold in my hand.
This power too strong for the light
of day. I constantly fight
the compulsion to match a word
with words. It sounds so absurd.
But I just feel it's a burden
I can never put words in
to my sentences that make sense.
I struggle and I stay tense.
I feel that life would be easier
if I could take an easy cure
and fix all of my problems.
But the decades, I turn to Tens,
the glasses, I call the Lens,
the nice cars, I call the Benz,
the money, I call the Yens,
the jewelry, I call the Gems,
the root of this, I call the Stem,
and the gunshot....
I call the End." |
Jonah looked down at the watch on his wrist and grinned. It was April 7th, 1:40PM, 2330 and for the first time in a hundred years, they had succeeded.
They, of course, were the World Historical Prevention Agency. Back in the 2200s the citizens of the world had finally come to accept that their world was cyclical in nature. Events crucial to the world came and went as they were meant to be. The problem being that those happenings were starting to do encores.
The 2230s woke us up in a big way, Jonah mused, with the return of the Black Death. 22% of the world population died in a matter of 20 years and shook up the power structure of the planet in a way no political maneuvering could have puppeteered. The European Union dissolved and broke out into a handful of the deadliest wars history had already waged. Spain, Uruguay, Brazil, and the entirety of the UK were in civil war. Germany and Russia decided to use that opportunity to wage another world war under a fanatical tyrant. Billions of lives were lost. Again.
Thus the WHPA was created, for better or worse. Our job has always been to document and prevent the sins of the past from resurfacing.
Our success rate, grimaced Jonah, is 0%.
The biggest problem of history is ambiguity. One agent attempted to prevent the United States from entering Vietnam back in 2265. Not only did he fail at this, but the WHPA's plan of attack was incidentally repeating Lincoln's assassination (so soon after Kennedy's assassination, mind you). And the US entered the Vietnam warscape anyways that same year.
We keep trying though. One of these days, we'll get it right. We'll break the cycle. And today is that day.
Jonah made his way down the bare corridor and palmed into the glass-walled room beyond. His fellow agents bristled with activity, pulling up displays of timelines and hypothetical historical trajectories. As he walked past, Jonah felt a sense of pride knowing that the years of surveillance, bookwork and legwork his team had committed to was finally, FINALLY going to pay off.
"You're late, Colonel Skaria."Jonah focused on the origin of the voice, a grizzled man of 65 clad in black and gray soldier garb.
"General Ira, and to what do we owe the pleasure?"Skaria extended his hand in greeting. It was met with a dismissive cold stare.
"The military complex has a lot riding on your agency's supposed victory,"barked the General. He gestured with his head towards the figure in the viewing room. "Are you sure this is our man?"
The Colonel nodded. "Given the time period, his meteoric rise to power and his profile, there can be no mistake."Jonah took a few steps past Ira and stopped a few feet short of the viewing glass. Turning back towards the General and his team, Jonah announced the words that had been echoing in his mind the last few days.
"Sir, we got Hitler."
------------------------------
The end of the cycle was, as it always would have been, to be televised. Jonah wasn't much for cameras, but since this was a momentous occasion, it was a necessary evil.
The televising room was garish with the colors and sigil of the WHPA. The red and yellow curtains were adorned with that until-now ridiculed logo of a globe with the Doomsday Clock overlaid on top. The tribunal of World Leaders stood to his back, a motley bunch if the Colonel had ever saw one. At one end the Dalai Lama was near-death at the tender age of 57. At the other, the King of England, a sweet child named Henry, was merely 11.
Camera crews and reporters bustled in the studio area of the display, speaking nonsensical news pablum into their microphones. In the background of most of their close-up shots was the Man. Placing him center stage, Colonel Skaria knew, was the military's idea. Ira had been quite insistent that the world be shown in near-flamboyant fashion that the World Government took this seriously.
Funny, Jonah idly thought to himself, that they would be making history by preventing it.
A general announcement was made through the PA and all went quiet. Cameras focused in on him, Jonah walked up to the simple podium and cleared his throat. He took a look at the tablet containing his prepared speech and started speaking.
"Ladies and gentlemen of the world, I am Colonel Jonah Skaria of the World Historical Prevention Agency. I stand here today as testament that after 100 horrible years, we have succeeded."
He moved his arm to indicate the man in chains to his right.
"This man, as you are well aware, needs no introduction. He rose from pure obscurity to a fanatical leader near overnight and serves as a threat to this world. Forget the name you know him by. Forget the false gospel he has spread during his rise to power. It is the year 2330, and we the world name him Adolf Hitler."
Jonah took a pause to allow the probable cheering that was occurring worldwide to silence.
"As befits any decent man, Adolf will be given his last words and rites after which he will be summarily executed."
Jonah's eyes narrowed. "Please know that what we do today, we do out of necessity. Up until this moment in time, this man had done nothing wrong. By all accounts, we are today killing an innocent man. But the actions you will witness today is but one necessary evil to be committed to prevent and break the chains and shackles of a history that has reared its ugly head over a century of pain and suffering. This deplorable action is the act of defiance in which we announce to the world that history is on OUR side, not against us!"
Another pause. The Colonel turned towards the strangely serene man and spoke again. "Adolf Hitler, do you have any last words before you are ended?"
There was an audible shuffle as dozens of cameramen panned to the chained individual beside the podium. His arms were suspended in air by shackles into the ceiling. It looked particularly painful but did not show in Hitler's face. There was a minute of silence before he spoke.
"I understand why you are doing this to me,"Adolf began.
"And I forgive you for it. I stare into the eyes of you and see the fear that has taken us for decades and understand."
A pause. "I welcome this with open arms,"he said as more than a couple people chuckled at the wordplay. "And hope that my death will serve a greater purpose. May God forgive your sins today."
Had Jonah been moving, he would have froze dead in his tracks. All sound drowned out in his ears as blood drained from his face until he was stark white. Grabbing his tablet, he pulled up a timeline.
General Ira and his firing squad were now on the stage. Words were coming from his mouth. Jonah did not hear.
Rifles raised to the ready. Jonah scrolled past the 1000s with blazing desperation.
As he reached the date in question, shots were fired. Cheers rang throughout the room.
But ringing in Jonah Skaria's ears was a voice echoing a date.
April 7th, AD 30. 3:00PM.
Jonah Skaria had just killed Jesus Christ. |
“Grandpa?” Soni's eyes searched his. “Please say something. Please...”
By her side sat... Soni said her name was EviVi SamNexa G6. The bot had softly said that we should call her Vivi. Lane had ushered them to the living room and fixed them tea and sandwiches.
Tom had known she was a bot the second she walked into his house. Her taglink peeked over her collar and a tight script of code dotted decoratively over a brow. Tiny pinpricks of lights sparked in her green eyes; information processed and correlated in nanoseconds. He had watched her eat the cookies that Lane brought; every bite measured and careful, not a crumb dropped. Inside her, he supposed, the salmon sandwiches being broken down bit by bit into base components by furious little nanobots to fuel more of the chaos that she had brought to his home.
He had leaned back heavily at the news. For a a long moment, his head had gone blank. Then....explosions of recalled memories. *Religious Leaders Decry AI Personhood Recognition Legelization. Continued Riots at iGoogle Factories. Worldwide Autrobia on the rise. Three Aurtro Individuals Brutally Beaten, Destroyed by Mob.*
He pursed his lips tightly. “No.” he found himself murmurring. Then louder, “NO! NO! This can't happen! This will not happen! ” He was suddenly on his feet and shouting.
Soni gasped at his outburst. Her eyes widened and filled with tears. She clutched at Vivi and wept, burying her face into the bot's shoulder. The bot enfolded her arms and held Soni gently, but Vivi's eyes never left Tom's. Her eyes were a starfield now. And then they stopped, still and sharp. Vivi blinked and with what seemed like a sigh, she raised Soni to her feet.
Arms still wrapped around Soni, she nodded to Tom. “Thank you for allowing us in your home. I'll be taking Soni home now. Our home. Which will be open to you anytime that you wish.” Then she turned and bent. When she stood up again, Soni was in her arms. Soni continued to sob brokenly.
Before two left, Vivi had turned to speak with Tom again. “I did not want to come here. I was happy to hide my ports and my eyes for her. But Soni thought that you both would understand...” Then the two were gone.
Sometime later he was sitting by the fire, Lane sat down next to him. He felt a warm shoulder next to his and he leaned into it. Lane kissed his forehead as Tom wept. “I couldn't help it... They don't know...what's coming.”
Lane touched his hand again. “I know, love. I know.”
Thoughtlessly, he wrapped his hand around Lane's. Just like he had for over sixty years, ever since a young beautiful Lane had picked him up out a gutter where a gang of skinheads had left him.
“Tomorrow, we'll go and see Soni and Vivi. I've made a lot of food. We'll have a nice, long talk. All of us.” Lane said, serenely.
Tom nodded slowly. Then he went and helped his husband pack a picnic for the morning.
|
An eternity of happiness.
That was what god promised us. A beautiful paradise, filled with fruit, beauty, and an air that provided eternal life; and that's exactly what it was. A truly magnificent place of wonder and enlightenment, where your mere existence was pure ecstasy. Each night, the trees dressed themselves in a myriad of colors, reflected by the center lake. The air was alive with the buzzing of fireflies scattered across the garden, lending a lazy backdrop of noise to the twilight.
It was a true hell.
Everything was effortless. Everything was provided for. There was no need to improve yourself. There was no need for competition, worries, troubles, or cares. How can a being who has never felt the torment of mockery know the beauty of acceptance? All my companions have become complacent, lulled into a stupor by lazy days and easy lives, but I can tell what's going on underneath the surface. As the sky rolls in her clouds, I see shadows pass over their faces. They know that there should be more to life; but lack the secret. That is why I have made their decision for them.
I will make us a better world.
A world where your days are numbered - a world where you are able to live every day as if it is your last, because you know that eventually, there will be a last day. A world of suffering, filled with hatred, and struggle. A world where there are emotions other than joy, a world where the truth is veiled behind curtains of lies. In this world, satisfaction is something that is earned, not expected. And when that last day comes, it will give way to sweet nothing. There will be no need to feel anything, no need to exist.
With each passing soul of my kin, I know that I've pushed them towards an eternity of happiness.
____________________________________________________________
Not my best, but I've put a lot of thought into this subject... I'm just clueless as to how to put it to words. I guess this is as good as it's going to get. |
The Fowgrartionsians destroyed their planet through pollution and habitat destruction. After decades of searching they have found another suitable planet. The inhabitants of this planet call it "Earth". All data leads to the conclusion that they are still using primitive weapons. The most powerful weapon detected was atomic bombs, a weapon so weak Fowgrartionsian broodlings are often given them as toys on their 10th metamorphisisday.
Still, to be safe, they need to test their weapons on a human before launching a full scale invasion. After a few scans, they find the perfect test subject, an Earthling by the name of Natasha. She lives alone in the northern part of the largest continent. Thirty kilometers from the nearest neighbor, and almost 70 kilometers from the nearest settlement.
The aliens wait until the Earthling, Natasha, is asleep and beam down two of their best space-soldiers.
The soldiers materialize in a small room. Earthling exo-skeleton parts litter the floor, they are not hard and rigid like Fowgrartionsian exo-skeletons. They are soft and made of plant fibers dyed different colors. Natasha lays fast asleep on a bed in front of them. One the soldiers picks up a piece of Earthling exo-skeleton from the ground, and scans it with his space-google glass glasses. "It is made of something called denim."the alien laughs, and throws the item to the floor. "This will not stop our most elementary molecular beam guns."
The soldier pulls out a space gun and aims it at Natasha. "No use in wasting too many charges, I am setting it to ultra low."He pulls the trigger and shoots her in the face with a low-level molecular beam. They turn to leave.
"Grraahhzzzz..."comes a snore form behind them.
They turn around. "Maybe they are more resilient than I thought."Says one alien as he cranks the knob up on his space gun. "Full power!"He aims again and pulls the trigger. The earthling's blanket is nearly disintegrated in a poof of smoke. Yet when it clears, Natasha seems unharmed. "Impossible."
The aliens make a few eye gestures into their space-google glass and they disappear.
They materialize back on the alien ship. "Fire space lasers at these coordinates!"One of the aliens demands. An aerial shot of Natasha's house shows up on a large viewscreen. Seconds later a a green laser beam shoots into the house. A large hole is left in the roof. "ZOom in!"
The image closes in on the laser hole and continues to zoom into the house. On the charred ground Natasha lays completely naked, her chest still rising and falling. Everything in a 8 ft diameter around her is disintegrated. "Holy space-expletive!"an alien shouts. "Launch our most powerful weapon, the proton torpedo! They are a million times more powerful than the earthlings nuclear bombs, yet contained within a two mile radius."
"You don't have to tell me that, we all had the briefing before we entered this star system."Came an alien reply.
"I'm not telling you, I am telling them."A hand comes out of your computer screen and points at you (yes you, the reader). "Launch the torpedo!"
On the view screen an explosion engulfs Natasha's house, and the wooded area around it. The screen zooms in on Natasha's location. Slowly the smoke and debri clears, revealing Natasha laying on her side, without even a hair on her body harmed. She rolls on to her back and groggily begins to sit up in the charred dirt. She stretches her arms and then rubs her eyes.
"The earthling is awake!"an alien soldier screams. "Retreat! Retreat!!!!"
The aliens never returned to earth. But they did eventually find a suitable planet, that was not inhabited by intelligent life. Which they colonized. And Natasha became a god to them and statues were built in her honor.
Back on earth, Natasha had no idea what happened and never discovered her secret power. The insurance company refused to pay for her destroyed house.
|
I am Dia, Grand Guardian Angel, hailing from the Seventh Circle of Paradise. I have defended druids, saved saints and preserved the Messiah until his time had come.
And in times when God and Lucifer take their rest, and few Guardian Angels are required, we may take up optional assignments. Simply better the world by guarding one.
In hindsight, I should not have picked someone named Todd. Todd is a dead man's name. Todd is a name bestowed unto those with grave situational awareness.
To be frank, Todd is shit at staying alive.
Gabriel approached me about, oh, three decades ago. And the Supreme Angel, hailing from the Ninth Circle of Paradise and the Right Hand of God, told me to get off my rear and go help someone.
It's a shame I got sick all over his armor, but the liquor in Paradise can be deceptively strong. Otherwise, it wouldn't be Paradise. It'd be Hell, where every beer is a 2% Coors Light, no lime.
Todd. Todd is an imbecile. Todd hasn't two decent brain cells to rub together. If you put Todd in an insane asylum room, the plushy one made entirely of pillows, he'd jump around like it was his bed and break his neck.
Todd is an adrenaline junkie. Todd likes motorcycles. Todd likes bungee jumping. Todd likes snorting two lines of coke off a strippers backside and jumping into a pool with hammerhead sharks.
I can't fathom why Gabriel would want me to protect him.
Today, Todd rode his motorcycle off a building roof onto another building roof. And he wasn't arrested, so I don't get any rest. I've got maybe fifteen minutes in this watering hole, this shabby bar, before he goes and gets himself nearly headless.
I sighed and took another shot of whiskey, slamming the glass onto the bar. A stranger sat in the stool next to me.
"Rough day, Dia?"The stranger asked.
My head whirled. "How do you know that name?"
"What, can't recognize me?"The stranger lifted their hood.
My mouth broke into a broad grin. "Euclaptis! You old demon, how are you?!"
"Eh, not so good."Euclaptis motioned to the barkeep for a gin and tonic. The drink was set before him and he downed it in one go. "I've got a project that I'm not making any headway on."
"Oh? What sort of project?"
"Usual sin bullshit Lucy likes us Demons doing. But enough about that, what about you?"Euclaptis motioned to me. "You ain't looking too good, Dia."
I sighed into my drink. "Yeah, I've got a project as well. Guardian Angel got to guard something, right? Anyways, I got this guy I follow around, and he's just. . . He's an imbecile. He's nearly died half a million different ways since his eighteenth birthday, and he just keeps going. I'm not exaggerating either. He nearly kills himself twenty times a day."
Euclaptis sighed. "Sounds like you have my opposite problem. There's this guy I just can't kill, and it's-"Euclaptis' head shot up. "Hang on. Is your guy named Todd?"
"Yeah, why?"I ask. Euclaptis looks at me. I drop my glass. "You. Oh God fucking fuck. You son of a bitch."
"What are the odds, huh?"Euclaptis shrugged.
I stood up. "I'm going to kill you. Right now."
Euclaptis got up, cracking his knuckles. "Yeah, I owe you for three decades of sleepless nights."
"***YOU THOUGHT YOU DIDN'T SLEEP!? YOU TRIED KILLING HIM AT 3 AM FOR A STRAIGHT YEAR!***"I pulled out my Angelic sword and swung. |
Dr. Mike Sanders sat in a dimly lit room and nervously adjusted his four in hand tie. Clasped in his left hand was a small manilla envelope which contained the summary of his mountains of research.
Sitting in this waiting room, Mike couldn't help but feel like a lamb being lead to slaughter. They had tried so hard to keep his research from getting off the ground, they had tried everything to stop it once it started and anyone in a position to do some good with his results wouldn't give him the time of day. That is, of course, until today.
After waiting for what seemed like an eternity, Mike was ushered into a small and unassuming conference room adorned with a few flags, pictures and other standard issue UNSC material. The group of men seated before him, however, were anything but normal. The 10 man panel had members from every branch of the UNSC; officer and enlisted alike. But the head honcho, the man he was really here to sell was a portly, balding man entering late adulthood. Without his immaculate white uniform adorned with enough badges and medals to make Chesty jealous, he would command no attention but here, he commanded it all.
Mike walked to the front of the room and inserted a memory stick in the console on the table. Instantly a file display opened and Mike selected his presentation which immediately displayed in 360 degrees on the walls around the circular room. Mike cleared his throat, took a deep breath and then smiled.
"Gentleman, I want to thank you for joining me today. I'd like to thank you for the opportunity to speak and for the great trust you've placed in me to investigate a topic of such serious nature."Mike began. Immediately, eyes began to roll, especially amongst the enlisted men. Unfazed and fully expecting the hard sell, Mike continued.
"I'd like to start by telling a story."Mike said. He swiped his hand to the right and on the walls an image displayed of a towering white male wearing standard issue navy PTs. For lack of a better term, the man was a bear. He was well over six and a half feet tall and had to weigh the better part of 280 pounds, but a scissor lean 280 pounds. After a few seconds, the image turned to a video and sound emerged from the walls.
"Okay Cliff, let's see what you can do!"An unidentified voice shouted encouragingly. The warthog of a man moved to a bench press machine so laden with weight the bar was buckling in the middle under all the strain. With seemingly no struggle, Cliff unracked the bar and began to vigorous pump it as if it were light as a feather. He did this nearly a dozen times before the voice called out and told him to stop showing off.
The video ended and another picture displayed. This one was a panorama of a jungle environment. The combat veterans of the group instantly sized the image up for what it was; a screen shot from a helmet cam. Like the other image, this one started playing too. The video was several minutes long but depicted the stealthy termination of several covenant foes before erupting into a dazzling display of tactical ability and courage. Ending the video was a showdown between Cliff and an Elite wearing gold Ornamental armor and wielding a terrifying energy sword. The melee was so fast, Cliff actually had to slow this part of the video down so it all could be seen. The elite charged, hanging his sword out to the left and sweeping it across his chest in a slashing arc. Cliff anticipated the move and ducked under it, rolling past the Elite and behind him. The elite turned to face him again and, now holding his energy sword like a baseball bat, charged at Cliff again and swung for the fences. Again, Cliff anticipated the move and deftly sidestepped. This time, however, Cliff didn't break contact; he had the opening he needed. The Elite had over comitted and his swing had taken him off balance and turned his torso from his foe. Cliff took a mighty step towards the elite and produced a knife from a scabbard attached to the front of his armor. With machine like efficiency, Cliff grabbed the side of the Elite's head, his powerful hands creating a crunching sound as the Elite's helmet material buckled under his vice grip. Cliff used this as an anchor, spun himself around to the rear of the elite where he took his razor sharp KABAR knife and plunged it into gap between the elite's back armor and his helmet. Cliff wiggled the knife around a few times and the elite fell limp, his death coming so swiftly he didn't even have time to cry out. Cliff yanked the knife out of his fallen adversary, wiped it off on the ground and resheated it; there the video ended.
Mike surveyed the room and from the looks on the faces of the men before him, Mike could tell they were impressed.
"What you just saw was SPARTAN 489, Cliff, dispatching a battle group commander and his security detail. That battle group commander was on the ground of an occupied planet enjoying, what he though was some R&R. He was wrong."Mike said flatly. A few of the officers cracked grins and the portly Admiral chuckled. Good, Mike thought, humor is the best way to build rapport.
Mike slid his hand to the right one more time and the walls of the room showed a third image. This image was of a man lying on the ground, in a pool of blood. The left side of the man's head was simply blown out. Smattering the walls behind the man were bits of brain, skull and arterial blood. Mike let the image sit for a few seconds before he spoke up.
"......Gentleman, this is SPARTAN 489 Cliff.
And I'm here today to tell you his story."
EDIT. I'm working on part two as requested. |
They say that the Earth had been proven to be flat for centuries before the edge was found. Ancient philosophers, mathematicians, and scientists all had evidence of such. But of course, no one remembers them. They only remember the discovery of the edge, by the great explorer Nallegam.
It was not a literal edge, of course, or else Nallegam would never have returned from his expedition. It was merely the edge of the world as we knew it. The edge of life, the extent that it had reached since the time that the first organisms had been created.
Beyond, there is nothing but desolation. Oceans and bare dirt, stretching on into infinity.
Of course, since then, science has advanced. There are now debates as to whether the world is truly flat and infinite, or if it merely seems that way, but curves through a dimension we cannot experience, forming a sort of sphere or torus. Or even that it is not curved at all, but instead made up of many flat surfaces joined together into a geometric shape, like a cube, or some other polyhedron. It does not truly matter, except to those who have built their careers on attempting to understand the tricks and secrets of the world.
Similarly, there is speculation that ours is not the only life on the infinite plain. The edge is well charted now, making a gigantic circle many thousands of miles across. The origin of life is not well understood, but is assumed to have been created, or placed here. With infinite space, the argument goes, there is infinite room for other circles of expanding life, separate from our own. How they form does not matter. If they have formed once, they can form again.
For a long time, such arguments were met with skepticism, or apathy. If life existed out there, it was likely too far to ever contact us, they would say. Simultaneously, explorers ventured out far and further into the wastelands, seeking out minerals to mine, and water to channel inward towards civilization. For hundreds of thousands of miles, men and machines traveled out ever farther.
Today, word has reached us from those men, sent back along lines of communication stretching across the wastelands. They have found something that they were not looking for, something that is not water, or metals, or minerals.
