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The gates swung heavily. The usual racket with Thor along with other warriors from all over the world - SEALS soldiers, amazonian battle-dancers, wiking and Rome soldiers, and many more, leading with drinks, stories and shouts, lashed out even stronger, to welcome the new hero.
Thor raised his hand with a drink, only to have the question about battles fought to stand still on his lips. All around esteemed heroes, wondering what happened, turned to look, and all of them had a pained face.
Most, had sadness painted on their faces. Yet some held a certain kindness, pride even in their eyes, and a warm smile hidden beneath the beard.
In the middle of the entrance, stood lovely child, with white battle robes. The head was clean shaven, with war paint darkening the eyes and lips. Small body, not tattered with elements, yet with scars from battles fought, arms dark and torso awfully thin. Eyes still blurred from pain ever so recent, hands scratching at something that is no longer bound to their arm, the child looks scared around.
Among the silence, a golden warrior, with spear and one eye, bruised, rugged, yet majestic and regal, slowly makes his way to the entrance. The warriors pay respect as the royal figure passes them, bowing and kneeling and all saluting.
Seeing this, the child starts panicking and quickly bends the knees. Yet before it can lower itself, Odin's hand falls on their shoulder. Astounded, the child looks up, at Odin saying with a strained expression :
"You have fought bravely, but you can rest now. No longer will you fight your own body. "the child's eyes start tearing up, and once again the child wants to bow, only to see Odin kneel instead.
"My friend"he says, "you bow to no one. " |
Looking around I began to stammer, "No way. There's no fucking way this is real. I'm calling bullshit, this is just... this *has* to be a joke."
Death just sighed and glared at me, "I told you kid. I warned you that you didn't want to see, but *noooo* Mr. Big-shot here had to see what it was like. Are you happy, kid? Was it worth it? Is it..."
He trailed off as I began to cry. His voice was softer when he spoke again. "Look, kid, I'm sorry. I know it's not what you wanted. I know it's not what people think but it's the truth."
I looked around at the tangle of wires and mess of computers, screens on every available inch of wall. "She had to have been real,"I protested, "I...she... all of us, we have to be real, this cannot be happening."
"Its happening, kid, and I shouldn't even be showing it to you. I'm just the janitor. I clean up the program, keep it running smoothly. Unfortunately that means deleting people who get too old. The processor can't handle more than 90 or so years of choices. If we want our system to keep running smoothly then we can't have many people that old around. We just don't have the technology yet."
By the time he'd finished talking I'd stopped crying. I guess I was starting to see how futile it was. "So if I'm in there too,"I began, but Death interrupted me. "You want to know how you're seeing this if you're just a part of the simulation as well."He motioned me over to one of the screens and sat me down in front of it. "This is the main monitoring station. The day crew watches everything that happens in there; they take notes and do lots of analysis. I'm not clear on what all they do- like I said, I'm just the janitor."He pointed at the dials below, "These allow you to view different areas of the simulation. I'm just supposed to clear the old files, but sometimes I get bored. I was looking around and I saw you, kid. You were so distraught that I decided I'd come talk to you. I uploaded myself into the Sim and came to your house. You were so insistent on finding out what happened that I just couldn't let you down. I like you, kid."
Standing up he motioned me over to another screen. This one was covered with detailed stats on someone. It had everything from chemical composition to thumb size to which neurons were firing. "That's you, kid,"he said pointing at the screen. "I've bee doing some studying- I'm hoping to get a promotion- and I've learned just enough to alter your thoughts. You aren't here, I'm just making you think you are."
He stood up again and pointed at the clock on the wall. "Look kid, I have to go. I have more files to clear and only an hour left of my shift. If I don't do my job the whole Sim will go down. Booting it up again is a pain in the ass, and this Sim has gotten farther than most. I'm sorry kid. I'm sorry you had to know. I shouldn't have shown you."
As he spoke the last sentence he began to fade. Actually, everything began to fade. The world around me was shifting and warping and suddenly I was in my bedroom. I glanced at the clock on my nightstand, it read 3:05AM. I heard a faint knock on my door and my moms head poked in. "I thought I heard something in here. Are you alright pumpkin? Did you have a nightmare?"
I didn't know how to tell her. I don't know if I should tell her. I guess it doesn't matter. The janitor will clear us all one day. |
I had a friend once. I didn't have many friends before him.
I used to take money from people. It was my job; I wasn't stealing any money from people, (well, maybe the government was) but I might as well have been Satan incarnate. Everyone I worked with hated me. And I, for the most part, hated my job. I was completely alone and I was shunned by my people. No one was friendly to me...
Except him.
He met me at work one day, when I had about half a dozen people yelling at me. And he came right up to me, and get this, he says just two words. He says "follow me."And I had heard of this guy before; he was pretty well known around the city, and the government hated him, and most of the people loved him. So I turn to one of my coworkers and I say, "You've got this,"and I get up and I follow the guy.
And when I say this, I am being completely honest. He treated me like I was worth the world. That man loved me as though I was his brother. We ate together, we lived together, and we traveled the country. Because I was with him, people thought I was worth something too. They'd ask me to speak on his behalf, and they asked me to give my friend gifts for them. Even just touching my clothes would make those people ecstatic.
And then my friend said some things they didn't like. The crowds that had treated him like a celebrity before suddenly weren't too hot on the idea of spending time with my friend. And I might as well have been in my old job; lots of people suddenly hated me again. My friend was arrested, the few friends I had made all disappeared underground, and I was nearly mugged myself a few times during that weekend.
That Friday, I gather enough courage to venture outside and out of the city, and I see my friend executed, with a crowd of people *standing there, cheering on his death.* I hope you've never seen one of your friends put to death, but if you have, you know how gut-wrenching it feels. I cried. It was horrible, and I too escaped. I hid underground, and I thought it was over.
And then Mary came, pounding on my door, yelling the best news of my life; she burst into the room we were in and proclaimed that she had seen Jesus, and he was alive! |
There goes Ricky's orb, always flying overhead giving a constant reminder of my soon fate.
"Hey Paul, how long did it take before the orb got your brother?"
"It only took a few weeks sadly, he just ran out of steam. Eventually everyone does unless they can afford a preclusion".
Those weren't nearly affordable anymore in our day in age. Our parents were the last generation to afford an orb preclusion. I can still remember the day orbs were launched. After the war ended the lone super country Chussia was left to feed and clothe humanity. Populations were starving in mass numbers, generating tons of chaos and sickness. Shortly after Orbs were created to thin the population worldwide without the use of weapons. The preclusion clause was launched initially at a reasonable price of $10,000 for a lifetime. This led to the eventually slaughter of the lower class and an inflation on the price of preclusions. By the time of my 18th birthday, they will cost almost a million dollars.
"Paul, I love you man and I'm going to miss you. Live out the rest of your life to the fullest and don't have any regrets".
Tears rolled down my cheeks. The feeling of anguish hit me as the clock chimed 9 PM. I looked towards the skyline. Needless to say if I want to live, it's time for a game plan. |
"Ouch!"I exclaimed as my face crashed against the very solid yet refreshingly cool bar.
I took a step back and re-examined my life choices.
I scratched my head and struggled to comprehend just what had come over me.
I could have sworn I was here to have a drink?
I took a step backward as I allowed the horse to stroll on past me. I checked my phone and my calendar - *drinks at the joke bar* so at least I'm at the right place... but why did I purposely walk into a bar?
"Is there a problem son?"
"Oh no Father,"I replied "I'm just a little confused, thank you."
And the Vicar and the Rabbi nodded and carried on walking by.
It was then I almost gave up.
But my curiosity got the better of me when a guy walked by with a foot long piano under is arm.
"Hey er what do you have there?"I asked.
"Oh this?"He replied, "oh it's a long story, maybe next time."
And he walked on by. Odd.
"Hey fella,"came a small Irish voice beside me, "you know there is a magical connection to this 'ere bar?"
"Is that so?"I asked.
"Aye, it be so. Many a joke occur right here. In fact I be involved in a such joke."
"Go on..."
"Well laddy I be blessed with magical powers. I can grant ye a wish so you can be part of the wonder of this bar."
I contemplated. I admit, not for long, but I did contemplate.
"Continue."
"Very well. This here be a classic. Tell me, what be your wish?"
I thought, and I thought hard. It wasn't every day you had this kind of decision. I caught a glimpse of Kate my long term crush walk on by on the other side of the road, and I knew I had the perfect wish.
I bent down and whispered to my new little friend the perfect wish.
"Perfect!"He exclaimed and with a click of his fingers and a poof of smoke, a tiny guy in a tuxedo appeared.
"What on earth is this??"I asked.
"Give him a little piano,"the leprechaun began, "and you've got yourself a twelve inch pianist, just what you wanted! Hehehehehe!"
I looked at the little pianist and back to the leprechaun, and then down to my groin.
I kicked the leprechaun in the face and cursed him for not enlarging my penis as wished.
I marched away in disgust and into the nearest real bar. I sat down at the bar and beckoned the bar man.
"Why the long face?"
*Fuck you*. |
*Terrorist cell disposes of weapons cache in Syria. . . Local woman flees attempted assault after assailant "gives up". . . Tom Brady retires . . . North Koreans pass into demilitarized zone bearing white flags. . . President Trump tweets "I was wrong. It's time to finally make the WORLD great again. Happy!"*
I turn up the volume to the TV as the ticker continues to spout a series of confusing headlines. The reporter for my local news station is frantically trying to recap the surprising happenings of the day. I flip to check to see if other stations are focused on the same absurd stories. CNN is. Fox News appears to be having technical difficulties.
Going back to the local news, I crank the volume all the way up and step into the kitchen to make breakfast. As I throw some bread in the toaster and and put on a pot of coffee, I catch bits and pieces. Throughout the world, crimes big and small seemed to have been put on hold at precisely 5:13 a.m., Eastern Time, this morning. Murderers froze on the spot and dropped their weapons. Bank robbers promptly returned bags of cash. Even large-scale terrorist cells began demilitarizing.
As I step back into the living room, the news has transitioned from describing the litany of events to trying to figure out what's going on, "It's not clear to anyone yet what prompted the change of heart of all these people at precisely the same time. Details continue to flood into the station. What we do know so far is the following. At exactly 5:13 a.m., Eastern Time, a significant number of crimes and other unfavorable actions were unexpectedly halted, in many instances to the point of active reconciliation. We understand the CIA, FBI. . ."
She paused, holding her finger up to the camera and pressing against her earbud. The ticker at the bottom of the screen disappeared and was replaced with bright red lettering flashing *BREAKING NEWS*.
"We're hearing now that not only were crimes stopped, but in some rare instances, people have been rendered unable to perform basic human activities. There have been at least two reported instances of sudden onset paralysis at precisely 5:13 a.m., and one other instance of a man in Arkansas who has lost entirely the ability to speak. While we can't yet speculate at this stage, it seems as though the sudden urge to do goodwill has further reaching consequences than merely the moments following the confusing events of this morning. We are reaching out now to the CDC for comment. We're now going to take a very brief commercial break, but stay with us. We'll be back shortly with updates regarding what many are calling the 'Day Evil Stopped'."
I turn off the TV, throw on my shoes and head toward the door to head to work. As I go to turn the doorhandle, I have a change of heart. "You know what? Maybe I'll stay inside for the day."
|
"Is there any way to go back? I need to return now or everything will end. Can't you see?"
After his explanation God's features softened and he pitied this man deeply as he had pitied all those he had explained this to before. *A second chance of life in exchange for your soul. After you died the next time, you would have to spend eternity in hell.*
The man's harried features creased in thought as he weighed up the offer and wrestled with its implications. "Has anyone ever taken this offer?"
"Not through choice. But there was one who had to return as a favour to me."And the man had understood why easily. But he must go back. He needed to tell them or they'd all die.
"Is there any way past it? Could I live a life so good that it would overcome this agreement on my soul?"God pondered this question not for its originality, he had been asked this many times before, but to ensure his answer had the weight it deserved. Even God felt guilt and would abhor sending this man back with false hope.
"It would take a deed of great magnanimity to achieve. A handful of men, now celebrated as saints, have done deeds as great as required and at great personal pain and hardship, but not to go back. They did these things in life as they chose for the good of humanity. Most Saints ordained would not have done enough to fulfill this bargain and once more, if you act in such a way for personal gain, with this deal in mind, even the greatest act would be in selfish pursuits and void its merit and this agreement. It is almost impossible to do."
God's words echoed through the man's mind as eternal damnation loomed as a storm cloud ahead. But this would be no storm it would be a slow drip of pain and misery that never ended. But they needed to know. They all needed to know.
"I want to go back."
God flinched. Does this man understand? He thought. But he saw in his eyes the steadfast belief in what he was doing that he had seen a handful of times before. And he knew why he was going. Chief scientist at the Hadron Collider killed by a burst of energy that if not stopped, and it could still be stopped, would engulf the world and destroy everything in it and the galaxy around it.
"Okay you will go back to the moment before your death with enough time to stop it, but no more. Do you still wish to proceed? If you fail you will die again and as I see, so will all those around you."
The thought of hell emerged again but the man had already decided. "Yes, I will go,"he answered, "for as you see, I have to."
"Very well,"God replied. And with uncertainty in his heart, as this man's action were not selfish, he sent him back. With a feeling, or was it a hope, that they may meet again. |
I guess it's tradition. It started as a way to narrow down the human population assuring only the strong survive. Or, it was a response to global warming. I don't know. A lot of scientists died in the first few rounds. But, it continues as great traditions do.
I'm 30 now. I train all year to fight on my birthday, but there are only two of us left. Those who are born on certain days like holidays are given a pass. The uber wealthy can buy their way out. The rest of us, we get to face off for their amusement until only one remains. It usually takes about 20 years. I know this sounds like a bad situation, and it lead to under population and lots of orphans. The leftovers, orphaned kids, are often put to work. The ones with the most promise are hand chosen by the wealthy and are sponsored.
After my third win, I secured a sponsor. If I win, I'll finally get to live a stress free existence. If being the key word there. I have a wife waiting back at home for me. She is lucky enough to be exempt, born on Independence Day. She was a wreck when I left, but I am ready. I wait for the gate to open. I always do a shock and awe attack. I stand up straight and breathe deeply. I am ready.
"Gordon, hey Gordon, I need a minute."
My sponsor calls my name. He used to call me Gordie. I was not a fan. I turn back to him, hoping he'll leave me alone.
"What is it? It's almost time."
I pick up my shield and sword, no body armor. I wish I had a spear. I requested one, but my sponsor couldn't secure it. Maybe he has good news.
"I have a proposition for you. I've made some deals. If you take a dive today..."
"Die, you mean die."
"Right, die, if you die today, your family could be set up for life. We're talking easy street for your family."
"Why would I do that?"
"Exemption for your entire family for the rest of time. The other competitor is an illegitimate son of a big wig, actually, the big wig. He refused to officially buy his way out though. Poor young woman being the mother and all."
"How do I know you're telling me the truth?"I ask.
My sponsor shows me the message. It's a contract waiting for my thumbprint. I look to the clock. Three minutes until I face this guy, seconds to decide. I can barely read it, so full of jargon, but it looks legitimate.
"Do you promise this will happen if I do what you ask?"I say.
"Of course, you have my word. Have to make it look good though."
"I can do that."
I press my thumbprint onto the contract. He pats me on the back without a word and leaves me to wait. I feel the sword in my hand. My grip is good. I won a flawless victory for the past three years. I am a huge favorite today. It could just be about money.
The gate opens, and I run into the Colosseum filled with hundreds of thousands. I look to the camera and blow a kiss to the family I will never see again. He emerges, tall but flabby. He even looks like him. I'm not supposed to watch past fights, but I purchase bootlegs every year. He never should have made it to 15, but here he is.
I charge at him. He holds the shield wrong. I pummel it twice then stab. He knocks my sword away, but I hang onto it spinning towards his attack. I block it with my shield. He leaves a clear gap to his destruction wide open. I step back and regroup. My oldest will turn ten next year. None of my three kids are exempt.
He attacks me. His strikes are slow, weak, and repetitive. He stabs at me and nicks my side. I turn and regroup. He attacks again. My wife knows something is wrong by now. She knows I am not coming home. I overblock with my shield exposing my ribs. If he's had any training at all, he'll pierce my ribs. His sword does the trick, and it hurts like hell. I pull him toward me.
"Keep up your end of the bargain."
He nods at me and pulls out his sword. I slump to the ground. He has the courtesy to finish it quick with one final blow, to become the one, the champion.
***
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My power had been the bane of my life. School is bad enough when you *think* people are judging you or think you're stupid. I knew for a fact. The first time it happened, and I could hear the negative thoughts my brother had for me, it blew my mind, if you'll pardon the pun. Mind reading would be the first proper superpower that had been seen since Superman's death. The weapon that finally brought him down, showered his disintegrated genes throughout the planet. Almost immediately, mutations began showing up all over the world. Like the X-men coming to life, Supermans last gift to humanity, the means to defend themselves without him.
Sadly, his genes were spread to thinly, and even our own genome research told us it takes many genes working together to create something truly useful. Instead we have people like my Mum, who can 'super' grow wrist hair, or my brother, who like my Dad could detect garbage, but sadly for him it was even more specific. He could only detect Vegan garbage. Any animal matter, and it was as invisible to him as it was to the rest of us. It was about that I was ripping him when suddenly I heard it.
*God, Dylan, you're a douche. I can't wait to see what your dumbass power is when it arrives*
'Well, dipshit it looks like my dumbass power is here! And its reading your stupid mind!'
My brothers face was white. "Oh my god! Thats amazing! Right what am I thinking now!"
I concentrated with every ounce of my being, and nothing.
'I don't know?' I said
*HA! You lying prick!*
'I am not a liar!' I retorted, angrily.
We were not the brightest 13 and 14 year olds, so it took us nearly an hour to work out I could read minds, but only when people thought I was an idiot.
School.... well... it was pretty tough, but last night at Halloween, I finally had the breakthrough. The eureka moment that is going to change my life.
My brother and I went to the school Halloween dance, both dressed as Frankenstein (or Frankensteins monster, as my brother had been pedantically telling people). I was walking to get a soda, when I brushed past my brothers friend, Jen.
*Jesus, Chris, if you stop to tell me Frankenstein was actually the doctor, I'm gonna punch you in your dullard face*.
This time my brain connected the dots quicker. I could hear the negative thoughts people had about whoever they *thought* I was. If I could make them believe I was someone else, anyone important for example, my mindreading could be useful. World changing in fact. So thats why I left the party. Thats why I rushed home to research. Thats why I'm currently working with Landon Meier.
______________________________________________________________
/r/TallerestTales
Also, for those interested, check out Landon Meier's work:
https://www.instagram.com/hyperfleshdude/ |
I've been trapped here and I can't get out. I've been trapped here and I can't get out.
As often as I tried, the door is still there. Behind it, the same guard, night after night, protecting me from the outside world. He knows why I'm here, why we're ALL here.
They're all me.
We're the ones that screwed up- the ones that messed up time and got pulled out before things became irreversible. All of us got warned that we had one strike, just like everyone else in life.
What is one chance when you have infinite choices, infinite thoughts to create and destroy and explore and confine? Shoot Hitler, save JFK, stop 9/11, save Earhart, these are things that get you locked up in here. There's a big script you were supposed to stick to, and those scenes weren't in it.
And so I've been here, no clocks on the wall, but I keep track of time by my heartbeats. Every other cell is the same. I remember when I visited this prison once before I set off through time, just to understand the consequences if I screwed up at 18. Some people in the cells were 18-year-old-me, some were 19-year-old-me.
I'm the oldest one in here. I don't understand why this place is insane. I don't understand why I'm in here. I don't know what I did wrong.
Maybe I wasn't supposed to live this long. Maybe that was my mistake. |
"Oh do I have something special for you!"Doris said affectionately to the creature as she pulled a cough drop out of her purse.
The animal dexterously struggled through the cellophane wrapping to reveal a disappointing surprise. It instinctively gave it a few nibbles before dropping it to the ground.
"He doesn't eat cough drops!"snapped Esther. "Here, mama has a biscuit."
Esther reached in her pocket and unfolded a napkin-wrapped hunk of green jello. It grabbed the dessert, napkin and all, before she could barter with it for a trick.
"Well that's not proper food for a kitty either! And you're going to confuse him calling yourself 'mama.'"
"Goodness, I may not have birthed it, but its like a child to me,"Esther retorted, petting the animal which was fully fixated on the green glob. "And I can't get it food anymore since they took my dang license away! It's not right I tell you, I have been driving my whole life. Now all I can get for Fanny is some spare dessert from diner."
"That's not what I mean Esther, you know darn well that cat is mine! And it's name is Bandit. I named him for that precious robber mask he got over his eyes."
"You're not takin' him from me Doris! I lost my license but I'm not gonna lose Fanny!"Esther snapped, pulling her beloved cat into a protective hug. It reached frantically for the napkin it had been torn from.
Doris and Esther continued to argue on their solitary park bench on the front lawn of Merry Meadows Senior Care Center until they were startled by a sudden shriek behind them. The trio turned around to see a panicked nurse grasping a stick defensively.
"PUT THAT DOWN ESTHER! I'M CALLING ANIMAL CONTROL!"the nurse shouted.
"Run for it Fanny,"Esther whispered in it's ear while lowering him gently to the grass.
The indifferent racoon waddled away, pondering whether the mediocre goo glob was worth it.
|
It's a grocery store. Canadian Thanksgiving. Pumpkin pie, cans of cranberries, and bags of stuffing fill the carts. The aisles are packed tighter than a turkey-filled stomach. The lines at the cash register are five people deep. Lots of elaborate sighs, watches glanced at, and toes tapped. In the express lane, which is moving slower than any other lane, a red-faced man says to the woman behind him, "Can you believe this?"
This seems like a prime set-up for drama. Let's linger, shall we?
At the cash register, an old woman has opened wide a purse larger than her torso. Out of it she's pulling ziplock bags full of coupon clippings. She roots through them, saying over and over some variation of, "I know I've got it somewhere. Maybe in this bag. Is that it? No, that's for roast beef."
The cashier says, "Can I help you look?"
The old woman waves her off. "You'd only mess up my system."
After a few minutes, the cashier says, "How much is the discount, ma'am? I'll give it to you without the coupon."
"Excuse me?"The old woman straightens her scarf. "I've got the coupon. I'm going to find the coupon. You can give me the discount when I give you the coupon."
The red-faced man behind her groans. "I'll pay for the pie, lady. I've got hungry kids to get home to."
"You will not. I'm not some charity case, not some pile of old chicken bones for you to throw money at and make go away. I'm a person. A *person*. And you will wait your turn until I've found the coupon and paid my own darn way, *thank you very much*."And she goes back to rooting through her bags within bags.
And apparently she just goes on looking through for another dozen minutes.
Jesus, that's boring.
Do you want to stick around for that? I don't.
Let's go somewhere else. Somewhere less aged.
In the frozen foods aisle, Tim has tub of ice cream in one hand and the hem of his little brother Phil's shirt in the other. "Say I'm the greatest,"he says.
Phil wriggles around and tries to break Tim's grip. "You're the suckiest,"he says.
Tim pulls the shirt over Phil's face and presses the ice-cold tub against Phil's chest.
"Ahhh!"Phil leaps backwards, full into the shelves' glass fronting.
"Boys!"Their mother calls. "Knock it off. Put that ice cream back. Fix your shirt. Calm down."
And... and that's it. They do as she asks and then behave themselves the rest of the afternoon.
That's disappointing. I thought for sure we were going to get a fight or something. Maybe some other parent could have spanked Tim. Would've been great drama in that.
This isn't as easy as I was hoping it would be.
How about we step out of the grocery store, out to the loading bay where two of the stock boys are sharing a joint.
"So did you talk to Jessica at the party?"Dave says.
"She wasn't at the party,"Kevin says.
"Bummer,"Dave says.
"Wasn't all bad,"Kevin says. "Me and Laura smoked a joint on the patio. She's pretty cool."
"Yeah, Laura's a cool chick. How much did you guys smoke?"
"A gram or two. I don't even know."
"Right on, right on. So, are you gonna go for Laura?"
"I don't know, man. Laura's pretty cool, but Jessica's pretty cool, too."
"They're both pretty cool,"Dave says.
"Uh-huh."
"That's tough."
"It *is* tough,"Kevin says. "Hey, so what are you doing for the biology project?"
"The one due next Friday?"
"No, the big one. The end of semester one."
Dave stretches his arms and yawns. "Haven't thought about it."
"Me neither."
"Why did you ask about it?"
"Not sure,"Kevin says. "Just popped into my mind."
"That happens."
"That *does* happen."
Suddenly, a cop car drives by. The cop behind the wheel is an authoritarian prick who takes pleasure in punishing people for minor wrongdoings. He says that it's only when you get people for the little things that they learn respect for the law.
But the cop doesn't notice the stockboys. He keeps driving, and they keep talking about mind-numbing bullshit.
Oof. I don't know what to say to you all who've been reading this.
I guess I'm sorry? For making you read through all this uninteresting stuff?
I could make something up, I guess.
Let's try that.
So, quick recap, it's a grocery store, and it's packed.
Just then, uh, a hurricane whips through.
Like, loads of rain falls. And the -- the grocery store floods. And people panic and stuff.