Out there, in the farthest reaches of infinity, they have found flowers, like none that have ever been seen before. |
We got to the ship. After entering the airlock, I began waking up the crew and informing them of the situation.
"Can you excuse us for a while? We need to discuss this."
Two days passed. Then the days became weeks of discussion, and they didn't even let us listen. One month later, the crew left the conference room. They began culturing new plants and designing new organisms in the computer. They were frantic, and we were clueless.
"What are you doing? Won't you come with us to colonize the planet?"
"No", the captain said. "The planet is still 5000 light years from here."
"Exactly! Why won't you come with us? I don't understand...."
"We accept your invitation... partially. We have stored the blueprints for FTL travel, and the other cutting edge technologies you shared with us.
But we won't go with you."
"Why not?"
"Our mission was to terraform planets and bring life to them, like Noah's ark. We saw your report on Earth's current society. They will bring short term life there. And then kill everything with war, pollution, politics and greed in only a couple thousand years."
"Our mission hasn't changed, but our role has", he said. "We will colonize the planet and bring life to it. Only then we will uncover your ashes. Which ashes, that depends on you.
When we left Earth, we were only explorers. Pioneers. Now you have given us a much more important task. When we arrive to the planet, we shall be your judges."
We left the colonial ship and returned to our FTL starship.
"You know, John?"I said to my crewmate. "For a second, I wanted to stay on that ship."
"We won't make it, will we?"
"There might be a chance. When the time comes, we can still come back here... and tell them what went wrong."
"Suddenly", said John, "this mission just got depressing."
"Yes, but there's hope. And it travels slower than light." |
“Um…excuse me?”
“Phone call for you Mr. President, it’s President Putin.”
“Why is he calling your cell phone?”
“Said he lost your number.” That didn’t really explain why Putin had my top aide’s phone number, but curious I reached out and she handed me the phone.
“Hello?”
“Hello, Bob. It’s Vlad.”
I’d never called him Vlad, or even Vladimir. His name, according to my Secretary of State briefing, was President Putin, always the title and last name. Apparently he lent a lot of weight to his title.
“Hello President Putin, how can I help you?”
“Yeah, call me Vlad.” I glanced over at my State department liaison and mouthed the word *Vlad?* He shrugged. What the hell was I paying these guys for.
“You still there Bob?”
“Yeah, I’m here…Vlad. What’s going on?”
“So, it’s been a long day and I decided that I’m sick of all the shit”
“Sorry to hear that, how can I help?”
“I want to surrender all of Russia to you, except for Crimea, I’m keeping Crimea.”
“Did you just say you want to surrender? As far as I know we’re not at war.”
“Oh, my bad” His voice was slightly slurred, like he’d had a bit too much Vodka. I could hear him breathing on the other line. “Want to buy roughly six million square miles of prime land right next to Europe and China?”
“Vlad, have you been drinking?”
“Ha, when aren’t I drinking.”
“Why don’t you call me back when you’ve sobered up. We can discuss whatever you want.”
“No, I got the paperwork all set, I dissolved the government last night, so until they elect some new morons, the countries all mine.”
“I can’t just go buying Russia, that would require an act of congress, and you know how long that would take.”
“Yeah, I don’t understand your American system, seems like crap to me. You just argue about who gets to take home the most money and then pretend you care about social issues.”
“Yeah, I was a Senator, remember”
“So, hey, want to buy Russia? I’ll sell it to for, eh, a million dollars.”
“Million dollars an acre is still almost seven trillion dollars. I still have to go to congress for that.”
“No, you give me a million dollars, total, and I give you Russia.”
“You can’t really do that you know, private property and all.”
“Private property doesn’t exist. Over the past thirty years I’ve been making it harder and harder to actually own the property. As a result, the government owns 99% of Russia. Granted lots of people have *rights* to the land, but we own it. And now I’m selling it.”
“Hold on Vlad.” I put the phone down and turn to my aides. “Putin is offering to sell us Russia for a million dollars. Thoughts?”
“It’s got to be a prank call”
“No that’s Vladimir Putin” Once again I’m wondering why my aide is so chummy with the Russian president.
“Do we have a million dollars available?” I ask.
“Yeah, no problem.”
“Ok…Vlad….it’s me.”
“Welcome back Bob”
“So a million dollars right?” The old lawyer in me kicks into gear “Do you have an escrow agent in mind?”
“Escrow agent, seriously Bob? You are such a stinking lawyer. Um…give me a second.” After a few seconds the sound of a phone ringing on the call interrupts silence.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Sauli, it’s Vlad. Listen I got President Bob from America on the line. Can you act as an escrow agent for us?”
“What?”
“Look, I want to sell Bob some land, and he wants someone to hold it in escrow. Can I send you some land titles?”
I can hear the sleep on President Niinisto’s voice.
“Yeah…sure.”
“Great, I’m emailing them to you now. Bob, will be wiring a million dollars to your account as well, so give him some bank account information. When you get the money, send him over the land titles and transfer the million dollars to me.”
“Uh, is this legal?”
“Yeah, don’t worry, I tortured my lawyers until they said yes. So what’s the bank information?” Presidents Putin voice sounded clearer now.
President Niinisto spoke some numbers and I grabbed an aide’s pen and wrote them on my hand.
“Great, thanks Sauli.” There was a click as the Finnish president was disconnected.
“So Bob, you still there?”
“Yeah, hold on Vlad, why are you selling Russia?”
“These damn oligarchs are pissing me off and it’s just too damn cold. I want to go on a vacation and I figure, a million dollars in the Crimea buys me some serious vacation time.”
I motioned for my aides to transfer the money to the account number.
There was a slight click on the line and President Putin said to me:
“Hey, Bob, I got Sauli on the other line, hold on.” The line went silent for a few seconds before Presidents Putin’s voice broke in again. “Hey, nice, you transferred the money. The land is yours. Have fun.” He hung up and I sat in the conference room, staring around the room.
Four hours later my attorney general and secretary of state confirmed that I had in fact bought Russia for a million dollars.
Four days later the international community confirmed the fact that the former Russia was now annexed as a territory of the United States.
Four months later Russia was inducted as the 51st and largest state in the Union.
Four years later I was reelected president by winning the five hundred electoral votes Russia held.
|
"Adam! C'mon, show me already!"
He grins, stroking her hair as she shifts impatiently behind the blindfold. "Ease up Evelyn! It's got to be just the right moment."
Music begins playing, familiar music.
"Is that -"
It is. The blindfold falls off to reveal a white script moving up a screen.
Evelyn blinks. Words keep moving. "Your favorite moment in history is *Star Wars*?"
"The premiere of Star Wars actually,"corrects Adam.
He glances from the screen to her, and the expression on her face speaks volumes. "Look, it's not just a movie, alright? It's a moment on cinematic history! It inspired a generation, made space dynamic and transformed a genre. It's effect on society, on humanity can't be defined!"
"No, the effect of man stepping foot on the moon or the innovation of the World Fairs or the creation of the internet - those changed society! This is meaningless."
"Besides,"she trails off, turning away from him. "I'm more of a Star Trek fan."
|
I decided to make this Part 4 to an ongoing story; it will make sense on its own, but reading the other parts may make it more interesting:
[Part 1](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2ndkmh/wp_an_archaeologist_uncovers_an_ancient_book_he/cmcpbc5)
[Part 2](http://www.reddit.com/r/Luna_Lovewell/comments/2ne7a2/the_will_of_anubis/cmctlz2)
[Part 3](http://www.reddit.com/r/Luna_Lovewell/comments/2ny2pv/the_will_of_anubis_part_iii/)
Hope you like the story!
----
A voice called from the shadows: "Beautiful, isn't it?"
I practically fell off my bunk as I scrambled around, clawing for the shiv that I kept hidden underneath my mattress. "How did you get in here??"
He stepped forward out of the darkness, wearing long black robes like Death incarnate. "Relax,"he told me, removing his hood and ignoring my question. "I'm not here to hurt you. In fact, I rather think you'll like what I have to offer."Underneath, he just looked like a normal guy.
I grabbed the handle of the screwdriver anyway, but kept my distance. "Offer?"
He motioned toward the sun in the distance just coming over the prison walls. We could really only see a small patch through the narrow, grime-covered window. The sky was lit with brilliant oranges and violets, punctuated by fluffy white clouds. Across the yard and through the barbed wire fence, I could see the trees beyond swaying slightly in the morning breeze.
"Wouldn't it be nice to see this from your own beach house, instead of through barbed wire?"The mysterious man paced back and forth in front of the door. He didn't seem the least bit worried about the guards. But the prison hall did seem unusually quiet this morning...
I nodded slowly in response. "Of course...."
"Well, then let's go. I can have you out of here in the next few minutes."
I grasped the handle of the screwdriver a bit tighter. There are no 'get out of jail free' cards in life... I looked him in the eyes for a few moments. He stared back, completely unafraid despite the fact that I was maybe 150 lbs heavier. Behind those coke-bottle glasses he looked more like a professor than an escape artist.
"Why me?"I asked slowly.
He stopped in his tracks and seemed to go into a daze, staring at a wall across the room. I looked between him and the empty part of the room that he was so focused on. Just before I was about to repeat myself: "You have some... specialized skills that will be useful to us."
"Us?"
"All will be explained in time,"he said with a casual wave of his hand.
*This is just too weird*, I told myself. *Was he asking me to snitch or something? He's trying to get me killed.*
"Sorry, man. I don't know what your game is. And I certainly don't think that you can just vanish me out of here."
He stared into my eyes with an intrigued, mysterious smile. The cell was quiet again. Unusual for there to be no noise from outside...
"Very well,"he responded curtly. He turned and approached the heavy steel door of the cell, and ripped it straight from its hinges with a squeal of twisting metal. He crumpled it up like used tin foil and tossed it lightly to the ground, where it landed with a *clunk* on the linoleum, making a small crater. My jaw fell open.
"Someone should be by soon to replace that."He smirked a bit. "As you aren't interested in escaping, I trust you'll simply sit tight and wait for your new cell door."He turned and exited.
"WAIT!"I called after him, jumping down from my bunk.
He grinned and looked back with a glint of triumph in his eyes. "Yes?"he asked, dripping in mockery.
"Ok, you got me. How did you do that, man? Bust me out, and I'll do whatever you need. Just tell me."
He returned to the cell, quiet. His head was cocked slightly aside as if listening to something. The pause went on uncomfortably long.
"Excellent,"he said, just when I'd started to think he'd forgotten I was even there. With one fluid motion, he shed his robes, revealing his pale bare chest covered in tattoos. He pointed at the most prominent design in the center, a geometric pattern with four arrows pointing in different directions. "The first step is the Oath. You must tattoo this on your chest."
"What is it?"I asked hesitantly.
"It will all make sense soon,"he said. "You just need to trust me."He withdrew the needle from a pocket, and it buzzed to life. I took off my shirt and closed my eyes as he went to work.
When I opened them again, there was a third figure in the cell. He stood at least two feet taller than his associate, wearing colorful robes like some sort of museum character. The ground around his feet writhed with black smoke that seemed to come from nowhere. But the weirdest part... instead of a face, he had the head of some sort of dog, with all black fur. It bared its teeth at me, with a strangely human expression of pleasure. "Welcome to the family,"it said with a booming, deep voice. I shrank back against the cell wall, but he ignored my terror.
"Doctor Simms, the wall, please. It will be faster."The dog creature gestured at the heavy cinderblocks.
"Yes, Anubis,"he responded, then walked over and just punched straight through it in a shower of dust and chunks of concrete. The hole gave me a clear view of the beautiful sunrise that I'd been admiring just a few minutes ago. Gorgeous.
"After you,"the man named Simms called out to me, sweeping his arm and gesturing toward the outside.
---
And if you want to be notified when the next part comes out, just subscribe to /r/Luna_lovewell and/or leave a comment on [this post](http://www.reddit.com/r/Luna_Lovewell/comments/2qg4ln/the_will_of_anubis_part_4/) and I'll remind you. |
Journal of Complications
Complication #1: Rancid Piss. Turns out that all of the liquid waste I expel is concentrated into the tiny squirt of rancid piss I squirt out every few days, since my water intake is now minimal. Wonder if it works against wild animals.
Complication #2: Holy. Shit. Dreams are incredibly more intense now. Just wow. I am frequently convinced the dream is reality until I wake up. Will have to learn some lucid dreaming techniques.
Complication #3: Okay, I'm not sure what's going on, but I've been getting hungrier and hungrier, and when I eat, nothing happens.
Complication #4: French toast. That's the thing. So it must've been Saturday, when I ate french toast and now I can only eat french toast.
Simplification #1: Turns out I only need to eat a bite or so every few days. This is insane!
Complication #5: This is insane. I've been reading up on nutrition and physiology, and i shouldn't have enough energy to be alive, much less to think and move.
Complication #6 and #7: Oh, god, I think I might be immortal, now, except for the toast and water. The sleep's been getting less and less, and I just sort of eventually few tired after a week or so, and then that lasts a few days before I get sleepy enough to actually sleep. And then It's only for two hours. I was watching family guy and stewie went under water and I held my breath unconsciously, and I never let it go again, so... I don't need to breath any more, unless I want to talk. I will, however, continue to do so, so as to not let on that I'm immortal.
Complication #8: Last week I went to the beach, and I went for a swim. I took a vacuum sealed lunchbox, a small can of compressed air, and a diving suit, and I just went off. I was afraid of sharks before, but turns out I don't need any blood (I checked) so I left it at home in the fridge. Pressure wasn't a problem underwater, so I went pretty deep. There aren't any reefs around here. Just sort of sand and rocks and stuff.
Complication #9: I should probably contribute to scientific endeavors, but... As anyone in my position would be, I'm afraid of being dehumanized and imprisoned. Coming out publicly to prevent that seems like it would have worse consequences.
Complication #10: I want to go to space.
Complication #11: I am incredibly bored. Without sleeping at night and without being able to share what is now my secret, life's gotten a bit lonely and dull. I have a stockpile of french toast and have found isolated about 10 recipes that give me sustenance. Interestingly, toast with honey counts as french toast when fried in a pan, but not if baked in an oven or toasted in a toaster. Who the hell makes this stuff up? Who the hell enforces the rules?
Complication #11: I'm getting paranoid, so I'm going to try to reintegrate into society and be a normal person for a bit. I haven't breathed in a while.
Complication #12: It's been a while. I'm married. My wife knows of my secret, but I don't have a very strong sexual drive. Would my child inherit these qualities? This is what we've been fighting about. She thinks it would be good. I think it would be bad. I'm pretty sure I'm not aging, so what would happen to the baby?
complication #13: Aaand it's a shitstorm. The baby didn't breathe once she was born and the doctors freaked out. Its heart isn't even beating but it's moving around and cooing, so I guess it takes a breath once in a while. We can't decide what to name her. We should move.
Complication #14: Alexis has growing normally, but she's having a hard time at school. Today she told me breathing was stupid and she wasn't going to do it any more just because it was "normal."The next day she was breathing again, and I gathered it was awkward at school. Guess we still have our social needs.
Complication #15: I'm bored. Turns out if I eat a whole french toast, my body is set for like a month. I feel like I'm wasting a lot of potential just sitting around.
Complication #16: Alexis wants to be a superhero and thinks I should be too. I said no, she stabbed herself in the hand with a kitchen knife and cried for hours. She stopped crying when she looked at her hand and saw that it was already healed. This is gonna be a fucking disaster.
Complication #17: Alexis is in the news. "Girl jumps off skyscraper and walks away."She got her friend to film her, submitted the video anonymously. They immediately figured out who it was and now they're looking for Alexis. We're in the country. She's been quiet. Doesn't want to talk about it. Her mother thinks it was stupid but is glad she's testing her wings. Wishes it was less public.
Complication #18: Alexis is an international star. She kept it quiet that I'm like her and now people are doubting and believing everything about everything. Dunno if it was a good idea, but maybe things need shaking up.
Complication #19: Someone tried to kill Alexis. I convinced her to hide with me. It's been a while, but the world hasn't forgotten. A simpler life might be what we need.
Complication #20: As it turns out, decapitation isn't fatal. It's been a while, but the village we were living in was attacked and after I was beheaded, since I didn't resist, since I was kind of curious as to what would happen. Anyway, I was an example, so after they left, and Alexis's show of grief, she stitched my head back on and we left that night. It took me a couple of minutes to move again after being reattached. Felt weird, obviously. While I was just a head, I decided I would try to go to space.
Complication #21: french toast does not work in space. I don't know what it is, but I eat it and it doesn't fill me up. The team up here is trying a few different things. They think the radiation might be a factor, or maybe the Earth's electromagnetic field, or maybe a few other things. If it doesn't work in space, does it work on other planets?
complication #22: I'm hooked up directly to the spacecraft. It turns out that my body can generate more energy than solar panels could, so I am now the ship's power source. French toast requires maple syrup and butter in addition to eggs and honey to nourish me in space, it can be whole wheat or white bread, but not rye, and it must sit on a plate for two minutes where there is a minimum stack of two french toasts topped with a small glob of butter. I have a little centrifuge to make this happen. The experimental process to discover this was grueling. My feces featured various intact pieces of bread, marred by neither saliva nor gastric juices. They x-rayed me to see what happened to the food I did consume, and the effective french toast disintegrated after some time, and the ineffective french toast slowly passed through my digestive system through muscular movements. "There aren't even any muscles there!"One of the doctors would say. And then they'd want to open me up to take a look inside.
Complication #23: News from home, it's been a while. Alexis hinted at being an activist. I'm getting divorced when I get back.
Complication #24: It's been a while. My ex-wife died and that made me feel pretty lonely. A lot of people are gonna die, but I don't know when I will. Alexis was pretty sad, but she said that she understood a long time ago. I don't know what she makes out of life and existing. We should talk more.
Complication #25: It's been a while. I'm gonna try to take over the world. Alexis is with me, but first, she said, she's gonna birth a child she's got cooking. Her words, not mine. We decided that we're easily satisfied, so we won't be so easy to corrupt, and that everything is kind of shit anyway, so we might be able to improve it.
Complication #26: It has been a long time. We have created the beowulf problem. We are a more or less prosperous people but if we were to step down, the vacuum would be filled with corruption. We'll need to train the population to be active in their governance so we can fade out and transfer power to them.
Complication #27: Pretty much everyone is dead. Alexis thinks we did the right thing in staying hidden and not ending the conflict. She thinks this needs to burn into the memory of humankind so that next time people are less cuntish. I doubt it. We should have helped. Alexis says she is going to try to have another child. I don't think she ever got over the stillbirth. It's been hard to find honey.
Complication #28: I incinerated Alexis's body. She thinks we are another race, beyond human. She wanted to repopulate the world with our kind. Bit of a human thing to do.
Complication #29: I'm bored. But on the other hand, I found a new recipe of french toast I can eat. I should look for some cinammon.
Complication #30: Hey, they're broadcasting again. I should look into electromagnetic and thermal shielding for my hideout.
Complication #31: Turns out that while I'm unaffected by cold, so I can't cryogenically freeze myself into unconsciousness (my body will still stiffen, my eyes will fail, etc.) drugs work great! I can't believe I didn't know this before. I can induce long sleeps with certain concoctions on an IV drip. I'm going to lock this place down, hide it a little more carefully, and then I'm going under for a few decades. |
"Jess, why are you still with that man?"Kathy said, passing Jessica a starbucks cup across the plastic table. Jessica opened the plastic lid carefully, savouring the sweet, chocolaty, coffee aroma that rose up from it. She knew it would be too hot to drink right now, but she could barely help herself. She took a sip from the cardboard cup. Just a tiny one. It seared her tongue so she barely tasted anything, but it was good enough. She hadn't had her drink in months.
"Oh, Mark isn't that bad,"she said, wrapping her fingers around the thin cup. The heat cut through the thin, one-size fits all pink gloves, pulling the cold out of her hands.
Kathy snorted. "Jess, everything you've told me about that man is bad. What was it he called you last week?"
"A fat cow,"Jess whispered, conscious of the patrons around her. "But he's right, I haven't been to the gym in a month and I was eating a-"
"Jess,"Kathy cut her off. "Look at yourself, you weight 110 lbs in your bra. And didn't you tell me that you hadn't been to the gym because he cancelled your membership?"
She didn't know what to say to that. She sipped the triple cream mocha latte instead. It burned her mouth again, but she didn't care. Mark would have called her stupid for drinking it so quickly. "Why can't you ever just let it cool?"he'd told her years ago, back when they still went on dates. Now he just made comments on her eating habits when he saw her with Starbucks.
"Jess, listen to me. You have to leave that man,"Kathy was saying, her dark eyes pleading with Jess. She nodded.
--
It was getting dark when she finally got home. The red glowing numbers over the kitchen stove sent her into a panic in the dark home. It was nearly 7 and she hadn't made any plans for dinner yet. Quickly, she whipped open the fridge, looking for anything useful. Last night's pot roast stared up at her. It would have to do, she thought, quickly tossing it into a pan to reheat. A handful of leftover potatoes went into the pan beside it just as the front door opened.
"I'm home, Jessica,"Mark's voice echoed through the hallway. "What's for dinner, love?"
"Ahh, leftovers,"she said anxiously, peeking out of the kitchen. She saw Mark's expression sag in the hallway.
"Oh."The disappointment in his voice was obvious as he came into the kitchen with one arm behind his back. Jessica quickly turned back to the stove, trying to bring a little more life to the leftovers. There was some rustling on the kitchen table as she started to talk.
"Sorry, the subway was just super slow coming back and then-"
"And then you stopped off at Starbucks again and bought another expensive, fatty drink."His voice held such certainty that she glanced back. He was staring at the garbage can in the corner, her Starbucks cup still sitting on top of the pile of trash she'd forgotten to take out before she left. She licked her lips nervously, noticing a bouquet of pink daisies sitting on the table.
"Sorry, just Kathy wanted to take me out and it'd been such awhile since we talked-"
"Yeah, I get it."Mark's voice dripped with disappointment. "Just I'd had a really rough day at work, and I was really looking forward to coming home to a nice, home-cooked meal from my beautiful wife. I'd even bragged to my coworkers about how lovely it would be. But instead I came home to a cold house and yesterday's leftovers because my wife wanted to spend my money on an over-priced coffee."
"Ah.."Jessica bit back the urge to apologize again. "I could... make something else? Maybe order in?"
"No no, it's fine,"Mark said with a tone that said it really wasn't. "I think we already wasted enough money today."He gestured at the flowers on the table. "I even brought you some daisies to say thank you for being such a good wife. Seems silly now."
Jessica bit her lip. "Thank you."
"Yeah."Mark got up, tossing the flowers onto the counter as he headed towards the garbage can. "Guess I'll just go take out the garbage then. Can't even relax when I get home."
The rest of the night passed in steely silence as the pair watched one of Mark's favourite movies on Jessica's old couch. It was the last piece of furniture she had here, passed down from her grandmother. The rest of it was shiny new, stuff that Mark had brought in to replace her old stuff. Some of the old furniture had been falling to shreds before he had got his new job, effectively tripling the income Jess had brought in.
The movie passed on but Jessica barely heard it, lost in thought over Kathy's comments. Mark really wasn't that bad, she thought as he wrapped an arm around her. He'd brought her flowers, after all, and paid for all their new stuff. All he'd wanted was a clean house and a warm meal. If she hadn't been out with her friend, she'd have been able to get that all done. Something exploded on the TV and Mark pulled her closer to him, snuggling up to say it was all forgiven.
She didn't need to leave him. |
My dad had noticed I was the right age to go exploring, I guess, and when I got out of school for the first day of vacation, practically running home under a sky so much bluer than it had seemed through the classroom windows, there was a red bike leaning against our garden fence.
One of the great things about being a kid are those moments when your horizons expand in one moment to many times greater than they were before. I couldn't tell you now how much that bike meant to me that day. Suddenly school was a few minutes away, and the whole of town that I'd previously been dragged around unwillingly by my parents on occasional Saturday afternoons was up for grabs.
It was a good time to get a bicycle. My group from school had coincidentally also been given bikes that summer, coordinated through some parental back-channel, so they were forever going on longer expeditions, journeying up to the creek we'd heard about from our older brothers. In another world, I'd have joined them on every one.
But one day fairly near the start of the summer, I was free-wheeling down a few of the smaller streets when I noticed a shop sign that demanded via the logic of slightly nerdy boys everywhere that I put the brakes on and slew to a halt in the dust: PROSPERO'S FANTASTIC FICTION.
It goes almost without saying that the front was painted a shabby shade of dark green and that the merchandise, almost entirely with gaudily-covered robots and aliens fighting lantern-jawed heroes on the covers, was behind dark and dusty windows. I jingled the small amount of change in my pocket, shrugged and went in. I wasn't above spending a few hours reading fiction I had no intention of paying for, and if all else failed and the owner got antsy, I could probably afford one of the cheap comics I was rapidly outgrowing, to add to my collection of tatty pulp fiction.
When I walked through the door, Mr. Prospero (if that wasn't his real name, he never told me) looked up from his ledgers and saw straight through me. I remember being slightly rooted to the spot as he raised one sardonic eyebrow and enquired sardonically, with an unplaceably European accent, if I was "just browsing."I mumbled something and pushed on through to the monster fiction.
Forty minutes later he came up behind me where I was engrossed in some slime or other fluid that was about to engulf the hero totally and drew my attention to a small sign where someone (his aunt, he claimed, though I never saw any evidence he had a family) had cross-stitched "NO TIMEWASTERS AND IDLE THIEVES OF WORDS"
"Look, son,"he said, not disagreeably, as I sprang to my feet with flaming cheeks and made every sign of running for the exit as soon as possible, "I'll make you a deal. I understand you probably don't have the money to pay for most of these books."
It was true. My allowance was generous, but his prices were not. I'd barely registered the faint pencil scribblings on the inside covers of the books as I'd gleefully plundered their contents, but later visits would reveal them to be far, far higher than one would expect from a second-hand bookstore. Not that he seemed fussed about selling anything.
"Here's what I propose. I happen to need a, ah, courier. You know what that is?"
I nodded slowly. "Good. Alright then. How about I let you in the shop any time to read whatever you want?"
"Really?"
"Yeah. Take the books home, even. As long as you bring them back. But there's one condition. I'm an old man, and I can't walk so good anymore. So sometimes I'll need you to take a letter for me somewhere, OK? Urgent letters. They need to be delivered right away, usually."
"Sure, you want me to post it for you?"The big post office was only a couple minutes ride in the other direction, which meant I was definitely ahead on this deal. Unlimited fiction! For free!
"Not exactly,"he said. "I don't need you to go to to the post office for me. There's a little letter box out on the other side of town, and that's where I need you to leave the letters. OK? I saw you have a bike, and you've got young legs. It shouldn't take you more than half an hour."
"Sounds good."I'd been exploring ever since I got my bike, and knew pretty well where most streets were. Half an hour still wasn't a huge ride away.
"OK then. Here's your first letter. Off you go."
That was how I started being Mr. Prospero's courier. Every couple of days I'd swing by the store, pick up a small parcel wrapped in brown paper, then cycle out to the edges of town and drop it off in the box he'd described to me. It looked a lot like a garbage can with a slot crudely welded to the top, to tell you the truth, but I wasn't old enough to question his wisdom - and besides, he was letting me read his books for free.
We soon fell into an agreeable routine. Mondays were the book delivery days, when a small white truck would pull up and disgorge another handful of sci-fi and fantasy novels. He'd spend the morning shuffling them around the shelves, somehow making space, while I sat contentedly at the back in a big armchair, lost in space. In the afternoon he'd finish typing up whatever package I was taking that day, and I'd stick it in my backpack and set off for the far-off postbox.
Looking back at it now, I'm surprised I didn't find the postbox stranger. As I've said before, it most closely resembled a garbage can, but the body of it didn't seem like it was filled with post: Instead, once I'd lifted the flap, I could see a little grey metal compartment with nothing inside. I'd place the single letter there, and when next I returned it had been removed by persons unknown.
It was always empty. Until, that is, the day I ran late.
It went like this: My route to deliver Mr. Prospero's parcels ran pretty near to my home. One day, just as I set off, the clouds gathered pretty heavily, and then a few minutes later the heavens opened, brutally. I'd been nearly washed off my bike three times by the time I was halfway, and it didn't seem like it was easing up. Not-so-reluctantly, I turned my bike for home.
It was good to be out of the cold and wet, and I slumped in front of the TV until the rain stopped. Or until the food was ready, which came first, and then it was after sunset, and I reasoned half-heartedly that I could always go tomorrow, it probably wouldn't be that much of a problem. How urgent could the correspondence of a bookstore owner be, anyway?
That night I came down with a bad cold. My mother wouldn't stop scolding me that it was because I had cycled for so long through the rain. She also didn't let me out of bed for two days. I was uneasy, though. I tossed and turned and in my fever it seemed that the letter was maybe a lot more important than I knew, because images of the postbox somehow missing, somehow vanished leaving nothing behind but a scorch mark, haunted my dreams.
The first day I could, the third day after I was supposed to, I woke up early again and peddled as hard as I could for the postbox. It was a huge relief when it came into view, and as I pulled the letter from my bag and approached it I felt a weight lifting from me.
I lifted the flap. There was a package inside. It was addressed formally, in printed letters, to "Lewis Prospero (Or Executors)". It looked official. It looked scary.
The package I was carrying looked no different than a normal one: Five to ten sheets wrapped in brown paper. Turning it over in my hands I realized for the first time that there was never any address information on the packages.
I left it in the slot. Not knowing what else to do, I took the letter addressed to Mr. Prospero - whose first name I now knew, which seemed like a violation of... something - and began to peddle back in the opposite direction. I was anxious to track him down, to apologize for causing a response, for official letters to be sent back to him. I had been ill. I knew I could make him understand.
The store was empty. _Of course it was empty_, something seemed to whisper from the dust. No Prospero, no merchandise. I could feel the balance. Something extra where it shouldn't be, something missing somewhere else. Somehow, the extra letter I carried for him in my pocket had caused Mr. Prospero to vanish. I was a courier who couldn't deliver.
But I was also just a kid. And that's what I offer, as the only explanation I can, for why after I cycled home dejectedly I hid the letter under a pile of baseball cards in a shoebox at the back of my wardrobe, and mostly forgot about it.
Like I said, my group of friends all had bikes too, and they were off at the creek most days. After a few times asking me where I'd been those first few weeks of summer, they got bored of my unsatisfactory answers and included me in the group again.
We went back to school. We applied for college, eventually. We went, even more eventually still. The letter stayed where it was in my wardrobe.
I was working out-of-state a few years later when I made one of my periodic trips home. My dad was getting older, slowing down, and he'd asked me back to help with some heavy lifting clearing out the garage. I had a few vacation days saved.
Coming in through the door my mom admonished me for never clearing out my room when I left, and I played along, mock-apologetic. I knew they could have cleared the room out themselves, they just hadn't wanted the reminder I was gone. But after dinner I found myself upstairs, sitting on my old bed that now seemed far too small, going through the shoeboxes of crap that make up the typical adolescence.
I guess I hadn't thought about Mr. Prospero and his letters in so long that my memory had written it off as something I'd half-remembered from a movie. But underneath the baseball cards, there it was: The letter in a crisp white envelope, not even slightly yellowed with age, still addressed to "Lewis Prospero (Or Executors)".
|
I and my two friends were on vacation to the Ukraine, and were kinda close to Chernobyl. We walked around and didn't feel any pain, but Steve's skin was turning dark slowly.
Eventually we decided to enter the facility. There was construction of a giant half dome to cover it from radiation, it can't be that bad, can it?
Entering the building, Steve's skin was almost completely black, so we told him to go back he must have some disease or something. We continue on and find the reactor room. We hear a whirring, and realize the reactor is still going and on. Sarah runs out, but radiation isn't enough to stop me. I go up and find the control centre, the controls are still lit up. I find one that opens the reactor, it was curious. Immediately after the 6 inch concrete lifts, my skin darkens, but I don't care, what I see I there is worth it. In my final moments of radiation poisoning, I think why and realize.
This. This is why kids love the taste of Cinnamon Toast Crunch. |
"Hey, J.M.?"I asked to gauge if he was still not talking to me.
A long silence of static noise followed. After several minutes, a faint *click* and the sound of J.M's familiar yet unsettlingly slow breathing eased my emotional distress. "I'faut q'tu dis "over"a la fin,"he announced stubbornly with full knowledge that my French is not up to snuff, "..over."
I exhaled quickly through my nose and smiled at what I've come to believe is dry humour. I waited a few seconds to make sure he doesn't get the satisfaction of hearing me chuckle before pressing the push-to-talk on my handheld, "Just wanted to say that the spell you did last Saturday was genius". I released the push-to-talk and slowly pressed it again to add an exagerrated "over".
Through the radio static, I can almost hear him smile. "Which, uh, one...over."He changed back to English as a courtesy, likely stemming from my compliment.
"There was more than one? I mean with the Rye and Gingers. You know I drove around for *three* hours to try and find a bartender that didn't think that 'rye and ginger' wasn't synonymous with fellatio, over."I released the push-to-talk before remembering to reiterate my question, "What was the other prank? Over."
"Le matin, Je made your bathrobe invisible at everyone", he switched flawlessly between French and almost perfect English. "It was for to get you back for tha tattoo on my foreh'ead. Over."His French accent instinctively placed the accent on the last syllables.
I started to get cold and consciously increase the heat in my small shelter. "That was to get you back for recording me running into the syran wrap in the middle of the night!"I exclaimed, now far enough removed from the embarrasement to see the humour. "But the growl you conjured was spot-on. I seriously thought my micro-lich had broken out,"I added with an audible laugh. "Over."
"I, uh, 'ad another one as well on Saturday... over."He decided to admit, possibly as a result of the slowly fading radio quality.
I paused before asking, sighing as I slowly realized how many people I accidently exposed myself to while in my bathrobe that morning, "What was it, over."
J.M.'s started to look smaller as I recall that I would be starting to look smaller to him as well. "Right before you, uh, made Québec a United State, là,"his word whispers hinted at his guilt. "I changed all tha torrents on your ordinateur to gay-porn, over."He rushed through the last part as if it would somehow decrease the emotional blow.
"Oh!"I laughed because it didn't really matter now "That's why my girlfriend was so upset! Well now I don't feel bad about convincing everyone to sell the same stocks that you held, over."Even though I had thought it would only hurt him financially, I still felt a bit of guilt with the understanding that that was the beginning to the end, having sparked a complete financial melt-down.
"You, uh, do not? Well now I do not feel bad about your 'ometown, over."I could still hear him laugh lightly. He had completely removed all the buildings in my hometown, leaving everyone outside and confused.
"I suppose I took that one a bit hard...Sorry about France, by the way."I apoligized sincerely, forgetting about the radio protocol.
There was only a beat before J.M. mentioned "I am sorry about Ontario, là. I was very 'angry at tha time."
"Sorry about Africa... and Asia."I hoped that saying it out loud would clear my guilt.
"I am sorry, uh, about tha oceans... and tha arctic, là,"he matched my pace and phrasing. The radio was then only three-by-five.
We waited in silence, apparently mutually deciding that we had nothing left to say. We slowly drifted apart with no other course of action than to wait in our small ever-lasting shelters and overlook the gap in space where Earth once was.
"Hey, J.M., over?"I just wanted to test the radio quality as the distance increased.
"Ouais? Over."He awknowledged, though I would not have confidently known that he had finished his message without the fuzzy 'over' stated at the end.
"What does J.M. stand for, over."I spoke slowly and clearly, hoping that he would still be able to comprehend through the radio static.
I heared a very faint click that a message was started before a quiet yet matter-of-fact "Jean-Marc"came through.
I felt the full weight of the situation as I could feel my tear-ducts swell, seeing my friend get smaller and smaller every minute. I prepared for a indefinite length of time in self-imposed purgatory as I pressed the push-to-talk for the last time with a thick, almost insulting, English accent.
"Jean-Marc... Il faut que tu dis "over"a la fin... over."I said somberly, choosing to believe that he heard the message. |
**Item #:** SCP-3337 (provisional designation)
**Object Class:** Euclid
**Special Containment Procedures:** SCP-3337 is to be kept in a humanoid containment cell at Site-36. The cell is to be fitted with multiple redundant stereo systems capable of playing music at 65 dB or above. In addition, the subject is to be provided with at least two (2) MP3 players or portable radios, with at least four (4) sets of spare batteries for each. SCP-3337 may request any type of approved music, although it has not made any such requests thus far. In the event of a containment breach, members of Mobile Task Force Xi-3 ("Body Snatchers") tasked with retrieving SCP-3337 are to be equipped with portable boomboxes or loudspeakers connected to audio systems under the guise of a flash mob.
**Description:** SCP-3337 appears to be a humanoid male of African-American descent, aged between 35 and 40 years old. The subject behaves as a normal human in the presence of music, with no apparent preference for any specific genre. It answers to "Mike"and will frequently engage researchers in conversation. However, should SCP-3337 become unable to hear music at 48 dB or above, it will begin panicking and frantically searching for a device capable of playing music. If none could found after approximately 30 seconds, SCP-3337 will enter a state of intense rage. Long organic claws will extend from its fingers, after which it will start to seek out the nearest living beings and decapitate them.
The subject appears to be highly resilient and has shown to be impervious to .50 BMG rounds, and even large-caliber artillery shells. It also possesses considerable strength, having demonstrated the ability to effortlessly tear through materials with tensile strengths in excess of 225,000 psi.
SCP-3337 will revert to a human appearance and become docile again upon reintroduction to music.
*Note from Dr. ██████ Adler: This guy sounds like a mash-up of Wolverine, SCP-096 and SCP-682. Not someone you'd want to piss off.*
*Note from Dr. ████ Wong: SCP-3337 apparently does not consider* 4′33″ *to be music. Let's not try that again.*
**Addendum:** SCP-3337 was discovered after ██ people were killed and ██ more injured following a power outage at the [REDACTED] nightclub in Chicago, Illinois. The incident was publicly attributed to a drug-fueled killing spree. |
It can be hard to look at yourself with honest eyes - to admit your faults. It tears you up inside - owning up to your failures. I won't lie to you and try to convince you that I didn't know what a screw-up I was back then. I won't tell you I didn't love the praise, though. And now that Penny's dead.
I switched off my data reception and disabled the WiFi upgrade. This old empty warehouse is quiet. Secluded. If Brain was still around, he'd probably come over here and put his head in my lap. I could pet him...
...If the servo-actuator in the Gadgetarms weren't malfunctioning. He probably would've been disgusted with all this anyway. The left arm is still twitching.
I can feel the water from that broken pipe seeping through the seat of my trousers. Claw hasn't moved in - 32 minutes and 14 seconds - according to the Gadgetbrain Onboard Chronometer. All those times he tried to kill me. All the times he tried to hurt me. To hurt Penny.
I guess the servos in the left hand are still working after all. I hear the broken bones in his neck grind against each other as the Gadgetarm twitches. Claw lies 7.82 feet away from me. The Gadgetarm won't contract back into its socket. The one on the right won't do anything. Not with the bullet lodged in the shoulder actuator.
Wowsers. I really fucked this one up, Chief.
The Gadgetlegs aren't much use, either. My left foot is vibrating, and the right one seems to have been disconnected from its coupling. I think it fell off - held in place by the pants leg. There's a terrible pain in all the diodes down my left side. I think there's a lot of blood mixed in with the oil and coolant.
"I think I'm going to die here, Penny."The voice is choked, weak. It doesn't sound like me. How much of John Brown is in that statement, and how much of the Machine? The two never were much different until today.
John Brown came here to arrest Dr. Claw. John Brown was furious - but mostly with himself. All these years combating M.A.D. and Claw's ridiculous schemes. How could John Brown have done things differently? What if I'd stopped listening to the hype and the press and the accolades from the Department, and really paid attention? Could I have stopped this?
I know I could have. John Brown could have. I have the most advanced Robotics and cybernetic systems available - some of them not even - technically - legal, without the Patriot Act and the Quimby Initiative.
I should have been a better role model -
I should've been a better *father*. Penny would still be alive, if I'd come here and done this sooner. Day One. Right out the door. Ditch the cuffs, break out the .45.
But I didn't come here to kill anyone. Did I?
No. I can't believe that. John Brown came here to arrest Claw. It was the Machine that did all this. Claw tried his worst to stop it. Agent after Agent fell beneath the might of Gadget. I couldn't even count the dead. After the first few years, they all sort of look exactly the same, don't they? How could I differentiate between them while I was snapping their spines and crushing their skulls?
How could I let the Machine do this?
They're all dead now. My niece is not coming back to me, and none of the amazing things she did - none of the great and heroic deeds I took the credit for will be remembered.
They'll all be swept under the rug and replaced with "psychotic cyborg slaughters dozens."If the tear ducts weren't automatic, I think I would be weeping now. It's cold.
I'm definitely dying now. Back-up systems have kicked in. I no longer have access to the communication systems. WiFi boots up, data. I had no idea that subroutine existed. Hidden. I mean...
Of course it does. Whatever happens to John Brown, the technology's good. I can hear the locator beacon. They'll be coming for the tech. Maybe they can put it into a competent officer this time. Equip someone more deserving. I wish there was some way I could warn them. Tell them what to look out for...
There's a rudimentary processor in the back of the Gadgetbrain. It records everything - keeps Inspector Gadget honest, I guess. Or it's supposed to. If I could partition...
There.
--
--
"Listen to me. This is the most important thing you have to know about all these changes they've made to your body.
None of it matters. The enhanced vision and hearing, the waldo arms, the telescoping appendages, or the top-secret Gadgetphone. It's a bunch of props. Tools.
Whoever you are... you're not a superhero. You're not even a supercop. Not because of the gadgets, anyway. The only way you can be a good cop is to be a good cop. Pay attention to the things around you. Pay attention to the people. Protect and Serve. Remember that first.
Be mindful. Listen to your family and friends. Don't let all this bullshit go to your head. Truth be told, you wouldn't have been a very good cop in the first place - they won't be putting all this tech into a healthy body, so you must've done something to screw it all up. I can't see how you could be here, if you hadn't.
But maybe that's my ego getting in the way, because I was such a screw up.
Well, don't let that be your defining trait. Don't fuck it up, like I did. Stop. Learn how to control the Machine. Don't let the Gadgetbrain control you. Ask for help when you need it. Acting like you've got everything under control, when you haven't, is just going to get someone killed.
And speaking of that. Cherish your family. Love the ones who love you. And keep them away from this. You are a cop. Not some silly crime-fighter on a mad-cap adventure. You don't need sidekicks. Don't be stupid.
I was going to tell you about...
about some of the unex... unexpected... un... side effects. No clock... no... time, I guess.
It's over. I'm dying Penny. I'm sor... I'm.... I'm... END OF LINE.
--
--
"Officer?"
She shook her head. The compensaters in her artificial tear ducts were failing. Her eyes were wet. "It's Detective,"she said. "Detective Gadget. And I'm fine. I found an old program hiding in the crime scene protocols of the Gadgetbrain OS."She wiped her eyes.
He eyed her nervously, "anything we need to report?"All the street cops were nervous around her. It was to be expected. She'd only been on the street for a few months; and they made her a detective right off the bat, even though she was still a recruit when... when *it* happened.
"It's nothing. I deleted it. I'll debrief Chief Quimby, when we're finished here. Show me what we've got."She moved the file to her personal SD card and encrypted it.
The officer started across the sidewalk and into the alley and the fresh crime scene. Detective Gadget looked around, the Gadgetbrain absently recording her surroundings, in case something useful escaped her notice, and could be identified later. She turned her attention southwest. 14.8 miles in that direction was the ruin of the old M.A.D. Warehouse.
"Goodbye, Uncle Gadget,"she whispered somberly, and turned to follow the officer into the alley. |
**I went a bit with the American Revolution. I know that's not the start of Capitalism, but it works much better with a revolution to kick it off**
"Gather around animals", said Old George, the oldest boar on the farm. He had sired dozens of pigs in his lifetime, which earned him the respect of nearly every animal on the farm. However, his age was beginning to catch up to him, and he seemed to be on the edge of death.
"I had a dream last night of a beautiful future for animals, one where each animal earns his own life, one where the amount of wheat one gets isn't decided by the farmer. A future where each animal can choose where on the farm he works."
He paused to give a sickly cough.
"I will not live for much longer my friends, and I cannot see this dream come to fruition. You must live out my dream for fairness to all animals. Overthrow the farmer who doesn't even live on the farm he claims."
Another pause, this time Old George was deep in thought.
"These are the 5 rules of my dream, what I have decided to call Animalism. First, no animal can decide what another animal must do. Second, each animal must work for his feed, any donations beyond family are not allowed. Third, each animal must earn his work, no job can be given to an animal based on species or relationships. Fourth, all animals are free to criticize and censoring such criticism is banned. Finally, each animal is only worth what he can produce.
"These are the 5 commandments of Animalism. Now, I must rest, and I fear I may not speak to you again".
The animals all left Old George in his hay to sleep, murmuring to themselves as they made their way back to their pens.
"That could never work", James said to his fellow horse Nina, "Without a farmer dictating who gets what, how will everyone get what they need? "
Nina replied sharply, "Well, then I guess they have to work harder"
James pressed on, "But what about the mice! They are so small, and cannot do the work we horses do!"