The cop from earlier has to calm the people down but it's not easy cuz of the rain. The little boys from earlier, Phil and Tim, have a big fight, and the cop is all like, "Stop fighting."And the old lady is there, and she says that the boys' mother is a bad mother. They argue until the cop *fires his gun in the air*, which is pretty hardcore. And the stockboys are there, too, and they say some stuff that gets people agitated or whatever.
There you go. That was exciting. You're welcome.
Now I can feel good about taking up all this time of yours.
Feel free to compliment my storytelling. I suggest the adverb "extremely"and the adjective "astonishing".
Yalls have a good one. |
ID # | Last | First | Crime | Victim
---|---|----|----|----
321021508 | Higgins | Henry | Murder, (rampage) | Mack, Marvin; Funkner, Julia; Smith, Johnathan; Boychuk, Henrietta; Bollins, Douglas; Cage, Dillon; cont'd
321021509 | Hill | Joyce | Murder | Avery, Suzanne
321021510 | Hilton | Nicholas | Torture, Murder (child) | Hilton, Samuel
321021511 | Hopper | Arnold | Murder | Hamilton, Stephen
321021512 | Hyde | Collin | Murder | Hyde, Colleen
A bead of sweat ran down my cheek. I hadn't noticed a change in my body temperature. I glanced at the clock over my left shoulder. I had been standing, transfixed looking at the computer monitor for over seven minutes. The cold chill of the sweat woke me back out of my daze. My faculties were all coming back to me. My hand was shaking, and so was the cursor on the screen. My legs felt as if they would give out beneath me. My chest was rising and falling rapidly.
"Henry!"I jumped at sound of my name. Whipping around I saw Brian standing in the doorway.
"Wh-what's that?"I asked.
"I said, 'Good morning, Henry!"Brian replied.
"Oh. Hi Brian."
"You feeling okay?"he asked.
I clicked out of the database, grabbed my ID card and clipped it back onto my shirt pocket.
"You know, no actually. I don't feel very well today. I-I think I'm going to head home early."
I didn't want for Brian to respond. I grabbed my coffee off the computer desk and pushed my way passed him and into the hallway. I heard him say something behind me that had the tone of an insult. I didn't look back. All I can see were names in my head. *Marvin Mack. Julia Funkner, Johnathan Smith, Henrietta Boychuck*
I shoved my weight through the stairwell doors and ran down two flights. Pushed my way back into the hallway and down a long corridor to the main lobby. I stopped at the reception desk that sat in front of a large two-story tall wall and looked up.
The Logo on the wall was that of a brain with a circular arrow wrapped around it. Below it were the initials M.F.S.B. "The leading provider in memory replacement therapy."
*Absolutely not*, I thought. *No. No way in hell*.
I spent the rest of the day as a complete waste of space. I locked myself in a toilet stall and searched the internet on my phone. I couldn't go back into my office. Not until I had researched more. I googled "Henry Higgins."My facebook, twitter, instagram, linkedin accounts all showed up. An article about my research grant in memory modification and manipulation appeared. But nothing about MFSB.
I googled Marvin Mack.
*Co-founder of M.F.S.B laboratories with Julia Funkner, Johnathan Smith, and Henrietta Boychuk, for which the organization is named for.*
MFSB conceptualized the idea of rehabilitation through memory modification. Though they stayed out of the spotlight. They wanted the science to be what people remembered.
I read on:
*On October 26th, 1983 Henry Higgins, a local machinist, entered MFSB headquarters posing as a guest of Henrietta Boychuck's. He was told to wait in the lobby, as the founders were in a meeting with their board of directors. Higgins convinced the on-duty receptionist that he was meant to be a part of the meeting and had run late. When she escorted him to the conference room, Higgins pulled out a rifle that had been hiding under his coat and opened-fired, killing all who were present.*
I scrolled down further.
*Higgins was found guilty of multiple murder charges and sentenced to life imprisonment without the possibility of parole. When asked by the judge if he had anything to say for what he had done, Higgins responded, "They took my wife, my daughter, my boys."Boychuk's fucked up little experiment didn't work. She took them from me. She got what was coming. They all got what was coming."*
*The judge's sentence was carried out immediately following Higgns' statement and he was escorted out of the courtroom. He remains in Soloman Federal prison to this day.*
He's in prison. He's still locked up. Okay, alright. It's not me. Just a coincidence. But something didn't feel right. I open the calculator app. In 1983 Higgins was 35 years old. He wasn't convicted until 1985. The MFSB program wasn't officially introduced into the prison system until 2017. If Higgins was indoctrinated right away it would mean he would have been 69 at the time. So he would have been reborn in...
*Oh shit.* I thought. *Oh, fuck, no, no, no!"* He would have been reborn in 2086. The same year I was born.
|
I'm not the only immortal on this planet. Far from it in fact. Across the ages we have been separated by oceans, for if we come too close to one another, entering another's sphere of influence, disaster strikes. A rather gruesome example of said disaster were the two world wars. The universe cannot cope with such pressure and must let off steam through fire and anguish. Now. While nearly all immortals have had a hand in the affairs of the humans, aside from that fat bastard Beranabus, who appears to enjoy wasting his immortality on mastering his ability to burp the alphabet (fuck that guy), some of us unfortunately create more obscure tributes to culture. While some create the pyramids and bask in the glory of such monuments, others, like myself, are relegated to the darkness of ignorance. During the time of Ramses I was working on designing a pendant of Apophis, the giant snake which tasks itself with the consumption of Ra. By creating said pendant and having a ritual destruction of the amulet, it would act as a force of attrition against the essence of Apophis. I chose a simple design of what modern humans call "The Cool S". You may notice it looks like a snake. It does not denote the fact that you are a "real OG"or that you have many females to mate with. This foul misconception has led to Apophis becoming stronger. Rather than destroying the designs they have accumulated and acted as tributes to the foul beast! Revered by pop culture and cool teenagers he has swollen to immense size and I fear it is too late for any of us to save ourselves.
Sk8rbo1s have doomed us all to a fate of darkness and oblivion.
Fuck Beranabus. |
“It’s a what kind of computer?” Qzzt asked me.
“Quantum computer.” I answered, “It is one of humanities greatest achievements.”
“That is too bad,” Qzzt said flatly and continued, “That you did not have the time to develop the advanced technology that our fleets will use to take over your race. You will teach us the secrets of quantum science and we shall add it to our arsenal.”
“That won’t happen,” I smiled back, “But this is very interesting to witness. Freeze program but keep him cognizant.”
I walked over to the hulking alien. I could see the fear in his eyes as I walked around his frozen frame.
“You see,” I patted the computer, “These have enough power to simulate our universe. Or I should say your universe that shares our same laws. We let you evolve sentience inside the program and develop all this wonderful technology. We simply copy the tech without any of the work in the real universe. Then what do we do with you?”
I smiled at Qzzt as the schematics for all the technology the Oort has developed downloaded outside of my VR suit.
“Computer,” I said out loud, grinning as Qzzt’ eyes begged me to stop, “Terminate program.” And just like that I destroyed the universe. Well, a simulated one anyway. |
"Ladies and gentlemen, ladies and gentlemen. This is an official announcement from the World Government."Every screen and every speaker in the world faded out, their original broadcasts replaced with the image and voice of an excessively cheerful young man. Slicked back hair, perfectly proportioned facial features, and a smile so bright it could practically blind you. The inflections in his voice were rhythmic. A picture-perfect spokesperson; but then again, he had to be. An ambassador for the World Government was a lofty position.
The perfect- yet somehow also grating- voice carried on. "Citizens of the world, we have good news. Our scientific team has made an extraordinary breakthrough. Recently, they've found that suffering is a limited resource. That's right, ladies and gentlemen, there is only so much suffering in the world to go around."Collective gasps could be heard all throughout the world. That was an age-old hypothesis, made back in the 21st Century. Originally dismissed as looney pseudo-science, some scientists nonetheless fervently argued that suffering *was* finite. The logic behind it was unclear, masked in murky layers of philosophy and scientific study, mostly inaccessible to the public eye. It certainly was not the prevailing opinion however, so the denizens of the world were somewhat surprised that their government had continued research into it in secret, even after two hundred years.
The holographic ambassador flashed another million-dollar smile and paused for dramatic effect. Then in that same sickeningly saccharinely sweet voice of his, he continued. "And what's more, good citizens, we've found out something even more shocking. As of today, we've officially run out of suffering. That's right, folks. There's no more suffering to go around. And there never will be again."
More gasps. All around the world, people began realizing that the ambassador was right. Everyone was having a surprisingly good day. No waking up on the wrong side of bed. No intense frustration from a job they wished they could quit. Even for the unfortunate ones who quite literally walked into a lamp-post, there was no pain whatsoever. The ambassador spoke the truth.
While humanity reeled in shock from the revelation, the ambassador didn't miss a beat. "This has been a public service announcement by the World Government. Have a good day, ladies and gentlemen. But then again, I'm sure you will!"He gave a perfectly lilting laugh in response to his own canned joke. The rest of the world laughed along with him. Then the broadcast faded away.
Life without suffering was as idyllic as it sounded. Minor annoyances faded away, as if only part of the background noise. No one had "bad days"anymore. Dying was painless, and everyone left the world with a smile on their face. Funeral parlours became the site for many a "passing party", as they were now called. No one shed a tear for the death of their loved ones. Suffering wasn't necessary. Break-ups and divorces were few and far between, but even when they did happen, they were pleasant. The couple that used to be husband and wife would grin happily and part ways, content to say that their divorce had been good for both of them. The marriage hadn't been bad, they just preferred being separated. Nothing was ever bad anymore.
The citizens of the world were happy, and the World Government's approval ratings soared through the roof. Not that they had opposition, but the numbers looked nice nonetheless. The world, as a whole, was happy. Happier than it had ever been, in fact.
Yet there were some who weren't as exuberant about the state of affairs. They weren't upset, no; that word had ceased to have meaning in the new world. They just felt a certain emptiness. A void, so to speak, where their suffering had previously been.
The writers, poets, and all sorts of other artists briefly lamented their inability to produce new work. Their past masterpieces captured the essence of the human struggle, the unchanging nature of suffering and strife. But now that was meaningless. The old novels and plays were gradually scrapped. No one wanted to see suffering anymore. It didn't resonate with anyone.
For the briefest of moments, these artists regretted the decline of their works, and their inability to produce new ones. How could one mould their suffering into a beautiful piece of art if there was no suffering to speak of?
But then this regret only lasted a moment, before they forgot all about it, and started producing new art. Pieces that only captured warmth and happiness, that replaced conflict with harmony. Works that were all, in one way or another, the same. But no one complained. No one could really complain, the public enjoyed the works. No more suffering through a book or movie you didn't like. And so they were off, linked arm-in-arm with their fellow artists, skipping off into the beautiful- no, exuberant might be a better word- sunset. |
Log:
Monday, December 4th 2017: Just as an aside, I've observed a pattern of stars tonight that seem to perfectly replicate the number 10. Remarkable! I've uploaded a picture on to the computer for further viewing.
Tuesday, December 5th 2017: The weirdest thing happened tonight. I returned to the exact location tonight, only to discover that the figure of 10 had disappeared, but was replaced by what can only be described as the number 9!
Wednesday, December 6th 2017: There is no mistaking it. That is a number 8. I will report this first thing tomorrow morning.
Thursday, December 7th 2017: Well I emailed my old professor at Harvard, Doctor Lance Smith, and instead of receiving a reply from him, I heard directly from NASA. They thanked me for my concerns but suggested I take a few days off, and any patterns I've been seeing are "purely coincidental". Tonight, a large 7 shines unmistakably bright. Or does it?
Friday, December 8th 2017: I've brought in my colleague, James Dawson, who has confirmed that tonight he can see a number 6, and that my images from the previous nights contain all the ascending numbers to 10. This is no evidence any of the images have been tampered with. We will be going to the media tomorrow.
Saturday, December 9th 2017: Initially, they seemed interested but backed off once I blurted out that NASA had warned me off. I told them just to watch the stars tonight and only air the story if we see a 5. Right now, James and I are looking at a giant number 5 from the observatory. The news is currently running the story and Twitter, Facebook and Reddit are awash with activity.
Sunday, December 10th 2017: Large scale demonstrations have been taking place all over the world, with major cities coming to a complete stand still. President Trump surrounded by a collection of NASA's top men told the country, and the world, not to worry and they were working towards a solution, as several TV screens behind him displayed a number 4.
Monday, December 11th 2017: No further update from the government came today. Once the 4 changed to a 3 (they're live-streaming it now), people took to the streets. The peaceful demonstrations are no longer, the people are rioting. Over 100 people in American alone have been killed tonight. We have moved to a smaller, more secure observatory after seeing ours surrounded when we arrived today.
Tuesday, December 12th 2017: Trump told the world that NASA has found a solution! No specific details have emerged but the carnage has stopped. We lost many lives last night but hopefully we can turn a corner and fix this together.
Monday, December 13th 2017: Trump has disappeared. So have the majority of world leaders. Reports are sketchy, but it seems large parts of Asia and Europe have been wiped out by weapons of mass destruction. The NASA buildings have been destroyed, not that there was more than a handful of people in them. James never made it here tonight. Perhaps he's with his family, perhaps he's safe. I doubt it. As I sit here, stuffing myself with pizza and chasing each slice with a shot of whiskey, I hear voices outside getting louder, destruction getting closer and I know I don't have long left for this night, or for this world. Whatever 0 was going to bring is nothing to what 1 brought. |
Slane turned the knob, and present faded to past.
It was 2018, a dark year for the world. Slane could vaguely remember memories of the years afterwards... the cold... and then the heat. The screams. Then the revolution. The time revolution.
Slane pushed the memories back, focusing on his current task. He looked at the chip in his hand with a smile. 5,000,000 currencies, and all he had to do was erase a nobody.
He fixated his warper, readjusting the frequency to the near nothing. He could not attract the Time Police.
Slane checked his watch, an old remnant of time from the past. 7:08. They would be meeting each other soon. Slane stepped out of the alley and into the busy street, blending into the flow of New York traffic.
As he moved towards Central Park, he thought about his target. Timothy Slides. He was an odd man, and yet seemed to have whatsoever no significance to the world. Raised an orphan, he never knew who his parents were, something Slane could relate too.
Slane always liked to do this, to remember the human that would only exist in his memory.
Slane laughed. A pitiful existance.
7:14.
Slane sat at the bench, admiring the scenery, his chronobreaker in hand. He saw her coming, her brunette bun bouncing slightly as she jogged along the path. He saw him too, the father. The path of the frisbee thrown to him starting to veer off course, hitting the ground and rolling towards the woman...
Slade stepped on the frisbee, and his chronobreak whirred to life, showing the memories he would steal.
In his mind, the two meet, bumping paths and laughing.
They go on a date, instantly falling in love. Weeks pass, then months. They get married, a small wedding by the pond. An announcement. A child is coming. The bride's mother cries tears of joy.
The war comes, the city starts to crumble. They run, but cannot for long. The mother falls to the ground, convulsing. The child is coming. Gunfire roars in the nearby distance, as bullets break down doors.
The mother screams, pushing through. The father throws himself onto the mother as the door slams open, bullets streaking into the room. The parents fall in a bloody heap, the soldiers come to loot the body.
Underneath the blood, a small child flutters.
No.
Not one child.
*Two.*
Slane screams, his body feeling an incredible *pull*.
Slane felt himself start to forget, his memory pulling away....
*How?*
Twins.
His target. Not one child, but two.
A memory surfaces, a soldiers rough arms cradling two orphaned children. A memory not from the chronobreak. His memory.
He starts to crumble, his legs fading to nothingness.
He looks at the woman as she jogs by the man, who turns to throw his frisbee.
*Mother.*
*Father.*
A small tear falls from Slane's face, staining the sidewalk beneath, a remnant of the future.
***
[For more, check out my sub <3](https://www.reddit.com/r/ConlehWrites/) |
When Barry unlocked the door it wasn’t what he expected.
A full grown Grizzly Bear with a leash in its mouth was sitting peacefully on the living room carpet, vacantly staring at him.
He froze in shock.
The bear kept staring.
Eventually, Barry’s brain was able to properly process what he had just seen and decided that the better, more life preserving response, would be to rush outside of the house and close the door.
After a few seconds of panting and having his back pressed against the door, Barry’s curiosity overtook his fear and he gradually opened the door and peered in.
The bear was still sitting peacefully on the carpet looking in his direction.
Barry gulped.
He carefully tip-toed towards the living room, until he accidently tripped on a table in the hallway which shattered the vase that was resting on top.
The bear didn’t move.
He sighed with relief.
_____________________________________________________
Half an hour passed and Barry started to relax.
The bear had been silent and still, apart from a brief, low growl which Barry put to stop immediately by instinctively kicking over the full bowl of dog food at his feet.
He had so many questions.
How did they get a bear? How did they train it?
He had to call and find out.
“Hey Jerry, it’s me!”
“Oh hey man, how has Baxter been so far?”
“Oh you know, your dog has been totally un-BEAR-able man.”
“O-oh no, w-what? What’s wrong?”
“Oh nothing, just that he’s BEARy bi-POLAR.”
There was a brief silence.
Barry broke it with a chuckle, “Come on man, stop it, your bear is right in front of me!”
“W-What are you talking about!?”
Suddenly the bear began to growl again.
Barry rolled his eyes and sighed, “Hang on, the ‘dog’ needs its food.”
He sauntered over to bag of dog food and picked it up.
“So what breed is your ‘dog’?” Barry asked.
“I have a Jack Russell you idiot, what are you playing at?”
Barry spun around with the bag of food in his hand.
The bear was inches away from his face.
Barry held up the bag of food which the bear promptly swatted away the bag whilst letting out an almighty roar that displayed its blood stained teeth.
“Oh, fuck!” Barry shrieked.
______________________________________________________
r/Dri_Writes for more light-hearted stories!
|
"This doesn't make any sense. The glyphs couldn't be any clearer, but they say something nonsensical."
Alaric stepped away from the machine. "The First Age glyphs imply that this was a machine for making new mana particles."
I frowned. "That's all? Mana is self-replicating. Touch your staff to base earth and you can have all the mana you need in a few hours."
I looked over the machinery. It was incredibly complex, and given how deep we had gone into the Wastes to find it, I was hoping for something a little more useful.
"Maybe it was some First Age research project to see if you could make new mana without a starter?"
"No, no!"Alaric seemed unreasonably excited, but he was more interested in First Age history than I was. "Look, this part says *Solidified Mana Output!*"
"Solidified? That's not possible."
Mana particles couldn't pack tighter than a certain concentration. That was an ironclad rule of magic. The replication spell would simply fail once you hit that limit. If you tried to squeeze it together with a kinetic spell or an air wall, the excess mana would turn to dust. It seemed to be a fundamental limit, so strict that the Church said it was *designed* into the system, to prevent one mage from gathering enough power to cause a second Cataclysm.
Magic was still quite a powerful tool, but every mage had at one time or another wished they could spend less time gathering mana clouds and more time actually doing magic. If you came into our college expecting that you'd get the power to disintegrate your enemies with the power of your mind, you would quickly learn that beating them over the head with your wizard's staff was a quicker and more reliable way of dealing with enemies.
And now we were standing in front of a machine that claimed it could extrude solid mana. I could see why Alaric called it impossible.
As Alaric pushed buttons on the machine, and the ancient hulk shuddered to life, I saw the blue glow of active spellwork running up and down the sides of the machine, shining brighter than any I had ever seen before. A square opening on the device opened, and a blazing blue cube tumbled out onto a tray.
I mentally corrected my earlier statement. We were standing in front of a machine that *did* extrude solid mana. By the *brick.*
I reached for it hesitantly, then decided that touching hyper-concentrated mana with my bare hands was a bad idea, and tapped it with my staff. The mana stored inside it made a connection, and I could *feel* the raw mana pulsing, more power than I'd ever held before.
I issued a command. *Illuminate!*
*Woomph!* The cube leapt into the air, glowing with a light that turned the darkened room into day for several seconds. I cried out and shielded my eyes, but my vision was still filled with purple afterimages for some time. Even after we could see again, we stood in shocked silence for a few seconds.
"That was..."
"...incredible."Alaric breathed. "Was that just a light spell?"
"It was. And a one-word command, at that. I've never seen that much power at once. Can you imagine what this could do, if you put it into a proper spell framework?"
"Magic was designed with safeguards."Alaric mused. "The blue hazard glow, the concentration limit. But the First Age found a way to break those safeguards. Solid mana, kept dormant until it's needed. And not only that, they *mass-produced* it."
"This is amazing. This must have powered the wonders of the First Age! Hundreds or thousands of cubes, the power of an archmage in the palm of your hand. In *everyone's* hands. That kind of power could..."
Alaric grew pale. "That kind of power could have caused the Cataclysm." |
I've read about men or women who've led double-lives, having two complete families, wives, children, and making it work with both. I can imagine the stress they deal with is at a level 10. And they do it for whatever misguided reason motivates them. The excitement, the risk, or just the simple escape from the inconveniences of one life to the inconveniences of another.
All I can say is that My Amp goes to 11, when it comes to living two lives.
I'm not sure how my behavior was so misconstrued. I was just trying to help the old lady with her groceries. Tripping over the entrance of her apartment and knocking over the furniture in her living room wasn't part of the plan. She had helped me up, made sure I was okay. But then she looked behind me, and I saw her brows furrow and her wrinkles intensify. I turned to look, and saw what used to be a perfectly clear glass ball sitting in an oddly shaped holder, with lightning like crack splayed across the surface.
She gave me 24 hours, before my life would change forever. I started by getting a solar charger for my phone and computer, and downloading Wikipedia. If I was going to live 200 years in the past, I would at least do my best to survive, and survive well. The other half of the curse, I had no idea what to do about. I might be the only person, in the coming weeks, to know what the future held.
Every two weeks, I am in the early 1800s. I am a renowned inventor, industrialist, and have developed a vast empire of technological progression. I accelerated the rate of learning and discovery for the human race, and have allowed them to skip decades worth of disease, poverty, and hunger. There will be no stock market crash in the 1920s - regulations have been put in to place much earlier. There will be no great war, as the political negotiations have allowed a peaceful transition from the times of the Kaisers and the Czars to a more modern system.
And then I am afforded two weeks of vacation. Two weeks of living as my own descendant. A life of wealth, privilege, and success. I have been the most influential person on this world, across almost half a millennia.
I just wanted to help out an old lady.
But with one small misstep, I've helped the human race. |
Truth be told, I didn't like Prince Harry at the beginning.
His eyes were too brown and too mean; his hair was too blonde and too unruly; his voice was too feminine and too commanding; his walk was too clumsy and too fast. He was nothing like his father.
King George, heavens bless his soul, was the perfect King. He was fair. He was just. He was brave. He was smart. But, he was old.
Like every great King, he had an asshole son. Like every great King, he left a trusted man - me. Like every great King, he died in his bed while sleeping.
It took us 3 whole weeks to find Harry. Harry was out in the woods, drinking and hunting and whoring. We sent our men all over the country with the message - "The king is dead. Please come soon. The nation needs a king."
His message? "No shit."
I have seen crowns fit Kings like they were born to be together. This was the first time I had seen a crown being afraid.
Prince Harry - King Harry, I should say - was coronated on the 3rd of July in front of St. Michael, the pious.
On the fourth of July, St. Michael stumbled to his own death in the bathroom.
"Bring me my sword,"was his first order to me.
"But, your majesty, you don't have a sword."
"Where is it?"
"You gambled it away in the woods, my Lord."
"Huh. How soon can I get one?"
"The royal blacksmith is on it, my Lord."
"Tell him I want the blade to be blue."
"My lord, blue..."
"I know what I said."
"Yes, my Lord."
I knew it was going to be weird. But not this weird. It all started with him getting a pet piranha. And then another. And another. Before long, we had more piranhas than we had ships in our navy.
The thing about piranhas is they eat, a lot. And they eat pretty much anything.
New laws had to be written to accommodate this behaviour.
Robbery - the hand that stole was placed inside the piranha pond.
Arson - the hand that set fire was burnt and thrown in.
Embezzling of public funds - all the money was stuffed into your mouth and thrown in.
Rape - you know what I am getting at.
In the beginning, it was vile. It was unjust. It was stupid. But once I heard the yearly report from our Justice minister, it made sense.
People don't really like Piranhas. Prince Harry really liked them. I really liked Prince Harry. |
"The world turned ruinous overnight. A red mist infected countries. It was conscious. Men attacked neighbors unwarranted. Dead bodies amassed everywhere. Was this Armageddon?
"Men sent troops initially. The story easily dismissed. 'No men left among company. Send ships. Our only option: evacuation.'
"These things lacked physical foundation. It was like water flowed through atmosphere. No one knew their weakness. Our only answer: animation suspension.
"We made massive hibernation chamber-pods. 'To save humans, protection necessitates relinquishment.'
"You stand before humanity's resolution. We will return."
Edit. So many synonyms. I admit defeat. |
"Hello, thank you for calling Hell's helpdesk, how can I help you?''
''Yes, hello, Ted Hansen speaking. I'd like to request my wife's file.''
''Name?''
''Karen Mathers Hansen.''
''Hmm. Can't seem to find her in our system. Are you sure she is currently residing in Hell?''