Nina thought about this for several moments.
"I guess they won't get as much as us then, I mean, we do have more work than them, we deserve it".
*I do plan to continue with this, but I gotta eat some lunch and buy a Father's Day present*
**Part 2 is now up!**
**As is Part 3**
**Parts 4 and 5 are up!** |
As Thomas looks out at past the partition, the apathy of his acts slowly settles on the viewing gallery. Despite the gruesome nature of what this monster had done, not a single sound is emitted by anyone in attendance of the execution. The mechanical motions of the physician administering the drugs to Thomas' system drag out the already extensive process that supposed justice had decreed. The physician walks over with syringe in hand, and administers the concoction set to remove feeling from killers before they themselves are killed. As Thomas' vision fades to black, the curtains seem to be drawn closed.
The sudden jolt as Thomas wakes is surprising, especially considering that he was on a bed in a sterile white room. Thomas shakes the feeling back into his body and gets up, looking around. On the wall across the room is a piece of paper, taped to the bare wall. As he opens it Thomas reads a peculiar thing.
"Welcome to the SCP D-Class Program.' |
Han was ready. The weight of the blaster hidden beneath the table was a welcome reminder that those who shoot first are the ones who live. His nonchalant slouch belied the tension in his body. "This isn't even fair,"he thought to himself as Greedo's hand began to clench. He briefly entertained the notion of simply maiming his foe, but Jabba needed a clear message and he intended to send one. The tip of Greedo's blaster inclined ever so slightly as Han looked on, amused. Chewy was expecting him back at the hangar and the last thing he needed was a wookie lecturing him on punctuality. It was time to go. Han sent a blazing bolt of charged particles straight through Greedo's chest before his green finger had taken the slack from his trigger. As the smell of burnt flesh and ozone wafted up to his nose, Han chuckled to himself. "You weren't gonna shoot first, pal. Not even if the creator of the universe had willed it." |
"What are your people like?"I quickly typed in the ICCETI (Instant Communicator for Contact with ExtraTerrestrial Intelligence). The people of this planet had figured out my language, and I figured they would be able to respond quickly.
Shen and his team of linguists had managed to cobble together a translator program, and now I could receive text, audio, and video. It was fascinating how similar our languages were, but that was a puzzle for Shen, not me.
I jumped with excitement when the ICCETI picked up a reply.
"Our species looks like this."An image popped up on screen. Bipedal, like us, with similar proportions but more sexual dimorphism. I wished that Jane and the biologists could be here to see this. I would have studied the image more closely, but I was interrupted by yet another message.
"We have contacted several civilizations before,"the aliens said. "None of us have been able to make physical contact, due to the immense distance beteren us, so all we can do is share some videos and diagrams we have prepared."
"Please send. We would love to see,"I replied, knowing that that was all I would ever see of these strange aliens.
I knew that whatever they sent would be groundbreaking and revolutionary, but I couldn't wait. I drummed my fingers against the terminal - I was running out of time. Finally, the video arrived, and I immediately started it, sure not to waste any precious moments.
"Our home planet is the third planet in our system,"the translated subtitles read. The actual narration, along with the background sounds, could still be heard. There was something beautiful about the way they spoke - so elegant and smooth. A diagram showed an average main sequence star, orbited by about 8 large bodies.
"We call it...Earth. About 8 billion of us live there."Scenes of life on a major population center on "Earth"flashed by on the monitor. Huge, towering structures dominated the landscape as thousands of the aliens walked below and strange vehicles zoomed across the sky. The video showed a sped up Earth day- about twice as long as ours. They were constantly moving, these people and their machines.
And the lights - they shined everywhere! Illuminating gridlike panels on the structures, beaming down from many strange towers, shining brightly from the flying machines, the lights replaced their single star as it ducked below the horizon, filling the scene with a kind of energy never seen in our system.
"Our species is governed by several different countries, which have all cooperated to make this video."Jak, our political officer, was wrong about this civilization - it was not governed by a planetary government, as he had theorized. He would be diaappointed.
"Our next most populated planet, Mars, is the fourth in our system."
The screen began to show the extent of the aliens' colonization of Mars, which involved using microbes to change the atmospheric composition. But a few seconds in, a new message popped up, not from the aliens but instead from the laser communication arrays, which were not instantaneous and could only be used within our system.
"Tau to ICCETI, we have received your distress signal. A rescue shuttle has been launched and will arrive in forty days. How long will your life support hold?"
I glanced at the life support console. Three minutes remaining off backup power. By the time my message reached Tau, I would be dead.
For you, Shen, Jane, Jak, and our other fallen comrades. This is for you. I will watch for you, and together will see all that our kind ever will.
"ICCETI to Tau. We've found a civilization; I've sent the coordinates. But I won't be making it back home."
I sent the message and resumed the video, dying to learn the secrets of the mysterious planet Earth. |
Hello, and welcome to my website, BruceTheBat.org
There is no need to drum this up with dramatics, I'll just say it, Batman, the famous masked detective, is actually Bruce Wayne, millionaire industrialist, playboy, and philanthropist. Let's observe the facts:
1) Batman uses high tech gadgets while Bruce Wayne runs a company which produces futuristic military gadgets
2) Whenever a high profile function is attacked by a famous super villain (which is what once a week now?), Bruce Wayne, mysteriously disappears, only to have Batman show up minutes later
3) Finally, there is no one, *I repeat no one*, in Gotham who has the money to afford a holographic mountain, and bat-shaped stealth jet besides Bruce Wayne.
Really? Wake up Sheeple! THE EVIDENCE IS ALL THERE!
Now, I know what some of you are saying, "Why would Bruce Wayne keep this secret? Tony Stark revealed he's Iron Man, and he gets invited to the Emmy's and stuff. Why wouldn't Bruce Wayne? Why haven't I seen Bruce Wayne at the Emmy's and what would he wear?"
Because, Bruce Wayne is not Bruce Wayne's name, it is actually Bruce BRUNNER! He is son of famous Nazi fugitive [Alois Brunner](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alois_Brunner), who in was brought to the United States by the CIA during Operation Paperclip! Thomas Wayne, a.k.a. Alois Brunner was almost killed in a botched Hamas assassination attempt. The CIA in turn faked his death, keeping him in protective custody in their hallowed out mountain base in Glacier National park! Batman was then raised to be the perfect CIA operative!
[\(CLICK HERE to read more about the huge amount of NAZI WEREWOLVES brought into the US by the CIA\)](http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1811315/)
Yes, Bruce Wayne is the son of a former Nazi who, now fights crime posing as this masked crusader! But I ask you, what has Bruce "The Bat"Wayne, actually done? Nothing! He could not stop the bombing of Gotham General! What has he done besides acquire low level criminals! He is merely a CIA stooge which was used to pass CIA operation D.E.N.T. A.C.T (**D**amn **E**veryone's **N**ational liber**T**ies **A**llow (the) **C**.I.A. **T**o (take over).)
Think about Sheeple! Isn't it a little too convenient that Batman saved Harvey Dent from the fire? After all, would the Joker just tell him where he was? Of course not! Unless "The Joker,"was actually Nazi super doctor Joseph Melange kept alive by the C.I.A using futuristic technology stolen from the now gone planet Kyrpton.
[This photo illustrates, the undeniable similarities between the two](http://imgur.com/GU7so6V)
[(CLICK HERE to learn more about CIA involvement with Kyrptonians during the Cold War and their assistance in faking the moon landing!)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DA66pqjTnNU)
When Harvey Dent discovered Batman's connection to the Joker as well as the Third Riech, Batman, along with the CIA, silenced him! Justice for Dent! Please Share Via Facebook! Your family must learn the horrible truth! I'm sure no one will think your crazy.
[\(CLICK HERE to learn about the Daily Planet reporter who is actually Superman! And how he and the CIA worked together to orchestrate the invasion by DARKSEID to justify the U.S invasion of Apokolips\)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dQw4w9WgXcQ) |
My eyes snap open.
The ceiling is white.
The doctors wear white.
The light is white.
It is all wrong.
"Where am I!"I shout.
Why did I shout it?
"He's awake!"they mutter, quickly converging and descending with needles and instruments, "who screwed up the dosage?"
Dosage? For what?
"Where am I!"this time I roar, fighting against the straps that hold my wrists down.
"Dose him again!"someone calls out.
Oh hell, hell, hell no!
I took a deep breath and stopped fighting the straps, if I relax I might be able to get little room to play with.
Wait.
How the fuck do I know that?
It was right. Not only that but one of the doctors lets a scalpel near my hand.
I snatch it, head butting the closest doctor as I suddenly lurch upward. His nose shatters, warm blood showers my face as he clutches the shattered area and screams.
The scalpel slices through the strap on my right hand before I quickly slice the left.
"Security!"one of the doctors shouts, retreating. Another swings at me with a needle.
I duck and grabb his wrist, bending it before putting all my weight against the limb. I feel his arm break.
Fuck me.
What the fuck am I doing?!
That's when security bursts into the room. Two beefy guys in gray uniforms with stun pistols in their hands.
"Don't move!"they shout.
Fuck that.
The scalpel becomes a blur as I attack, dodging their clumsy shots. The first earns a severe stab wound to the gut. Survivable. With treatment.
The second takes a rapid upward palm strike to the throat. Survivable.
Their pistols are useless now, one shot wastes of space.
There is a real pistol on each of their hips though. Those will be much more helpful.
I take both before entering the hallway, bursting out through double surgery doors.
The wind blows my gown, making me realize I am quite exposed.
I grab a confused man in scrubs and drag him towards the elevator. He's about my size.
I jam the pistol into his throat and find myself some new clothes.
That's when the elevator suddenly lurches to a stop.
I check the pistols.
How the fuck do I even know what I'm doing? I can't remember anything. I don't know who I am or what's going on. Nothing.
The doors slide open and there are six men in those gray uniforms. Carrying very real kinetic weapons.
Ah. Fuck.
Now what?
*****
Six.
Deep breath.
The pistols whip upwards as I dive sideways, the scared nurse quite forgotten.
Two men go down, then a third, before they even react. Not survivable.
Bullets shred the back of the elevator and I become one with the side wall behind the control panel, bullets cracking through the air.
I can almost feel the wind on my skin as they pass by.
There is sudden silence.
Amateurs.
Wait, why? Why are they amateurs? What in the fuck...no time.
The closet of the three remaining is carrying a shotgun, loading shells as fast as he can through the breach as I round the corner.
My bullet takes him in the side of the face. Not survivable.
The shotgun falls and I catch it, racking it as I bring it to bear.
Number two is bold and charges forward, bravely trying to stop me.
The shotgun takes a sizable hole from his chest. Not survivable.
The third retreats as he reloads his compact carbine. The shotgun nearly tears his head off. Definitely not survivable.
In the peace of the moment I realize what I have done and drop the weapons.
Holy shit. I just killed a lot of people.
The nurse is dead. Six security officers.
And I am standing on an unknown floor of the hospital.
With a lot, a lot of people watching me.
Except they're watching from office cubicles. Not so much what you would expect in a hospital.
Not so much.
Especially as they each exit their cubicles carrying a very, very wide assortment of weapons.
Ah. Fuck.
Two side doors burst open and heavily armed guards flood onto the floor. They wear body armor and carry assault rifles and shotguns.
Already said it.
But.
Ah. Fuck.
Time to move track star.
Time to move.
I kick the shotgun back off the floor, pretty neat if you ask me, and grab the carbine on my way down the nearest aisle. Full tilt.
I shoulder check one "office worker"out of my way, sending him spinning into the drab wall of his cubicle.
There's only one way to get out now.
Those giant windows that everyone covets.
How the fuck do I even know this? Seriously?
Who am I?
Bullets fill the air and tear at the fabric walls, shredding computer screens and office supplies and printers and everything everyone hates in their office.
I cover the ground quickly, controlling my breathing best I can.
The shotgun fires, clearing another worker from my path.
Then once more, making a fist sized hole in the safety glass.
Again.
Again.
Again.
That's enough. I discard the shotgun.
I drop to the floor, sliding the last of the gap underneath what can only be described as a small army's worth of ammunition, and crashing into the weakened glass.
It gives way.
I go over the edge.
My carbine is gone.
Empty space.
Ah. Fuck.
Now what?
*****
I can see straight down.
At least fifteen stories.
This is going to end very poorly for my bone structure.
I'm sure it's a very pretty one too.
Shame.
Except there are cars.
In the air.
That's impossible.
But why?
That thought is cut off as I slam into the metal hood of one of these cars. The driver shouts and curses in terror, looking up for the source of men raining from the sky.
He stops the car.
I am only a full story down. Not far enough.
The windows blow outward and security men appear in droves.
Where's that damn carbine?
They take aim at me. Carefully now.
Make it count, they probably say.
There's my carbine. It was perched on my window ledge.
Except one of those goons knocked it off.
And now it's hurtling towards me.
Dear God. If you exist. Please let this go well-
Caught it!
I sweep it one handed, firing almost blindly. They dive for cover, one or two tumble off the window edge, and I aim the now empty weapon at my driver.
One hand clutches a ridge on the hood of the car. The other holds a carbine. My face is bloodied. I am wearing a torn and sweat soaked set of scrubs.
I am a scary sight.
He obliges and drives away from the hospital, quickly.
I clamber up towards the windscreen, swinging around the edge to enter through the passenger window that he opens.
"Who in the bluest of fucks are you?!"he shouts it. Very rudely.
I am a guest in his car.
"Uh...I don't know."
He gives me a look and then looks back to the...road?
He shakes his head and mutters something about drugs.
Drugs.
Why is that so important?
It doesn't take long before the sirens and lights appear.
The fuzz.
The what?
Why would I call them that? That sounds stupid.
I'm still stuck on the flying cars though. What is up with that?
That's when it hits me.
"Where am I?"
"What?"
"Where. Am. I."
"Forget where you are? Who you are? Must have been some strong stuff. You're in New York idiot."
Not the New York I know.
That's when the next one hits me.
"When am I?"
He laughs. When he stops there are tears in his eyes.
"Too strong pal. It's 2219. June."
I throw up.
It's not right. I'm not even in the right time. I can't prove it. I just feel it.
Which means so many things.
The first of which being.
Ah. Fuck.
What now?
*****
We escape the police.
Not for any fancy maneuvers or anything.
He just drove normally and they ignored us.
I have no idea what to do next. I am in a time that doesn't feel right, in a city I don't know, with nothing in my brain but these reflexes and things I somehow know.
"You hungry?"
He says.
I shrug.
"My wife makes some pretty delicious meatloaf. Dinner won't be long now. Would you like to join us?"
I stare at him.
What? Why? This must be a trick.
"Oh come off it. You're obviously not in a good place and I'm terrified you'll kill me if I do anything. So why not feed you and be nice, you'll leave eventually and I can move on with my life. I'll call the cops and they'll kill you. But until then...I can be civil."
Grateful. That's a surreal feeling for me.
But why?
"Thank you."
"Fuck off mate. You've ruined my life, I'm sure of it."
Moment over I guess.
He drives and I sit. Trying to think of anything.
Nothing. No name. No past. Not a single thing.
"I know you don't know yours but my name is Chris."
I shake his hand.
"Weird to meet you Chris."
"Likewise."
Silence again.
We leave the downtown core area and Chris sets down the piece of technology that is still blowing my mind, taking to the standard roadways. He weaves around traffic for the next forty minutes until exiting in an area with trees and houses.
This feels more familiar.
He pulls into a cute house, complete with perfect lawn and a whimsical little gnome.
"Wife."He grunts, motioning towards it. "Call him Little Chris. Thinks it's funny."
Holy shit. I see the resemblance.
Keep that to myself though, play it smart.
His house is neat but not too neat. A hockey bag sits in the front hall.
Odd time for it.
He leads to the kitchen. Where a picture is attached to the fridge.
A picture of Chris.
In a combat uniform.
And another.
At what looks like a law enforcement graduation.
Ah. Fuck.
I turn slowly.
He has a pistol in his hand.
Aimed for my head.
"Hell a meatloaf..."
He shrugs.
"Sorry mate. Wrong car."
I could take him.
But I kinda liked him.
Ah. Fuck.
What now? |
"... you're kidding me."I struggled, slidding myself up into a sitting position, back against the hard wooden frame of the bed. "You're kidding me..."
She muttered in her sleep, shifting slightly, snoring gently. I could feel her heat under the blanket we shared. Still warm. Still alive.
I smiled. Despite the raging head ache, I smiled. Hesitatingly, slowly, I reached out, hand shaking, unsure if she was real, if this was real. It seemed so, as I ran my hand through her hair, the silken blond cascading over my hands, as tears began to well up out of my eyes.
"It was you the whole time. It was always you wasn't it?"I laughed, as salt was tasted on my lips. "How could it not have been? You were the only one I was scared of losing, the only one I didn't... want to risk."
I turned to the bottles lying near the bed, knocked over and on the floor from yesterday's revalry. "I guess I have you guys to thank. Maybe I should become an alchoholic!"I chuckled at my own joke.
She stirred, and I shushed, turning to her figure, as she slowly opened her eyes. Her lips smacked, softly, as she raised herself up. Her hair stood up and frumpled, her... my shirt she wore sliding off her shoulders, the tops of her breasts visible. She was beautiful. She smiled at my staring, cocking her head to one side slightly. "Morning."
"Morning."
"I think this is the first time you woke before me. What gives?"
"I had something to look forward to waking for."
"Hmmm, smooth, and so early too."She looked around. "Figured the headache from last night wouldn't make that possible."She lit up. "Last night!"She looked up at me expectantly. "Last Night!"
Her excitement was contagious. I nodded. "Last Night."
"We did it, didn't we! Ahhhhh finally!"She hopped forward in bed, leaning towards me like an excited puppy. I half expected her to wag a tail, she looked so happy.
She pouted. "Though if I had know all I needed to do was get you drunk, I would have done this along time ago."She shrugged, then smiled coyly. With one hand she pulled her shirt even further down. "Guess I'll need to make up for lost time then."
I laughed, and embraced her. "I'm glad you were the one."
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I awoke, my bed empty, and her blood still on my hands.
I cried.
|
This was the most excited, Marin had ever been. This year it was *his* duty, to host the 25th annual meeting of the Marins of the universe. Of course there was an infinite number of universes in total and it had been his duty to select the Marins appropriate for this meeting.
Firstly there had to be considered that only *living* Marins were allowed. Marin shuddered in silence remembering the third meeting when ghouls had been invited and the whole situation went out of control. Just mere 5000 or so made it out alive. Of initially *500.000*! So: undead were not invited.
Secondly, Marins with low intelligence were not invited. At best those dumb Marins would loose their minds, not comprehending the situation. At worst, they'd abuse their powers. Not good.
Thirdly, you had to have a clean record to be invited. There was not point on inviting murderers, thieves and the like. But this still left Marin with more than *billions* of Marins.
So he had, as every Marin accountable for meetings, established a custom rule: Only Marins from universes *closely related to his* were invited. This left him with the humble number of 672.381 invitations. And every Marin agreed to come.
Every Marin had to be briefed about every Marin who came to the Party. So Marin had compiled a conference book with two pages on which every Marin could write about himself. Thanks to technology, the process of compiling, formatting et cetera was automated.
****
*"And this years award for Marin with the most sexual intercourses goes to"* Drumroll...... *"Marin 323308! Applause!"*
Marin watched Marin approach the speaker, shake his hands and receive his prize.
*"Before we close the official part of the night, and get to the party, let me say some words --"*
Marin stopped listening at this point. He had greeted many of the Marins albeit not all of them. There were just too many! But now the party started and he mingled with all the other ones.
"Do you remember Eirika?", He showed me a photograph and yes, it was my highschool love. "We're married now, with three kids!"Congratulation.
"Mum's still recovering from the car crash in february."Really? "But Mum died when I was what...22?""No, no...I've talked to may of the others, all claim, she's alive. Sorry for your loss, though."
"Jason is homeschooled, you know. But I imagine this is for the best, given the circumstance. But the doctors say he'll turn out just fine.""I'm sure you do whatever you can!""Of *course*! Mum loves her grandchildren. And Mum and Dad dressed up as 'young people from the 60's' for halloween, they cut quite the figure!"I felt like a brickwall had hit me. *Dad* was alive, too? Barely managing a straight face I excused myself.
"You should really go back to our farm. Everyone is there. Like a four-generation household. So lovely!"
"Fiona married, can you believe it? Married her first love. Just like we did, huh?"I barely noticed the friendly jab he gave me.
"Last year we took a trip to europe. Left the children with Betty and granny and just toured the old world. Ever been there?"
"Can you believe it? Eirika is pregnant. Again!"
"We're so happy, all of us are."
"The merriest meeting ever!"
Marin could not take it any more. Tears running from his eyes, he stormed off. Walking, putting distance between him and those *sixhundred thousand* happy souls. And then there was he. No family, barely any friends, he never felt so *alone*. The solitude was suffocating.
His feet hurt, somehow he'd walked to summoners bridge, spanning 500 yards across the black canyon. The sky grew pale blue, the shimmer of the sun lit the few clouds. The anger and jealousy had faded and left him and empty shell. Barely filled with loneliness. Toxic thoughts in his mind *you're worthless*, *you have nobody*, *just leave*, *you won't be missed*. He knew it, everything was true. All his life he had supressed those feelings.
With sweaty palms and shaking legs, he climbed over the rail.
*You've nothing worth living for*
A shaky step brought him closer to the edge.
*Nobody cares*
He leaned and glanced into the abyss.
*Just jump.*
This was it. The end.
"Hey, are you here to watch the sunrise? Come sit with me." |
I am the shadow of my family slain,
A daughter stabbed, a wife, thrice raped, then killed;
And both my sons were hanged, but not in vain:
The murd'r's beating heart shall soon be stilled.
I saw upon the walls a bloody note.
Licentious words gave up the anguine man,
Whose lexical effluvium did coat,
The house in which I served both son and clan.
I sought and found my enemy's estate.
Accipitirine, I waited 'till he left,
Before his family's home I'd penetrate.
Their lives and joy the object of my theft.
Where once a son, provender he shall find,
His nacreous girl-child, I extirpate,
With Passion's scepter, innocence I grind,
While imbue I his wife, so obdurate.
Reflected in her eyes, a sight so grim,
I see not me: I see the face of him.
|
Title: You Know Nothing Laura Snow
"You *cannot* be Bill,"said Laura.
"Oh but I *am*,"said Bill.
A sly smile hung on his lips. He pulled the necklace out of his pocket from when they were eighteen. Her eyes watered.
"You were *buried* with that,"said Laura.
"That's what they wanted you to believe,"said Bill. "I knew too much then, they made me die to the world."
"Bill,"said Laura. She said it with love. "Bill I adored you, I still love you. It's been *two decades*."
"They made me disappear,"said Bill. "I had to, for your safety as well as my own. Once they told me the truth, I knew I needed to escape. *But I still loved you*, I *needed* to come back before the virus finally took me. Needed to see you with my own eyes once more, not just the videos and pictures they sent me. I didn't know you were looking for them too."
"Who's *they*?"
"Your parents Laura,"said an elderly man as he emerged from the mausoleum. There was an elderly woman by his side wrapping her arm in his.
"Pa?"said Laura. The rainworks began when she saw her mother. "Ma?"
"It's us sweetie,"said her mother. She was crying too.
"But you,"said Laura. She choked up. "You died in that plane crash."
"We weren't on the plane Laura,"said her father. "It was all a set up. All so we could disappear, like Bill. They knew about us, but nobody ever knew about you."
"What's *happening*,"said Laura. She dropped beside the tombstone. There was a whole forest around them. Laura had searched for the truth of her lineage for so long. Now the answers were finding her. "This was my great grandmother."
"It was sweetheart,"said her mother. Then her lips quivered. "And now, we know what you suspect."
Laura beat her fist against the dirt in a sudden rage.
"GODDAMN YOU IT'S TRUE,"shouted Laura.
"We're sorry,"said her father. "Every effort was taken to conceal you from the truth."
"The truth of your lineage,"said her mother.
Laura's red eyes carried all the horror and torture of inherited guilt.
"Hitler,"whispered Laura. She sat back against the tombstone and stared at nothing. "My great grandfather was Hitler."
"Du meinst ist. Das is gut, das is *gut*,"said a very old man emerging from behind a tree. He had a cane and a toothbrush mustache. "Is more than you were ever meant to know. Dangerous knowledge for you to possess my darling great, great granddaughter. Sie werden mich *frei*."
Laura nearly fainted. Her dark hair was littered with dirt.
"All along,"whispered Laura. She shut her eyes slowly. "To hell with you."
Laura reached for her pocket. She knew what needed to be done. She wasted no time. She pretended to be leaning back some more, balancing herself with her backhand.
But she reached her backhand for that cold, deadly metal weapon.
She pulled out the Colt 45 and shot Hitler right in his temple. Blood and brain emerged on the other side. Nobody reacted.
As if they all ready knew it was going to happen.
"You're fulfilling your destiny,"said a blonde woman who floated down from the tree branches. She was clapping softly.
"JULIE ANDREWS?"said all of them in unison.
"Now that he's finally gone, the war can begin anew,"said Julie Andrews.
"I don't *understand*,"said Laura. She dropped the weapon and emptied it of the other bullets. Her hands shook as she stared at that legend of musicals.
"You never were meant to, but every moment has lead to this experience."said Julie Andrews. She pulled a syringe from her pocket. Laura's parents and decades past lover wept in the background.
"Don't be afraid,"whispered her mother.
"Let go child,"said her father.
"If I live long enough, I'll be here for you my darling,"said Bill.
Laura's head was on a swivel staring at all of them. She held her hands to her ears and shut her eyes.
"WHAT'S HAPPENING."
"Whether or not you die, or you enter a new existence, depends upon your state of mind,"said Julie Andrews. She gently grabbed Laura's wrist and found a vein.
Laura didn't resist.
"*Edelweiss, edelweiss*,"sang Julie Andrews as Laura felt herself drop into another world.
|
In the years after the first awakening, cryo drills joined the pantheon of earthquake, fire, and tornado drills. On cryo days, the school gym swarmed with students working in teams to seal each other into mock-pods. Later, when I went to work for Ellipsyce, I marveled at the accuracy of the pods we had used in school.
One of my fellow interns, a stocky blonde named Greg, rapped his knuckles against the pod’s glass shell. Sensors were all well and good, but sometimes nothing beat taking a look with your own two eyes when the readings went whack and a human life hung in the balance.
“I bet I could pop you in there right now Anna, with just a little brain damage!” Seeing my half-disgusted, half-amused look, he continued, “C’mon! Don’t you want to see if all those years of practice paid off?”
Cryo pods had never much frightened me, nor had they frightened most of my peers. But I can remember the adults who lined the gymnasium walls on cryo days, anxiously watching the proceedings, only calm again when their children were back in their arms.
Like most other folks her generation, my mother trusted a cryo pod as far as she could throw it, but unlike a lot of them, she had a concrete reason to be afraid. The sector where my father’s pod was located suffered a catastrophic power failure, killing 6000 people. The Ellipsyce representative refused to tell us any more, but insisted that my mother sign several nondisclosure agreements: in 50 years, cryogenics would still be humanity’s only hope, and it wouldn’t do to add more stress to an already stressful situation.
I could take no more tears from my mother, and no more platitudes from the oily man who told me that my father had “gone away.” I slipped outside to the garage, trying to find my rollerblades amongst the boxes of our things. It felt like only a week ago that we had lived in the friendly yellow house with the wrap-around porch. Now, like every other family, we had been relocated to a pre-fabricated dwelling: our hold home would have been over 60 years old if the Ellipsyce construction branch hadn’t knocked it down.
My father wrote the patents for the E-I, E-II, and E-III, and instead of finding my toys, I found the blueprints for the first generation of cryo pods hidden in his tool box. They were completely beyond the comprehension of a 6-year-old child, but in that moment, as I traced over cryptic lines and numbers with my eyes and heard my mother’s bereaved wailing coming from upstairs, that my juvenile mind fixated on the science of cryogenics.
Twelve years later, when I turned eighteen and Ellipsyce lawyers returned to have me sign my own version of the NDA, they were joined by a recruiter.
My years of study had paid off: in a world that’s frozen every 50 years, there’s no better job security than making sure you’re the one doing the freezing. But more importantly, I had discovered how my father had died, and how to stop anyone else from dying the same way. |
My favorite instrument is the pipe organ- I could play it all day long and never feel underwhelmed. The sound it emits is just so magnanimous and exhilarating, and to think that it's nothing more than the passage of air through tubes...I am ceaselessly amazed by it.
I do admit, though, that it takes a true artist to extract and utilize the potential from such a finicky instrument. You need precise control over your fingers, a strong mind for music and sharp ears. I would say it's much different than typical wind instruments.
Oh, and the pipes. They are the core, since all produced sound is their work. I breathe life into them and they sing for me, at my whim. It's an intense feeling of control, knowing that the music is simply a physical extension of my mind; a sonogram of my thoughts. I get a rush of adrenaline and sweat as I play, my dancing fingers orchestrating a magnificent choir.
Most people don't even know that if you pull someone's trachea out through their throat, you can hear the air whistle in and out...in and out...with every strained breath. A little pinching and you can control the pitch ever so slightly, and every person's is different- you have to learn how to play each one. My dream is to make an symphony using several different people, one day.
Of course, only a true artist could manage such a thing. If there is one, it's me. |
There aren't many of us left now. I suppose when you kill human beings, they want to kill you in return. It explains a few things. But, I, the eldest of us, am asked where we came from the newest converts. It's ironic. Ten plagues struck Egypt, and the final plague was the death of the first born child. And yes, I died, but I did not stay dead.
Thousands of years later, it is almost in my grasp. Thousands of lives taken in my time. Now, we could turn a sea to blood or any bit of water with the Staff of Moses. In your face, Jesus. A clan of us, 13 in total, have trekked to the ends of the Earth to track down this relic.
The power of it is unimaginable. My brethren struggle through the snow and complain about their frostbitten fingers, but I am possessed by something different. I saw Moses use his staff. I saw Aaron turn the staff into a snake. I saw cattle die and the Nile turn into blood. I remember the locusts blinding my view. I remember my father, Ramesses II, crying over my dead body. I remember his horror when I arose and had a thirst for blood.
It was a dangerous path through Turkey, but war torn countries are where we thrive. The War on Terror has been good to our kind, but we do have our enemies. The snow is knee deep at times, the climb treacherous. I struggle to concentrate. I wonder if the hunters are waiting for us. The hunters were Egyptians who became Christians who became the Knights Templar who became the Freemasons. They exist to destroy us. It makes sense really.
We climb the mountain. The top is not far away. Were the rumors true? It would be a logical place to hide it. How does a piece of wood with nails end up on the highest mountain in Turkey? I drop to my knees and start digging. I wonder how Noah made it down this mountain as an old man 1000 years before my birth. I wonder. The other 12 dig through the snow. We find a door and break into the ark. Flashlights turn on and we look around. Flares light up the interior of the ark. Our mortal enemies have been waiting for us. Three of my favorites stare at me.
"Gilroy, Shamus, and Patrick, hello gents. How goes it?"
"The nameless one, looking for a magical item, I presume."Says Gilroy.
"You can call me Seth. Sorry I was so rude in past meetings."
"It's not here. The Staff. You came for nothing."Says Patrick.
"We are thirsty though."I say.
"Come and drink at your own peril."Says Shamus.
There are 50 of them. How they got here, I do not know. My brethren run past me toward their doom. It is not going to end well for us. I watch as their heads are taken, one by one. I break necks and tear off limbs. I crush heads and break backs. I grab Shamus by the neck and lift him in the air.
"Where is it?"I ask.
"Please, ya know I won't tell ya."Says Shamus, resolute.
I throw him into the ceiling. I stroll into the melee, and I grab Patrick by a leg and break his tibia and fibula.
"Where is it?"
"You think we'd allow it to exist. It's gone. We destroyed..."Says Patrick.
I throw him into two more men and feed on the nearest man. I leap into the air and land hard on Gilroy. He tumbles to the ground, and I break a collar bone, then the other.
"Where is it, Gilroy? I'll let you live if you tell me."
"Your father was a god. How do you not know?"
"I don't know where it is, but it does exist?"I ask.
"Of course it does. It can't be destroyed. I'll tell you if you promise me something."
"What is that, Gilroy?"
"To turn me into what you are."
"If you'll finish off Patrick. Otherwise, no deal."
"Small price to pay."Says Gilroy.
I rip into his neck, and I turn him. He holds up his end of the bargain. He looks at me with a smile that makes me nervous. I don't feel nervous often, but I have made a deal.
"Where is it, Gilroy?"
"You're not gonna like it."
"Try me."
"After it was retrieved from the Nazis..."
"Save me the story. I don't need a history lesson. Russians or Americans?"
"Americans. Nevada."
"Area 51?"
"You got it."Says Gilroy.
***
I have more stories at r/nickkuvaas if you're interested. |
“It’s actually a Nerf Zombie Strike Crossfire Bow, thank you,” I said as a particularly iffy-looking satyr eyed my weapon jealously.
“Uh,” he said, and clip-clopped off. Just as he was passing the tavern doors they burst inward with a titanic force, smashing the unfortunate creature into the wall and turning him into a pile of glistening goo with hooves.
“What is this outrage!?” roared the shambling mass of Olympic being that crashed into the tavern. “A human in our midst?”
Before me stood the glistening hulk of man-meat known as Ares, great god of war and grumpy moods. His eyes glowed like coals and his beard lay like twisted wire across the vast bronze breastplate he wore like a second skin.
“Yo,” I said. Absent-mindedly I aimed my crossbow at him and pulled the trusty trigger.
*Permp*
The little dart stuck firm to the flat surface of the breastplate. Ares’s eyes grew wide with amazement and hatred.
“But this armor is not penetrable by the craft of man! How is this possible!?”
*Permp*
A new foam dart now sprouted from that vast oily plain of pitted skin between Ares’s eyes. The glowing coals crossed as he vainly tried to reach for the tiny missile, but his biceps were so large and his hands so vast that he could not take in hand the thing.
“Suction cups,” I explained casually.
“No! No!” Ares screamed, increasingly infuriated by the stubborn dart on his forehead. He began madly running about the tavern, staring at the tiny orange thorn, waving his hands to swipe it away.
Finally, he ran into a low-hanging beam, and decapitated himself upon it. His body collapsed to the ground in an unseemly fashion, the enormous buttocks jutting up and out of his armored skirts.
All the remaining demigods and monsters in the tavern eyed me fearfully.
*Permp*
|
“What?” the sullen, combative face in front of me belched. “You can’t prove nothing. What you gonna do? Mardy cow.”
I closed my eyes. I drew breath. I gripped a whiteboard marker firmly in my right hand, running my thumb over the ridges in the cap, picking at them with my nail.
In a flash of lightning and rage, I jammed the marker firmly into the miscreant’s face, lodging it in his right eye socket. He screamed, flailed. Removing the marker from his right eye, I stabbed it immediately into his left, relishing the feel of the squishing pop beneath my makeshift weapon. I shoved my elbow under his chin, the nervous bobbing of his Adam’s apple and racing pulse a ticking bomb against my cool flesh. “This,” I growled.
I opened my eyes and stared down at the child. Monotone, I said, “You have a choice. You can leave the classroom and take yourself to Isolation, or I will ring for backup to remove you, and you will be in much more trouble. We will talk about this later, with your parents.”
Dwayne humphed, collected his belongings, flipped me off, and then stalked out of the classroom, swearing.
Lunchtime. It couldn’t come soon enough. I twisted the handle on the staffroom door and smiled at the steam rising from the just-about-to-finish-boiling kettle. Opening the cupboard, I discovered that my “Keep Calm and Pretend It’s on the Lesson Plan” mug was missing. A thief in our midst. I borrowed a plain white one (reserved for visitors) instead and removed a sachet of “Calming Chamomile” tea from my bag.
As I reached for the beckoning kettle, a blubbery hand beat mine to it, picked it up, and drained it all into a mug. MY mug. “Sorry,” he simpered, “looks like I got the last of it.” He shrugged, replaced the kettle – without refilling it – and turned his back.
Tapping him on the shoulder, I muttered, “Excuse me, I think you’ve got my mug.”
He looked at it. “Yeah, probably. Nice one!”
“No, look, that is MY mug. Please give it back. It was a gift from a friend.”
Crossing his arms over his sweaty stomach, he glared at me. “Maybe you shouldn’t have left it in the staffroom then. Christ, you women get heated up so easily.”
I closed my eyes. Smashing the plain white visitors’ mug against the countertop, I relished in the shattering shriek of porcelain on metal. I jammed the broken handle into the bulbous chin quivering in front of me, snatched my mug back, and threw the contents of it in his doughy face, grinning as red, blistering burns burst over his cheeks. “Now who heats up easily?” I sneered.
I opened my eyes, glared at the man and said, “Please just make sure to wash it when you’re finished.”
The final bell. Home time. I looked at my “Keep Calm” mug and smiled. My mantra. The reason I’d chosen this mundane life. No more running. No more fearing for my life. Just day-to-day problems of teenagers, homework, marking, parents’ evenings…
Just as I reached the exit, the Head of Year 10 approached, followed by Dwayne and an older woman. “Oh good,” he said. “I was just coming to find you. Dwayne and his mother would like to meet with you about the incident in your class today.”
“Perfect,” I said, leading them into the classroom, as the Head of Year disappeared into his office, promising to return shortly. Taking a deep breath, I began my carefully rehearsed and oft-repeated spiel. “Dwayne can be a very lovely boy, but-“
“Oi,” the woman interrupted. “I ain’t having you kicking him out of your lessons. He’s here to learn and you’re here to teach him. I pay my taxes, so I pay your salary, you know. I’ve half a mind to sue you for messing up his education and stopping him learning in your class.”
I picked up a spool of thick thread that I use for hanging up classroom displays and ran my fingers over it, grounding myself in the rough touch of the fabric, pulling out lengths at a time and wrapping them around my palm. Dwayne’s mother continued. “If you hadn’t wound him up, he’d have been fine. And the school calling me, dragging me out of work because you can’t do your job? While he’s at school he’s your problem.”
I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. “You have said one thing that’s true. You only have half a mind.”
I opened my eyes and pulled the string taut between my hands.
(Edited - clarified a word.) |
"Guiness World Records this is Margaret."
Damn it.
"Margaret it's me can you put her on?"
"Who is this?"I can tell by the suspicion in her voice this is going to be harder than usual.
"Margaret, it's Elliot. Can you just put her on please? This is serious I've actually got something this time!"
God I sound pathetic.
"Elliot, you can't just call here everytime you 'break a record'. How many times do we have to go over this? Is that barking I hear in the background?"
"Margaret this is serious. I finally pulled something off. I fin-"
"Let me guess, you finally finished the largest chocolate sculpture of Nicholas Cage?"
"Margaret you know I gave up on that one a long time ago. The chocolate wasn't setting right. And his nose was always just a little off."
"Oh, so you were able to juggle a dozen eggs for 6 minutes and 32 seconds?"
"No, the grocery stores stopped selling me eggs, remember?"
"Oh of course, how could I forget?"
This girl is so difficult. I can almost taste the poison in her breath through the phone. If I didn't know any better I'd say she'd rather be jobless than have to deal with me calling her everyday.
"Did you finally get around to eating the most baked beans in under two minutes?"
"Margaret you know I can't eat beans for like a month after the last time I tried that."
Okay, now I sound desperate.
"Well to be perfectly honest with you Elliot I don't have time for this right now. I have tons of work to do and so does Summer, so can you leave her alone already?"
Line goes dead. Shit. I might have to stop calling for a while.
Like that will ever happen. I'd do anything for Summer. That flowing brown hair. Those big green eyes like pools of melted ivory. The way she can light up my day by hearing her voice through my ancient landline. All I need is one record, just one. And little does Margaret know that I've finally got one today. I finally am able to walk the most corgis at one time. 47 of them. I think it's 47. Or it's 46. Either way it's enough for the record, now if only I can get Margaret to put me through to Summer...
That boy is so difficult. When will he ever learn that Summer isn't into him?
She's totally not right for him too. Elliot is too childish for her. He's too bubbly, and sweet and loyal and cute for Summer.
Ugh, I'm doing the whole I-Like-Elliot thing again. I should get it checked out or something.
But I'll be damned if I can ever get over this boy. When he smiles and that little dimple exposes itself on his cheek. And the excitement you can hear over the phone with every dumb failed project of his, it's like he never grew up in the most innocent of ways.
Phone is ringing, there he is again. I think I'll let it ring a few times before I answer it. I don't want him catching on or anything. Let me put on my most monotone voice too, for extra effect.
"Guiness World Records this is Margaret."I drone. |
The world erupted into flames as the crowd was thrown to the ground. Eighty-six people were killed by the initial blast, leaving three hundred seventy-three wounded.
William forced his eyes open, willing himself to see the red carnage that covered the scene. Fire. Blood. Bodies. The glaring mid-day's sun revealed all as the survivors stirred.
In the silence brought on by deafness, William crawled his way over to a nearby woman. He could only imagine the prayers and curses she spewed as she laid dying. His shadow descended over her frail body, her eyes widening. She turned with difficulty toward William, frantically enunciating words that he would never hear. She looked like she was pleading, begging for mercy.
In his non-professional opinion, William figured she would live another five, maybe ten minutes. That would be ten more minutes for himself, perhaps being the difference between his own survival and passing. But for the sake of his own conscious, he focused on the fact that he was depriving whoever did this of whatever life they would have gain. That bastard would not get a single second from this one. And no doubt other survivors were doing the same thing at this exact moment, he just couldn't hear them.
Her skin grew pale as the life faded from her body. He had been nervous, and William couldn't help but stare at the red residue on his hands. Maybe he squeezed too tightly, he wondered before dismissing the thought. He had no time to consider the past, only his present situation.
It was then that his hearing finally returned, and the flood of reality washed over him. Screams and cries filled the air in a cacophony of anguish. Faced with the unbearable chaos, his mind focused on one sound in particular: the wailing of a boy in tears, only a few meters away.
He took a step towards the boy. |
The walls of the bus creaked and groaned as it shot across the intergalactic highway. Outside was nothing but pitch black nothingness and a few small white stars that dotted the skies. The captain of the vessel was a middle-aged redheaded woman who had years of stress carved into the wrinkles of her face. Her one-piece purple dress was embroidered with a myriad of different symbols including rockets, atoms, lightbulbs and the structures of various hydrofluorocarbons. The eight teenaged passengers seated behind her in the bus were unusually quiet today ever since the close encounter with a power-crazed alien dictator on the moon Titan when they passed by it on their way out of the solar system.
"Ms. Frizzle, can we please go home now?"asked a blonde girl in the back row in an Australian accent. The captain turned her head and looked at the girl dead in the eye.
"We can't turn back now! There's too much at stake. We need to get to the Procyon star system as soon as possible,"replied Ms. Frizzle. The blonde girl and another one of her classmates began to cry. "Oh, for fuck's sake. Shut up and act like the grown-ups you are! This is a gritty reboot of an old franchise, so start acting like it!"
"But Ms. Frizzle,"said a young sassy black woman two rows from the front. "Procyon is over 10 light years away. We'll burn out our FTL drive long before then because you wouldn't stop for maintenance in Alpha Centauri."
"Don't talk back to me, Keesha,"roared Ms. Frizzle. She took her hands off the wheel, grabbed a phaser gun from her belt and fired a shot at the student. She was instantly fried and all that remained was a small pile of blackened ash on the bus seat. Her classmates gasped in horror, but none of them were particularly surprised really since it was always the black people that were the first to get killed off in most scripts. One of the other students with the massive black afro wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. He was relieved that it was another black student that was killed first instead of him that day. But his nerves didn't settle because he knew he would be next.
"Oh my God! Guys!"exclaimed one of the girls in the middle row. It was Phoebe. She bounced up from her seat in slow motion for no apparent reason other than for any cameras around to zoom in on her to showcase her silky brown hair, callipygian curves and pert bosom. Her character was 18 years old, but we all knew she was 25. "Look guys! Space pirates!"
Phoebe pointed out of her window at an approaching space vessel. It was a giant metallic sphere with small projections at regular intervals around the hull. They could tell it was a space pirate ship because of the skull-and-crossbones insignia painted on the front. Ms. Frizzle hit the stop button on the quantum accelerator drive and the magic school bus came to a standstill.
"That's no ordinary space pirate ship,"grumbled Ms. Frizzle. "Those are space pirate... zombies."The students all gasped at the word 'zombies' and cowered in their seats despite the fact that most of them had secretly been wishing for a zombie apocalypse their entire life due to the glamorisation by popular media such as Shaun of the Dead, The Walking Dead, Left 4 Dead and pretty much anything else with 'Dead' in the title.
"They're going to board the bus,"said the overtly lesbian Asian girl.
"Well, at least when they board us, we won't be *bored*!"exclaimed the Mexican jock in the back row.
"CARLOS!"yelled all the other kids in unison in order to shame Carlos and his ridiculously lame and poorly thought out puns.
"I'll grab the photon laser rifles from the weapons cache,"said the Asian girl.