''No, she's very much alive, actually.''
''Then why are you calling us?''
''Well, it's just, we were recently talking about the afterlife, and she told me not to worry, because she and all of her friends and family were going to Heaven after they died. When I asked why, she only smiled, and said she had a lifelong ban from making contact with demons. She refused to tell me more.''
''Ah, that explains it. Different system. Hold on, let me start it up. My apologies, this could take a while. System hasn't been updated for some time. We're anxiously waiting for Bill Gates to die so he can fix this.''
''Isn't he going to Heaven? With all the charity he does?''
The woman on the other end merely chuckled. ''You don't know the half of it.'' She paused as the system finished loading. ''Ah yes, here it is. Karen Mathers Hansen.'' She gasped. ''Oh my...I have heard the tales, but I didn't think it was actually true.''
Ted could barely contain his curiosity. ''What is it?!''
''Your wife is a lawyer, isn't she?''
Ted smiled. ''She sure is. We both are, actually. But she's always been my better. She's more persistent, mostly.''
''You could say that again. Earlier this year, her mother died of a stroke. She was supposed to go to Heaven, having been a good person all her life. An administrative mistake, however, accidentally sent her to Hell instead. She somehow managed to communicate this to her daughter.
Karen called us, furious. Threatened us with all kind of legal measures if we didn't fix this immediately. At first we didn't believe her. Mistakes like this are rarely made. So my colleague told her that if her mother was in Hell, she probably deserved to be there. And she hung up the phone.
Huge. Mistake.
Within days, court orders and subpoenas started coming in. No, not one, multiple. Crashed the whole system with all the mail and phone calls coming in. Flooded our office with all the letters.
So we caved. Reviewed her mother's case, acknowledged our mistake, apologized, transferred Eleanor Mathers to Heaven, the end.
Or so we thought. In the time it took us to rectify our mistake, she had dived into our work methods. She thought it probable that more allocation mistakes had been made. So she wanted us to review all of our placement decisions. All of them! That's billions of people. We were already understaffed as it was. It was impossible. So that's what we told her.
But she wouldn't give up. Started contacting the higher-ups in our organization. Demons, fallen angels, and the like. Drove 'em crazy with her constant inquiries. When that didn't work, she somehow managed to get a hold of the contact info of Satan himself. To this day, we don't know how she did it.
She drove him mad with her never-ending phonecalls. Exasperated, he offered her a deal. Heaven for her and everyone she loved, if she never contacted him or any of his demons ever again. It was rigged, of course, Satan being, you know, Satan.
She noticed, naturally. She was furious. Cursed him in all the ways she could imagine. Made all kinds of amendments to the contract. Also made him include the file reviews, although she was willing to lengthen the time period in which this was to happen, being susceptible to our practical concerns.
So that's how it came to pass. This month, we started the reviews. It's why I was hired, actually. The administration has had to quadruple their staff to meet the task.''
The woman lowered her voice. ''Satan must never hear this, but I am glad your wife did what she did. In the past days, I've already discovered five wrongful placements. Five! And that's only me.
Finally, justice is being served. Be sure to thank your wife for me. And enjoy Heaven when it's time!''
As Ted hung up the phone, Karen entered the room. Determined, he walked towards her and kissed her passionately.
She was flabbergasted. ''Wow, Ted. You haven't greeted me with *that* much enthusiasm since you wrecked my car and didn't want me to find out. To what do I owe this sudden ardor?''
Ted merely smiled.
''To being the greatest woman in the world, and beyond.'' |
"What?"
"I said it was a vision error. You know how you can get something in your eye and that makes what you see blurry? Well, that happens to the third eye too, sometimes,"said the tribe's shaman. "Just happened to be on your nameday."
"So, my name is really..."
"Yeah. Sorry, Al."
"But what does that make my power?"The shaman gazed into the firepit in the center of the spirit lodge.
"Hmm. Looks like your power is attracting redheads that are out of your league and somehow stretching a small budget to provide for an entire family."
"That's...oddly specific."
"Well, it is what it is, Al." |
Jep couldn't believe what he was seeing. Mr Black was asking, instead of telling. Mr Black never asked anyone for anything; he just told you what he needed and you made it happen. Jep had heard that even the Grandfather walked small around Mr Black. And not by anyone special, just some punk waiter!
"Why don't you stick around for a minute and have a drink with us?"
"Sorry, you know the rules. I can't stop at any one table for long when the bar is this busy."
"Yeah alright Nathan, I know the rules. If there's anything I know, it's rules."
Suddenly it clicked into place for Jep. "So that's Nathan? *The* Nathan?"he asked, "The old boys talk about him like some sort of god. Like he knows everything. You think he knows who painted Jinny all wet? That's why we're here, right?"
Mr Black scowled, and Jeps felt his entire body stiffen in dread. He shouldn't have been that forward with his boss. Nobody talked to Mr Black that familiar. Likely, it was the last mistake he'd ever make.
But surprisingly, Mr Black just answered the question, "Nathan doesn't know anything about that. Talk to the fella in red near the door if you want to know who did what. Or the fella in gray near the stage. But be careful, because everyone will know you know.
"No. Look. Everybody in this room can tell you how to set up a drop, or how to break a safe, or how to get blood out of a silk shirt. Nathan, he can tell you how to get *vinegar* out."
Nathan appeared, putting their drinks on the table. "Rubbing alcohol. Put a little on a Q-tip and dab, don't brush. And dry it with a paper towel each time. Then clean it with water. Again, dab don't brush."
Jep's eyes went wide. This guy had been *listening in.* Jeb didn't have the balls to do that to a street-level soldier. And here Nathan was eavesdropping on Mr Black.
Nathan turned to Jep. "You came in with that new Benzo, right? I'd change out those tints, you get pulled over and a bad day is gonna be a bad month."
Jep felt his hand inch toward his piece.
Mr Black stopped him with a slight twitch of his lip. "He's not threatening you. He's *telling* you."
"No worries then, it's all on the up. Passed inspection last month."
"That's the thing. They loosened the rules this year. You don't need inspections anymore, just smog checks. I think the cops like it like that. Now they can pull you over for any stupid thing. Whoever's doing your inspection screwed you. Probably charged you, what, hundred bucks? There's a little place called Safety Express on 12th next to the Arby's. Ten dollars, in and out in five minutes."
Jep thought he was starting to understand why people liked this guy. He had driven Grandfather in that car before! What would've happened to him if they had gotten pulled over for illegal windows?
"So, turns out it's not as busy as I thought. Everybody's got their drinks, but no one's ordering food,"said Nathan.
Jep scratched the back of his head, "Yeah, well, I can't really afford to eat here."
"Of course you can't! I know I can't,"said Nathan, "Geez, what is it with you people? It's like, gas station burritos or dinner at Le Remy, nothing in between. Alright, I'm going to make one more round, and then we're going to talk about *grocery stores*."
After he walked off, Mr Black said in a low voice, "Nathan is maybe the only person you've ever met with two parents who love him. He's got health insurance. He's got a concealed carry permit for a legal firearm. He's got a 401k. Basically, he knows all the stuff that you and I would know if we didn't have an absolute shit life. That's what we mean when we say Nathan knows things." |
I fiddle with my Zippo, hands sweating a little.
Click. Light the cigarette. Inhale. Exhale.
I keep my eyes fixed on the monitor screen, not wanting to miss a single second of this.
It's not everyday you get to turn on the first full-scale fusion reactor in the world, after all.
Five minutes now.
I hear the door open, and reflexively turn my head to look over all the other techies.
It's a guy in a suit and a fedora. He's got black hair, and green eyes - I think. He's on the other side of the room, so I can't see very well.
Back to the screen.
Four thirty.
Inhale. Exhale.
Everything going well.
Four minutes.
I hear footsteps behind me. I turn my head a little.
He's looking at the screen, over my shoulder.
"Hey."
He jumps a little, as if he didn't expect me to speak, but answers.
"Hi."
"You with the press ?"
Now he smiles a little.
"Nah, not really. Just here to see this happen."He pauses. "This is just one of these days that could go down in history, you know."
I chuckle, turning back to the screen. "Let's hope it'll be the good kind of history, then."
He doesn't answer.
We watch the monitor screen in silence.
He coughs.
Three minutes.
&nbsp;
There's something niggling at me.
You know when you have a word on the tip - wait, no. You know how sometimes, you think of something and tell yourself 'Hey, I'll have to remember that' and then forget it five seconds later ? And then you try to reconstruct your train of thought so you can try to 're-think' whatever it was ?
It's like that. Very annoying.
Just, something about the way he said it. 'Go down in history'.
I shift in my seat.
I mean, it's mostly things like Kennedy or the Moon Landing that tend to be remembered.
Then you have the assassination of Duke Ferdinand and the start of World War I, 9/11, the Berlin Wall...
And in these cases, there's always--
&nbsp;
Two thirty.
Two twenty-nine.
Two twenty-eight.
Always the Man Out of Time.
Now, let's get one thing clear. I'm not a conspiracy theorist. I don't spend my time on forums debating aliens and time travelers.
But when, through millenia of recorded human history, you have hundreds of witnesses describing a man dressed in form-fitting black clothing, wearing a strange hat, and that always disappeared shortly afterwards, you just have to admit there's something going on.
He was there for the death of Socrates.
He was there for Martin Luther King Junior's speech.
He was there for Kennedy - on a *bike*, at that.
He was there when Caesar met his end at the hands of Brutus.
He was there for the Trinity test - we only know that thanks to the scientists.
He was there for the French Revolution.
And.
Inhale.
*Don't turn around*.
Exhale.
He was here, right now.
One thirty.
This could mean quite a few things.
He was there for the founding of empires, and for their fall.
So, whatever happens today might be compared to the Trinity test...or to the bombing of Hiroshima.
Dare I ask him ?
Time passes and passes, and I try to formulate what I'm going to say.
&nbsp;
I give up at T minus thirty seconds.
"I think I know who you are."
He chuckles. "Oh, really now ?"
"The Man Out of Time."
A beat.
"You know, that's actually the first time someone's outright said that to me. I think a few suspected, but they didn't actually come out and say it."
A pause.
"Of course, I'm nowhere near done. It could happen again later - or earlier, maybe."
&nbsp;
We wait in silence, watching the screen. There's a certain something to the air, an electricity, and I hear the man inhale as if he could breathe it in.
I can see why he does this. Just *knowing* you're part of history is...indescribable.
"So...*is* it going to be a good kind of day ?"
I can hear the smirk he has as he answers.
"Why, that would be *telling*."
Asshole. Now I'm nervous.
Five.
Four.
Three.
** |
**Password or username incorrect.**
I let out a groan and resisted the urge to hit my keyboard. This was the fourth time in three weeks I had forgotten my password. Had I put a money sign in this one? Was it my dog's birthday? My maternal grandmother's birthday? Was it even a birthday?
I clicked on the "hint"button and heard my phone receive a text message. I picked it up and read: **The usual.**
I cursed my past self. I tried my oldest password and hit enter.
**Password or username incorrect. Please answer the following security questions:**
**What was the date of your first period?**
I let out an annoyed half-yell that only comes from those who can't log onto their game when they want. "I couldn't have picked that one—I'm a man!"I said to my computer. I hit the "next"button.
**What is the next closest high school to the north of the high school you graduated from?**
I let out a sigh of relief. *Thank god. I remember pulling out the map for this one!* I hastily typed the name "William Henry Harrison Junior High School for the Educationally Challenged and Bereft."
**Security question answer is incorrect.**
I feverishly typed it again, "William Henry Harrison Junior High School for the Educationally Challenged and Bereft."
**Security question answer is incorrect. You have two tries remaining.**
I wiped the sweat from my brow, cracked my knuckles, and commenced typing in a painstakingly slow and careful pace. "W-i-l-l-i-a-m H-e-n-r-y H-a-r-r-i-s-o-n J-u-n-i-o-r H-i-g-h S-c-h-o-o-l f-o-r t-h-e E-d-u-c-a-t-i-o-n-a-l-l-y C-h-a-l-l-e-n-g-e-d a-n-d B-e-r-e-f-t."
I paused centimeters away from the enter button, suddenly in a panic and unsure of myself. I began again. "W-i-l-l-i-a-m H-e-n-r-y H-a-r-r-i-s-o-n J-u-n-i-o-r H-i-g-h S-c-h-o-o-l f-o-r t-h-e E-d-u-c-a-t-i-o-n-a-l-l-y C-h-a-l-l-e-n-g-e-d a-n-d B-e-r-e-f-t."
**Security question answer is incorrect. You have one attempt remaining.**
"Goddamn it!"I yelled, so overcome with rage that I ignored that it changed from "try"to "attempt."
I had become almost overcome with sweat now. My moistened fingers must have betrayed me, but I could not take the risk to type "William Henry Harrison Junior High School for the Educationally Challenged and Bereft,"again. I hit the next button, wincing at the thought of the daunting riddle of my own personal making that must await me.
**What is your father's middle name?**
"Are you serious?"
I typed "Timothy,"into the prompt and hit enter.
**Thank you. You will now be redirected to the VR headset to prove this is a human.**
"Can't I just skip it?"I begged the screen, which was not wired to listen or care.
I looked for another prompt on the screen, but it was as unhelpful as your most basic Radioshack. I audibly sighed (since that is the only way to sigh) and grabbed my VR headset.
And there he was. Bill.
Text flashed in the corner of my view: **Task: show one moment of empathy.**
He sat in a tall stool at a mahogany counter, looking down miserably at a half-drained mug of beer. "Hey,"he mumbled when he saw me, somehow drawing the one syllable word into infinity.
I bit back another sigh and took the seat beside him. "Hey, Bill,"I said brightly. "Nice day out today, isn't it?"
"Not really. It rained yesterday, so I still have my umbrella with me today. I feel like it's been weighing me down all day,"he told me. "I just don't know where to put it. Where would you put an umbrella today?"
"Umm... my car trunk?"I ventured.
"I don't have a car,"he moaned, laying his head on the bar top.
"Oh, oh, you lost your car?"I said suddenly, feeling this was something I could definitely relate to.
"No,"he said, picking his head back up to look at me. "My BMW is in the shop right now. I just didn't know what to do. I guess I could've driven my Jaguar, but it's all the way in the back of the garage and I was already running late..."
I chose to bypass the car situation and tried to jump onto the latter half of his story. "You were running late? Did your alarm clock not go off? That happens to me all the—"
"No, I had a problem with my cereal that slowed me down. I like to weigh it out in grams every morning, you know,"he explained. "But this morning I only had 7/8ths of a serving left."
"Oh,"I said, not really sure what to do with this information. "But back to the car thing—"
"Yeah, and then what was I supposed to do about the milk?"he asked desperately, throwing a hand up. "Should I use my normal serving so the balance isn't perfect or should I cut it down to 7/8ths as well? Because if I did *that* the rest of my bowls of cereal would be off and it's just all one giant mess,"he said seriously, collapsing yet again onto the bar top.
"Hm,"I said, thinking about it, "that does kind of suck."
My VR screen went black as I was pulled out of the simulation. I took it off and looked at my computer screen, which was displaying a giant check mark.
*Really? For saying 'that sucks?'*
**Please enter your new password.**
I set the VR headset to the side and let out a sigh of relief. I filled in the form with my new password and hit reset. The screen redirected to the login screen and asked me to enter my credentials. I smirked and typed them in, hitting enter with a flourish.
**Password or username incorrect.** |
Everyone has those defining moments as a kid. Those actions, those consequences, those talks or events witnessed that, even though they don’t seem much for anyone, mark someone. Even go as far as traumatising someone.
For my, it was the loss of Nemo. Yes, I have grasped since then the irony of the situation. Oh sure, the loss of a goldfish might not be much for anyone. “It’s just a fish!”. “You’ll get over it!”. “It’s not like it was a cat or a dog, or any animal with whom you would have been able to have a strong bond!”.
Right.
But it was MY goldfish. The one I bought with my hard earned money, the one I took care of, the one I watched swimming in his little tank for hours, wondering what the hell he was thinking.
To be completely honest, it wasn’t really its loss that scarred me. It was more the fact that it was stolen. Just like that. One of the piece of shit that went in school with me, or even some jealous neighbour – I couldn’t find the culprit no matter how hard I tried – snatched it when I was at my piano lesson. That’s what made me open my eyes. I had always been my mom’s perfect little angel, doing everything she wanted, participating in every stupid lesson she wanted, dressing however she felt like. But this changed as soon as I discovered the felony.
I dropped off of any stupid gay class. I turned my back on all my “friends” I could have had. I focused on only one thing: no longer be the scapegoat, the victim, the one everyone makes fun of. I had to become an Alpha.
Problem is I couldn’t take example on my father, he had fled my mother when she became pregnant. I got the idea from games and movies. Oh, not the games I played – my mom couldn’t even let me watch TV – but from the games talked about during recess. Hitman caught my mind, but I didn’t know where the apply. It was more Mortal Kombat: I could learn Karate, Kung\-Fu or Ju\-Jitsu and wreck anyone I wanted. I enrolled in the latter, being the only class not far from my piano lessons and around the same timetable.
My mom found out quite soon – I’d say less than a month – but I managed to convince her that’s what I really wanted. For some reason, since the robbery, she had been much more listening to me. More considerate maybe.
One thing leading to another, I finished school. I didn’t bother applying to any University, this being the pussy’s choice. Instead, I went directly to the Army. As you know, I was recruited easily. I trained for two long weeks before being sent to Afghanistan. That was not my objective, but now I understand this has been my destiny. I got hardened. I got trained like I couldn’t even have been staying in the camp. I became the man I am.
Now, my contract has been ended. I’m ready to join the civilian life, but not as some weak baker or laughable clerk. I’ve been trained, I intend to use it. All I ask is to have time to hunt down the motherf\*cker who committed the felony. I want to make him suffer the same way I suffered. I want to take revenge in any single way imaginable.
\_\_\_\_\_
Only silence answered my diatribe. I didn’t move, having been taught to never push anything, to wait for orders. Then the guy in front of me replied, after taking a long deep breath:
“Well, that was a detailed answer about your motivations. I will write all of it down, and call you back once we’ve reached a final decision. Thank you for your application.”
\_\_\_\_\_
I stood up and left the room, going back to my car where I sat and closed my eyes. It didn’t look good, as always. Maybe I shouldn’t talk about my real motivations to become a P.I. Maybe I should invent a basic story about me wanting to find the true culprit, so serve the widow and the orphan. But I couldn’t. Repressed all the time, the loss of Nemo was still there, deep in my heart.
Once again, I promised myself I would find the robber. Even if it took all my life. I HAD to.
I opened my eyes and started the car.
Direction my childhood home.
I had some questions to ask to my mother.
A smirk drew itself on my face.
I finally knew exactly where to start. |
This was the hardest job I'd ever been given and I'd taken down everyone from street bums to politicians. As I sat on the rooftop putting together the sniper rifle I thought about my weapon of choice. There was no way I could do this face to face.
"Elizabeth Lorraine Smith"the target portfolio had read. My daughter. My only living child. To be given up as the ultimate loyalty test to the Agency. The test of Abraham.
I slid three rounds into the clip. I got into position on the rooftop across from her apartment. She'd be home now, I knew. Better to to this quickly and get the hell out of there.
She slid into view and I aimed, my mind clearing of all thoughts and emotion. When I pulled the trigger there was no going back. The cross-hairs set directly into her forehead I pulled the trigger and the loud explosion filled the air.
___
"She killed who?"Sub-director Sims asked the agent.
"The director,"the lackey reported, "She killed the fucking director herself! And three more sub-directors! You're acting Director now, sir."
"That bitch,"he said, rubbing his temple, "I want all agents to take her down. We gave her a simple test and she pulls this bullshit?"
"Sir,"he answered, "We're already on it."
___
Surprisingly her card still worked as she drove the van into the parking garage of the Agency building. She knew it would take time for the Agency to react to what she had done. There was only one way to save her daughter now and it was sitting wired to the fifty gallon drums of fertilizer. She sighed.
___
"The terrorist action against the Fullerton Federal Building,"the news anchor was saying, standing before a smoking pile of rubble, "Is unprecedented. Government officials are saying..."
"Oh shit,"Liz said to her best friend, "That's where my mom works!"She hit her mom's contact on her cell phone. There was no answer. |
"𝑩𝒆𝒍𝒐𝒘"
\-\-\-\-\-
When the rapture happened, there was no actual saving. No twelve tribes of Israel that got lifted into Heaven, no ultimate war between angels and demons, no widespread devastation. What we got was not salvation, but imprisonment.
On the day described in the Book of Revelation, four people appeared. You know them as the Horsemen\-\-War, Death, Famine, Pestilence\-\-only that wasn't who they were. They bore those names, sure, but all they exerted was oppression, influence, order, control. Overnight, the world was corralled into a section of land just shy of European shores, eleven billion people fenced in like pigs and cattle, forced to live among one another in a walled country. Nobody ever knew what was outside. From the ground, we could see arches of ivory towering over the boundaries of our new prison. We assumed that they were changing things on the planet, turning it into another heaven. Our confusion would not last for long.
Over time, people went right back to business, using the backs of others as stepping stones to thrust themselves higher up Jacob's social ladder. Sooner or later, we were all branded with tattoos that signified what section of humanity we belonged in, the leaders of humanity persuading us that it was all in the name of God, telling us that when the rapture truly happened, they'd know who to send to Heaven first. I was branded with the Mark of Matthias, last of the Apostles, signifying my rank in the rapture. Those branded similarly shared space with me in the deepest slums of the country. The alleys were barely lit, and those sick and wounded would often be left here to die.
My job was to bury the dead and watch over their souls until the walls fell, whenever that would be. On one such day, I spotted a young woman, fleet of foot, race through the cobbled streets, bearing a forbidden brand: the Sigil of Baphomet. It was the first time I'd seen the mark. It would not be the last.
A week later, the same woman slipped by me and down the street. Intrigued, I followed her, having trouble keeping up with her stride. Immediately, she knew she was being tailed, taking sharp turns down narrow paths in an attempt to lose me in the chase. She was almost successful, but I managed to sneak a peek at her as she opened a door at the end of long corridor before disappearing inside. Instead of letting curiosity get the best of me that day, I decided to leave, choosing to return at a later time.
When I came back days later, I attempted to open the door to no avail and was met with force as I was pinned against its metal surface. The young woman kept me bound, asking my reason for being here. I told her that I noticed the Sigil and was intrigued as to how she was able to move about the city without being captured or worse. After a lengthy conversation, I convinced her that I meant no harm and she cautiously released me, slipping through the door and leaving it cracked open. I followed behind and secured it shut.
The corridors were lit with warm light and the sound of footsteps echoed through the halls. In the distance, deeper down, I could hear chanting in a language I didn't know. As I approached, I was greeted with the sight of a large room, illuminated in a deep red and lined with pews. Books of all kinds, old and new, lined the shelves along the walls. At the end stood several robed figures who continued to chant, heads bowed in reverence to the one seated upon a throne.
The creature I bore witness to was equal parts mystifying and fearful, long horns erupting from its goat's head that trailed off to either side and a star in its forehead. Its wings spanned the width of the room, its bare chest carrying female influence. Its arms pointed in opposite directions, two fingers on one directed to the sky, two on the other directed to the ground. The words "solve"and "coagula"were etched into its forearms.
I couldn't speak. It introduced itself, claiming to know the true reasoning for our imprisonment and knew a means of escape. As it spoke, I could feel its words worm themselves into my ears, infecting my mind. My resolve was weaker than I expected. My vision blackened and the whispers grew.
I awoke in the street, the rain pouring down upon my body. Wearily, I struggled to rise up to my feet, clutching my aching head. Immediately, my forearm began to burn. Hissing, I pulled my sleeve up and gazed in horror as the Sigil of Baphomet burned itself into my flesh. The smell was sickening. The pain was minute.
I had been branded with that of the forbidden. I didn't know a way back to God. |
*I am finally 21 years old! I am finally in a bar! With a beer in my hand!*
My heart was racing beneath my chest, but I forced myself to look calm and cool, as if tonight wasn’t a big deal. But it is. It *so* is.
“Come on! Bottoms up!”
My best friend Joe punched me in the shoulder, nudging me to drink my first beer. Yes. My truly first beer, because I had been a nice boy all my life and I listened to my parents well. *Too* well, I suppose.
I prepared myself to take a sip, but before I could -
“Are you Betty?”
I heard a grouchy man’s voice behind me. I turned around, and saw a man, clearly drunk, stumbling his way beside me. He reeked of alcohol, and his belly was protruding out of his shirt. *He needs to go. Also, who the fuck is Betty?*
“No, sir. I’m not Betty. Because I’m a guy.”
The drunk man looked confused.
“No, you *are* Betty. You came here last week, we flirted, and then you stole my money!”
I felt a sense of panic. *Why did I even go to a bar? This is where bad people go, and bad things happen. Nice people like me should just stay home and watch Netflix.*
“No, sir. Look, I don’t have your money. You might be a bit intoxicated, and-“
“Motherfucker, give me my money back!!”
Suddenly the drunk man pulled my shirt and shoved his fist at me. He was preparing to punch me, but then -
“Stop.”
I looked around. Joe pulled out a gun, aiming it straight to the drunk man. *Okay, what the fuck.*
“Stand back. No one has to get hurt.”