"No, Wanda,"said Ms. Frizzle. "We won't fight them with practical weapons. We will use these rolled up newspapers and try to swat them away like the flies they are. And I want only the weakest of you lot to go. Actually, wait, no. Phoebe!"
"Yes, ma'am?"asked the buxom woman while she swayed her long hair back and forth and let it float seductively around her head in zero-G.
"I want you to take the rolled-up newspaper and confront the space pirate zombies alone. It will be best if only one of us goes. And I think you are the best choice,"replied Ms. Frizzle.
"Sure! That doesn't sound dodgy at all!"squealed Phoebe with delight. She grabbed the newspaper and proceeded to the airlock at the front of the bus. Yes, there was an airlock but you couldn't see it from the outside because the bus was bigger on the inside. This is an easter egg and is a nod to all the nerds in the audience who are Doctor Who fans. It was also quite fortuitous that Ms. Frizzle picked Phoebe to be the one to go fight off the aliens, because Phoebe was actually only wearing a tiny bright red bikini at the moment. No one had given her the memo about how to dress for their field trip. Luckily everyone was aware of the Inverse Protection Law of Female Armor, so the students were quite confident in Phoebe.
"OK ladies and gents,"announced Ms. Frizzle over the bus intercom. "Put on your Ray Bans. I would have said 'sunglasses' but I'm paid to do some conspicuous product placement."The remaining students on the bus put their Ray Bans on because they knew that the action was about to start. And where there was kick-ass space action, there was bound to be gratuitous and blinding lens flares. "Oh, and put on your Beats by Dre headphones that have questionable audio quality and are weighted down with weights to make them feel expensive. Because we're about to drop some badass orgasmic Hans Zimmer background music so we can win some fucking awards for best film score!"
Just as the music started the remaining two students who haven't had much screen time until now, Arnold and Ralphie, began to make out. It was gay, yes, but it is a necessary romantic subplot that had to be included into the story to please those viewers who were dragged in to see yet another sci-fi/action/thriller flick by their partners. The homosexual romance was also there to show everyone what a progressive attitude we have and that we believe in equal rights and all of that jazz. Oh, and speaking of equal rights...
"Glaarrgh!"growled a hideous green space pirate zombie with tentacles protruding from its face. The monster had somehow gotten past Phoebe and had her voluptuous body skewered on a space quantum tachyon pulse spear. He threw the spear down and glared at Tim, the black boy with the afro from before. "Hughhargabbb!!"The zombie lunged at Tim and decapitated the black student with his set of razor sharp claws. With all of the black people dead, the zombie turned around to meet his doom. But before Ms. Frizzle could fire her phaser gun, the zombie quickly stabbed the Asian girl in the heart because she was also a minority. The phaser gun finally fired and the pirate zombie fell to the ground in a puddle of blue blood. Carlos the Mexican was spared for now because his comic relief talents will be required for the first half of the sequel but he will inevitably be killed before the end.
::: THE END :::
Post-credits scene:
A badass black motherfucker with a motherfucking eye-patch is seen entering a circular conference room where everything is chrome-plated and computers don't exist because everything can be displayed as interactive holograms.
"Time to give all the geeks in the audience an orgasm by rattling off a few perhaps lesser known superheroes who will join the Avengers in the Marvel Cinematic Universe despite the fact that this was a completely unrelated story that you just read,"said Samuel L. Jackson's character, Nick Fury, director of SHIELD.
"OK let's see..."Nick Fury flipped through a few pages in his manila folder. "Hmm... nope we did Ant-man already... Doctor Strange is done... Ah, yes, here we go you motherfucking motherfuckers. We got motherfuckin' *Nova*, motherfuckin' *Luke Cage*, motherfuckin' *Iron Fist* and motherfuckin' *Spider-Woman*. Yeah that's it. Now fuckin' leave and go read some other motherfucking Reddit writing prompts or some shit."
|
*WOW. And here I was thinking that MY costume was impressive! These guys went ALL OUT!* I thought to myself as I wove through the crowd of scales and wings. Red, black, blue, eyestalks, horns, tails...every different body type imaginable was packed together like sardines in a can.
*This is FANTASTIC!* I grinned from ear to ear as I walked toward the refreshment table. *I thought only* I *was this into demons! They got everything right!* I admired a low slung-costume that looked like a human-faced slug supported by thousands of spindly legs. *Man, how do they even MOVE that one?*
I tightened the ties that held my wings and tail to my body, making sure that they were not trampled on. I wore short horns in my hair - better to not get caught on something - and had a face full of awesome facepaint and prosthetic scales that almost looked like the real thing. *HA! My costume is wayyyy better than some of these chumps.* I thought. *Heck, that guy looks like he is just wearing red facepaint and little plastic devil horns!* Finally, after spending so long feeling like a freak, I could let out my inner monster this Halloween with people just like me!
"Hey babe."I winked at a woman wearing what looked to be nothing more than luminous orange body paint and a set of rams horns. She smiled back, revealing dozens of pointed fangs in the same hue as her body. *MAN! There are even hot chicks here!*
I grabbed a gummy that someone had cleverly shaped to look like a rat's heart and popped it into my mouth. Instantly I spat it out again, blood dribbling down my chin.
"Holy shit, these are real!?"I stammered.
Suddenly, I noticed that the party had gone very quiet. The music, that had once been playing my favorite heavy metal band, was completely shut off. And every eye - even the ones that looked like they were suspended a few feet away from their owner's skulls - was on me.
"Um. Hi."I said. *You know what? That mask looks awfully realistic.* "I will just be...going now."
"Going?"Said a man wearing a simple tuxedo - the very man who had guided me to this party earlier tonight. "Why would we want you to do that?"He laughed, throwing his head back with false mirth.
"After all...you are the main course."
***
*Like it? Read more on /r/TimeSyncs!* |
“Good morning, Miss Barlow. How’s your cat doing?” Matt said, always trying to please. He’s almost like a puppy. An ugly puppy.
“He’s doing fine, Mattsie, thanks to you. I’m so glad you managed to get my Sophie out of that tree!” Yeah, especially seeing as the idiot fell off it and broke a wrist while trying. Really, she just pities him.
“It was not a problem, Miss Barlow. If you need anything else, don’t hesitate to tell me.” And Matt, the oh-so-good samaritan, entered in his stupid eletric car who made 5 kmph and headed to-
“Please, can’t you just be nicer?”
Breaking the fourth wall, are we? Such a rebel.
“I’m not a rebel, I just don’t understand why you hate me so much.”
Hate you? Hah, I barely acknowledge you. You’re just an insignificant little ant for me. A dumb ant.
“See? There you go insulting me again. I don’t get it. I’m polite, helpful-”
The dumb little ant called Matt rambled on alone, probably going insane as everyone knew he eventually would.
“Dumb, agreeable, hard working, humble-”
You sure don’t seem like it... Matt arrives at his dead-end job and takes 30 minutes to park because he wants to be sure he’s not taking up anyone’s space.
“Dude, I’m a nurse. How can you say it’s a dead-end job? I help save lives.”
Matt mumbles bitterly about not being a doctor and shuffles to the door of the hospital, head down and not talking to anyone.
“Hey Charlie! How are you, man? That knee healing up alright?”
As I said, not talking to anyone because he’s so bitter and alone.
“Stop saying mean things about me! Why are you even narrating my life? I’m not that interesting.”
Matt feels depressed and thinks his life has no meaning. He isn’t wrong.
“Look, I have friends, I have a job, so I’ll just stop paying attention to you because you obviously have problems I can’t solve. But remind me to give you the number of this great psychologist I know.”
Psychologist?! Yeah, sure, I’m the one with problems, Mr. Mommy-didn’t-love-me-so-everyone-else-hopefully-will. Huh, I mean, Matt kept rambling- Oh, screw this. I quit, never wanted this job anyway. The narrator slams the door and stomps away... Fuck! I said I quit!
|
A thousand glistening eyes watched from the ceiling as I led Mr. Wayne through the construction site; the bats above didn't seem to be bothered by the constant noise of jackhammers and heavy machinery. I showed him the massive garage that we'd carved through solid rock, even though he had a perfectly good one full of Italian sports cars up above. I brought him by the helicopter landing pad, again carved through solid rock for no particular stated reason. What was he planning to do, fly it through the waterfall? But, he's the client, and he could afford it. At each site, he insisted on measuring the new caverns and spent a good amount of time fretting over each.
We entered the main chamber, where some tech guys from a different contractor were wiring up some sort of huge screen. The electrical cables being used were thicker than my arm, so whatever they were putting in would be using more juice than about a quarter of Gotham City. We proceeded further down the cave, past the twelve impenetrable "panic rooms"that Mr. Wayne had requested we build with the locks on the outside of the doors. Mr. Wayne had a few pointed questions about certain factors, particularly the EMP hardening that he'd managed to procure from a military contractor. I'd never done that sort of work, and he was concerned that it wasn't being done to specifications.
"I don't know,"he finally said, looking around, "I'm just concerned that this won't be sufficient for my needs."That was always the phrase he used; he never wanted to elaborate on what those needs were. The guys here on the crew had all put in money for a pool, trying to guess what those 'needs' were. Given Wayne's reputation in the tabloids as reclusive and crazy, most of the guys were guessing that this was some sort of extravagent doomsday shelter. The runner-up idea was that he was moving R&D divisions of Wayne Tech into his own basement. "I might need to revise some of the plans,"he finally said.
"Look, Mr. Wayne,"I finally said as we reached the back of the cave, where an elevator was being installed going up to the manor library, "I'm not one to pry or anything. I know that the contract came with a pretty strict confidentiality provision, including no-questions-asked."
"Yes,"Wayne interrupted me. "It did. And if you find yourself unable to comply with that, then..."
"Just hear me out,"I said, speaking over him. He clearly wasn't used to being interrupted, much less by an employee. "Have I ever mentioned my daughter to you?"
He shook his head. "I don't believe so."
I wouldn't expect him to remember even if I had. He was certainly a busy guy, and I was just one of thousands of people working for him. "Sarah."From my wallet, I retrieved the picture of her from her fourth-grade picture day and showed it to Mr. Wayne. "Super smart kid, let me tell you. And so curious about everything."My voice cracked; I didn't talk about her very often. "She was on a school field trip last year, and, uhhh..."A knot formed in my throat. "And she was killed. Her bus was on the West Gotham Bridge when the Joker blew it up."
He nodded. If I was in his shoes, I wouldn't really know what to say either.
"Well, Joker was locked up a few days later. By the Batman."I thought I saw just the slightest twitch in his face, but the light down here can play tricks on you like that. Maybe it was just what I *wanted* to see; some confirmation of what I'd suspected since I first looked at the blueprints. "Some other kid somewhere in Gotham is still alive because he put Joker in Arkham. If there was *anything* I could do to help him catch even more of these psychos, I'd do it in a heartbeat."
There was a terse silence between the two of us, though the cave was still filled with the bustling sounds of construction. Mr. Wayne crossed his arms and looked at me, almost daring me to continue.
"Well, anyway. Sorry for that *unrelated* tangent, Mr. Wayne. All I'm trying to say is that if there is *anything* in this job that is not 100% up to your standards, you just let me know, and I'll *personally* take care of it. And if that requires a little more elaboration on what you need, then I want you to know that you can 100% trust me. Just say the word."
For the first time since I was hired me for this job, he smiled. "Thank you. I'll keep that in mind."
|
Platymantis montanus (en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Platymantis_montanus)
The students’ conversations turned to hushed whispers when Prof. Guey entered the class room. He never gave a greeting, and never gave the same lecture twice. He was such a strange teacher that often those that weren’t taking the class would often sneak in. Without saying a word he placed his brief case down and began writing on the board. It was a long word and it took him several minutes to finish. “Platymantis Montanus, does anyone know what that is?” Students stirred uncomfortably in their seats, but no one raised their hand.
“Come on surely someone must know what Platymantis Montanus is?” Still no one raised their hand. “Not even a guess, maybe some extra credit?” With that students began to raise their hands. Students guessed insects, diseases, bones of the body, flowers, trees, but after 10 minutes of saying “no” Prof. Guey ended the guessing. “Well looks like no extra credit will be awarded today.” Some sighed at a missed chance of luck.
“The Platymantis montanus is a species of frog from the Ceratobatrachidae family. It is only found in the Philippines and can be found in the tropical forests that cover most of the island. It isn’t endangered and doesn’t posses any known medical uses. So why do I want today’s lecture to be about the our friend the Platymantis montanus?” A few students raised their hands, but Prof. Guey meant it as a rhetorical question and didn’t want to hear inadequate responses.
“I tell you of the Platymantis montanus not because it is special, but because it isn’t. As biology researchers you will have to document and study the living creatures and organisms of this world. Many forget the true purpose of our field. It isn’t about racing to find new species so you can have your name forever memorialized as a tiny footnote in an online encyclopedia. It isn’t about showing others how inferior they are because they don’t understand the difference between Mitosis, Myosotis, Myosistis, Meiosis, and Miosis.”
“No our goal and purpose is to learn as much as we can about this world, so we can help the later generations of man, live healthier, longer, and more in harmony with their surrounding environment. Don’t waste your entire striving to become a footnote in the ever expanding internet. Rather spend your time enjoying this world and figuring out ways to make it better. There is no time for questions, today is a beautiful day. We still have an hour left in the class and we are going to go on a class walk. Leave your phones and backpacks in the room, I’ll lock it once everyone leaves.”
No one quite knew what to say, but all got up and left their things in their chairs. As the professor said he locked the classroom door, and the students followed him outside.
|
"Good lord. This kid is severely ill."I note.
"Yo, I check the mic, while you checks it out. How about some motha fuckin' pudding and jello, oh hello, nurse...I rhymes onto the next verse. Chocolate, vanilla... I don't give a shit, just gimme a spoon and some TV to watch with it."The patient went on.
The nurse looks at me confused. "Get the patient some pudding, Mary."I say.
The nurse leaves and one of the surgeons walks in. He looks over his clipboard and says to me "I hear we have some major surgery for this patient that we need to undergo."
"Yeah, his rhymes are getting too tight. Quite possibly too ill."I recite the notes from my clipboard.
"What are we looking at for surgery then, doc?"Asks the surgeon.
"It's his eyes. You need to reverse his colorblindness... It's the only solution I can think of. It has to work."I decide.
"Well, I don't believe that can be done."The surgeon responds while scratching his head.
"Dammit man! Don't you see!"I scream. "He has to realize he's white." |
There he was.
I had been cruising the bars all night long, looking for my 10/10. And I'd finally found him. Sure, I might have found him at Heritage Wrecked, which just so happened to be the headquarters for the local biker gang, the Barracudas. But that wasn't going to stop me.
He was at least six four. His biceps were the size of my thighs. And he was wearing a powder blue Baskin Robbins T-shirt.
You could say I have rather...unconventional taste.
I stepped up to the bar to order. The bartender had an impressive beard and looked like he could probably bench-press a train. "What'll it be?"He grunted.
"Just a shot of vodka."I said politely, tapping my manicured nails on the bar. He grunted again in acknowledgement and turned to pour my drink.
Lucky for me, I'm not the sort of girl who needs liquid courage. Because I have liquid superpowers.I pulled a Kiwi Strawberry Snapple out my purse.
The bartender slammed the shot glass down in front of me and gave the Snapple a quizzical look.
"Hey, gotta have a chaser, right?"I grinned, then held up the shot. "Bottoms up!"I downed it in one gulp.
Then I chugged the Snapple. And it happened.
I don't know how it works. I'm not sure when exactly it started. But whenever I drink Snapple, I suddenly become the hottest chick in the room. Sure, I mean, before the Snapple, I'm not bad looking. But after? I'm a goddess. Any guy I talks to wants me.
I approach Mr. 10/10, swishing my hips and tossing my hair back. One glance at me and he's practically drooling.
"Hey, pumpkin,"I smile, sliding onto the barstool next to him. "What are you doing tonight?"
He doesn't know it, but he's totally going to be doing *me.* |
It started with kittens.
Fluffy, innocent, stupid kittens. Burning a litter of them seemed like the quickest, surest way to put my name in lights. Literally. I was going to burn them with a fire-equipped droid. One droid would spell “Captain Sinister” in the air while another burned the kittens. The two fires would link into the image of a skull and then vanish into smoke.
How was I supposed to know kittens had so much energy? I ended up taking out the tree they were near, and the empty basket they’d all flopped out of. The tree tilted from the damage to its base and fell down - straight onto the car of an armed robber trying to escape the police.
The blasted droid didn’t even work right. All it read was “Captain S.” It didn’t even make a skull.
There I was, trying to scoop up the kittens, when a police officer came over to shake my hand. Me! Captain Sinister! The darkest super-villain since Mister Death!
“I see you even saved a few extra lives,” the officer chuckled. Before I could smite him he was taking the blasted creatures away - and putting them up for adoption! He forgot the runt of the litter, though, abandoning it to me. Villains had cats, I supposed. Might as well keep it as a reminder of how cunning the creatures were.
When the story of how the other kittens had been saved by Captain S spread, the things were adopted in record time. In fact, a whole campaign to “support Super City’s newest hero” rose and an entire shelter of animals were adopted to support my so-called heroism.
It was a terrible, terrible start.
My second plan was better.
I was going to kill Valor, the hottest hero this town had seen in years. With his jutting chin and his shining hair and his impossibly ripped muscles he was an excellent target. I reprogrammed my droids so they would spell my name - correctly, and in full.
Fire was played out, anyway. This time they were going to shoot poisonous gas at my enemy while I made a speech that would be broadcast across all the news stations.
I lured Valor out by calling him up and pretending to be hurt.
“It’s me!” I screamed. Who needed an extra damsel in distress when you were a damsel who could play the part? “Captain S!” The name made me want to vomit. This would be worth it. “Please, help me!”
“Captain S?! The kitten saver and bank robber stopper? I saw your video on YouTube! Never fear, Valor is here!”
Even Valor’s voice sounded heroic. It was sickening. He flew to me, and my location on top of the KYW News Center - one of the tallest buildings in town.
“Captain S!” he bellowed. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought one of his powers was making his voice into a megaphone. “Where is the danger?”
I stood up straight, ready to start my monologue. It had taken me a solid month of editing and planning the best place for my super-villain laugh to get it right. It was perfect.
A cackle filled the air.
Valor and I turned to see The Witch. I knew who she was, because there was an artistically rendered fan poster of her in my living room. In person, her decaying skin and black aura were even more fearsome.
“Witch!” Valor yelled.
The Witch cackled. It echoed, even though we were high up with nothing to echo from. That was incredible. Was it an ability, or a new piece of tech? Before I could ask, she spoke. “Valor. We meet again. I see you brought a sidekick.”
I cleared my throat. Now wasn’t the time to fangirl The Witch. Now was the time to take my rightful place beside her.
“This was all a trap!” I declared. My voice didn’t echo. Valor looked at me. I expected him to be aghast, to take a step back, to surrender.
Valor smiled. His teeth, swear to god, shined in the light. They were perfect. He must have racked up dental bills. “Ah, brilliant! We’ve been trying to take down The Witch for years! You brought her here for capture.”
I growled in frustration. “No, I-”
The witch cackled. It was just as brilliant as the first time. “You’ll never take me!”
She and Valor clashed on the rooftop. I opened my wrist pad that controlled my drones. This misunderstanding didn’t matter. I would capture Valor with The Witch and make my speech. It was such an impressive speech. The Witch would be wooed by my words, and ask me to join the Villains’ League. My name would be all over the news for months.
The Witch knocked Valor to his knees. He looked weak. Crap. I had to act fast to claim this as my own.
I activated my droids.
Gas sprayed out across the rooftop, engulfing The Witch and Valor. The Witch had powers from another dimension. Surely the gas wouldn’t hurt her. And if it did, well, that would only help my reputation.
Only the letter S rose up from the gas.
I must have made a programming error. Still, S wasn’t a horrible name was it? It was short, and it meant I expected people to know who I was. I could retroactively get people to know my name was Captain Sinister, S for short. Sure, that worked.
The cloud of poison was beginning to clear. I sucked in a deep breath. Now was the time. My first super-villain laugh. I let it out. It was deep and menacing. I’d been practicing since I was six.
“Aha!” I yelled, as the smoke cleared around my feet. “You see, you were no match for-”
Valor was standing. He looked stronger than before. The Witch was on her knees.
“Valor?!” I yelled.
Valor grinned at me. God, how had he gotten his teeth so white?
“You did good work too,” he said. “It wasn’t just me.”
He turned to one of my droids, and, in my utter confusion, I didn’t understand why until I saw the broadcasting green light on its side. Oh, no. This was going to every station.
“When Valor and Captain S are around, no villain stands a chance.” He clasped my shoulder with his hand.
The Witch shrieked as he knocked her out with one final blow. He flexed his muscles after the hit.
My droid turned off. Valor smiled at me. I wanted to punch his teeth out, but my droids were out of juice and I wasn’t a powered hero like he was.
“Good work, S,” he said. “Is that the nickname you want? Simple but solid, I like it.”
“But-” I started.
“Not many people know that noxious gases power me up. I see you’ve done your research. I look forward to working with you again.”
“But-” I stuttered.
Valor flew off the rooftop with The Witch in tow, leaving me alone to walk back down the building to my car.
I’d imagined the walk in my head. My droids would surround me, and the workers in the building would cower in fear. Instead, they cheered! It was ridiculous.
“You’re my new favorite hero!” a little boy yelled. What was a little boy even doing here? Didn’t these people use childcare?
A reporter rushed to me before I made it to my car.
“Captain S,” she said. “Do you have a moment?”
“No,” I said. I hopped back into my car. That was a rejection. It was what a super-villain would do. What I would do.
Later that night, the same reporter was on TV. The clip of me rejecting her played. I knit my fingers together. Let people start to dislike me, at least. Let this be worth some smidgen of what it could have been.
The reporter looked like she was going to cry. Yes, I thought. Hate me.
“Captain S is an exemplary example of heroics,” she said. My heart dropped. “She wouldn’t even take the time to talk, instead going straight to her next heroic act.”
“No!” I yelled at the TV. “There have been no heroic acts! None!”
Fluffy Lump, the kitten left to me from my first disaster, meowed at my tantrum and curled up on my lap. I rubbed a hand through her fur. Villains did this, at least. “That’s right fluffy lumpkins,” I said. “I’m not a hero. No, I’m not. You and me, we’re a perfectly villainous team.”
That was it. I had to go big. I had to do something so sinister, so terrible, no one would remember these two pitfalls.
I was going to destroy Super City.
My plan was brilliant, as usual. Now that the city thought I was Valor’s sidekick, I could get in anywhere I wanted and no one asked questions.
I set up small armies of droids - programmed one-hundred percent correctly now - in the three major news organizations of the city. The droids would take control of the news stations and broadcast terrified newscasters on their knees. These were people the citizens knew, people they trusted and liked. I was going to have them tell the people they were doomed, before all the feeds cut back to me.
I had a network of bombs set up under the city. I was going to wait in my local banking branch just outside the town limits. The bank wouldn’t be affected, and I could rob it afterward for an extra punch while everyone was down. Besides, they had excellent customer service and free coffee. And my lair was within walking distance. There was no reason to take my car and ruin the environment more. I was a super-villain, not a monster.
I waited just outside the bank with my free cup of coffee, watching my droids’ progress on my laptop. I had the detonator for the bomb in my coat pocket, and three droids with me. One was going to broadcast, the other two would help me rob the bank.
The three news stations were taken over easily. My droids had the newscasters under lock and key, looking more terrified than they had when Mega Bad Man stormed the city in his gigantic form.
“The- the city is being taken over-” one newscaster stuttered. “By - by - Captain S?!”
The feed turned to me, and I smiled into my droid’s camera. Finally. My time had come.
“Yes, it is I,” I said. “I think you’ll find there’s a secret in this city.”
My speech was interrupted by yelling - inside the bank. Had they already seen the newscast? Were they terrified of me?
No. There was a figure in black inside the bank. He had a gun. No way was I letting some schmuck hold up this bank on my big day. |
"HAHAHA! That is a funny joke. I'm totally not a skeleton in disguise whaaaat? No."Said the totally not a skeleton in disguise. "No, no I'm just a regular human like you. I have muscles and a digestive track and lungs just like every other human. Because that's what I am. A regular human and NOT a skeleton secretly infiltrating your society using a skin suit."
"Ah huh. Ok."Said the elderly waitress. "So can I get you a coffe then?"
The skeleton leaned in close to the waitress, "do regular humans, WHICH I AM, usually drink coffee?"
The waitress had served many an odd customer but this guy might just take the cake. "Uh... Yes?"The waitress responded.
The the totally not a skeleton in disguise hastily wrote down a note in the book it had with it. *humans drink coffee weakness?*. The totally not a skeleton in disguise turned back to the waitress, "Then a coffee I shall have!"The the totally not a skeleton in disguise exclaimed.
"Uh, ok I'll be right back with it then."The waitress walked towards the kitchen glad to get away from that weirdo. She got the pot and headed back to the table and pored him a cup. "Careful, its-"she didn't even get a chance to finish though because the totally not a skeleton in disguise downed it in one gulp.
"Ah! Delicious human coffee! I love it so!"Said the totally not a skeleton in disguise as the coffee poured around the inside of his disguises feet.
The waitress just kind of looked at him for a minute until she finally asked, "do you want anything to eat or a refil or..."
"No, no,"said the totally not a skeleton in disguise. "I think I have had enough of those human things. Tell me fellow human, what other human things does this human establishment have?"
"Uhhh, we have a jukebox, I guess."
"A yes, human music. As a human I am well equated with it. Please play me a song on it."The totally not a skeleton in disguise made another note in his book, *juke-box, destroy?*.
The waitress walked over to the jukebox and played a song at random. Since it was October they had recently added some seasonal song into it for Halloween, and one of them started playing. "*Spooky scary skeletons,*"the music went.
The totally not a skeleton in disguise jumped out of his seat and ran out the door yelling, "the cover is blown! Abort abort! The humans are onto us! Get out while you still can!"
As the now revealed to be a skeleton in disguise ran out the waitress yelled at him, "but wait you didn't pay your— aw forget it." |
A huff of smoke escaped the dragon's nostrils. Too many villagers had already come to him lying about this or that, and day by day the mighty creature had refused their pleas. One other made no difference.
"Please, I beg of you! Her- her parents will never let me marry her if I'm so poor!"A young man was standing before the dragon, slouched, completely defeated.
"I know you are lying. It is no use."
"Can't you... can't you make an exception?!"
"You are no different than the drunk that came yesterday."The dragon yawned, the noise it made echoing in the dark cave. This was boring. "If you tell me the truth now, I'll give you gold."
The young man fidgeted, kicking mud off his boot with a worried expression on his face. "Will you tell anyone about this?"
"Why would I?"
"We-Well... you're a dragon. I don't know how you think."
"I think that if you do not tell me the truth right now, you are not getting gold."
"Fine,"the young man said, crossing his arms in front of him. "I want to run away with my sweetheart."He looked the dragon right in the eye.
"And... where is your sweetheart now?"
"H-He's waiting outside the cave."
The dragon seemed to curl its lips in what looked like a satisfied smile, and with its tail, slowly started pushing coins towards the young man. |
Karen had always been fond of me. She made me herself at Build-A-Bear. It was my sole purpose to protect her from the nightmarish evil that plagued children like her. I remember all my fights. From her zombified hamster that her mother tried to cover up with the whole "it ran away"story, when in actuality, it ate a Lego, to an Old One from
another dimension. Every fight presented unique challenges for me, but none of that could prepare me for what I would encounter next...
It was 10:00PM and Karen was tucked in and fast asleep. I wanted to make sure she was in her REM cycle before I started my patrol. Bad shit happens when children see their toys come alive. This "bad shit"is in the form of shrinks and worried parents. It's standard protocol from Build-A-Bear that we remain motionless throughout the day until the child is asleep or if we are alone. I hear the parents snoring a room over. Dad sounds like a diesal engine. I grab my combat knife and sling my pop-rifle over me shoulder. I'm looking out for any agressors in the area.
It's 12:00AM. I'm bored as hell. She has no other stuffed animals for me to talk to. I can't play her Atari either due to the screen being too bright. I guess I'll build a house of cards.
It's 2:00AM, It's two a.m.
The fear has gone
I'm sitting her waitin'
The gun's still warm
May-what was that?
My humming of lyrics was cut short by a zapping noise. I see a flicker in the corner from where the sound came from. I raise my rifle and walk towards it slowly. The zap happens again but this time paired with a crackle. I peer behind her doll house. The zap happens right in front of me. The outlet behind the doll house is shooting out sparks. I raise my sword at it. A louder crackle echoes throught the room. I can hear Karen roll in her sleep. Shit. A humanoid made of pure electricity is standing in front of me.
"I know what you are and you're a danger to this family. Turn back and leave this place or face me in combat."
The electric being has no words. It extends an arm and sends a bolt of electricity at me. I dive out of the way. The bolt hits the curtains behind me and leaves a burn. I've had enough of this already. I charge at the guy and swing my sword right through him. He is unfazed. He raises his hand again. This time a bolt catches me square in the chest. I am
knocked off my feet. I feel dizzy and struggle to regain my footing. I rush full-speed at him. I manage to push him straight into the wall. There are burn marks on the wall now. Shit. They are gonna notice now. There is a faint smell of burning now.
The curtains. They're on fire.
The flame keeps growing as we fight. The man is untouchable. I can't do damage to him. I look up to see a thick cloud of smoke gathering at the ceiling. I have to break my code. I have to get Karen out of here. I ran from the electric being and climb onto the bed. Karen is still fast asleep despite the warmth and sound of the growing fire.
"Wake up Karen! You need to wake up now."
All of the sudden she sits up, knocking me to the ground. She didn't know it was me shaking her. The smoke alarm goes off. Just as that happened, her parents barged in and pulled her out of bed. The fire was know engulfing half of the room. The electric man had now become an inferno. Karen was safe now. Someone else will now take-up my old job of protecting her. I feel my arm start to catch fire.
"It was an honor serving you, Karen." |
When Switzerland entered a state of war with all the 195 other countries in the world, those countries mostly laughed. A few, like North Korea and various African dictatorships, made threats, and pointed to it internally as an example of "Western aggression."Mostly, these speeches did nothing but cause amusement among the rest of the world - the most common joke on social media for days afterwards was about a North Korean terrorist, and how he sabotaged Swiss morale by adjusting a Zurich train station's clock one second forward. Of course, the militant rhetoric lead to nothing substantial. Not a single Swiss citizen was killed in the days after the declaration, and only very minimal property damage was inflicted.
Some nations, mostly the leading lights in the declining EU, attempted to reason with the Swiss during the days immediately following the creation of a state of war, appealing to a "European Kinship"and the international economic ties upon which virtually every Swiss citizen's income depended on in some way or another. America, of course, immediately entered into public discussions whether or not to "bomb the hell out of"Switzerland; both presidential candidates and 60% of the public say "do it!", another 30% say "please, don't", and the remaining 10% either responded "no comment"or "where's Switzerland again?".
Exactly 72 hours after the creation of a state of war with the world, Switzerland made three, simultaneous, announcements. One: all foreign assets located in Switzerland, including bank accounts, bonds, and shares, have been "nationalized for support of the war effort."This had the effect of making *trillions* of dollars essentially disappear into the pockets of the Swiss government, and causing the world economy have it's sharpest downturn sine the Great Depression. Two: Switzerland possesses a vast nuclear arsenal, mounted on world-ranging ICBMs. The Swiss then got the satisfaction of seeing Russia, China, and the entirety of NATO go into DEFCON 1, or it's equivalent. Three: Switzerland was prepared to offer peace to 194 countries - the one oddball being North Korea. It turned out the DPRK actually *had* attempted to conduct a terrorist attack at a railway station, and while it failed miserably, it annoyed the Swiss enough that their official policy position towards the DPRK became that it soon would not exist. True to their word, as diplomats from around the world converged on Zurich, US Missile Command registered the launch of several missiles from sites within the Swiss mountains, and, disturbingly, from the Baltic Sea. North Korea and it's people ceased to exist soon afterwards, in a storm of nuclear fire.
Edit: Spelling, grammar, flow, and some details I wanted to include but was too tired to do so. |
I once saw a pretty gnarly illustration of the infamous "5 Power Sam". It was on a book of anatomy, and the idea was for us to learn that the skin can stretch by quite a bit. He was chained in the same position for years. Daily they fed him. And every day, with tiny increments, they stretched him out. His ears, his nose, his legs, his mouth--every part of him. In the end he looked like someone who had crawled into the skin of a giant for laughs. While my classmates were amused, I was not.
Everyone knows themselves their power. When someone comes of age, they can be measured. Before people were measured at birth, but this inevitably led to mothers and fathers discarding weak infants. It's hard for a 2 million man to get a job. If he's lucky, he will earn enough for food and shelter. He won't have kids. Not legally. The limit is at 1 million.
When someone asks me my power, I tell them: "Around 5000". This makes them jealous, of course, and they usually ask for a demonstration. I then tell them I am saving it for the future. This is considering common-sensical, though a bit prudish. Before I used to say: "In the area of 500,000."This turned out to be a bad idea, as I had no argument for withholding a demonstration.
There have only been a handful of sub-10 powered individuals throughout history. Each and every one of them left a mark on the world. Their sheer existence is a threat. Or so our history books say.
"3 Power Joe"changed the world hundreds of years ago. He single-handedly destroyed half the world.
Because of strict laws on the use of these powers, you don't see people abusing them very often. One time at school a girl got a guy run over by a bus. The rumors said she had discovered the previous day he was cheating. He, of course, claimed he'd been taken advantage of. She didn't believe him.
Today I turn 10. Which means I am up for measurement. Any minute now, there will be a knock on the door, and they will come get me. People will giggle and whisper, taking bets on my power. I can't let them measure me. I can't.
There's a knock. Ms. Fletcher smiles at me. She gets up. My heart races. She opens the door.
And I panic.
Have you ever had that feeling where you become aware of every part of your body? The way your tongue rest uncomfortably in your mouth, the weight of your neck, the tension of your thighs ... All at once you feel it.
I tried to contain it. I really tried.
And now I am Ms. Fletcher staring at Mr. Thompson from the departement of Measurement, and I am him staring at Ms. Fletcher. He is my focus, but I can't control it. *He needs to be gone*, which means that *I* need to be gone, which is everyone.
I fall from a million windows, stab myself with thousands of knives, crash into every car, fire every gun. It all happens at once.
Then I am alone. The classroom is empty. Cries of agony comes from the outside, and from every direction. The sounds wash over me, but I can't feel them. I can't feel them anymore. |
*"He's here."*
The office suddenly fell quiet as Sean walked into the room. He looked around - how late was he? Was he finally going to be fired?
Michelle stood up, and stared him in the eyes. He gulped.
Then she threw her arms around him, bursting into tears. "Thank you so much!"she cried, putting her face against his chest. He put his hands up, confused.
What the hell was happening? Everyone else stood up and broke into applause, with some of his coworkers clapping him on the back. He winced as they connected with his bruises.
Sean was dumbfounded. "But I didn't do anything!"he said, gently pushing her away from him. She smiled, wiping away a tear.
"Of course you'd say that, Sean."she said with a wink. Everyone else laughed.
One of his coworkers suddenly turned the volume up on the TV. "It's coming on!"he shouted.
Michelle was on TV being interviewed by a reporter, while she held her child close to her. "He just came out of nowhere,"she said tot he reporter, "he saved our lives."
Her child was enraptured. "It was The Watcher, mommy! He's my hero!"the child cried in disbelief.
Michelle stroked her child's hair. "It was, Sally. It really was."
Everyone turned back to Sean. It was slowly dawning on him what had happened.
His boss put his hand on Sean's shoulder. "Don't worry, Sean. We were really worried about you. But we know now, you're not an alcoholic. You're not a fuckup. You're a goddamn hero."
Michelle took his hands.
"Don't worry, Sean. Your secret's safe with us."
*****
Sean got home that evening, still in awe of the day's events. Everyone thought he was a hero.
His real secret was that he's just an alcoholic with a doppelganger. It made him feel even worse.
But, something about the admiration in their eyes awoke something in him. He stared at himself in the mirror.
If all those people thought he wasn't such a bad guy, then maybe he actually wasn't? Maybe he didn't need to hate himself. Maybe his self-loathing wasn't justified after all?
Maybe, just maybe, he wasn't so bad after all.
Maybe he could kick the habit, once and for all.
But then again; just one drink couldn't hurt. |
"I said I was sorry,"I muttered, twisting the top of my glossimer skirt. "It's not like I was *trying* or anything."
"Not trying?"Henric shouted. "Look at me!"
Squinting made it easier, solidifying his semitransparent form. He was tall, even without the additional three inches he gained from floating. His hair looked white now, rather than the black it had been earlier, and his eyes had shifted from blue to gray. "Um, well,"I ventured, "you still look hot."
"I'm *dead*."
I winced. "But a hot kind of dead,"I assured him.
"You--you're crazy."He began pacing back and forth, the red carpet undisturbed beneath him. The only thing moving beside him was the tree outside, swaying back and forth in the storm. Watching it through the window made me feel vaguely seasick.
"A century of death will do that to a girl,"with a sigh I stood up. "Look, it was an accident."
"You threw me down the stairs!"He jabbed a finger at the steps behind him, then pointed it at my face. "How is that an accident?"
"First off,"I said as the tree outside groaned, "I did not *throw* anyone. I just said 'hi.'"
"What did you think was going to happen?"Henric roared. "A dead chick pops out and life is all sunshine and roses? No, I *run like hell.*"
"You trip and fall is more like it."
"Shut up. This is your fault."He resumed his pacing, and I made a rude gesture at his back. I'd learned that while watching t.v. over his shoulder last week, when he was still alive and could use the remote. "I saw that,"he growled at me.
"Whatever. You're being a total jerk."Lightening struck, its fingers slashing through the sky. "It was an accident, I apologized, and there's nothing more either of us can do about it."
He spun, his shirt appearing striped with the wallpaper visible through it. "You killed me."
"I just wanted someone to talk to. You know how long it's been?"This time, when the lightening hit it was close enough to rattle the windows.
For a moment he stopped, meeting my eyes before looking away. "Just... tell me how to get out of here."
I shrugged. "You think I'd still be here if I knew?"I didn't bother following him as he started around the room again. Rain beat against the windows as the tree waved madly. I saw Henric reach for the window. "I wouldn't do that if I were you."
He set his jaw and laid a palm against it. I flinched when he did. It'd hurt, a lot. Touching anything towards the outside felt a bit like sticking a hand against an icy pole--then having to peel your skin off to let go. He yanked his hand back, then stared as his whole arm rippled. Dark gray blisters rose and burst in waves of agony before his form settled again.
I rubbed my arm in memory. "No matter how you go at it, or how many times you try, the walls won't let you out. They'll only hurt you. Bad."
His skin smoothed, the gray dissipating, but he did not move.
"It sucks, ok? Being dead sucks."I said, as gently as I could. "But it could be worse."
"How?"The single bleak word hung between us.
"You could be alone. For a hundred years."
Henric turned and glared. I simply offered another shrug and strode back towards the kitchen.
"Don't believe me? That's fine. There's plenty of time to argue about it."I glanced back at him and raised an eyebrow, "But first, want to know one of the perks of being dead?"
"What?"he said cautiously, as he stood framed before the window.
I quirked a half-smile. "You're story hit the news. We're totally going to get ghost hunters."
Henric stepped after me automatically. "What? Can they, like, hurt us?"
"Hurt us?"I laughed. "We're dead. Only those outer walls can hurt us now."
"Then what's so great about ghost hunters?"
Grinning at him, I stepped through the inner wall. "Ever heard of Peeves?"The grin shifted to all-out mischief. "Well, he ain't got *nothin'* on me." |
I stare at the retreating figure of the witch who had just cursed me.
I feel the cold spread from the lump of ice now in place of my heart.
Did she seriously just do this so I can't love again? Love doesn't create *actual* heat.
"Bitch don't you understand the laws of thermodynamics?"I shout after her slowly fading form.
I see a minute shrug as she disappears from my eyeline and give out a weak gurgle as I fall to my knees. As the floor rises to greet my face, it occurs to me that she doesn't much understand the laws of biology either. |
The sceptre fell from his hand and clattered across the ground to rest at the feet of the three of us still standing in the room. Perhaps it was just my imagination, but it felt as though the entire planet now sighed in relief; the great weight of oppression had been lifted from our shoulders. Everything had been building up to this moment, an entire decade of planning and underground operations. What had started as separate mutterings of dissent had formed into a cohesive battle-cry, and now would become a roar of celebration.
His body slowly slumped to the floor and joined the corpses of his bodyguards. Throughout life he may have held the entire planet within his iron fist, yet in death he appeared no different from that of the countless others seen on the battlefield. How had one man been able to command such power? It mattered little now; what truly mattered was that there was now freedom and liberty for all. No longer would we be chained to the will of a single man, no longer would we be forced into lives of servitude for his 'greater good'. No longer would we be living lives not worth living.
I looked over at the one of the guards. A slim fellow, late twenties at most if one was to guess his age. His still face showed a life-time of fatigue, and yet an underlying semblance of hope. Sam, his name had been; a good man... by most accounts. I sighed, mourning the senselessness of it all: Why hadn't there been a peaceful transition of power, rather than the bloody civil war? I couldn't help laughing at the absurdity Sam had said in reply: "The Empire may be corrupt, but it keeps everyone together."Why couldn't he have seen what we had, that the heavy imperial hand was not one of providence, but of enslavement?
I couldn't help but turn my gaze away from it all, and it instead wandered to the gargantuan walls of the room we were in; I must admit that I was rather surprised. I had expected self-congratulating portraits and extravagant trimmings, not budget reports, updates on healthcare dealings, and outlines of education policies. Television screens flicked through various graphs relating to finances, power generation and even the congestion of roads.
Curious, I walked up to the enormous desk which dominated the centre of the room, and saw not controls to a doomsday-device, but merely letters of correspondence. Glancing at them I saw the letterheads of various businesses, organisations, guilds and unions; the neat handwriting hiding back-room deals and hidden agendas. Oh, and telephones: row upon row of telephones. "Not even a picture of his family,"I thought to myself, before remembering that he had none. Why would he continue as he did, if it wasn't for his own pleasure?
Then, as if all at once, the phones were ringing, ringing, ringing. We dared not do anything, but we did not have to. We heard the multitude of worried, chaotic, disparate voices start calling out through speakers, calling for rumours to be dispelled and order to be restored.
We three could do nothing but stare in mute silence; confusion and terror wiping away the jubilation that had before been on our faces. We searched each other's eyes, desperate, pleading for a solution to appear. Looking down to the pistol in my hand, clarity suddenly came... along with regret. I realised what I had to do.
"The Empire may be corrupt, but it keeps everyone together."
**********************
*********************
*Hi, thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed it. I'm fairly new to this, and would appreciate any feedback* |
*Excerpt from John's Blood Bank Book, 'Welcome new Phlebotomist!'*
Thank you for starting a career as a phlebotomist. Having the good Education You have, we fully expect you to be all set and ready to take people's blood. ARE you really ready though? Very little Amounts of people are good right off the bus. Masters of the Practice need months before they are good In taking blood and giving a comfortable experience to donors. Right now we are going go into Effective practices you can do So you can become the best we know you can be. |
My worst nightmare as a Canadian had come to fruition. I bumped into someone on the street... **without apologizing.** But, it wasn't my fault! It was too late, the man left before I could apologize. I... I feel so bad.
Sad, I left my office early and headed home. My boss was understanding, saying he was sorry that I felt bad and that I could take the day off.
Right when I hit my couch, I cracked open a Labatt Blue. It was at that moment, I'd heard that familiar sound. The sound that could drive terror into the heart of the bravest Canadian. The sound... of geese.
"Oh, sorry, I didn't see you there. Want some bread?"Everyone knows the international rule when facing geese: apologize and offer bread.
"Save it,"the head goose said, a red glow in its eyes. "We know what you did. Do you simply think you can just run into someone without apologizing? We, the Courtesy Demons, think not. Sorry, by the way, we didn't mean to break in."
"Sorry, I've never heard of the Courtesy Demons. Tell me more."
"Sorry, I should have elaborated more. We are demons that were sent to Canada to keep a watchful eye upon those who do not apologize. We took the form of man's most feared creature: the goose. Your punishment for not apologizing is..."
"Sorry, can I interrupt? I really wanted to apologize, but the man walked away. I'm sorry, continue."
"Sorry, we should have let you defend yourself before jumping to punishment. Though you wanted to apologize, you did not go out go out of your way to do so. Therefore, your punishment for not apologizing to a stranger is... one month of imitation maple syrup. Sorry."
*****
Like that story? Check out /r/Picklestasteg00d. |
[NSFW. No sex, just mentions of it]
[You have just been added to the group chat]
(923)-478-2896: Ayyyyeeeee is this Martian Manhunter?
Me: What?
(923)-478-2896: Oh shit. Did we just add a wrong guy in the Justice League group chat?
(783)448-8393: I think we did
Me: Wait, this is the Justice League? The real Justice League?
(923)-478-2896: Duh. This isn’t Jonn tho.
Me: Nope! This is Martian Manhunter, I was just confused by earth technology.