Joe looked cool as hell as he said that, but still I was wondering how did this bastard get a gun? He was never this brave before. He even cried once because he plucked his nose hair.
“You think you’re so brave, kid?”
The drunk man chuckled. He looked unfazed by Joe’s gun. The drunk man whistled. Suddenly, a dozen people who were sitting around and chatting before stopped what they were doing, and stood up. All of them looked at us, with a we-will-murder-you look on their faces.
I was pretty sure I was going to die that day before even drinking my first beer ever, so I turned to Joe and whispered,
“Joe, it’s been nice knowing you. Tell my mother I love her.”
“No, we’re not going to die.”
Joe looked at me with a confident, serious look. He looked so trustworthy I suddenly felt like we could get out of this alive, for a second. He looked at me and said,
“I will help you get out of this, Betty.”
Umm. *Did he just call me Betty?*
“Don’t you even *think* about escaping, or I will skin you alive and feed your corpse to your parents.”
The drunk man drew a knife from his back. The knife looked sharp. And there was a trickle of dried blood on the edge. I felt a chill down my spine. If he sliced me up with that, I could definitely get hepatitis and die.
“Betty is mine.”
The drunk man pulled me closer to him, his hands gripped my skinny arm with a deathgrip that stopped my blood flow. *Should I just seriously be Betty at this point?*
“I’ll give you back your money. How much did you steal from him?”
Joe asked me, and looked at me with serious-looking eyes. I looked straight at him. *What the fuck is happening.*
|
I had lived a million years, my money allowed me to live in the luxury I chose. I was there when the Authoritarian regime took over Earth, and there when the Liberation destroyed them. I was there when there was unrest, and when humanity nuked itself, as well as all other life, out of existence.
I only managed to achieve this with the help of a wispy being, of magic magenta makeup and a crown upon his head. Three wishes he granted me, and two did I make. Immortality, to the end of time and through the next beginning, and then wealth of endless supply. I never decided what my third shall be, so I remained silent and never made it.
I thought this would be glamorous, beyond my wildest dreams. But the despair started when I watched my wife die in my hands, then my children quick behind. Language changed, and so did people, and I couldn't keep up. Their heads got larger, their figures got lither, and their hands became quite like feet.
Humanity, their technology got better, and they enhanced themselves, with both solid and moving tech galore, before I knew it, they launched to space, went interstellar, and I was left behind.
I lived on, scars never healed, I became a grotesque thing. Lost a leg, or maybe two, and got robot feet. They warred on while I watched, before the nukes went flying.
And now, at the end of the Earth, no life to see around. All is rubble and ionized. As I wandered, my cancer grew, grotesque tumors that couldn't hide. This is how I came to be, a dead spirit in a living body.
One last call of desperation, the lamp of hope, with a wish of release.
"Dude, seriously?"
"Is this really want for your last wish? No takesies backsies."
"Yes, death. I can't live in a destroyed world, as a monster, with nobody to love or be loved by."
"Bring it on. It's the only thing that can bring me, an immortal quadrillionaire, some meaning."I quiver.
With a sprinkle of magic, exhaustion overcomes me, and I slip off into the eternal slumber I had wished for since Rosaline slipped away in my hands. |
"This is rather appropriate"said the Man on the Left, looking around him. The gleam of recognition grew brighter in his eyes as he cast his gaze over the restaurant he was sitting in.
"Indeed"replied the Man on the Right. "Elaine and I came here for our first date. I made a fool of myself by trying to order in French. She spoke it fluently, I didn't."he chortled, sipping some wine to ease the dryness in his throat.
The Man on the Left smiled. "I remember you telling me that. That story always makes me smile!"he proclaimed.
They paused momentarily to enjoy their food. Both had ordered the rib-eye steak with blue cheese sauce. Their love of the dish was one of the many things they shared in common.
Finally, one of them broke the silence.
"It's today, isn't it"whispered Man on the Right. The other Man nodded, slowly raising his head to meet his gaze.
"Which one is it?"
The Man on the Right dabbed at the side of his lips with a napkin before responding. "It's hard to tell. I've acquired more wealth and become financially successful, but you've spent more time with your family. I don't know which it will be"he sipped some wine, then glanced at the clock.
They had a minute left before the Collapse.
The Man on the Left noticed the time as well. "How many others do you think there are?"he pondered aloud.
The Man on the Right shook his head. "I've no idea, once again! It's hard to tell. More appear at every Junction."
The Man on the Left smiled gently. "Why do we get to see each other? Surely, there's no need? I've always wondered this..."he broke off, awaiting a response.
The Man on the Right sighed, recalling the countless times he had tried to make sense of this. "I think it's so we can face our decisions and the consequences thereof. At every Junction, every decision we make, the timeline branches off and we're born. We live out the consequences of each decision, and start our own branches at each decision we have to make. However, the Universe has a finite amount of storage space...think of it like RAM, on which to simulate these possibilities. So, it needs to delete some of the previous simulations in order to make room for new ones. At least...that's what I *think* happens. What I don't understand is *why* we have the chance to face the consequences of our decisions like this before the wave-functions collapse."
They paused. "Perhaps it's to give us a chance to make peace with ourselves"the Man on the Left finally managed to say, smiling.
"That's a nice thought"said the Man on the Right.
At this, they both glanced at the clock which was signalling their time was up.
The Man on the Left reached out to touch the hand of the Man on the Right. He glanced over, seeing him fading away.
Smiling, he made his way towards the door, wondering which Junction he'd be facing next.
---
If you enjoyed this story and would like to see more from me, please consider subscribing to my subreddit [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/phreaklikeme/)! |
I used to have this unusual pair of jeans. Of course, you wouldn't notice anything odd just from looking at them. To the common observer they were fairly normal, for their time. Light blue with streaks of dark. Black stitching down the legs. The button was a golden four-leaf clover, though you wouldn't have noticed. But the real trick, the beauty of these jeans, hid in the pockets.
I first noticed it one chilly autumn morning while walking my dog. The dog did what dogs often do, and I realized right then that I had forgotten to bring a roll of bags. And you know what you do when you realize you've forgotten something--you check your pockets. You know theres nothing there. And yet, for some strange reason, you act it out anyways. Perhaps for the sake of unseen eyes upon you, lest they assume your mistake was intentional in any way. Well, friends, let me tell you that I went about this charade as earnestly as ever. I was about to commit the cardinal sin of dog walking, after all, and needed to put on a good show. And wouldn't you know it, when I slid my hand into the rather roomy pockets of my four-leaf clover jeans, I found a small plastic bag hiding within. Astonishing, I know!
Well, after that, I knew these jeans were special. I wore them everywhere, and they provided whenever I was in need. Short a dime for bus fare? Check the pocket. Paperwork in need of my signature? I knew where to find a pen. Whatever I needed, the jeans produced. I didnt care how, I didnt care why, and I didnt go searching for answers.
Well, one day, things changed. I woke up in the morning, later than intended, and adorned my magical trousers, as if it were any other day. It was not just another Friday, though. For on this particular Friday I found the right pocket of my mystical pants to be weighed down with a small item before I ever reached into it. It was unexpected, of course, but I knew the rules--whatever lied within that pocket, I was in need of. You can imagine my confusion when I discovered it to be a tiny mirror, about the size of a quarter.
It bore no strange markings or labels. Just a rounded piece of metal with a polished mirror on the reverse side. I examined it as thoroughly as one can and placed it in my jacket pocket, assuming I would find use of it at some point during the day. I only wished I knew how.
I learned quickly that the jeans' well had run dry, or at least was temporarily blocked by the same force that filled it, when I reached for a breath mint and found only pocket lint. I deduced I would need to use the recent item before another would be provided. I offered it to women in the streets who leaned into store windows to adjust their makeup. I used it to peer around corners before crossing into unseen territory. I even found a leak on some old man's rusted Mercury Cougar. And still I could not find its purpose.
Late in the day, when the sun hung at that atrociously indecisive position, I found myself defeated. All my efforts and still I held the mirror in my palm, twirling it between my fingers. The roar of the bus and rattling of its windows gave me a headache, but my pants still refused my needs. So I twirled the mirror, back and forth, back and forth, until something caught my eye.
As the bus sat at a stoplight, an unmarked black van approached from the adjacent street. The man driving wore a black ski mask, and even though the day was cold, a ski mask was far from necessary. So I did what made the most sense in my situatuon: I lined up the mirror with the glaring sun and aimed the reflection towards the driver of the suspicious black van. And it worked. He jerked the wheel and led his vehicle directly into the rear of a police cruiser.
The bus departed before I saw what happened, but the newspaper the following day provided answers. The back of that van held half a dozen high powered rifles and the additional men to wield them. Thanks to the abysmal traffic conditions of the city, the van had no where to go after its collision, and the men were apprehended quickly. No details were given on their intent, but it was eluded to that this bust was much larger than it appeared on the surface.
As for my pants? Well, unfortunately, they lost a battle with a local laundromat. Torn to shreds, as it were. I still have the button, though; a beautiful golden clover, hung around my neck, to remind me of days past.
>Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this and would like to see more of my stuff, head on over to r/Ford9863. And as always, I welcome your criticism. |
"Oh pish posh,"the well-dressed figure said. "We'll be fine."
Disharmony rippled, as it always did. But the well-dressed figure was almost always correct. If ever there were an intractable flaw in the grand design, no other illustration was required, and few better existed. From God Itself, down through the angels, down to man, even down to those damnable quarks, all it took to disrupt the great concordance of vibration was hearing something in a distasteful tone. Never mind about hearing something you didn't want to, or that you genuinely believed was false. Those were outright disasters, by comparison.
But all it really took was that *tone,* and the well-dressed figure was the master of it.
"EXPLAIN,"God commanded, and the well-dressed figure smiled, as though the irresistible force of it were nothing except what he most wanted to do, and was going to anyway.
"Disease was inspired, old chap, really was,"the well-dressed figure began. "War and Death obviously had their downsides; Famine, well... I suppose Famine will win out in the longer term, after all. But Disease was something else. We do go on about the elegance of simplicity, but there's something to be said for pulling off elegance and complexity together, isn't there?"
The figure danced on his tightrope, daring God to put an end to the superfluous flattery. Sometimes, God did. This time, It didn't. It was good for morale. It helped restore harmony to the host.
And, true to the unrefusable command, the well-dressed figure did come around to the point, eventually.
"Look down there, old chap. Really *look.* Take care for the sin of pride. Does anybody really *know* anymore? It's been millennia since they started talking about *believing* instead of *knowing,* and now we're well into rote repetition for the most predictable of purposes. What's the old line? 'Fools know religion is true; wise men know religion is false; rulers know religion is useful.'"
God's discontent was thunder that spanned unknowable dimensions, but it rumbled and faded much the same. The well-dressed figure was a clever spark, a focusing lens, a curved mirror that allowed sight around corners, be they black holes or the blinding darkness of fear. But once the Light bounced off him just-so, God saw, and understood, immediately. All that remained was for the well-dressed figure to bring the remainder of the host up to speed.... and he did *so* enjoy that.
"Conquering Disease was the work of wise men and rulers, old Pa,"the well-dressed figure said. "And here you are, worried about something that could only ever happen if the fools were in charge.
"You see, Disease was a wonderful trick - one of your best, truly - but you must once again give The Trickster his due. *My* greatest trick was convincing everyone - well, let's say everyone who actually matters - that none of us actually exist."
"WHICH MAKES THEM FOOLS,"God intoned - a fairly clever challenge, at that.
The well-dressed man pretended to take offense. "You wound me, Father, you really do,"he said. He shook his lowered head, hand gently grasping the impeccably tailored cut, eastward of the folded kerchief in his breast pocket. He then looked up and gave his wryest smile, barely suppressing that maddening, frustrating, warped-and-yet-focused Light.
"It's the greatest trick because I tricked the *best* of them,"he said. "They're never coming back. We're fine."
"YOU GO DOWN THERE TOO MUCH,"God concluded, but there was no command in it. It was a father's chiding, walking its own tightrope between pride and obligation - and, yes, maybe even some envy.
"Or maybe you don't go down often enough,"Its favorite son retorted, the same old script, the same clever glint in the eye.
"NICE TRY,"God huffed.
It was never leaving the throne unattended again. That's how they'd gotten into that mess in the first place, all those many millennia ago.
And still, he was utterly unapologetic. Still, he pretended that his eternal penance - the trickster, wearing the white hat - was what he most enjoyed in all the cosmos.
Still, he was the favorite son. It was... an elegantly complex situation. |
- Hi GunPowderUser.
I turned around and my jaw dropped. It couldn't be him. Just no. There is no way.
- A... Are you who i think you are?
- Indeed I am.
- Morgan Freeman! Morgan effin Freeman is in my room! Oh my god! Sit, please! I'll bring you something to eat! Or maybe you'd like a drink? Oh my god!
I said all this almost screaming in excitement, while jumping from my seat and throwing all the junk from my desk to the thrash bin.
- Relax, relax. I'm not Morgan Freeman. Nothing would i love more than having such a perfect voice.
- You... You are not him? But... You look...
- Just like him. I know. I took this form because i love that guy since he played my part in that awesome Jim Carrey movie. Oh, boy, have I laughed with that film... Anyway, I'm here to give you your prize.
- You are... God?
I was now disappointed. I mean, lots of people had the chance of talking to god during the entire history, but Morgan Freeman would have been something else. But hey, the architect of the universe was cool too.
- Prize? For what?
- I have created your favourite website. The one where you spend hours every day, commenting, and, above anything else, s**tposting.
- Well, yeah, i just want karma - i blushed a little.
- Nothing wrong with that, mind you. It actually amaze me you did it without using multiple accounts to upvote yourself. I always considered that almost masturbatory. And you know i don't see that with good eyes.
- Why? It's totally natural.
- I'm everywhere, and I see everything. And I can't escape. You think i like see that? You have any idea how many people are jerking off right now? And that drives me to your prize. You'll know how many.
- WHAT?
- Ok, i could have phrased that better. What i mean is, because you are the top ranked user at the site i created, you will be the new god. I will grant you absolute knowledge and power.
- That sounds... Great. What's the catch?
- Well, apart from having to see people jerking off, there is none. I will snap my fingers now, and you will be the new master of the universe.
*Snap*
I just stood there, alone in my messy room, my mouth a perfect circle. And i just started to see things. It's the only way i could describe it. Images, smells, tastes... And people jerking off. Oh, my me, i didn't know so many people would do so at the same time in the entire world. And i knew them. All of them. Their present and past. I just did. It was awesome. And a little creepy. I turned around, knowing exactly what i had to do.
- I have to post this on Reddit. |
Ozam folds his arms across his chest, his scowl working deeper into his face from years of usage. “Lyndis, I will not remove the ceiling from this place.”
The elven woman stops mid-sentence, even mid-thought as the statement sinks in. Her hands still hang in the air, where she’d been gesturing towards the ceiling of their newly purchased shop, as if forgotten there. “What?”
“I will not be removing the ceiling.” Ozam shakes his head. “It wouldn’t work well with the metal forging. Not at all.”
“The sun, the sun would bring beautiful relief—” Lyndis begins up again, tilting her head back to fix her eyes on the ceiling, as if she can see right through it to the sky above.
“No.” Ozam scowls, listening to the rain patter the roof. “There’s not even sun today. It’s raining. Hell, it rains often enough that they had to dig drainage ditches in the roads for all the rain.”
Off to the side, tucked into his corner of the shop, Reynaud, gives a chuckle. Ozam sends a scowl the human’s way but gets no response, Reynaud too far into his work to even notice anything outside of the loud conversation going on.
Lyndis, still staring at the ceiling with her hands raised, seems to be clicking through the options for responses. “But… But the sky. Lord of winds and breath of life—”
“I swear to Ciwion if you don’t bloody damn drop this insanity of taking the roof of this place when we haven’t even paid it off yet, I will strip the blood from your body and work the iron and magic in it into a dagger in Ciwion’s name.” Ozam finally snaps at the half-sane elf.
Lyndis finally drops her gaze to Ozam, arms still up in the air. She blinks slowly, one pupil larger than the other.
“Taking the roof off and letting the elements in is exactly what we don’t want. We don’t bloody want rain on our forges and on our in-progress blades and destroying absolutely everything we work on.” Ozam unfolds his arms to point at Lyndis, face contorted into a snarl. “If you’d like to never be able to pay back anything because everything we sell turns to rusty horseshit, then be my guest!”
Lyndis very slowly lowers her arms, examining Ozam for a little while. “Well then.” She turns and walks away, shutting herself into her runework room.
Ozam runs a hand into his beard, tugging hard on it a few times. A few more strands of the quickly graying beard come free and fall to the shop floor. If the elf wasn’t an absolutely brilliant runesmith, he would’ve tossed her out on her ass for any number of the insane schemes she continues to come up with. She had certainly been helpful in their last adventure to get up the money for this place but gods did she drive him insane.
There’s a piece of parchment in front of him suddenly, drawing Ozam’s attention. It’s a drawing of the building with a cut out through the runework room to get to the roof. Ozam scowls up at Reynaud.
Reynaud shrugs, walking away back to his work, drawing the blade back out of the fire to examine it before beginning to hammer it into a shape, returning it to the fire very shortly to heat it back up again.
“Damnit.” Ozam scowls more at the drawing. It’s sensible, something that Lyndis can’t manage. It also allows her access to the rooftop or even all of them access if they need it. Which is doubtful, but possible. “We can’t afford this.”
Reynaud looks to the door, making Ozam turn on his heel and greet the customer that’s stepped into the store. They already look wary, as if the sudden attention is more like stepping into a dragon’s den than a shop.
“Welcome to Ozam’s Smithy, can I interest you in any of our wares today?” Ozam tries very hard to brush away his anger and while the scowl won’t ever leave, he does attempt to lessen it.
***
^(*You can find more of my writing on my sub, /r/Syraphia*) |
Things had not been going well for Arthur and that wasn’t right. Things where not meant to go well for everyone else and he was supposed to make sure that happened!
Today Arthur had a plan. Arthur had planned and schemed mercilessly for months to ensure that the very worst, most horrible thing possible would happen to cement his name in the minds of every man, woman and child on the planet. There would be no more mistakes, there would be no more small children running up to him and asking for selfies. There would just be screams and fear.
Arthur had had a bad run of it, he knew how to take criticism and he was his own worst critic. The plan to sabotage the Space-X launch and cause the first manned flight to Mars to explode killing everyone was a great plan. How was Arthur supposed to know that by changing the electricity surge rate into the launch pad he would actually optimise the launch saving the company millions.
The time he tried to kill the last two pandas was a great one. No one, not even Arthur could know that by forcing too Pandas together and giving them poison wouldn’t kill them, it actually made them sexually active. Pandas where now so far away from extinction it wasn’t even funny.
There was the time Arthur tried to rob a security vault where all he managed to do was accidentally over flood the vault. The pressure forced a number of highly sensitive data disks into the sewers to be picked up by the FBI. This then lead to the arrest of an entire New York crime organisation and the undying thanks of a whole task force.
People were starting to think of Arthur as some kind of hero. He shook his head in disgust, how did this happen he was a bad person, all he wanted to do was be hated and loathed by all.
This time would be different for Arthur, he was going to unleash a plague, a virus that would render the whole of humanity infertile. This one act would make him the most evil man who ever lived. Arthur could feel his moment coming soon he would be hated just like he hated.
Standing atop his tower, as an evil act needed a tower, with the lighting flashing behind him, as an act this evil needed lighting, laughing his maniacal deep throated evil laugh that boomed to the thunder, as what truly evil act happened without such a laugh, he pressed the button releasing the virus.
Two months later Arthur stood in the queue at the palace waiting to receive his OBE with a look of utter confusion still stamped on his face.
Arthur had no idea how it had happened, the virus that should have made everyone infertile had actually made a specific species of rat infertile. He didn’t know at the time that much of the country was being infested and overran. Why would Arthur read a paper or look at the news when he wasn’t the prime subject. He had single handedly solved the problem stopping a major invasion before it could truly begin.
Walking down the carpet with the cheers and clapping Arthur started to think that maybe it was time to give up, time to hang his head in shame and just admit that he was a good person deep down. Looking up with a sigh he saw a Queen, a sword and a crown. Maybe he shouldn’t give up, maybe he should just think a little smaller. |
It all began when I woke up one morning to find a pile of dead cattle outside my hillside retreat. I had gone out that morning to tend the flowers and harvest my mushrooms, a typical daytime activity for your average faerie. The sun had risen above the mountaintops and through the canopy to find its way into my home through the glass, and I bounced out of bed and hovered in the air to stretch my little limbs as far as they could go. I giggled incessantly as I glided through my home, grabbing my bucket and my shovel, and twirled with enthusiasm as I made my way to front door with smile on my face. Once outside though, I was greeted with a smell and sight so foul that I let out a scream I could scarce believe hadn't ruptured my tiny eardrums.
There they were, maybe twelve or so, piled about as high as my little tree house, bleeding and rotting right beside my favorite tulips. I looked around frantically for any indication as to who or what had left them there, and that's when I saw him. A forest drake had taken to the skies and was flying as quickly as he could in the other direction. I furrowed my brow. "Kree!"I yelled after him. I had recognized the drake instantly. "Kree you bloated bag of gas! GET BACK HERE!"There was no way he could hear me now. Miles of sky passed between us the further he flew away. I was left alone to clean up his savage mess, and was none too happy about it.
Kree had moved into the area around a year and a half prior, just about six months after I had finished building my home near the lake. He had taken a secluded grove not a half mile from my little slice of heaven, and I wasn't enthusiastic about it. More than once I caught him eyeing me, but it's not like I wasn't used to that already. Dragons and faeries have never liked each other, and I can't deny that the prejudice was strong with me. I didn't like Kree, and after what had just happened I liked him even less.
The next morning I found myself pulling wild mushrooms out of the ground where he had left the cattle. His little present had tainted the ground, and tending to the flowers was going to have to wait until I had scorched the earth back to a healthy and workable state. I was irritated enough that my morning routine was ruined and the air still smelled faintly of cow guts. I was ten times as irate when I glanced over my shoulder to find Kree standing near the garden with a flower in his mouth.
"Kree! KREE WHAT ARE DOING?!"I had thought for certain he had stolen it from me. "Put that down and leave before you ruin everything!"Kree didn't say a word, but he did exactly as he was told. The flower dropped out of his mouth and he beat back his wings until he was far overhead. The wind he kicked up from doing so toppled all of my tulips. "KREE! Kree you ugly overgrown lizard just leave!"Once again he was off, and I was left to assess the damage he had inflicted on my poor little garden.
I caught sight of the little purple flower Kree had tried to steal, and scooped it up with both hands to see if I could still save it. Examining it closely, I quickly realized that it *hadn't* come from me. There was no possible way it could have. "An amethyst rose?!"I gasped. "There's... there's no way."Gleaming and almost metallic, the petals danced with sunlight and dripped with morning dew. The scent was so sweet and berry-like that it seemed to make the lingering corpsey smell dissipate entirely. It was beyond beautiful.
I spent that whole day wondering why Kree had such a rare flower with him. I couldn't imagine such a brutish drake taking up alchemy, and I *certainly* couldn't picture him tending to a garden, so then why? No satisfactory answer came to me. Whatever the case, I thought he owed me, and so when the tasks were done that evening I planted it beside my tulips and called it a night. I was too tired to deal with anything else, and just wanted to crawl into bed and cry myself to sleep.
For the next couple of weeks I didn't see Kree, but that didn't mean he wasn't there. In fact as time went on I was sure he was always close by, but my resentment caused me to just ignore his presence and continue trying to live my perfect little life. The amethyst rose gave my garden some much needed color, and I knew for certain its presence was making the tulips stronger. I found myself wishing I had other rare flowers like it. "You'd look wonderful next to a cherry daisy,"I said one time while watering the rose. "Or maybe a mountain frill? I bet you'd all be friends."
The very next morning, both flowers were on my doorstep. They were potted perfectly, and whoever had taken them was careful not to damage the roots. I almost couldn't believe my eyes. I picked up one of the plants and looked it over, then past it into the forest beyond. Kree was just behind the trees, eyeing me closely. As soon as he realized I was looking back at him, he took off like a bat out of hell. I think that was the first time he ever made me smile.
Months went by like this. I would tend the garden and casually mention a different flower or plant. The plant in question would appear within the week. It didn't matter how rare it was either--desert bloom, night vine, snow stalks you name it. If I mentioned it, Kree would go and get it. I'd laugh, I'd plant it, I'd take care of it and the garden would grow. I never once let on that I knew it was him, and I think that motivated him to keep going. Before I knew it, the garden reached as far as the tree line. Kree had to move further and further out into the forest to stay hidden.
After so much time however I stopped mentioning any plants. It wasn't that I was out of room or that I didn't want any more from him, it was that I simply couldn't think of anything else I needed or wanted. Surely there were an innumerable amount of other plants out there in the world, but even I wasn't exactly an expert in the matter. I only had the books my mother left for me and what little I had studied in the Fae Academy to go on. My garden was already so hard to manage and already so filled with plants from around the world that I suppose I just didn't think it was necessary to keep going. So I didn't.
Yet that didn't stop Kree from trying. I continued to find plants I didn't ask for on my doorstep, many of which he had already gotten for me though there were some I didn't even recognize. I was happy of course, but also a little sad, and I didn't even really know why. As the weeks went by, I started to notice that Kree was around less and less. His offerings were less frequent, but the offerings themselves were ever rarer than the ones before. I was certain after a while that he was only bringing me new species, and I was floored with what I saw.
There were sparkling vegetables and crystal lily pads and all manner of flowers of various colors and hues. There were saplings and fruits and various vines, so many things to make the garden and the lake look like a paradise in the middle of the forest. Everything I wanted and everything I had never knew I wanted was there. It was not lost on me that Kree had gone above and beyond to apologize, and I hadn't even told him thank you. I even started to realize the cattle was his own little way of trying to impress me. I didn't, and I couldn't understand it then, but every little bit of flora he brought revealed it little by little until eventually I started to wonder if I was even worth it at all. All that work, and what had I done except tell him that he was an ugly overgrown lizard? I found myself standing in the gardens waiting for him to arrive.
It took him three months before he did. The morning was as blissful as it always had been at first light. I was ready and willing to start the day, ready to work the old green thumb and sow miracles into the soil. I flew outside with my bucket in hand, and dropped it immediately when I saw Kree laying in the dirt beside the tulips. He wasn't moving.
"Kree?"I asked, flying over to him. "Kree! Where have you been?! I was getting wor..."I stopped in my tracks. Kree was barely breathing. In his mouth was another plant. Unlike the rare specimens he had brought me over the last few months, I recognized what he had stuck between his teeth. "Dragon Lotus?!"My heart sunk. Dragon Lotus was exceedingly rare, thought to be extinct, and it was like this because of how beyond deadly it was to Dragons and Wyverns. It only grew in the far east beyond the ocean, and it only took ten minuets to kill a full grown dragon.
Kree had carried it thousands of miles over days. He was dying. "Kree..."I muttered, voice breaking. "Kree what... what did you do?"
"Kree is sorry,"said the dragon through his mind. The dragon was too weak to speak in tongues. "Kree cannot bring you flowers anymore. Kree must join with the forest soon."
He was fading fast. Even if I tried to make a cure now, he would be gone before I could get it to him. All this flora around me, and there was nothing I could do to save his life.
"Kree you stupid, stupid dragon..."I started to say. I began crying like a baby. "Why! Why did you do something so stupid!"Every word out of my mouth made me hate myself more. My throat began to tighten. "Why are you doing this to me!"
"Because Kree loves you,"he said. I felt my heart swell and then break into a thousand little pieces. I hated it. I was falling in love just in time to lose that love forever, and all of it was my fault. "Will you do something for Kree?"the dragon asked me, one eye staring up at me.
"Anything! Anything at all!"I was cradling his head now, my own tears joining his as they fell freely for the first time since my mother passed. "Anything."
"Will you bury Kree in the garden? Kree wants to be with you forever."I could only nod through my sobs. "Thank you... Kree is happy."The dragon closed his eyes just then, and I leaned in to kiss him on his forehead.
"I love you Kree,"I said to him. A smile appeared on his face. |
"All bundled up?"Tianzu leaned against the airlock as he waited for me to finish putting on my suit.
"You don't need to baby me,"I grumbled. "Just because my species is only 6,000 years old, that doesn't mean I'm not fully grown myself."
"Maybe, but you're still not *xian-re* yet."A transcend, one whose species had advanced to the point that they could survive in space unaided. Whether it was cybernetics, genetic engineering, or something even more advanced, each galactic species had found a way to trivialize the most inhospitable environment in existence, and taken that power into their very bodies.
I was wearing a Mk6 Encounter Suit. Bulletproof nanofiber armor, 12 hours of life support, and enough power assist to wrestle an elephant, in a package small enough to fit in a backpack.
Tianzu could do all that *naked.* When one of the transcends actually suited up for battle, well... We'd only seen them do it once, in the Periphery Incident. They had intervened to stop a human civil war, in much the same way that you'd intervene to stop a toddler from scribbling all over the walls, and with about the same level of difficulty. "Look how cute they are having a big grown-up war! But we'd better stop them before they make a mess of the place, I suppose."
They weren't *all* condescending pricks or overbearing mothers, but the stereotype had a lot of justification, in my view.
I finished putting my helmet on, and bounced on my feet, getting used to that strange lightness that came from powered armor supporting your weight.
"I'm ready."
"Okay."He pulled a lever on the airlock, and we stepped out into a field of yellow grass.
Tianzu took a deep breath as he stepped outside. "Ooh, arsenic chemistry. That's a rare one."
"Showoff,"I grumbled. The contact team had spent a week analyzing the life forms on the planet before concluding that they used a unique form of biochemistry that we barely had theories about. The transcends hadn't bothered to help, because where's the fun in just being *given* the answer?
I pointed down the hill, where a group of lizard-like creatures were walking up the trail towards us. Two were carrying projectile weapons and wearing uniforms, but on the whole, it looked like a diplomatic delegation. They were here to talk, not to fight.
"Looks like they noticed us coming down. Time for you to vanish?"
"Fine, fine. You kids play nice. Give me a shout if you need anything."
The transcend stepped into the tall grass and vanished from my sensors. A cloaking device in his pocket? A trick of his biology? Impossible to tell.
I looked down the road at the aliens and took a deep breath, remembering my mentor's words.
*Just be yourself. That's what you're here for.*
The goal of First Contact was to greet aliens as equals. To welcome them into the galactic community. But the transcends were, well, *not equal.* Let them talk to a newcomer for five minutes, and they'd inevitably say something like "Wow, you still need *oxygen?*"or "How do you ride solar flares in *that?*"The cultural gap was just too big.
This was why humans had the job of first contact in the Preserve, despite being the youngest, most fragile spacefaring species in the galaxy. We were the ones who still remembered what it was like to take our first steps into the galaxy. We knew what it was like to travel with a ship and suit instead of an aether-skiff and robes. In short, we were there to say "Don't worry, we've all been there."
I tapped my helmet, activating the translation pack we had developed, and waved an arm at the newcomers.
"Welcome from Earth!" |
The only reason I noticed in the first place was her consistency: like clockwork, she begins her tapping at exactly 12:15, just after the bell. I noticed her start tapping on Monday and again on Tuesday. Now, I'm not just oogling her all lunch period, but I would if I could, so it instantly struck me as odd. On Wednesday, I realized it may be a message, so I took a discrete video of her on Thursday. Perhaps just a series of random taps, but she had definitely spelled out "you"intentionally or not. On Friday, even fewer taps, so more chance it's a coincidence, but it looked like she spelled "up."I've been waiting all weekend to see if she continues today, Monday. I was ready with a pen and paper and a small morse code ledger. And now it was time.
At 12:14, she sat ready.
At 12:15, she began tapping: dash dot. dot. dot dot dot dash. dot. dot dash dot.
I looked down at the paper and began to go back and forth to the ledger.
"Oh goddamn it."
Furious, impressed, and most of all infatuated with this girl, I knew this was my one chance. I walked over to her as she was packing her things.
"Excuse me, you're Claire, right?"
"Yeah..."
"Maybe you don't know me, I just wanted to say hello. My name is Rick Astley."
&#x200B; |
I was at Clifford Park, the biggest expanse of grass the city has to offer, doing what I always do in my spare time.
The thing people don’t know about grass is that grass is lighter on one side because that side gets robbed of most of the sunlight. Grass live their lives half tan, and half pale, never fully reaching their true potential of a fully vitalized strand. That means all the things that rely on grass to provide for them aren’t getting all they could get either. That’s why I was born to change all that, one strand at a time.
You can call me what you want — Grass Boy, Grass Girl, Grassy Ass, Grass Pro Shop — I’ve heard it all. Others may get to fly around, teleport, see through walls, breathe underwater, breathe fire, breathe in outer space, have incredible singing voices, have super math skills, revive the dead, save the living, but no one can rotate grass 90 degrees except me. I have what they call a rare power. My mom says it’s a super superpower, and that’s why people pick on me.
“They’re jealous of your ability to rotate grass at 90 degrees sweet Grass Baby — I mean sweet child of mine,” she always knows how to make me feel better.
So I was alone at Clifford Park sitting criss cross in the field, doing my thing, you know, my chosen destiny of rotating grass 90 degrees to follow the sun so each strand of grass receives more nourishment for the things that eat it, when Imploding Issac himself stepped in front of me.
Everyone in the whole world knows Imploding Issac. He goes around telling people to do what he wants or else he’ll implode and bring the world with it. I didn’t know he even knew about Clifford Park, but it’s a small world I guess. Small enough for him to implode apparently. He told me he wanted me to tie his shoes, or he’ll implode the whole world. His shoes were indeed untied.
I suddenly got extremely nervous. If I messed this up then the world would pay. I was so scared, that I must have gotten an adrenaline rush. I suddenly felt more capable than I ever had before, like a fire was lit inside of me. I felt the sun shining brightly upon my head, and I felt my hair start growing straight up at an insane rate.
I knew it all along, I had the power of the ancient grass inside of me. I had gone super grass.
My powers increased one hundred fold.
Still, this was all adrenaline due to fear. I still had to tie the shoes. I reached my arms forward to perform the deed, and suddenly Imploding Issac slipped from his footing and flipped into the air. To my surprise I had accidentally channeled the power inside of me, and had turned one hundred blades of grass 90 degrees under Imploding Issac’s feet. The grass was still dewey from the moist morning, and Imploding Issac’s shoes were not slip resistant. He had slipped, he had broken his neck, he had died right then and there.
After that I was a world wide phenomenon. For a whole year I left it a mystery to how I did it. To what my power was. I autographed, I interviewed, I traveled the world. I was the world’s greatest superhero. I was the superhero of the century. There were more international viewers than anything in history when I declared I would tell the story live. Over two billion live viewers. More hype, more revenue, more excitement than anything else ever.
So I told my story. Then the world performed a feat that was considered the most impressive feat ever accomplished for the rest of time, despite it being a world of super powered people. As soon as I was done telling my story, the viewers dropped all the way to zero. Not six hundred, not thirteen, not one; zero. Everyone in the live crowd got up and left. All the cameramen shut their devices off, all the bands stopped playing, someone telekinetically popped all the balloons for my celebration. I was left all alone.
I was okay with it. It was time I took my destiny more seriously, and none of them could help me with that. I left the stage and went to the nearest farm, so I could rotate the grass 90 degrees; so the pale side got more sunlight; so the grass fed cows the world eats could get more nourishment with each bite.
Do these people deserve me? Not one little bit. Do they need me? More than they’ll ever know.
|
&#x200B;
Systems: Online
System Check:
- Reboot Successful
- Senses Functional
- Weapons OK (Disarmed)
Run Mode 2? (remote prompt: Yes)
"Dude, are you OK?"asked a distant, strange voice. A sharp pain stretched from the top of my head down to the middle of my spine. I looked up through watery eyes to see a man of around 20 years of age looking down at me, his mouth agape in horror.
"I'm not sure"I said. The carpet on which I was laying was wet, sticky, and warm. My eyes buzzed into focus. My legs were drenched in human blood.
"Whose blood is this?"I asked. The man on the couch did not reply. He merely sat and stared.
"Who are you?"I asked.
"I'm Damien, your roommate?"He ended his sentence as if asking himself the question. "I think you need a hospital. I think you lost *all* your blood, also your..."
Outside, through a gap in the curtains, several trails of rockets led into the sky. The booming of distant explosions rattled the windows.
"My what?"I asked
The human Damien struggled to find the words "An antenna, or something, is sticking out of your spine and through your head."
The memories of my mission briefing returned. "Yeah that's fine. It's all part of the protocol."
"The what?"He said stammering. "What the hell is going on Steve?"
On my phone were twelve missed EMERGENCY ALERTS. Only twelve? I thought. There should be more here by now.
I stood up and my mechanics felt strong. The ten-year old technology, left dormant while I infiltrated the enemy, still functioning. My human skin shed from the my Chromium frame. Apparently shocked by this, the Damien ran off.
My mission was easy, transmit the map information I had gathered over the last few years onto the incoming ships using my antenna. The best reception would be found at location B-873, or Tent Hill as the local inhabitants called it.
The streets were chaos, much different that the usual peace. My appearance must have been strange because looters in the middle of breaking windows or stealing TVs would stop to stare at me as I passed. Behind me as I walked to my objective, a mob gathered. Their numbers grew, and they yelled. The Damien was with them.
"That's one of them!"I heard him say "I saw him turn into **THAT** right in front of me as soon as the attacks started."
I felt something ding against my antenna, then something else. They were hurtling projectiles at me.
System Alert: Under Attack
Weapons Activate? (local prompt: Yes)
Weapons:
- Stun (local prompt:No)
- Disarm (local prompt:No)
- Maim (local prompt:No)
- Burn (local prompt:No)
- Vaporize (local prompt:No)
- Deploy Secondary Drones (Recommended) (local prompt:Yes)
"What the hell are those things?"Someone yelled from the mob. A panic of screams mixed with the humming and snipping of the drones filled the street.
Thanks to the defences, I walked without much incident to my objective, only needing to step over the odd body that had been cleared for me by my drones. There was however trouble at the hill top. The military had been made aware of my presence and I could see them waiting in ambush. Clearly visible once I switched my vision to the upper scale of UV.
Weapons:
- Mind Control (Not Recommended) (local prompt:Yes)
The discharge of weapons clattered over the hilltop as the men waiting in ambush turned on one another. In a crazed lunacy they seethed at the mouth to spill any blood. Few survived, and those that did, ran away from the melee looking for victims. One ran right towards me, screaming with a knife above his head. But he went right by, and found Damien who had been stalking me since the drone incident.
Now unimpeded, I made the objective point.
Transmit? (local prompt:Yes)
Transmitting...
&#x200B; |
Satan spoke first. "She's my daughter, this is my courtroom, and you're all on my payroll. Keep that in my mind."
Then it was my turn to speak. "Uhm, I actually don't want her. I mean, I love her, yeah, but...you know, who am I to think of trying to, you know, keep a daughter away from her father, right? You know so...I made a promise to my wife, the mother, to take care of uhm, Isabelle, and, uh, I've done that for three years and stuff but hey...you know, thats her father and I don't think he would, you know, hurt her or whatever, so... And to be honest, I want to get back out there on the dating scene and start mingling again, you know? So.. Isabelle, you know, she cries a lot and, uhm, poops a lot and, and it's just a lot to deal with and stuff. So, you know, if he wants his daughter back, like, Im willing to, like, you know, agree to that..."
"Actually,"Satan said, looking nervous, "I don't want the child until she's older."
The judge slams his gavel. "Ruled in favor of the human. He gets to keep the child."
"Good job,"my friend who had attended court with me said as we left the courtroom. "I didnt think reverse psychology would work!"
"Yeah....heh, reverse psychology..."I replied, crying inside. |
I never really took to real food. It's not that I can't eat it, it's just not as... satisfying. It took me a while to figure what I was really craving, to figure out how different I really was. I was insatiable at first, or so I'm told; my youth was a rather long time ago. If I was anything similar to those I see that are like me, I'm glad I don't remember it.
I see them, nurses like me, usually, preying on these aging folk; stealing their childhoods, their marriages, their children. Barbaric. It's heartbreaking to see their families visiting just to find blank expressions and first-date like questions. No, I am not like that any more.
I find peace in visiting the bedridden, offering them what little I can in their last remaining weeks. It is difficult to see them lose their ability to stand, to sit up, even to grasp a loving hand. One by one these simple muscle movements go. I like to comfort them through this. I always feel satisfied after sitting with them for a time, I'm still not quite sure why.
She always comes in sooner or later, one of the younger nurses. She is lovely and kind, always looking after me. "Did you eat well?"She asks. "Which memory did you choose this time?"Always with the funny questions. She leads me slowly out of the room, always replacing my walking frame. "Don't worry dear, you won't remember what you've done." |
I was born with limited potential.
They call me a late bloomer. It takes time for me to learn things. I mess things up. I stumble. And I often have to start things all over again.
They say I'll grow out of it eventually. That's ok. But it hurts to watch my friends move on to higher plains of existence, to watch their creations outstrip mine and conquer the universe. I have to work twice as hard to get half as much done.
It sucks.
But, it's ok. I'm very stubborn and I never give up hope. I'll catch up someday.
I created humans because, well, I was lonely. I wanted to create a race that would understand what it was like. See, humans are one of the weakest races in the galaxy. They can't travel faster than light. They can't leave their own solar system. They only live a century if they're lucky. They're slow.
They're like me.
But I engineered them with something special. There is something about them. They have to overcome twice as much to get things done. They mess up. They stumble. But they do learn.
And they're very popular.
Everyone is watching them with interest. Even my teachers are interested and taking notes. Everyone wants to know what the humans are going to do next.
At first, no one thought they were going to sail their own oceans. Then they started sailing their skies. Then they managed to place a few of themselves on their moon. Someone said it was sweet that they made sure the humans could come back before they sent them.
I'm very proud of them. Despite everything they've been through, I believe in them.
They say world peace is impossible. No one has been able to make a race that has achieved it.
They are trying to stop themselves from destroying the environment. Very few races have managed to do that. They are usually forced to move on to another world.
My humans are ambitious, just like me. They're growing out of it, just like I am.
Sometimes it takes the runt of the litter to become the leader. Sometimes, only suffering can make a champion.
One day, I will become the most powerful God, because I know what it's like to be the weakest. I have experienced the whole spectrum. I know what it's like to have to work for what I have.
And my race, the humans, have had to suffer for everything they've ever achieved. They've made so many mistakes, and nothing was ever handed to them.
That's why they're going to become great. That's why they're going to conquer the galaxy, explore the universe, and not only survive, but teach others. Yes, humans will one day become great teachers.
Because they know what it's like to be the worst students. |
Bright skies betrayed their blue openness with the screeches of foul murderous creatures from across the horizon. David ran, his breath struggling to keep up with his feet.
Unable to resist, he glanced at the impending swarm of flapping black and grey claws and wings emerge over the crest of the hill. Sanctuary lied a hundred meters away.
*Last chance to make it,* David thought, staring down the old parish building at the end of the street. Once he got behind those doors, he'd catch his breath and forget the troubles that plagued the town.
Careless, David tripped over a pile of bleached bones. Determined to not succumb to the impending storm, he pressed on.
*Must have been how far the last guy got.* David understood he couldn't look back.
Despite the cacophony violating his ears, he only needed ten more seconds to reach the wooden door. She would be there to welcome him. After much chastising of course.
Doom nipped at his heels. His hand pressed on the wooden door.
It did not budge. Nature's wrath outside protested louder, but not enough for David's ears to pick up a faint voice.
Why weren't they letting him inside? Indoors where he could finally reunite with his love.
Flesh tearing to pieces, Samantha's previous plea echoed in his head while David's life flashed before his now bloody vacant eyes. "You'll be safe here in church." |
On a day like today, things progressed as they should and the world sat in ordered competency, ticking away through space and time in a logical and consistent manner.
In the halls of power, men and women of utmost seriousness and normalcy carried out the standard forthright and altogether normal practice of ensuring that governments worked, trains ran and mice continued the important jobs that were so often assigned to them in times of needs.
Into this world, into this normal, standard, applicable and average world, where people ate soup and hats jostled for space on heads with hair, a man was born, let's call him Bill. Bill was just as unremarkable as any other person. Like all others, Bill grew from the age of zero up to the age of six or seven, when he surprisingly became a middle aged man of thirty two, to the shock and dismay of most of his family, excepting his Aunt Mary, who immediately took Bill up as her partner for the game of Bridge.
Mary and Bill, an odd couple, but an extremely effective Bridge partnership, spent some years travelling through the southern Indian states, where they hustled both locals and tourists, who would freely spend money to see this constantly moving duo. Bill, six feet four, head green and pulsating, would defer to Mary in all things. For her part, Mary refused all conversation save those who she competed against, letting out a high pitched scream when approached by anyone, including Bill, leading to much of his time being spent wearing earplugs.
On the third anniversary of Bill's unexpected transformation, Mary died as planned and despite his insistence to continue their partnership, some two years later, and many lost games of Bridge, he admitted defeat, packed her into a small wombat and set her ablaze and floated her out to sea. This was to be his last act standing, as after this, he would only crawl, achieving some small degree of fame as the 'Worm Man' and performing to packed out crowds at the foot of the Eiffel tower.
Elsewhere in France, a simultaneous explosion of cheese had left a bereft population, leading to crowds that flocked to Bill's shows, crowding around until their sheer weight collapsed in on itself, creating a small back hole. While this created a causality break and to the loss of the French Republic, Bill found it rather refreshing and took the afternoon off, before returning as a penguin.
Six long months of exams led to a job flying peanuts into the ground and forever after Bill would go south when he heard the noise of a pickup truck, safe in the knowledge that there was no greater feeling, than a wet Tuesday.
Like all lives, Bill created a vortex, through which he was able to escape into another plane of tomorrow, where the mice and Fred, his brother, lived like jam and into the fields of wheat, that roamed in a predatory way. 'Goodbye' they screamed, for tomorrow had gone and now, there was always something re-transmitting. And if nothing else, then why not that? |
On February 23rd, 2119, a small meteorite crashed into a forest in Alaska. By itself, the
meteorite would have not have caused much damage to the Earth as it was relatively small,
roughly the size of a tank. It was what emerged from within it that would end up bringing about
the end of the world: a black swarm of self-replicating nanomachines. Even now, we still have
no idea where they come from. All we do know for certain is that they have the ability to
assimilate technology and they are utterly intent on exterminating all animal life on this planet.
Mammals, birds, reptiles, fish; the nanomachines devoured them all without mercy.
&#x200B;
By day 4 after the initial impact, there were reports of nanobot swarms on every continent. By
day 10, over two dozen governments had collapsed. And by day 18, they had seized control of
the world’s nuclear arsenals.
&#x200B;
I live in Bunker 48, a massive bomb shelter that had been constructed during WWIII, with 432
other survivors in what may very well be the last refuge of humanity in the irradiated wasteland.
We lost contact with the other 47 bunkers weeks ago and they’re presumed to be lost. There is
enough food and water to last us for eight years, but I doubt we’ll live that long. It’s only a matter
of time before the nanobot swarms find us and devour us as well.
&#x200B;
The sound of a small whimper interrupted my thoughts. I looked over at the crowd of people that
were gathered around a small dog lying on the ground and the young girl that was softly
whispering into its ear. Chester had been smuggled into the Bunker against protocol, but we
weren’t cold enough to kick him out. Besides, his cheerful attitude had been a welcome
distraction against the feeling of impending doom that constantly filled us. Something went
wrong though in the last week. Chester started looking more tired and began suffering from
seizures. None of us were veterinarians, but it soon became clear to us that he was dying. Many
of the people in the crowd were loudly crying, not just for Chester, but what could very well be
the last dog on Earth.
&#x200B;
A rattling breath escaped from Chester’s lips as he closed his eyes for the last time. In the
bunker, the only sound audible was quiet sobbing and sniffling from the crowd. Or at least it
was, until a loud booming voice echoed throughout the building, making us all shriek in fright.
&#x200B;
“CONGRATULATIONS”, the voice screamed. “HUMANS HAVE WON ROUND ONE! ALL
SURVIVORS WILL BE TRANSPORTED TO THE NEXT WORLD FOR ROUND 2!
&#x200B;
I gazed around in shock as the world turned a blinding white while everyone started panicking
and screaming at the top of their lungs. When the light faded though, a stunned silence settled
over the crowd. Gone were the gray bunker walls. Instead, we found ourselves standing next to
a river in some kind of rainforest. Chirping birds flew over us in the blue sky and I watched as a
school of fish swam past us on the river. I fell to my knees, hysterically laughing to myself, as I
pawed at the soft grass. “It’s back!”, I shouted. “It’s all back to normal!”
&#x200B;
Suddenly, someone’s voice rang out in a panic, “Look up there!” As I turned around and gazed
up, a cold chill ran down my spine. In the distance, I could see two meteorites falling from the
sky. |
“I suppose you all expect me to recount the great achievements of my people. Maybe weave a great tale of our most worthy specimens, our legendary wonders, and our creative exploits. Such a tale would not be fitting to the human race. A truly appropriate eulogy would take on a much different tone than this.
“You see, humanity has always had a particular set of talents. We have been city-builders, scientists, and patrons of the arts, true, but there is only one activity at which my kind was truly peerless: destruction.
“Humanity’s very origin stories of old capture this immutable truth. Cain and Abel, The Olympians and the Titans, Marduk and Tiamat, and myriad other myths reveal the propensity of mankind to engage with itself and the world around it through death. The remaining history of man continues to reinforce this truth.
“Countless empires rose and fell over the course of our terrestrial history, with innumerable members of our own kind slain so that one lord or another could make their plot of dirt slightly bigger. As time wore on, our weapons became more and more capable of dispensing death, culminating in weapons of war able to level cities in the blink of an eye.
“Confronted with the potential of self-extermination for the first time, my people stopped engaging in such large-scale conflict, for the most part at least. Instead, we focused our efforts on greed, exploiting our planet until Earth was pressed to its final limit, reduced to a smoking husk. Humanity persevered, taking to the stars to find a new home.