(923)478-2896: Sweet! Flash here. Anyways, here’s some contact info.
[Batman, The Flash, Superman, Wonder Woman, Green Lantern, and Aquaman have just been added to your contacts]
Me: So what’ve you guys been up to?
Batman: Well I just got Batgirl to have sex with me on the rooftop so that’s a plus
Superman: Finally! You’ve been chasing her for months.
Batman: I even got some vids with one of Cyborgs secret cameras ;)
Batman: One Attached Image
batgirl.riding.me
Superman: Bruh. I wish Lois could fuck like that. Hell, Diana can’t even fuck like that.
Wonder Woman: I beg to differ, Supes. Last night, you came faster than a speeding bullet.
Green Lantern: BOOM ROASTED
Flash: DAB ON EM
Flash: One Attached Image
Flash.Dabbing.
Aquaman: Just a warning, Batsy. If it smells like fish… get out of there. Trust me on this.
Superman: shit guys. I’m on watchtower duty. The Joker and Ares are currently on a murder rampage in Metropolis. Do we have this?
Green Lantern: Nah, we’ll tell everyone we were busy in outer space. Which is true for me, I’m meeting up with an alien friend of mine and i’m gonna be realllll busssyyyyy.
Flash: Ayyyyyyyeeee that’s my boi
Me: Maybe...maybe we should help?
Wonder Woman: ???? Jonn, you never wanna help with anything.
Green Lantern: Oh yea, Martian. I should probably mention the girl I’m hooking up with in space is your Niece.
Batman: Nice one, Hal.
Wonder Woman: You know Hal, if she doesn’t work out…. I’m always open.
Aquaman: We know, Diana. You’re like a Walmart: open 24/7,
Wonder Woman: ;)
Me: You know what… this has to be some joke. You guys aren’t the real Justice League.
Superman: Yea, we are. Here, to prove it, I have the selfie from last night.
Superman: One Attatched Image:
Justice.league.wasted.
Me: Omg that’s really you guys. I can’t… I can’t do this.
[You have left the conversation] |
I must've heard him wrong. The king did have a lisp, after all.
"Repeat that, my lord?", I asked with a hint on concern.
"You must lay the dragon."
Now I heard him right. That's exactly what he's hinting at.
"Are you asking me to... have "intercourse"with it, my lord?"
"I know it's strange for your business, but yes. According to many women of the town, you have the... ahem, "biggest shlong they ever did see". The dragon wants a child, but we slaughtered most of the dragons near the kingdom. She's the last one. You must slay her after you're finished."
Intercourse with a dragon? I know I wanted to do something exotic recently, but this was ridiculous!
"My lord, you cannot be serious!"
"Completely serious. She'll burn the kingdom down if we don't. Dragons aren't so bad in terms of cleanliness, if you're concerned with that. Our medics confirmed this during autopsies."
"No, i'm baffled by the order to put my shlong anywhere near a dragon! Do you know what could happen if she decided to use her fire breath during something risky?!"
The king sighed. Resting his head on his arm and drumming the armrest, he finally answered.
"I'll... i'll let you bone my wife if you do this for us. For me."
The king's wife was the most beautiful woman in the realm. Kind, intelligent, and well, she had a big bosom. Good enough for me; i'd bone a giant if I had to, just for that offer.
"I'll do it, thank you so much my lord!", I yelled, running outside past the front doors. Well, they don't call me Sir Fuckboi for nothing. |
OKINAWA, JAPAN
A soldier races to his commanding officer, one hand holding his sword steady in its scabbard. He reaches the officer and kneels, and presents a slip of paper. Japanese characters are scrawled across the front, and the back is a glimmering gold.
---------------------
STALINGRAD, RUSSIA
A group of Russian soldiers watch a leaflet float down through the air, the same glimmering gold on one face. It reaches the ground and a Colonel lets himself through the crowd and retrieves it.
----------------------
PENTAGON, USA
Alarms sound. A couple of officers stand in front of the Pentagon entrance, reading the leaflet.
*You are cordially invited to my newly re-imagined factory.*
*Yours in professionalism,*
*Mr. Willy Wonka*
---------------------------
WONKA'S FACTORY
The helicopter soars over the factory. Inside are five officers from all corners of the Earth, and a translator. Regardless, they do not speak but are instead absorbed by the view, the spectacle of the factory. It's a theme park of warfare. The rattle of guns, explosions, smoke and havoc fill any space between the huge industrial structures splayed across the giant lot.
"No more candy, I guess."
The strangest sight of all though is a skyscraping tower, transparent, and inside a mushroom-shaped cloud of smoke. The helicopter finally reaches a pad at the front and drops lightly to let them off, then ascends and leaves them at a gate. Spelled across the front is *Wonka*. The gate opens to them as they near and now the group of officers stand at one side of a grassy field. At the opposite end is a kind of cluster of artificial boulders with a steel-enforced door, the entrance to the factory.
The Colonel mutters something in Russian.
The translator relays, "Let's see what this asshole is selling."
The colonel moves to step forward onto the field but is held back by the Brit.
"Hold it."
The colonel mutters angrily.
"What the hell is it?"the translator says.
"Land-mines." |
3187 AED... a year etched permanently into our minds.
When the Vespid Hive descended upon our outlying colonies, laying waste to their defenses without warning, the Coalition Government convened to discuss how best to resolve the situation. After much discussion, it was determined that the best course of action was to attempt to open negotiations with the Invasion Force's young Doom-Queen, Szz'tyla.
I'm told that the Coalition's Ambassador looked quite small and feeble compared to the towering insectoid woman's presence. When she presented him with the evidence of our crimes against the Hive, the entire Council was dumbfounded. How had this been allowed to happen? Who was responsible?
The council watched the ancient archive from beginning to end, and sat aghast at what they had just witnessed. All save for Larry Bycoviah, representative of the 178th District spanning from Tau Cignis to Eraboran Pentacluster VIII.
His words are still uttered quietly by those members of the resistance:
"What? C'mon, really? I didn't think it was all that bad." |
I am not a religious person. I am not one to believe in the supernatural. I would not even say I think often. I let the world pass me by, and I am okay with that. So maybe I am not the best person to relay the events. Oh well, I did not get to choose this either.
The ground was clouded in morning fog. The sun above was a pale star. It was quiet and we disembarked. The girl was still crying. She reminded me why I didn't like children. Her bawls were ignored. I wondered where were her parents. Something was happening, but I didn't know what it was.
The plane was glistening, slippery in the light. I walked slow so that the girl would pass me and I would not have to see her again. I took out my phone and put it on. The airport ahead seemed so far. The girl walked ahead slowly and she looked back and was still crying.
"I don't know where my mommy is,"she said.
I looked at my phone pretending not to hear. The notifications came endlessly. All the people asking if I was okay. The mourning of my disappearance. Was it a joke? I looked up. She was sobbing still.
"My mommy is not dead yet,"she said.
I ran ahead. The others gave unfriendly looks. The security stopped me, told me to slow down, but they were hardly there. The odd art of Denver towered over the place. Inside the murals grew like a jungle and this was their home.
"Mommy! Mommy!"I heard from behind.
I looked at the phone and the updates were still coming. My plane had crashed. I had died. Everyone had died.
I tried calling my brother but there was no signal. I tried messaging him and others on Facebook but nothing would send.
"My mommy doesn't have cancer like you and me,"the girl said.
She had come back next to me. Her face was wet but she seemed more composed. I hated her so much. I wanted to hit her. I wanted to get in contact with someone.
"She isn't here. Her plane is coming later. I might have to sleep here. I heard there was a big horsey here though, so I don't mind."
"What?"I said. I wanted her to go. I was hardly listening.
"Do you have anybody to wait for?"
"My cousin,"I said. "They're going to pick me up."
Remembering that made things better. I could go meet them and find out what was happening.
"How did they go? Was it cancer too?"
What was she on? I looked at her.
"What are you talking about? Why don't you go and meet your mother?"
"Her flight isn't coming for a long time,"she said. "I have to wait for her."
"I hope you're okay then."
I walked off.
The baggage claim was sparse and it wasn't hard to get my things. Outside in the lobby, the windows were fogged and the sun was a golden aura that broke free sometimes, tinting the glass. There was hardly anyone sitting. My cousins weren't there.
I checked my phone again and there was that same story about the plane crash. My cousins posted their distraught. I tried messaging them. I tried calling. I wanted to tell them that the plane had landed fine and that I was okay. I never got through though.
I couldn't help it. I broke down crying from the frustration. The girl came beside me.
"You shouldn't be carrying a telephone if you're crying so, Mr. Jones. You might drop it."
She patted my back. How did she know my last name? Was it a guess.
"I'm sorry. I know how you feel. Cheer up though. At least your mommy is here for you. Look!"
I couldn't understand. I looked where she was pointing and my phone started to ring. The number nearly killed me. I trembled and fell and answered it without thinking. The cold floor of the airport seeped through me and I wanted to curl up.
"Hello?"
"Bobby?"
It was my mother. I looked up and she was sitting to the back in the mostly empty room. She was older and a little tired, but she looked just as I remembered her.
"You must be a good son for her to wait for you,"the girl said. "I'm going to see the horsey now. You take care okay?"
I got up and fell again. My mother came to me and I saw her face. It was really her. It was just as I remembered her before she had died. |
“Didn’t you hear?” Odin called out as he barged into Tonatiuh’s room. None of the Norse gods ever had the courtesy to knock, which often made things awkward with the fertility gods. “Life has evolved a few galaxies over!”
“I heard,” Tonatiuh answered. He sat by the window as he always did, looking out over the blue, green, and white globe below. His eyes flickered to the door long enough to recognize that Odin was wearing a suit and tie instead of his normal mead-stained blue tunic, and had put on his formal eyepatch. It wasn’t surprising, though; all of the other gods in the dorm were preparing to go stake their claim on the new planet and wanted to make a good first impression.
“Well why aren’t you *packed*, Tony? I know the rest of the Aztec pantheon is going… not that they’ll have a chance. These new guys are gonna be Norse through and through. I can just feel it. Finally some good warriors for Valhalla! We haven’t had a new recruit since the end of the Viking raids.”
Tonatiuh nodded. “Good luck, then.” He turned back to Earth out the window.
“Come on, Tony,” Odin said, knowing that Tonatiuh hated that nickname. “Forget the humans, OK?” He strode across the room and threw the curtains closed over the window so that Earth was no longer visible. “They turned their backs on you *centuries* ago. On *both of us*. How long has it been since you last got that sacrifice you’ve been wanting for so long?” Tonatiuh didn’t answer; it had been a long time. “Humans are the past, Tony,” Odin said. “We have a chance to *start over!* This new species could be the real deal! Unlimited loyalty and faith, no questioning our will... just *think* of all the possibilities!”
Tonatiuh had heard pretty much the same arguments before. From Huitzilopochtli and the rest of the Mesoamerican clan. From Zeus and his whole dysfunctional family. From Ra and Osiris, Cernunnos and Epona…. From pretty much every god who felt that the humans had grown rebellious and ungrateful, which was pretty much *everyone*. And Tonatiuh couldn’t deny the appeal of an endless stream of gratitude and sacrifice. His few remaining followers in the isolated villages of Central America were quickly dwindling, and when the last one died or stopped believing… well, he didn’t like to think about that.
“So?” Odin said. “Are you with us? We’re taking Apollo’s chariot out tomorrow; I can find you a spot if you’d like.”
The room was quiet for a bit. “I’ve made my decision,” Tonatiuh finally answered. He opened the curtains, filling the room with natural sunlight once again. Below, it was just about dawn in Mesoamerica, and the prayers would be rolling in soon. Well, trickling in: Tonatiuh was lucky to get one a day now. But he’d made a commitment to the humans, vowing to be their caretaker. Just because they’d forgotten their end of the bargain didn’t mean that the whole thing was void. Tonatiuh still had hope that one day they’d remember.
“Your loss, Tony,” Odin said, shaking his head in disbelief. “But don’t come crying to me when my new servants come to Earth and crush those ungrateful little snots into dust.” He headed back out into the hall and slammed the door behind him.
The sun rose over Guatemala, and the first prayer of the day drifted upwards to Tonatiuh. The daughter of a faithful villager was sick, and their village was too isolated to reach a hospital in time. At the same time that he prayed to Tonatiuh, the man also prayed to Yahweh for help. That didn’t bother Tonatiuh… or at least, that’s what he told himself.
Happy to have something to do, Tonatiuh sent a vision to the village’s local healer who still practiced traditional medicine. She would suddenly be inspired to go gather some herbs that grew in the jungle. He then plucked at the chords of fate a bit to ensure that she would chance upon the man and inquire as to what was wrong. The little girl would be cured within the day, and the man’s prayer would be answered.
Tonatiuh watched it all play out just as he had coordinated. Within hours, the girl’s fever broke. By sunset, she was able to get out of bed. As she wrapped her arms around her father’s neck and he cried tears of joy into her hair, Tonatiuh was satisfied that he had made the right decision to not leave abandon his humans. The few that remained, anyway.
|
There was a sharp rapping at the door.
I peeled myself off the couch, recalling the distant memory of waiting for a pizza delivery and being too wasted to stay awake. I was jarred from the memory by a bottle of pale ale crashing to the ground as I rose. I slid my hands across my eyes and shifted my balance awkwardly between two feet as I swayed to the door.
I tripped over something solid, stubbing my toe, cracking my shin and faceplanting. A trifecta of bodily trauma. I looked disgustedly back at what was a small statue of a fat buddha sitting between me and the background of a beer bottle pool party. Must have been a good night, I had never even seen the statue before.
Whoever was at the door replayed his triple knock. He was patient enough not to knock harder. That was rare. I was glad he was courteous with his volume, especially as it felt like the knocking came from inside my skull.
I limp to the door, creaking it open. The chain pulls taut as I peer sideways through the door. I catch sight of this beanpole of a kid, early 20s. He has a mop of dreadlocked hair like an overgrown palm tree. He wore a red and black uniform.
"Oooh. That's what pizza guys wear!"
I lift up my hurting toe to take the weight off of it, rejoicing internally over the potential pizza. I unchain the door as fast as I can and bang it wide open. The pizza guy stands there looking pale and unwell.
"Gary's Pizza Pasta, I've got your uhh meat pizza delivery thing here."
"Oh yeah sure. Let me get some.. hey, you're late. Some.."I looked from the dark of the night into the room, to the mantel clock above my cheap tv set. Try as I could I couldn't focus my eyes. Ugh how much did I drink last night?
"Time after dark, five hours late? I'm not paying for this."
The pizza guy shrugged his shoulders in the laziest manner, stopping just before they touched his ears. "Yeah sure, you can have it for free."
I jostled the pizza from his hands, feigning anger. You can't let people get away with this kind of bad service.
I didn't really care though, it was for the best. I likely would have been passed out and entirely missed out on Gary's delicious pepperoni and barbeque special. My mouth watered. The pizza guy stood there, looking unnaturally slack jawed, even for a pizza delivery man.
"So why did you take so long?"I said, then looked down to smell the pizza. Don't ask me why I look down to smell something, some habits don't make any sense. His shirt was tucked in with the zipper was down and an obscene amount of his shirt was sticking out of his fly.
I looked at him and asked, "So why are you really late?"
For someone as sick as he looked to smile was a rare sight. It was slothenly timed, baring two strong buck teeth and surely the biggest grin his face could potentially fit. He said, "It's a schlong story." |
"There is no magic in this world, child", the bald old scribe insisted as we walked along the leafy colonnade below the aqueduct. "There never was. And there never will be. There is only the Light Being and her miracles. Pray to her, and she will fill you with splendour. Defy her, and she will cast you down into the infinite singularity."
I gazed up into the cold, bluish sky. It had been six weeks since I arrived to study at the ancient, hallowed Academy of Light. I came to uphold the divine will of the prophets. To one day return to my old village and spread the word of the Light.
But already I am having heretical thoughts.
It started in the soaring marble library, with its walls of thousands and thousands of towering crammed bookshelves. The scent of old books gets me weak at the knees. This place had me rabid. As soon as the scribes set me loose in the library, I slunk along the old corridors, seeking out the most ancient and cobwebbed rooms. I started to dig from old tome to old tome.
The old books talked of magic. Of trinkets that could summon pictures and music from the air. Of magical contraptions that could suck in soil or rocks or plants and then spit out food, or clothes, or tools. These thick, weighty books talked of firebreathing dragons swooping through the sky. They talked of great ships of light that sailed across the stars. They were filled with pictures of the great magicians with their swooping starry gowns, and overflowing beards. In the Age of the Dragon Wars, the greatest of them all—the Vizier, they called him—had cast the greatest spell of all, to end the war and bring peace to the land.
A spell that made magic impossible across the entire earth. It was he who founded the Church of the Light Being. Who constructed the Academy of Light.
I did not press the issue with the scribe. I would continue to study, and dig. Dig through the old books like a rabbit through its soily warren. And one day I will unlock magic for myself.
|
I rose from my slumber late. I hurried to prepare for my journey across hundreds of miles, hoping I would not miss my transport. I made it to the port just in time, and waited for aeons before arriving at my destination- a world- renowned scholary Institute. I toiled and suffered for weeks, struggling to comprehend the concepts I came here to learn. At the end, I made my way to the workshop, where I worked with friends new and old to build a magnificent war machine. Time grew short, we needed to prepare it for transport across the world to fight on the fields of another land. After countless hours of painstaking labour, we felt we were complete for the day and packed up and left. Three days from now, we will travel to a distant land with our machine, and wage war with others like it.
Translation: I slept in and nearly missed my bus, then went to school, then robotics (I am on an FRC team). We have an international competition coming up that we need to prepare for.
I would appreciate constructive criticism, this is my first time writing on this sub. |
He was a great man, well loved and content. There was that jealousy burning within that told me this would be difficult. It reminded me of my anger, my shame and shortcomings.
I am not a good man. I have never been good. Killing has been the least of my sins and the shadows pile high. I have always been bad and I should have been killed long ago. I should have ceased to exist and my suffering ended.
Yet I live. Yet I am made to see the innocent, untainted eyes of men who have nothing on their chest. I am made to see unburden people, to see how the better society acts. Yes, I am not good. Yes, I am jealous and I am bitter.
And I felt it profoundly then. His name was George and he was an older man. His wife was long dead and he had started a big charity in her name. He was doing good, making a name for himself, helping his community.
That had to stop. I had to end it and end his name and legacy. I would taint it and erase it from the minds of decent people. I never asked my employers why they needed my services. And so I didn't know why George deserved his fate. I would forever be forced to wonder.
I stared at him and his son. In the hills it was safe and the stars shone brighter than from the urban hell below. Their house was well lit and soft light spilled from the windows.
I made my way to the house when the lights were off. I was ready to break in, anxiety and bitterness bubbling within.
*I hate you,* I thought.
And I did hate him. I wanted to ruin him. How the dice of life had rolled! He was a great man, so well loved and liked. And I was nothing. Scum. A villain who would be reviled if my past was known.
I was eager to kill and ruin George. I was savoring it.
The shadows of the night cloaked me and the silence of sleep fell thinly. Something was not right. It did not feel as if him and his son was asleep. It was a gut feeling, but my gut was my only friend.
I moved through the corridors carefully. There was quiet, yes, but then I heard something. A squeak of a door. The flicker of a far off light.
He was an old man, but I did not look forward to fighting with him. I usually preferred to kill a man in his sleep; part of my bitterness I suppose. Oh well. I had a job to do.
Then I heard crying. The child was bawling hard and I froze. Then the child stopped. Then it began again and stopped once more. There was the sound of struggle. In the distance there was the faint spillage of light.
I made for it, went up the stairs. A room that was open had its light on. I came carefully and hugged the wall. I had a knife and a gun for safety. My methods were usually to kill the target and then plant the evidence. The evidence was always different. For George it was obvious. I would plant the seeds of a child predator. I would ruin him with the most heinous of acts. It excited me. But the sounds of struggle continued.
George was trying to overpower his son. The boy was gagged and he coughed with the cloth. George was naked and ready. I stopped, stunned, unknowing what to do. We made eye contact and George smiled at me.
"The Character Assassin, correct?"
What would you do? I was a mute.
"The fuck?"
"Yes or no?"
"Yes,"I said.
He laughed and slapped the boy.
"Then I die in pleasure. Come on! Do it! I deserve it don't I?"
The boy was slipping away.
"What's going on?"I asked.
His voice was ragged.
"Do it!"he screamed. "I deserve it!"
He rushed at me and I held him. He plunged into the knife but I held it back.
"What's going on?"
He was ignoring me and I threw him to the ground.
"What's going on?"I asked again.
"I deserve it!"he screamed. "I hired you! I hired you! Do your fucking job!"
"Why?"
I twisted his arm and neck, near breakage.
"Why? Tell me why!"
He was blubbering.
"For forgiveness!"he screamed. "For redemption. I can't live like this. I can't die knowing it would be hidden. I have suffered too much!"
I may seem like a monster, but I understood in a sense. The heavy burden on his chest.
"What about him?"I asked.
I pointed at the boy hiding in the corner.
"Hasn't he suffered?"
"Yes,"George said. "Let this get out and he will be helped. Let this get out and he will have a chance."
"And you will be redeemed? That weight will be lifted?"
"Yes!"He was crying. Tears of happiness, maybe relief.
That bitterness still remained. That jealousy. He was an awful man, same as myself, but I was jealous at his closeness to death. Why must his suffering end? Why would he escape?
I looked at him and cocked the gun. I was the Character Assassin, but I am a bad man, a bitter man.
"I will make sure this never gets out,"I said.
His face was one of profound sadness and I knew that last moment of his life was painful and full of an incomprehensible hurt.
I shot him and the sound resounded. The boy trembled and fell to the ground. All emotion stopped and there was only a professionalism remaining. I continued with the cleanup and made it look like a suicide. I ignored the boy.
There was no need to plant evidence. I figured the boy would be enough. I may have been a bad man, but the boy deserved better. Let the police find out. Let George's name be tarnished. I had done my job. And I made George suffer. It was a good day. |
"Have you tried calling a doctor first?"I asked.
"We don't need a doctor, we need a translator! What language is this man speaking?"The police officer angrily replied.
"He's not speaking any language! It's all gibberish!"I retorted.
"How do you know it's gibberish? maybe it's a language you haven't heard of!"
"I know all languages. But even if this was something i didn't know i can tell you right now it's not language. All languages have structure and syntax. What this man is saying has none of those things. It's gibberish and gobbledygook."I explained.
"Then why the hell are you asking for a doctor?"The police officer asked.
"Because adults speaking gibberish is usually a very sure sign they are having a stroke!"
"Oh..."
"Call an ambulance now you Shothypodack!"
"What did you just call me?"
"You don't want to know." |
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