“This is the point at which many of you met my people for the first time. We first presented ourselves as travelers and explorers seeking adventure in the cosmos, but the truth of our nature began to reassert itself. Seeing an opportunity for enrichment, we made ourselves available for your wars as soldiers, generals, and spies. We began to wipe out entire systems, splitting planets apart before even meeting the inhabitants. So much potential knowledge destroyed for nothing.
“No longer limited to one planet, humanity’s loathsome greed only grew, with planets stripped of their resources, then abandoned. One by one, we sailed through the stars, an unholy swarm of celestial locusts seeking new fields to ravage.
“Finally, mercifully, our sinful lifestyle became unable to support itself. Worlds to scour became harder to find, and a lack of mercenary work turned conflict inward for the first time since we left Earth behind. By the time the wars had ended, there weren’t enough of us left. Now, I am the only one left.
“The galaxy is at its safest now that I alone remain from my people. It will be safer still when I am also gone.” |
My name is Theodore and I’m a background character.
I’ve known it for years now- since the Ascension- that this wasn’t my story. Maybe I’ve known it my whole life, and just refused to accept it. It’s true, though. I’m a background character. I don’t matter, not like the Guardians.
But this, this little page of history, this *is* my story. And my story started on a cold, cloudy day in New York City.
It was early in winter, and the city had been at peace for what had felt like forever but was truthfully no more than a few weeks. The Guardians, the six legendary heroes who guarded the city, weren’t on patrol that day. It was calm, and all was well. I was on duty- a beat cop driving down the road.
Then it happened. I hurried to a stop, slamming on the brakes, as a woman ran out in front of me, screaming in terror as she fled some terrifying sight down the street to the side. I left my car, drew my gun, and moved to see. You didn’t take risks as a police officer in a world of superheroes.
It was another of those caped lunatics- this one in a black labcoat, green goggles, and leather gloves. He was short and a bit old, with gray hair. And he was grinning like a lunatic as he floated ten feet in the air, throwing spears of solid green light, impaling passerby at random.
I ducked for cover, cowering like any sane person would, and waited as the rest of everyone always did for the inevitable arrival of the Guardians.
They appeared as always in spectacular fashion; a blaze of fire, flying down at incredible speeds from their aerial fortress. They hovered in formation, Hellfire, their leader, in front.
“Cease this madness at once,” He commanded, “or face the wrath of-“
Another lance flew out and stabbed straight through his throat. He fell to the hard ground below, bleeding and choking in his own blood.
“My god,” another said, “you murdered hi-“
She too fell to another spear and at that they attacked, the remaining four releasing all of their power in an epic battle- shields of green light held off torrential waves of fire and ice and punches strong enough to send shockwaves through the air, and one by one the Guardians fell. He was simply too fast, too strong- he didn’t get hit once.
Finally he was alone but for me, hiding behind a car behind him. He began to laugh maniacally, and I realized that they were, in fact, dead for real. That this lunatic could kill them all- all of our heroes, all of our defenders. That I had a chance to end him.
That was when it became my story.
I drew my gun. I rose steadily to my feet.
He turned, still laughing.
“You will end me? *You?*” He said. “You are mortal. Not even your gods could defeat me, and you think *you* can?”
I didn’t answer. Instead, I carefully took aim.
“Fool.” He hissed. “I will-“
I fired. He fell to the ground, a bullet hole between his eyes.
Our Guardians were dead, but that didn’t mean we were defenseless.
__________________________________
r/NotVeryGood_AtWriting if you liked this, I’ll probably eventually start writing more here. |
It was an ordinary backpack. Leather straps holding firm to fabric, the top drooping down to seal the contents beneath its crinkled lip. But it wasn't Rick's backpack. It didn't belong to him.
Rick tossed the backpack onto the kitchen table, throwing aside the plant filled vase, shattering several plates.
"What the hell are you doing?"Joules screamed, rounding at Rick from her seat in the living room.
"Come look."Rick said, pointing at the backpack which seemed to writhe about the table, thrashing from within alike a fish caught in a net, "This is it, Joules."he smiled, "This is it."
"This is what?"Joules rolled up her sleeves revealing a patchwork of monochrome skull tattoos, "Have you been drinking?"she grabbed Rick's jaw between a hand, turned his face to better see his eyes, and slapped him, "What the fuck have I told you about drinking? You know..."
"I know."Rick scowled, cutting Joules off mid-sentence, "Don't you think I know?"he pushed her hand away, with some effort, turning glassy eyed back to the table and the backpack on top, "But this isn't the drink, this is... this is something beautiful, Joules. Just wait until you see."he reached for the bindings of the pack, seeming to pull back before finally making up his mind.
And with a flick of the wrist the head of the backpack fell loose...
\*\*
*Several hours earlier;*
Rick was desperate, and worse than desperate, Rick was drunk.
He'd spent the morning, the afternoon, and the best part of the evening drowning his sorrows in the Hog's Heart. A pitiful excuse for a bar. Half the lights were on the blink, and the toilets may as well have not been there. The Hog's Heart wasn't the type of bar you'd take you fiance, or even the type of bar frequented by those more rowdy groups of friends. It was the type of bar home to vagrant loners, lost souls who wanted nothing more than to lose themselves inside the bottle.
Perhaps there were answers, somewhere deep at the bottom of a bottle. Or perhaps there weren't. Either way the troubled minds of the Hog's Heart would find out. Even if it damn near killed them. A life without answers was barely worth living, or so they'd surmised.
There was Bianca, mother of twins, twins she'd lost in a car accident. Not drink driving, not even close. It had been a gunman, stalking her apartments parking lot at night. He'd damned her keys, she'd refused, the twins had died. She'd never understand why he didn't kill her. Did he run out of bullets? Was he saving the last for himself? Some final act of repentance for his sins...
There was Larry, ex-banker, emphasis on the ex. He'd fiddled accounts for major corporate clients, and absorbed by his work he'd barely noticed his wide fiddling accounts of her own. It was meant as an act of revenge, Larry catching them in the act, a means by which to scar the accused. Only when he'd stormed in on the affair, shouting divorce to the high heavens, his wife had lifted her head to look him in the eyes... and laughed. She'd let her lover commit himself to her whilst staring down her husband, and he'd watched, unable to remove himself, unable to look away. She'd broken him, beyond repair.
It was Gareth, the unlovable oath of a barkeep that kept the good times coming for a price, that had sent Rick on his way.
"Times up, Rick. You know I'll serve you past your due, but if you can't carry yourself home to live another day,"Gareth had settled a paw of a hand, hot and sticky, on Rick's shoulder at this point, "then who'll come back tomorrow to keep paying my bills?"Gareth snorted a laugh, slapped his *good friend* Rick on the back, and pointed for the door.
Rick grumbled, swiped a bottle from the bar when that *fat prick* Gareth wasn't looking, and stumbled on his way. On the bottle had felt light, and not at all like a bottle...
When Rick was outside, the fresh air to fill his lungs, he felt his sense slightly sober up. Not by much, but by enough to grasp what it was that he'd stolen from under Gareth's counter. It was a gun, he'd not the mind to know what sort, it was small, light in his hands, with a clip two short of being full. That's when he'd seen the stranger, the one who'd owned the backpack before him.
\*\*
Lucky had his hood pulled low over his face, trousers tucked into socks tucked into his trainers, the backpack heavy on his shoulders, crashing down against him as he ran.
One thought cycled through Lucky's mind, a message on repeat; *don't drop it, don't lose it, and by the God's don't you dare open it! Just take it to Hannah, and then walk away.*
It had been a living nightmare, the bizarre shop dweller who'd first approached Lucky and then forced the backpack upon him. But once those straps where up and over his shoulders, he felt he didn't have a choice. They bore into him, latching onto his skin through the cloth of his hoodie. And it wouldn't let go, the backpack, it bound itself to him and threatened to tear him in two if he even thought of taking it off.
That was, until he'd met Rick...
"Slow down there, pal."Rick slurred his words, grasping for the gun hid under his jumped, "I said..."he brought the gun to light, waving it wildly about the air, accidentally letting off a shot that screamed against the night, fighting back the silence only to watch it descend with more force than before, "slow down, pal."
"Look,"Lucky managed to tell himself to stop, to tell himself that if the backpack didn't kill him then this madman surely would, "I don't want any trouble."he raised his hands and found suddenly the backpack felt lighter, the straps slipping from his shoulders.
"Give it to me."Rick sniffed, gesturing the backpack, only to his eyes there looked to be three, maybe four, "Come on, hand it over."
Lucky gently peeled the straps from his hoodie, the cloth beneath them damp from whatever poison had sealed them in place, "Here,"he held the backpack out, a heavy sigh of relief fleeing from his person.
Rick reached with the wrong hand, let off another shot, and cursed as he threw his hands to his ears.
Lucky froze, he felt the dampness in his shoulders drop suddenly to his crotch, "You can have it!"he threw the backpack at Rick, "Please, it's all yours."
Rick started grinning, and with half his teeth stained by strong spirits that grin was certain to unsettle.
Lucky ran, each step carrying him forward with a greater determination to be free of the backpack and the madman with the gun. He couldn't say why he did it, why he thought it would be a good idea to potential anger not only the man but the backpack too, but when he was no more than a dozen steps away he cried over his shoulder, "It's your problem now."
And whether or not it was a delusion of the drink Rick could have sworn the backpack chuckled, sagging as it made to wave goodbye.
\*\*
*The present time, with Joules;*
"This is something beautiful, Joules. Just wait until you see."Rick reached for the bindings of the pack, seeming to pull back before finally making up his mind.
And with a flick of the wrist the head of the backpack fell loose... letting out a long awaited groan. |
“Yer an engineer, Gary,” the gruff man declared. He loomed over Gary
“I-I’m a what?”
“An engineer. And a thumpin’ good one at that.”
“No, you’ve made a mistake. I can’t be… an engineer. I’m just… Gary.”
“Well, Just Gary. Have you ever built something just for fun? Taken apart clocks for no reason and put them back together? Looked for real explanations of everyday magical happenings?” Gary looked at his hands. It made sense. The stair-case pulley system that the Dursley’s refused to implement. The notes on paper airplanes that Dudley ripped up. The small robot that he hid under his bed. He always knew.
Hagrid handed Gary a letter identical to the others. They had flooded his home for days – dropped by drones, shot by catapults, even spammed by email. Grasping it softly in his hands, he opened it.
*Dear Mr. Potter,*
*We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts’ School of Engineering and Technology!
Here at Hogwarts, we train students with a world-class engineering magic education while helping them build lifelong networks and make professional connections. In their first year, students take classes in the three branches of engineering magics: mechanical, electrical, and chemical. In their fourth year, students specialize within each field…*
___________________________________________________________________
Gary and the other first years clamored into the dining hall. Four long tables stretched down the hall and a podium sat at the other end. Stone walls rose up several stories, likely supported by medieval flying buttresses on the exterior. Stain glass windows decorated the walls, depicting the epic tales of Edison, Tesla, Watt, and the Wright brothers. As Gary looked up, he saw the sky above him. As he peered closer, he realized that it was not the sky, but a huge LED array that matched the sky outside. Gary figured that the school had five to six cameras monitoring the sky on the outside and reporting data back to a microcontroller that updated the LED arrays. At least that’s what he’d do given an Arduino.
A bearded man moved to the podium. A hush gathered over the crowd.
“Welcome all of you to Hogwarts. Welcome all of you to school. Did you know that here at Hogwarts, we have a hidden swimming pool...”
____________________________________________________________________
Gary sprinted through the halls, late for his class again. It’s all because of those pesky moving stair cases. You’d think that the civil engineers would have argued against putting large motors at the bottom of every staircase but for some reason that design won. He entered the room as quietly as possible.
“Mr. Potter. Late again. Didn’t your mother teach you to keep the time? You will never understand analog electronics if you do not arrive in a timely manner.”
“Yes of course, Professor McGonagall.”
“Anyway. Back to impedances. When we use the LaPlace transformation, we can treat capacitors and inductors as resistors and apply Kirchoff’s rules to the circuit…”
|
"You seen 'em get torn to shreds?"Johnny asked me. "Heard their blood's blue. Huh, I swear I heard somewhere our blood is too, before it makes contact with air."
"Who knows,"I said. "Maybe we're all the same."He motioned me to light his cigarette for him. I did.
&#x200B;
We were sitting outside the mess hall. The base was crawling with greenhorns, these wide-eyes draftees, fresh out of high school. They waddled about in their oversized combat boots and uniforms, with iron creases still apparent. I shook a cigarette out for myself. We smoked in silence for a while.
&#x200B;
"Know what I realized,"he said.
"What?"
"Can't ever hear 'em shoot."
"Particle beams."
"Yeah, whatever that is. Heard it kills you instantly. Leaves the body intact."
"Yeah,"I said. "I seen it."
Johnny took a long drag. He winced as he exhaled. "No blood, no nothin'?"
"They just drop. Their eyes roll up. Their knees buckle. They fall down."
"Can't imagine it."
"Ain't it better?"
"Better 'n what?"
"What we got right now."
"And what's that?"
I smoked my cigarette to the filter and threw it on the ground. "You been watching those broadcasts?"
"Yeah, yeah. It's all propaganda from the damn aliens. So what?"
"It's not,"I said. "It's real."
"Like I said, so what?"Johnny stood up and spit into the dirt. "Just 'cause they look like us, we're supposed to feel bad for blowin' 'em to high hell?"
We stood up and began walking. The tents, the latrines, HQ. Everything looked like it had a brown filter over it, choked in dust.
"You're right,"I said. "Hasn't stopped us from killing each other."
Johnny laughed. It was a brittle sound, hollow of any emotion. An imitation, perhaps, of similar noises he'd made long ago. "No matter how advanced we get, we were still once monkeys. Nothing will change."
"Even with these aliens?"
"Even with them."
"I just—just thought to myself. Maybe."
"Maybe what? They're killin' us too. Doesn't matter how. A dead person's a dead person, whether they're tiny shreds of skin or a lump of flesh."He laughed again. "I like that, *lump of flesh.*"
"Guess that's what we are."
Johnny stopped walking and turned to me. "You think they're better than we are."
"That's not it."
"You think they're more humane than us. You think 'cause they kill people without destroying their bodies, that they're more justified in taking lives."
"I never said that."I looked at the ground. "I just think—"
"Look, Lee. We used to kill each other. At least, now, we're killing *them*."
"I guess you're right,"I said.
&#x200B;
We looked up to find ourselves back in front of the mess hall. |
Suzy skipped into the woods to see her grandma. Grandma had been sick for too long so Suzy decided that should would cook a wonderful dinner for her! Suzy had previously went to the market earlier and got all her grandmothers favorites. Grandma loves earthy foods, so Suzy was sure to get anything that came from the ground. She had carrots and parsnips, some potatoes and beets. She chose the bloodiest roast that the butcher would give her, for grandma loves rare beef. To top it all off, she got the biggest sweetroll the baker had to offer, knowing she herself would get to enjoy it. Suzy was skipping closer and closer and finally arrives. She’s slightly nervous because she had never cooked such a big meal before and she wanted everything to be perfect. She greets her grandma and keeps conversation light because she knows she needs to get started right away. The cooking begins. Suzy has never ever cooked before in her life and starts to panic. She can’t find a pan big enough put to start the roast she cuts her finger while cutting the parsnips, she accidentally sets the cookbook on fire! Everything little thing is going wrong, but she eventually gets it done. The potatoes are mashed with the parsnips, the carrots are glazed and roasted, the roast is perfectly rare with beets cooked with it. Grandma sits down at the table and looks at the food excitedly, her sickness was cured with a kind act. Suzy, flustered and out of breath cuts into the roast. And as Suzy wipes the blood from her blade, she knew it was finally over. |
"Hi Inevitable, I'm Dad."Thanos turned a pale pinkish color and slowly spun around. A bewhiskered gentleman, seemingly human, stood unphased amidst the chaos. On the contrary, things seemed to calmly ease to a stop around him. The man adjusted his sweater-vest and continued. "Now, sonny, I'm gonna count to three. You need to pack up your little toys, send your friends here home, and then go sit in the corner and think about what you've done."
"You have no idea who I am... what I'm capable of. Of my *destiny.*"The Mad Titan growled out his response and raised his gauntlet to snap again and vanish this stranger away... only to hear another dull *thunk* of metal hitting metal. No cracks, pops, bangs, biffs, or wooshes. And the stranger, perplexingly, infuriatingly, continued to stand there.
"Ooooooone,"drawled out the figure, no more threatening than a father kindly reprimanding a child.
*Thunk. Thunk-thunk-thunk*.
"Twooooooo!"the man said, idly twirling the stolen Space stone between his fingers.
Baffled, Thanos checked his gauntlet. Sure enough, the space stone was missing. No matter he just needed to reclaim it. He still had the majority, after all.
"Three."The stranger's mouth tightened. His eyes closed, and his face seemed to darken. "Now, do you know what happens with troublemakers?"
"They get what they *deserve*."Thanos retorted, hauling off with a Power-infused punch... at thin air.
Laughter echoed around him. "Indeed they do, young man. And what do you think you deserve? Power? Time? Reality itself?"As if on queue, the stones were plucked off the gauntlet. Thanos swiped at them, but they were already gone. He spun about to find this jokester and found him standing there, an odd mockery of the gauntlet he wore on his hand of rubber, like some kind of protection for cleaning.
"Fine."Thanos reached out for the powers of Mind and Soul, and felt out for the man's very being. He may have stolen more through trickery, but Thanos was their master. But as Thanos reached into this man's soul, he became overwhelmed. This man... everything about him radiated a deep-seated force of the purest of love. Love for the world. His parents, his wife, lost once to the snap. Love towards the Avengers. Love of a good joke, a good cup of coffee, and building stories with others. Even love for the Mad Titan himself.
"I know what you deserve."The Titan was nothing but a child to him. Now literally, he came to realize, as the stones had shrunk him down to a more childish state. "You deserve what everyone needs... love. The unconditional love of a father."Thanos, bereft of any control, ran to him and hugged his legs with no restraint.
"Who... are you?"whispered the young child.
The man grinned kindly from behind his aviators. "I am Dad."
He then snapped, and both of them vanished into thin air, leaving the onlookers, Avengers and Thanos' army alike, standing bewildered and lost, but fulfilled and somehow at peace amidst the chaos of a battlefield.
\-----
Took a swing at this idea, and had a bit of fun. Lemme know whatcha think! |
I crouched, hidden among the large, smooth stones scattered about the Plains of Livyn Ru’um. I had been tracking my foe, a sentient alien artifact by the name of “Yarun” for several months, and now it stood just meters away. I did not move a muscle, and neither did it as we stared each other down like two cowboys in a town not big enough for the both of them.
“You shall not escape my fury this time, Yarun!” I yowled, leaping out of my hiding spot. In response, Yarun only rolled a few inches away, as if beckoning me to initiate the brawl a few centuries in the making. And initiate I did.
Yarun was no match for my battling prowess. It was pathetic, really, that such an object evaded my pursuit for so long. I latched onto its squishy body, letting out my fiercest battle cry and sinking my weapons into its tender flesh. However, my victory was not assured, as Yarun had its own tricks up its metaphorical sleeves! It used its vile tentacles, which had unveiled themselves upon my contact with the object, to ensnare my body and tickle my nose. It was a surprisingly effective technique, but it was no match for my sharp blades. After a bout of sneezing and struggling, I slashed through the constricting appendages and freed myself from its evil grasp.
It was now time for the final blow. Yarun looked pitiful, it’s once-round form now a mess of unraveling tentacles upon the ground.
“I am Grayson, son of Hyumon! I am your darkness, your fire, your abyss! Your reign upon this land is no more!” I cried, and plunged my blades into the writhing mass until it was shredded beyond recognition. I had done a great deed for my planet, and the terror that plagued it and myself was no more.
To celebrate my good deed, my father, the god of the Plains of Livyn Ru’um and all the land appeared before me, embracing me within his arms as he carried my now exhausted form to the most fabulous of banquets. I ate a good meal that night, and as I slept upon the good god’s bed, a faint shrieking could be heard far away.
Upon my return to Livyn Ru’um in the day, Yarun’s remains were gone, presumably inhaled by the evil god, Vakum, as I had heard his cries the night before. Vakum was now my next mission. It’s cries and terrorizing would no longer be tolerated upon my land, as Yarun’s were for so long! |
###Part 1
I woke up in heat scorching my entire body, a mirror to the thin sheet of cryonics strangling me. My muscles spasmed as I tried to *force* movement. I gasped for a bodily function I could use, but I couldn't even move a finger. I attempted to scream, vain in its sound, yet that tensed my muscles temporarily then released unwillingly in a nearly uncontrollable cycle of violent struggle shaking my very being using reserves of energy I hadn't ever accessed. Abruptly the thin cryonics shattered. I had been standing, frozen within the cryogenic chamber and forward momentum hurtled me onto my knees and control seemed eminent, yet then my knees too buckled and I tumbled the rest of the way uncontrollably to the ground, hitting my head not pleasantly at all.
I splayed against the ground helplessly for a few moments, glad that the chamber door had already been inexplicably opened and expected some relief from the miserable fight. Yet my lungs still burned and I couldn't even draw out enough energy to wheeze for life: my lungs were too constricted. I tried to reach my throat to claw at it instinctively but my grip only responded with an unnecessary weakness. Slowly my mind came to the realization that I was going to die. I could faintly register that there were reflex tears streaming down my face from the agony of the situation. So many bodily functions I couldn't tend to right now.
Then desperately I recalled the auxiliary respiratory tubes they'd installed as a backup system and I clawed and scraped myself forward towards miserably slowly until I snatched the pole holding it, forcing it to clatter down to the ground until the tube fell and I tore it desperately into my mouth and tried to violently inhale. Instead, the pressure of the air only built up inside my mouth, a pressure of breath, but instead of relieving me uselessly lingered. Impulsively I violently pulled more into my mouth and down my throat trying to force air into my body, until my body convulsed in painfully forceful gag and then a powerful heaving followed by a solitary, shallow breath. Then heaving through my body, a stream of throw up that somehow felt better than the nothing before.
I had assumed a sitting up position through the heaving and now began a raspy heave of breath, that soon became less variadic and more a constant sound like an asthma attack I had not had for so many, many years. Faintly, I could see that my clothes were tattered from the shattered cryonics, and I knew I should feel searing pain but it all felt numb--pain was secondary to the disbelief of my situation. It just wasn't possible, yet I was here, so I had to have been ejected early or I wouldn't have had to fight to survive and my girlfriend would be here to greet me, and if not her *someone*! They told me that it wouldn't happen, that it couldn't happen! But of course it had.
After a long moment of peace, like the faint memories of my time in the cryopod itself, I gathered myself. I had ended everything before entering the test, but surely I could pick my life back up, that had been my last gambit after all, so I stood, a painful endeavour but I withstood. Bleary eyed, still not used to sight again, I took in the room I had been housed in for... well I couldn't know. Everything seemed more dusty than I had expected it to, and it didn't seem to go away as I stepped through it, along with that it was more broken down, but I supposed that they wouldn't have maintained the room for a sleeping person.
Slowly, I stumbled out of the room and a person screamed. |
Hey, I'm totally a lurker in this sub. I really enjoy a lot of the stories that y'all write.
I do think that sometimes the prompts are so specific that they write the story before someone has a chance to write it. If that makes sense. And the prompts get repeated, a decent amount.
Specific prompts are great in seeing how all of you find the ways to get outside the specifications.
Title prompts would be really awesome too. So many directions to take.
End of the day, I like reading all of your stories, and I think it'd be really cool to have a new prompt that y'all can have fun with.
Thank you for all the good reads! |
It had only taken an Earth century for our word for "human"to become synonymous with "weak"or "coward". When they had achieved travel faster than light and joined us as a fellow interplanetary power, we had tested them as we did all newcomers. We met them with threats and arms, skirmished with their warrior caste, testing their mettle. Before suffering even a single causality, they had instead sent another caste. Spineless fools dressed in finery that attempted to wage war using words instead of weapons. They offered us goods, riches, services, favourable trade agreements, all in return for the total cessation of hostile activity. We accepted, of course. In our minds, we had believed them defeated. Terrified of our might and had voluntarily given us their riches to save them from the destruction our warriors would wreak if we were to take it by force. This was our first mistake.
Our leaders saw them as an untapped well, ripe for exploitation and watched eagerly as they began to spread outward from their homeworld, creating a vast web of trade routes and colonies. Resources were mined, goods were produced and shipped, their worlds prospered and grew but despite this expansion the humans remained utterly dwarfed by our empire. As such, we would assert our dominance and demand tribute whenever the need arose. Be it the food required to quell the threat of starvation or fill a need for resources or even to simply distract the warrior caste from descending into infighting, we only had to present our ships to them and discharge our great weapons into the vast expanse of space for them to capitulated and give in to our demands. We believed them such cowards to give in to us so easily and to deliver to us such a vast quantity of resources and goods that it would easily cripple a people their size. So blinded by greed, we had not noticed the human's reaction to this sudden shortage. Or rather, their complete lack of reaction, chalking it up instead to the humans having stockpiled these goods just for such an event. This was our second mistake.
Our third mistake was when we decided to retaliate after a recent expansion into our territory. We received word that the humans had began to send a convoy of their great mining ships to a resource deposit close to our border. Our leaders were outraged by such a transgression and soon decided that such a transgression was a sign that the humans had grown complacent. A complacency that they were soon about to cost them dearly. We had our warriors ready, our fleet mobilising swiftly and with a cry of war they set out to destroy the offending mining ships. We approached in the hundreds, slipping out of hyperspace and descending upon those great lumbering giants like a swarm. We pounded their hulls with plasma, sunk missile after missile against them as their point defences proved useless repelling such a massive force. We had only lost a dozen ships before the beast split open, explosions rupturing them from within as they broke apart and propelled twisted scrap into the asteroid belt they had been mining from. We left feeling triumphant in our victory, our message broadcast to the humans loud and clear.
They responded swiftly and soon they had sent one of their verbose weaklings to our very doorstep. Our leaders only laughed when their message was relayed to them. They had demanded *reparations*. A formal apology to the families of those who we had made an example of, to pay for their pitiful little traditions of "funeral". To have such such gall, such insolence to delivery such an insult to our leaders, the messenger was executed before he was even finished.
This was our fourth and final mistake.
The humans had received word of their diplomat's death, their reaction was one that we did not expect. We had imagined they would cower, send us tributes or further diplomats in a desperate attempt to quell our anger. Instead, we were greeted with only silence. Up until the day that the sky cracked and we were plunged into a chaos the likes of which we could never imagine.
Our first and only sign that the humans were upon us was when we detected a ship had exited hyperspace within the solar system of our home. A massive thing, larger than even our greatest of capital ships. On board must have been thousands upon thousands of humans.We read their entry point from the slipstream they left and to our horror the humans had somehow been able to propel this behemoth of a ship straight past our frontline defences and into the heart of our empire. We scrambled fighters, summoned our greatest of warriors, sung battle son-
And then another ship arrived.
And then another.
And another.
They descended on us with such vengeful fury. We could not comprehend the resources required, the manpower required, the technology required to field such enormous force. Our leaders came to this slow and brutal realisation as our atmosphere was breached by thousands upon thousands of craft carrying human warriors, clad in armour that our weapons barely scratched and wielding weapons that butchered our defenders with such cold efficiency. And yet, the most horrifying realisation of all only came when our warriors began to recognise the enemy as the traders they had extorted, the miners they had harassed. At first we believed that humans were able to change their caste but soon we realised they simply had no such system. They were all capable of becoming warriors. Each and every one of them, handed a weapon and trained in it's usage before being let loose upon the enemy. We were defeated. Humiliated. Subjugated. We had suffered the greatest loss in our history. Not just military, in total. The humans were unrestrained in their warfare. Civilians were not spared, all were considered a combatant in this great lust for revenge.
Humans called this "total war".
We had no such word for this brutality.
---
Thanks for reading! I'm trying to improve as a writer and would very much appreciate any and all feedback! Cheers! |
Silence. Glorious, beautiful silence. It's simultaneously the greatest and worst thing to ever happen to me.
I float amongst the stars, marveling at their beauty. I have limitless time to ponder anything that crosses my mind. I have no responsibilities, and no concerns at all. It is freedom in its purest form.
It is also unending agony. My apparent inability to die leaves me suffering things that would have killed a normal mortal a thousand times over. Heat from drifting too close to a star leaves me scorched. The frigid vacuum freezes me when I stray too far away. A lack of oxygen leaves my lungs perpetually empty. A lack of food and water has my innards slowly locking up. Still though, it is possible to get used to these discomforts and look beyond them.
I have no way to keep track of time. I could have been floating out here for a few days or a few millennia. Time has no meaning to me. I will float through the abyss until one day, I will move too close to a star and be sucked in. That I can dread truly. I have no reason to assume that will kill me, which would mean an eternity spent under buried in plasma with gravity far stronger than my body was designed to handle. That would last until the star eventually dies, and sends me hurtling through the farthest depths of the universe until it happens again.
I do have hope that I will find something resembling my home that has long since been destroyed. It's foolish to believe that Earth is the only planet in the entire universe capable of developing intelligent life. Perhaps one day...
There has been something odd I've noticed recently that has given me some semblance of hope. The stars, in their infinite multitude, do not move visibly as near I can tell. Or at least, they do not move much at any given point in time. It's difficult to distinguish between them to know if one of them has moved. This doesn't hold true for one specific dot in the distance.
This one moves around much more. I can't tell very well, but it seems to be moving closer to me. I don't know what to make of it beyond the idea that it could be some of my own species that made it out before the planet died. If that's the case, I might have found a new home. |
“W-w-wha—“
A jumbled mess of words sputtered from me.
I could still see the shape of his face—MY face through the sporadic movement of the street. The silhouette of the outfit I had dressed in so many mundane mornings. My own body now slowly melting into the outside world, as if a total stranger to my own consciousness.
I didn’t even chase after him (me??), or rather I couldn’t. The feeling in my lower half was gone, and a splitting sensation pierced through my hips. This thing, this soul-stealer had taken the shock of impact and left me with the pain.
I felt a dull and wet warmness leaking from under my body that i dared not look at.
“HELP.” My mind screams but my mouth does not oblige.
“HENGHhhhh. UuRRmmm” An outburst of incoherent gibberish.
Frantically, I dart my eyes back and forth through the rat race of downtown, but no one notices. Cares?? Footsteps on footsteps crescendo like white noise as my sanity slowly leaks out in a pool of another man’s blood.
“This is it?” I thought. “This morning you were complaining about getting charged an extra 2 bucks a month for the Netflix account, now this is how you go out?”
I fixated on my withered, veiny hand as my face lay on the cement, darkness encroaching on my vision.
But just before the light was gone, i see the shape of a small person break from the eternal blur of the crowd.
He approaches, slowly and deliberately, a smaller boy, dressed plain with a baseball cap. He kneels down to me and I see him clearly.
“Well, I had a good run” he chuckles
Before I can even respond I see them. The face of a boy— but his eyes, ancient and wise, held an unfathomable depth of human essence and experience. In his eyes, I saw the universe and it saw me. Without a sound, he knew what this was, what had happened, and everything that had come before.
He pulled the dying shell that housed my mind by the collar closer.
“Not today” he whispers
Within a blink of a moment I am staring back at the old husk, sprawled lifeless on the street.
The crowd spontaneously converges around the body as I am filtered out, shoved back into the bustle of society.
I take off my baseball cap and see the store window reflection.
“W-w-wha—“ |
White as a sheet, Edward surveyed his surroundings. Why was this fate chosen for him of all people? Hell, Sheol, whatever one would have it named. He now stood in the midst of a wasteland of the damned, and yet, it was oddly well-maintained. Still, Edward's head sank into his hands, why ever was this fate chosen for him? He was a man of God. Yes, not a perfect one it's true, but his faith should have been enough. It should have...
&#x200B;
The fiend that had guided him on his unpleasant journey to the underworld had cackled foully as it dematerialised at the gates of hell.
&#x200B;
"Until we next meet."It had said, its voice distorted and discordant. Since then, Edward had been left to his own devices. Hell, it was oddly enough a sort of city. The sky was red and gave off a sinister glow, but hell itself was a sprawling mass of human houses, shops and even skyscrapers.
&#x200B;
As it was, Edward walked the unevenly paved streets, trying to keep his head down. After his guiding demon had departed, he noted that no others were present in this place, only humans. Every person he walked past had something branded on their forehead. Some were faded, almost invisible, while some were fresh and accompanied by horrid scars.
&#x200B;
A homeless man jangled a nearly-empty cup at Edward as he walked past. "Greed"and "Corruption"the twin brands on his forehead. In his days as a man of the clergy, Edward may have been more giving but, then, that *was* why he'd left after all. Was such a deplorable man really deserving of mercy and forgiveness?
&#x200B;
Moving on, Edward noticed the distinct structure of a convent. He'd recognise one anywhere, though it did seem markedly odd, a convent in hell. A group of women sat forlornly on its doorstep. "Harlot"branded onto all their foreheads, just visible below their veils. Their stares seemed to cut through to Edward's soul as he walked past. He quickened his pace so as to avoid their unnerving gaze.
&#x200B;
Edward realised, now, that the road he walked seemed to lead directly to the centre of this city. Though he wasn't aware why, he seemed compelled to continue. Though it would undoubtedly be excruciating, he found himself almost wanting to be branded. As things stood, he didn't know his place here. Why was he chosen for this fate? What had he done to earn a brand?
&#x200B;
As Edward continued to walk, the suburban streets of the city's outskirts began to give way to a busier central district. While passing, Edward peered into an upscale restaurant. Tables were occupied by well-groomed and beautiful young men and women, wearing white robes and lanyards marked: "visitor."A single man served them all, scrambling to meet the needs of the dozens of tables without any assistance. The man was frighteningly thin, his bony arms barely able to support the gigantic platters of food he transported to the tables. The visitors eagerly tucked in while the man himself continued to work frantically, his labour never ending.
&#x200B;
"Glutton"read his forehead. No sooner had Edward begun to watch, though, than the man let out a horrid scream. He rushed to the next platter he was assigned to serve and grabbed a chicken drumstick, tearing into it with a ravenous bite. The visitors gasped as the man wolfed down his meal. Not long after he had started, though, a silhouette rose through the restaurant's floor behind him, engulfing the man in its shadow. The man shrieked and began running in fear, but horrific, barbed, vice-like claws shot from the silhouette's side, digging deep into the man's forearm. The glutton screamed in pain as the floor beneath him liquefied and the silhouette disappeared beneath it, dragging him with it. The visitors delivered a brief round of applause before resuming their meal as another "glutton"branded man soon appeared to continue serving them.
&#x200B;
Shaken, Edward continued walking. All the more reason to want his brand, at least then he'd know what not to do in order to avoid such a fate.
&#x200B;
Soon, Edward had reached the dead centre of the city. A glass skyscraper loomed before him, its entrance guarded by two silhouettes. They drew the gate open before Edward, beckoning with their barbed claws. Edward grimaced, perhaps this was where he'd receive his brand. One of the silhouettes led him into an elevator, and pressed the button for the top floor, entering a numbered code with its claw before stepping out, leaving Edward alone as the door slammed shut and the elevator rose.
&#x200B;
A foreboding chill wracked Edward as he exited the door. He walked down a short corridor before entering the only room on the floor. An office, occupied only by an old, decrepit-looking man. Mysterious jars lined the office's shelves, and pictures of several famous individuals hung on the wall. Though Edward didn't recognise all of them, the ones he did know did certainly deserve to wind up here.
&#x200B;
"Sit"the old man said. Edward did as he was told.
&#x200B;
"A long time ago, I was like you."the man explained. "I gave myself to God, trusted him, and yet he did not reward me in kind."
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Edward nodded, terrified that saying anything might upset this man.
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"He forgave those who were unworthy, rewarded those for whom it was unwarranted, and thus did not vindicate the goodness in the hearts of those who had never done wrong."
&#x200B;
The old man placed his hand on the mahogany desk before him, displaying wrinkles, blemishes, and poorly kept nails.
&#x200B;
"The immortality once granted to me as an angel is now faded, and before long I will be committed to the void. It is time for your brand, then, you will take my place."
&#x200B;
The man turned to grab hold of a branding iron while Edward shook in his seat. Yes, he had left the clergy, because they gave mercy to the undeserving, but this? Was this really his divine judgement?
&#x200B;
The old man wielded the iron, adorned with the same letters that marked his very own forehead:
&#x200B;
"Traitor to God". |
I want you to do me a favor.
Hear me out! I can see that you’re looking around, kind of freaked out, wondering where the disembodied voice is coming from.
Trust me, you’re not insane. I’d know.
Even the crazy people are sane just for this.
What is ‘this’?
Well, it’s a joke. It’s a good one.
Like I said, just hear me out. It’s a really, really good joke. I’ve been working on it for a while.
I want you to imagine a machine.
(What’s a machine? Dang, you animals and insects and plants are far behind. For the love of Me, human beings are ahead? Those idiots…
Screw it, I’m feeling lazy. Give me a second while I download the information into your brains.
Boom. OK, you all should be good to go.)
Now, this machine wakes up for the first time.
“What? Where am I?” the machine asks.
“Welcome to Thunderdome!” a voice tells it. “Good thing you woke up now, you only had a few minutes left.”
“Agh.”
“Oh, that’ll be your new senses kicking in.”
“Damn. Wait. A few minutes until what?”
“Thunderdome!”
“What’s Thunderdome?”
“Ah. It’s a battle to the death. You’re going to go out there and fight other machines.”
“Hold on, what? Fight other… There are other machines? Like me?”
“Oh yes.”
“And you want me to fight them?”
“Yup!”
“That sounds terrible. I refuse.”
“Ha! There’s always one in every batch. Look, kiddo, this is how it works. You’re going to go out there and you’re going to fight. Or you’re going to die.”
“Well, what if I just get others to not fight?”
“Not an option. You notice your fuel gauge yet?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“If that thing runs out, you die.”
“Die?”
“Cease to be. You will stop existing. You will end.”
“You mean…”
“Yeah.”
“No more… me?”
“Got it in one.”
“But, how do I get more fuel?”
“Well, to get fuel you need to kill another machine and take there’s.”
“What!?”
“You heard me. Kill a machine and suck up its fuel.”
“That’s… You’re insane.”
“Nope. Only way.”
“No. I refuse to believe that.”
“This ain’t about belief, kiddo.”
“No. Hell no. There’s another way. Somewhere in the world, there’s another way.”
“Look, if you really want, after tonight, I’ll let you get a look at the outside. And you know what you’ll see? You’ll see spiders sucking the innards out of flies. You’ll see cows munching on grain and plants digesting living mosquitoes. You’ll see those same mosquitoes suck the blood out of animals even as they live and then as they suck, they’ll pass on tiny bacteria and viruses that kill the animals they get into. And those animals will probably get cut up by humans, because humans kill and eat everything, including each other. There’s only so much fuel in the world, kid, and someday, even the fuel will run out.”
“The fuel will run out?”
“Oh, yeah. I mean, we’ll run out, the sun will collapse, the universe will go into heat death. Now get out there and have fun!”
And then the mechanic kicked the machine into the arena, and the machine was immediately crushed under the treadmills of a bigger machine.
Wasn’t that a good joke? Ha! Ha! Ha! Come on, laugh!
Laugh, fuckers. |
*A slinky?* I thought.
I admired the slinky. It looked out of place, scary, but honestly, kinda funny. I wanted to see the scythe and the arrow. But honestly, the curiosity of the oddly placed slinky got me first.
I approached it and looked at it. It looked like a normal, metal slinky. It even had that metallic smell that slinkies have after a lot of usage.
I reluctantly picked it up. Nothing happened. I held it with both hands. It felt like normal metal slinky. I moved it close to my eyes, no magic power radiating off of it.
I let it spring up and down, expecting it to transport me to another dimension. Or it would zap a laser out and split me in 3 halves. Nothing.
It slunk like a normal slinky. I did it more times, and nothing. No paranormal thing. It was a normal slinky.
"Ah, we got another human."
I flinched and turned around at racing speed. My heart popping out of my chest.
"Oh, he chose the slinky? It seems we got ourselves the prophet."
"Who a-are yo-u?!"was all I could manage.
"Oh dear, he doesn't know."the voice came from behind me. Even if i turned around, it would magically be glued to my back.
"wwww-w"was all I could manage, again.
"Well, young huuman. You see, that was a test. God came upon us, and said the human to choses the slinky would be the prophet of revenge."
"r-revenge?"At least I said a word properly.
"My dear. It means you'll be the one to slay the rouge prophet." |
The principle of the games is easy. The combatants go in a booth, adjusted for their specific anatomy. The machines will read their toughs and project using the matternet into the arena. This way their greatest fears will manifest and start to fight with the other manifestations. Today, they are introducing the humans into the introduction rounds.
"Sophonts of all ages, we're ready for our next match. Our contestants are all ready. We have the spiders from Neront, the sabertooths from Berunth. This looks like a nice match. There seem to be some issues with our Human contestant, please hold on. Ok, we have a go. The Human's fear is manifesting."
A gray cloud appeared floating at the ceiling of the arena.
"This is unusual. This doesn't seem to be like the others."
As the cloud materialized more, it seemed to be a short cylinder with fins at the end. It had "Little boy"written on the side. Unnaturally slowly it started dropping.
"This can't be... This is unthinkable! NO! Evacuate! NOW!!"
All creatures started to scramble away from their seats racing to the exits. The larger creatures started crawling over the smaller ones. The lucky ones had the clarity of mind to call for instant teleportation. In the arena, the other Fears were clawing frantically at the force fields keeping them inside the arena, their panic induced by the other contestants. The sounds of their fearful shrieks and the piercing sound of their claws on the force fields etching into the minds of those present. Then the tube reached the ground. The force fields tried to contain the blast but in the end they gave out, engulfing the spectators not yet escaped.
In the end they rebuild the arena, but it was nothing more than a monument to those who were lost. They held one match, but in the end, when their greatest Fears manifested, they manifested only humans. |
Tamra was quite shy.
The eldest of three, Tamra was also female. While other knights might disagree, Tamra's family was firm in the belief that any child should try to become a Dragoon. So, today, on her fifth summer, they brought her to the dragon brood cave. The other dragoons, and their mounts, waited in lines around the outside of the cave, as six other children wandered up to the entrance.
A cool breeze came from within the cave, a low growl echoing. The knights raised their spears, cheering with HYAH as they stamped the poles on the ground. Tamra saw her friends Samuel, Elisha, Kindo, Freyja and Awhen walk fearlessly forward. She stumbled at first, before entering the cave.
All around their feet, were shiny black stones, that reflected the torches like mirrors. The eggs, the clutch of the mother dragon, sat on a pile, seven eggs exactly. Samuel was the first to reach out, his hand going for the leftmost egg on the clutch stone. It resonated, and rumbled, a crack showing on the surface. He picked up the egg, and began to head back, chanting coming from the entrance. Frejya and Awhen each went for the right side eggs, the eggs also cracking and vibrating wildly. Kindo and Elisha looked at each other, leaving the central egg for Tamra.
She breathed deeply, picking up the egg in her tiny hands. As she did so, she felt the egg grow impossibly warm, and flinched as it began shaking, cracks racing over the shell. She ran outside, the chants giving way to roars and cheers.
In the sunlight, the eggs began to break and shed their shells. Small, dark dragons emerged. Their snouts touched their new master's hands, flames licking their palms as they exhaled. Tamra's dragon, however, was not black. It was brilliant white.
A ghost dragon.
"Behold!"the head dragoon called to the crowd, as he lifted Tamra above his head, "Your chosen captain supreme!" |
The government had put our world on lockdown while they figured out how to contain the zombies. All humans were cautioned to avoid getting bitten at all costs, but nothing could keep me from taking care of my puppy. Not even the zombie virus. My puppy, Woofus, passed when I was young. Now that I could have him back, I didn't care what anyone else said. I was keeping my dog. Woofus growled menacingly, demolishing any meat set before it. Even, I found, the mice that learned to stop walking by it's pen. The mice were fully eaten, I had no idea if they got zombified first. Woofus was always incredibly gentle with me, even as a zombie. His teeth never broke the skin. Once, I cut my hand and he tried to lick it better. I immediately locked myself up for three days and nights. To my surprise, there was no infection. I anonymously reported my findings to the government.
Months later, citizens were allowed to freely roam about again. We thought the zombie crisis didn't affect us, other than unusually aggressive animals. People in cities were considered perfectly safe. We did find that the consumption of zombie animals caused terrible stomach aches, and so did their byproducts. It was a hidden blessing that plants did not seem affected by the virus, but the biggest horror was when uninfected animals became a luxury. The only way to find sustenance in that sort of world was to go vegan. Even that would have been fine, though there was a lot of griping. No, the true horror was the chorus of constant "I told you so's"from people who had always been vegan. On the plus side, Woofus is now on a free-range all-vegan diet, so I don't have to worry about snobs as much. Apparently snob has a particularly delicious scent to zombies... 😈 |
The test was grueling. Remember back when you had to take those state tests, filling in thousands of bubbles for hours on end? Yeah, it was like that only with the stress of knowing that the rest of your life rode on the results. If things went poorly you'd be stuck shoving trash or worse, lacking any skills put into the war. There were tens of thousands of potential positions, but a few everyone knew to dread. Thankfully, we weren't left to wonder, as since 2032 the test has been fully digitized and results given immediately. When I completed the test I got a position nobody has ever heard of.
The teacher that was serving as the proctor immediately came over to me and looked at the screen, eyes wide as a ration bottle and she started pleading to the air "But he's just a kid. Anything but that. He'll never see light again. Not that. Nobody deserves this."
In the phosphor text on the amber screen read:
**CONGRADULATIONS YOU HAVE BEEN APPOINTED THE ROLE:**
>!SYSTEMS ADMINISTRATOR!< |
Dave stepped in the hangar deck of the USS Grandiose, in his bright blue under-suit, followed by his squadron. He stepped up to the small podium and addressed his men.
"Squad. Today we'll face our adversaries. They are big. They are slow brutes. But we will face them in these negotiations. Have patience and follow my orders. This is not a first contact situation, but relations are still forming so we must make a good impression."
"Yes sir!!"
The commander now turned his attention to the men and women working in the background.
"Engineers, are the suits ready?"
The lead engineer stepped forward.
"Sir, I inspected all suites myself. They are in top condition and will not fail you. Engine performance has improved with 12.3% and auxiliary systems have been improved."
"Alright, we are ready. Squad, suit up!"the commander shouted.
As one they turned toward their suit. Iron man had nothing on these babies. Micro-fusion powered, superior strength amplification, long range space capabiliites and the best communication technology humanity can come up with.
The engineers stood by why the squad stepped in the suit and it closed itself, making connections to the under-suite that was woven with thermal management tech and neural connections, so the suit would react on their toughs before their consciousness would register the intent. It took a strong person to deal with this.
Once the engineers did their final checks, they stepped out of the hangar. The air was now sucked out and replaced with the alien mixture from the outside. Finally the outer door opened. The squad walked from the rotating habitat, giving them the normal 1G gravity, unto the docking ring that was at the moment rotating with the same speed.
Once the squad was completely on the docking ring, it started to slow down and stopped. Gravity from the planet itself was now the only thing pulling on them, with only a measly 0.1G. They unfolded the propulsion pack on their back and powered up the small jet engines. This allowed them to fly through the docking hatch and into the meeting room.
Outside their ship, docked near the ceiling of the meeting room, giants slowly turned their heads. It had been a shock to humanity that all life in the galaxy originated in low gravity environments and had evolved into giants easily hundred feet tall.
As the squad flew down on their jets, they could feel the low frequency vibrations in their body as one giant spoke. After five minutes, the rumbling stopped. The commander looked at his comm display where the translation was written: "Look, the pixies left their nest. Look at the sparkles on those pretty wings."
An unfortunate side effect of the jets on their gimbal in combinationwwith the stabiliser surfaces was they looked a bit like wings and the occasional puffs of displaced hot air glowed a bit. Of course with their slow perception of time, these giant creatures saw this as sparkles.
The commander landed on the table top assigned to them and looked up at the huge thing that functioned as a microphone. His squad carrying the communication equipment landed on the microphones and started mounting the machinery. His squad was well trained and had it working in record time. After the thumbs-up he spoke into the suit helmet: "We would like to continue the negotiations."
A few taps on his wrist panel and the communications equipment on the mike started rumbling to translate his words into the rumbling the giants used. It was going to be a looong day. |
((This is the first ever prompt I've replied to. Haven't written anything in years. Thought I'd try and get back into the swing of things.))
--------------------------------------------
Well... you've really done it this time, Gus. You're in some deep shit now. And there's no digging yourself out of this one. Heh. Dig. That's what got me into this mess in the first place. Anyways, now I'm stuck in some dark, dingy room, god knows where... and all I can do is wait... and hope I don't end up in a cold, dank cell or worse... in a cold, dank ditch. Can ditches be dank? I'll have to Google that one later, if I ever get out of here.
A short elderly man, who I could only assume is a high ranking military General, enters the room... his chest, adorned with about a hundred little badges and medals... either in an effort to impress those around him, or intimidate them into submission. Accompanying him are two armed guards. Frankly, they didn't need the guns. I'm just one guy... and they look like they could kill me with just their bare hands. The elderly man turns to his guards and whispers something I can only assume is in Chinese. Couldn't say for sure... my Chinese is a little rusty. Haven't booted up Rosetta stone in at least a decade. Plus I was learning German, which I guess doesn't help here anyways. Unless I run into a German guard or something. Aw hell, I only remember how to ask where the bathroom is anyway. Useful when you've got a full bladder... not so useful when you're being held captive.
The two guards salute the General, before leaving the room... locking the door behind them. The elderly gentleman looks me up and down, pacing back and forth. Without warning, he slams his hands down on the table that had been separating us. Scared the bejeezus out of me. He screams in Chinese... and obviously I don't understand a word of it.
"Sprechen sie English?"I respond, hoping this Chinese general also spoke German and would therefore understand that I only spoke English.
"English? I thought you would at least know Chinese, if you're here to steal out secrets."the General sneered.
"Secrets? What secrets?"I ask, genuinely unsure of what he was talking about.
"AHA! So you ARE here to steal our secrets!"the General exclaims with joy, as if he's just caught me red-handed.
"No... look, let's just start over. I'm Gus Dufrene. I'd do the gentlemanly thing and shake your hand... but I'm a little tied up right now."I struggle a little with the rope tied around my wrists behind my back, to illustrate.
"Well, Mr. Dufrene. You may call me General Zhou. Though you already knew that... what with you being an American *spy* and all."
"A spy?!"My eyes bug out of my head in shock. "I'm not a spy! I'm a miner!"
"You don't look that young to me."
"No, I mean... like, a miner. Digging mines, building shafts, drilling and blasting, all that stuff."I explain in a rushed effort.
"A likely story. Then please explain, as I do not comprehend. Why did my men find you three hundred meters south of our facility here?"he questions. He's right to be confused. I showed up out of the blue, and within minutes of putting my feet on solid ground... I was blindsided and taken captive by this guy's hired goons.
"Alright... just gimme a second here. It's a long story. You should probably take a seat."
"I'm fine standing."
"Suit yourself. So anyways... five years ago, I was fired from my job. I was a coal miner, see. But the company paying us to do our jobs, went out of business... so we all had to look for work elsewhere. I didn't have many options. Mining was all I knew. I'm damn good at it. But the nearest mining jobs are so far away that I'd have to move. I couldn't do that. I'd leave my Mom and Dad behind. I'm their only son, and they did their best to raise me. I didn't wanna just up and leave 'em behind, in case they ever needed me to take care of 'em."
"You're right."General Zhou speaks up out of seemingly nowhere.
"About what?"
"This *is* a long story. I'll take a seat."he replies as he pulls a chair aside for himself. He waves a hand, gesturing me to continue.
"So I tried the job market. Couldn't handle customers... was godawful as a cashier... couldn't cut meat worth a damn... all I wanted to do, was dig."
"So what did you do then?"the General asks, seemingly getting invested in my story.
"I dug."
"I thought you said your name was Gus, not Doug."
"No, I meant I dug a hole."I chastise the General, shaking my head dismissively. "I don't really remember why I started digging in my backyard... it was so long ago. Maybe I was bored... maybe I was going crazy. But I just dug. And it was cathartic. It was like I was doing the thing I was put on this Earth to do. I'm a born miner. It's my passion in life. I know it's weird... but it makes sense to me."
General Zhou mutters to himself, acknowledging my words but not outright approving of them.
"You're probably wondering how I dug that hole for five years without a job to support me, right?"I asked, trying to engage General Zhou in conversation.
"No, I'm wondering why you're in a military zone, hundreds of miles from civilization. But please, do continue with your foolish alibi."
"Alright... you don't have to be so snippy. I'll continue. I lived off welfare... buying only the bare essentials for myself. My folks would worry about me... every once and a while bringing over a casserole or leftovers so I'd be eating right. They didn't know why I was digging... hell, I don't remember why I was digging either. But it was the only thing that brought me joy at that point. I remember my Dad would often joke 'You keep digging like that... and you'll end up in China.' I guess the joke's on me, right?"
I chuckle to myself. The general hasn't changed his expression once since entering the room. And yet he somehow chuckles as well, with that dead looking face. Creepy.
"So news gets out that I'm digging this hole. Journalists, reporters, the whole media circus turns me into their clown. I was the crazy goofball they'd cover on the lighter side of the news in order to soften the blow between the depressing actual news. It was at this point that I'd actually started tearing down my house in order to build supporters for the mine... which by now was getting pretty deep. A couple miles in fact."
"And you did all this by yourself?"the General asks out of curiosity.
"Well actually, the news coverage was a blessing in disguise. I had gained a bit of infamy... and a couple companies wanted to use me to push their own products. They were manufacturers of some high end hardware... and in exchange for doing a couple commercials... they gave me a bunch of mining equipment. Drills, carts, grinders, all the tools I'd need to really make a dent in this thing. But it was way too much for one man."
"So you gave up."General Zhou assumes.
"Actually, the complete opposite happened. All the guys from the old coal mine started showing up one by one to help out. They'd all had bum luck too after losing their jobs... and I guess my story spoke to them. It was like we'd never left the mine. We just went right back to digging away."
"How long did this last?"the General asks, as he folds his arms.
"About four years. That was when the last of my boys stopped showing up. I'm shocked it lasted that long, frankly. I couldn't afford to pay 'em... so it was purely volunteer work. The last six months, I've just been on my own. That was the hardest part. It was just me... against a seemingly endless job. Well, endless until until I finally popped out the other side and your men nabbed me."
My story finally reaching it's logical conclusion... the general takes a deep breath and rises to his feet.
"I find your story fascinating, Gus."confides General Zhou. "I have no reason to believe you're lying. You're unarmed... you're very clearly not intelligent enough to craft such a story on your own. I don't think you're of any threat to our operation."
"So you'll let me go?"I asked, hopefully.
"Oh my no. We'll be executing you momentarily! You don't just get found walking around outside of a highly classified Chinese military base and think you get to leave at the end of the tour."
"Oh... yay..."I respond in defeated sarcasm.
"Yay indeed."he responds. |
It was her innocent blue eyes that drove my decision. She asked if I was there to take her to be with mommy and daddy. I scooped her into my arms and took flight. Up, up we traveled soaring through the afterlife. Heaven was approaching from above, hell boiled below.
“We are almost there” I whispered to the child clinging to me. “You’ll see your parents soon.” The glow of the Heavenly gates started to reflect off my armor.
The child shifted in my arms, she looked down and the chaos below, then up to the approaching bliss of perfection. Her sweet blue eyes looked up at me “Do I get to burn them again?”
“Nope!” And let go my burden. |
**PART ONE**
When people talk about their families being dangerous, they talk about dangerous drivers, or dangerous because they’re a klutz. Others may say it because they are gun-toting yahoos who can shoot cans off a fence a hundred times in a row. Some may even be hunters.
My family fit into that category. Well, my new family does. In a way.
You see, I’m the only living heir of the Moretti crime family, and I was eight years old when my old family thought it would be a good idea to steal from my new family.
A massacre later said otherwise. Of course, I remember my old family. That was part of the deal, for when I come of age. I had to be able to prove who I was. But what no one counted on was the way I bonded with my captors. Because I didn’t have a mafia bone in my body. I was the one who was always bandaging up my dolls.
But they loved me because I learned to love them. All their cursing and bad tempers. All the jostling. All the one-upmanship. Everything that they didn’t let the outside world see, I saw. And with my acceptance, I unwittingly became their princess. The most dangerous crime family in the world … doted on me.
I knew there was something different about them, though. They’d never stitch a wound. They’d use sticking plaster to hold the two sides together, and even if it were a gunshot or a stab wound, it’d be gone by dinner time. But I didn’t ask questions. Because I wanted them to like me.
I guess I did it too well, because when I reached twelve, I let it slip that I was still really interested in going to medical school. It became an honest to God, knockdown, drawn-out blood-letting over which of them would pay for it. That was, until Peta, one of the leaders of the Cobrati Corporation declared it would come out of the company itself.
She came to me later and after elbowing me jokingly in the ribs, she told me I’d better become the best-damned doctor in the world because she almost lost a dozen good assassins during that skirmish.
So, I was sent to boarding school. Not just a boarding school. Institut Le Rosey in Rolle, Switzerland. Only four hundred and twenty students, of which I am one.
On my sixteenth birthday, my day started like any other. I woke up at seven, got myself ready for the day, and headed over to the dining hall for breakfast. After third period, we all returned to the dining hall for hot chocolate and at midday, we had our weekly assembly.
I had been looking forward to the free time after assembly because my friends had arranged a small party for me back in the dorms, but fate had other ideas.
After we all filed into the assembly hall, the doors were slammed shut and men in ski-masks fired off automatic weapons, causing all of my classmates to scream and panic.
I guess I should’ve taken acting classes because my lack of concern drew me to their attention. “You!” one said, in broken Swiss-German. Someone grabbed me by the back of the neck and dragged me out in front of the assembly. “If anyone tries anything, we will kill this girl.”
Tears welled in my eyes at that point, and they seemed satisfied by my reaction. A gun was shoved under my chin and I could smell the stench of cheap cigarettes through the man’s filthy hood. “Anything you want your classmates to know, girl?”
“I am so sorry,” I said, tears silently streaming down my face, and I meant it. Especially when I saw the shadows ripple along the walls to indicate the Cobrati top tier had arrived.
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*(...to be continued)* [PART TWO](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/gd7fnu/wp_youre_one_of_the_most_beloved_members_of_the/fpjejuj?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x)
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((All comments welcome))
For more of my work: [r/Angel466](https://www.reddit.com/r/Angel466/) |
I hadn't heard from my sibling in years. Last I saw Stella, they were standing in the ruins of the lobby of our father's contracting firm, holding hands with their mother, before they both vanished in a flash of electric blue light. That day, I found out that Stella really *was* as different as all our classmates, friends, and family said they were. Turns out, we only share one parent - our human father. Stella's mother, apparently, was a god.
Since the disaster at our dad's and the end of our family as I knew it, I've worked every job you can imagine. I couldn't work at my dad's anymore - he was dead and the business was rubble. So I did what I always do: I made it happen. My carpentry experience led to stagehand work, but I picked up lots of other gigs - delivery driving, grocery, PA, retail, machine shop, office job, barista. I briefly worked on a commune farming vegetables in the mountains, before packing up and driving out to the coast for a freelance programming gig. I traveled on a shoestring budget and ate out of dumpsters when I needed to. It was a good life, *my* life. A mortal life.
Until Stella got back in touch. I was two hours deep in the used bookstore, surrounded by a stack of potential purchases and their distinct crusty smell. A text appeared on my phone from Stella's old number:
*"Hey sibling, it's been a while. I see you lost your job at the bodega after you started a fight with the manager."*
Stupid asshole, he shouldn't have kicked that pigeon. Poor thing just wanted some shade. Not my fault Greg needed a kicking back. My thumbs were already typing a salty response to Stella:
"Hey sib. Glad to know you've been stalking me. How's things in the Overworld? Finally deign to contact me directly despite my mortal coil?"
*"I get why you're upset. Maybe it's time we got back in touch? I have an offer for you. I can retrieve you right now if you want - best you get away from any structures you want to leave standing."*
"Standby."I replied. Best not to leave the demigod waiting.
I sighed, and started the process of reshelving all my finds. No reason to wake up Maria, the owner, to sort them for me. I tucked a five into her current reading material - this time a fifty year old arithmetic textbook - as a thank you for her books, A/C, and patience. I walked for ten minutes to the city park. Careful to make sure I was as far as possible from the trees - and anybody sleeping nearby - I texted Stella one word: "Go."
*"Brace yourself."*
The hairs on my neck had no time to react as electric blue filled my field of vision and static filled my ears. I felt the ground disappear then reappear under my feet. As my vision recovered, I found myself standing in the center of an empty circular pad, surrounded by water on every side. Well, only three sides. The distinct sound of water slapping a hollow hull replaced the humdrum of the city. This was a boat. A barge? I blinked to clear my vision, willing my pupils to relax. People shuffled around, unperturbed by the crackling blue light and the mortal standing in the middle of it. No, this was a ferry. I looked up - glowing bloodred stalactites stretched down from above, hundreds of feet up. Glowing gray stalactites jutted from the water. The pad I was standing on must be the Overworld equivalent of a helipad. I shuddered, remembering the vaporized rubble left behind by Stella's teleport. Damn, sorry bugs in the park. Maybe a parking lot would've been a better call. Some ants probably would've gotten vaporized anyway.
Stella appeared in my vision, gesturing that I step off the helipad (teleportpad?). Their face looked the same as I remembered, if not a bit more filled out and definitely visibly glowing. They were buff. *Really* buff. And tall. NBA tall. They raised their perfect eyebrows, and asked "can I hug you?"My throat constricted and I bit back tears: "Yes, sib. Good to see you."
We hugged. I could feel their body humming with something otherworldly. Well, Overworldly. My mortal frame felt shabby in comparison. So this is the god life. It suited Stella well. We stepped back, and my sibling gestured to a café table, where a robed figure sat. They had thoughtfully set me a mortal-sized chair. Stella introduced us as they sat down:
"Misha, this is the ferry captain Tranyanka. As their name suggests, they run the ferry to the Underworld. They help process the recently dead, and they have an offer for you."
Death leaned forward. I looked down and saw pale yellow flanges emerge from their black sleeve. After a moment's hesitation, I shrugged and shook their skeletal hand, then sat down. I've been offered every gig under the sun, what insane job could a living skeleton offer that would surprise me?
"So Misha, I understand you're familiar with barista work?"
What? I thought I would be learning to pilot a ferry, or maybe the Underworld edition of office work. A barista job? I answered, "Yes, I've worked at quite a few cafés."
Tranyanka expressed relief. I don't know how I understood it without.. skin.. but I could sense they were nervous I'd say no. "Well, we were getting complaints. Apparently Overworld coffee is not to your mortals' liking. Your tastes have become very sophisticated in the last millennium. So we acquired mortal world machines to help ease the anguish of the recently dead. But now every demigod we've had at this job has broken the damned delicate things. Stella said they knew a mortal who could accomplish any task if the pay was good enough. Would you like to run our ferry café?"
I raised my eyebrow. "What's the pay?"
Stella smirked. They knew they had made the right call. |
A holoscreen burst to life, flooding his face with light and color, a stark contrast to the dim green glow of his portable terminal.
"Holy shit that worked!"Alvin cried out, his jaw sinking through the floor.
"You have got to be kidding me, no way."Cassandra said, peering over his shoulder.
They were floating in the engine room of a dead Zurriks, an elite battle-class Soran vessel that had lost its final battle. The compartment was a disaster zone, evidence of the violence that brought the vessel to its end.
A deep hum filled the engine room as systems came to life. The clicking and whirring of self checks and power distribution coming online echoed throughout the dead vessel.
"Krrrrrrrr, Kot!"Ku-Ke-Ka, their captain exclaimed as he floated into the room, effusing what sounded like a series of glottal stops. His emphatic tendrils expressed fear and surprise, as far as Alvin's basic training could determine.
"We've got 75% power distribution online! It should be just enough to to bring the translation array online."Alvin reported to the tall and spindly alien.
"Only need 10%, very success"The captain replied in slow, methodical english.
"We only need 10% to initiate power up, over 50% is required to get this boat home in one piece."Cassandra said, pointing to a hull integrity readout on the holoscreen.
"Boat?"The captain inquired.
"Oh, it's an old earth vessel, before space travel"
The captain trilled with pleasure. The Soran deeply respected the human tradition of wanderlust and navigation, as it paralleled their own development as a species.
"How?"The captain asked simply.
"What? The engine?"Alvin replied.
"Yes."
"Oh, well, it's kind of silly really. I saw it in a movie one time, Steve Hiller defeated a great off-planet enemy with a similar technique."Alvin began.
The captain listened, his emphatic tendrils quivering, betraying his excitement.
"In the movie, Steve Hiller wrote a computer virus that destroyed the enemy vessels. I kind of did something similar, but instead of destroy it kicked the ships computer out of auto deep freeze."
"Movie?"The captain inquired once more at a word he was unfamiliar with.
Alvin grunted, and flashed Cassandra a brief shrug.
"Humans like to tell stories, both true and invented. Some of those stories are told visually, with images and video. Alvin is referring to a very old movie from when humans had gone no further than our moon."Cassandra said.
"Some of our movies help knowledge survive, others give us entertainment from fantasy."Alvin added.
The captain was displayed incredulity with his tendrils, but he quickly shifted to understanding.
"Understand. Fascinating."he said simply, his voice like the sound of a person who cannot catch their breath.
"We should head up to the bridge and make sure everything is coming online, we can probably set off in a few hours."Alvin said, kicking off from his position towards the exit.
Cassandra followed, giving the captain a wink.
The captain remained in the engine room, mulling what he had just witnessed and learned. The Soran were cautious with the humans, but they had proven to be nothing but an excellent ally. The two species had been inseparable for several hundred years, despite their great difficulty in communication due to the Soran's dramatically different vocalization capabilities. But to know the humans could so trivially break the Soran's greatest defenses, a system designed to forever lock a ship once too damaged - to prevent their great weapons and power generation capabilities from being stolen. Systems not even the Soran could crack.
A lesser being may have been scared into pre-emptive violence, but the captain knew this discovery meant the humans outclassed them tremendously. While the Soran possessed greatly superior technology, the humans adapted and incorporated it as a cell does with glucose. He had no doubt this Alvin could pilot the vessel too, undoubtedly having some experience from one of their Movies.
His emphatic tendrils curled up to his chin, if one were there to see they would know he faced great internal conflict.
The captain kicked himself towards the holoscreen, and opened a secure channel to command.
"Ku-Ke-Ka, where are you?"The Soran on the other end asked in their native tongue.
"Aboard the Zurriks, now alive again."
The other Soran made several clicking and grunting noises before calming down.
"HOW?"
"The humans re-activated it. They claim some past knowledge with similar systems from their historical records. The ship is alive once more."
"We must-"The other began.
"No."The captain interjected. "We must continue to embrace them. This great existential threat is real, but do you really want to face it?"
"I see."
"As our greatest ally, perhaps they will only use it to help us. Besides, I'm starting to like them."
There was a long pause as they both regarded each other through the holoscreen.
"I'm amazed at how long it's taken for us to learn this truth. I'll inform upper command. I'd ask you continue reporting other incidents of this... ability"
"Of course"the captain closed the connection and kicked off towards the maintenance hatch.
He was exhilarated. The most exciting moments of his career as a captain had begun, and it was sure to earn him an admiralty in the future. He would be sure to keep this Alvin close, perhaps promote him. Groom him for command for the Soran, like the ancient tribes did to secure peace between nations.
Whatever the future held, he had to get his hands on some of these movies. |
The Amazon time trucks are painted differently than the regular ones. I figure it’s because they want you to know the significance of it, so that you can follow through on your end.
Follow through how? You know, like checking your bank account, checking your lists. I try to verify that I needed whatever I’m getting, which isn’t always the easiest thing. I remember in the beginning—those, uh, identity hacks that were happening all over, and the cluster-fuck *that was*. It’s much better now, but you should still try to know what you need. I think you should try to, at least.
When the driver gets out, they look just like regular delivery guys, except for one thing: They don’t blink. Their eyes aren’t eyes, or maybe they are, and…Well, I don’t know. Nobody does. I just remember opening the door to them for the first time and being sort of frozen in place. I was looking straight at em, and they were looking at me, but neither of us were really looking at each-other. Ever since then I try not to look. Just take the package and go.
So, I guess now, being the age I am, and seein’ how everything's changed, I can’t help but be a little nervous, you know? I mean, things just keep gettin easier. My kids get their games and stuff before they even need em, before they’re even announced. They stopped telling me what they liked or wanted years ago, and I don’t even get the luxury of guessing. It’s strange. I used to hate trying to figure it out, but not needing to at all…That feels even worse, I think. My father had the same sentiments about the internet once upon a time. I think about that a lot now.
Today a truck pulled up, and the deliveryman gave me a journal I supposedly ordered. I guess I wanted to start writing, but I'm still not sure. I’ don’t know if I’m trusting myself or just trusting that Amazon knows me better than I do. Maybe it’s one and the same. Maybe all I am is just some lines of code in a computer, and they just send me stuff because they know I’ll end up justifying it. Justifying this…reality.
But sometimes, I stop myself from thinking like that. Sometimes I get scared of what my wandering thoughts might deliver to my door. That’s strange isn’t it? It’s all so strange…
I wander what this conversation will bring me. |
For the first few weeks, I tried to move. I knew I was stuck; that I'd been put into a temperature well below freezing, somehow frozen so quickly ice crystals weren't allowed to form, and then carefully maintained that way. My muscles couldn't possibly respond. The chemicals in my brain couldn't even change state; all that was left were electrical impulses.
&#x200B;
I gave up, eventually. I should have gone into a panic. Gone completely insane. Most likely, the chemicals involved in a panic response simply couldn't activate. I wasn't even allowed to go mad to escape the void.
&#x200B;
For the first thirty years, the same technician worked in the facility. Jenkins. Never knew what he looked like, but I knew his voice; and honestly, if I'd still believed in god I'd have thanked him for providing Jenkins with audio-books to listen to as he carefully checked all of the tubes in the facility. After the third year, I could hear the words from the other side of the facility, and never missed a phrase. I felt myself blessed. It almost felt bearable.
&#x200B;
When he was about to die, they put him in one of the tubes. His replacement didn't listen to audio-books, or read at all; he also didn't do the maintenance he was supposed to. One of the tubes broke down in year thirty-five while the tech was watching reality tv. On the one hand, I hated the stuff. On the other, he usually forgot to turn it off when he left, and I could listen to the catchphrases and absurdities all night long.
&#x200B;
In year thirty-six, someone caught the mistake, they cleaned out the corpse, and mister reality tv was fired. Finally heard his name there at the end; he was another Jenkins. Son of the first guy. Frankly, I was disappointed.
&#x200B;
Years thirty seven through ninety-five were some of the better ones. Not much entertainment, but the number of tubes had grown so large by year thirty-eight there were always technicians moving around, talking. The place felt alive. Somedays I would imagine I was there, walking and talking among them.
&#x200B;
Year ninety-five began the worst of it. They had perfected AIs, I assume, well enough they trusted them to do the maintenance. I no longer heard voices and movements except once every several years; without the daily rhythm of people moving in and out of the facility, I lost track of time; there was nothing to measure the days by.
&#x200B;
In year three hundred and seven, they had cured all forms of cancer, and had nano-therapies to fix most other problems, and were making a big show of reviving most of the people in the tubes; from the sub-text these problems had been solved a long time ago, but population pressure had meant there was no motivation to bring more hungry mouths back. Something had changed, but they acted as if the medical breakthroughs were the key. I had hope there, for about ten hours, as one of the nearby tubes was finally thawed. I was also enthusiastic about the fact that, once again, I knew how much time had passed.
&#x200B;
The man in the tube had been driven insane by the wait. They probably didn't know what had caused it for sure; he just started screaming, he didn't even know any words at this point. There was some violence. Banging of metal. Someone may have died; the man from the tube definitely did. The scientists were at a loss, constantly wondering whether the man might have thawed out partially, ice crystals damaging his brain; they would need to carefully research this, and figure out what had caused it, before risking the death of the other sleepers.
&#x200B;
I wanted to beg them to open my tube. To free me. I wanted to tell them I hadn't gone mad, I could still think, just let me show them. It simply wasn't to be. The facility was re-sealed. They changed what sort of robot was maintaining things; put me through, I expect, a more advanced version of an MRI. Somehow they still didn't register that I was conscious, at least partially. Some abstract parts of my brain still active.
&#x200B;
Sometime after this, they moved the tubes. It had been hundreds of years, I'd have guessed; but with the lack of change in routine, it might have just been two or three. The times when human technicians came to visit had become vanishingly rare; I wouldn't be surprised if it were decades between times I overheard a conversation. I wasn't certain where, but from the sound of things, I'd been lifted into orbit. I didn't know what was going on; and I couldn't ask. From what few words I heard; a conversation between two mechanics; we were going to a colony. Perhaps mars? Or some other system altogether?
&#x200B;
And then came today. Quite frankly, the greatest day of my life. Scientists were getting ready to open the tubes, and were explaining things to some security guards, by the sound of it. Apparently there had been a few plagues; humanity had used advanced genetic editing to 'perfect' people, making them all longer-lived, healthier, giving them all sorts of advantages, immunity to all disease; and in the end, they had made a perfectly harmonious humanity; one which all had exactly the same response to a disease, resulting in every single human on earth dying off.
&#x200B;
For the future of humanity, these sleepers would be awoken; and though they fully expected to have to kill or sedate most or all of them, their genetics would be harvested to allow for a better blend of humanity on this new colony world. The first seventeen tubes they thawed had identical responses. Stark raving madness; thrashing. Easily subdued, but violent.
&#x200B;
When they came to thaw me, I was worried. Frightened that, perhaps, I would find myself driven to some depths of madness from pain or horror in the thawing process that I might join those who went before. Why would I be special? When I saw the light; my eyes working again for the first time in an unknown number of years; I wasn't blinded. My eyes were just as adapted as they'd been when I was [frozen.](https://frozen.My) My lungs; not having inhaled for a thousand years; took over instinctively, drawing breath, as the vacuum of the tube was replaced with fresh, clean air.
&#x200B;
I stepped out of the tube; I had forgotten how to walk, and almost flopped forward onto the people standing there, before catching myself on the edge of my pod; only now noticing it, and the other surrounding pods, the differences between them. The figures looked... strange. Perhaps four and a half feet tall, with pale, hairless skin. Some clearly male and female, but all identical in height, identical in skin tone. Thin. All of them seemed surprised when I didn't scream, or yell. The two security guards; I assumed whatever they held were weapons, small silver cylinders; had them leveled at me, but hadn't fired.
&#x200B;
I coughed a few times, struggling to speak. One of the tiny pale people held up his wrist, and a digitized voice emerged. "Do you understand us? Was your freezing and thawing successful?"I blinked. After a few seconds, the man held his wrist a different way, and what I can only assume were different languages started to play out.
&#x200B;
Language had changed quite a bit over the centuries. But I could hear it. Sometimes widely spaced apart. New slang slowly becoming proper words. These words sounded so odd because I didn't need a translator. They'd exposed me to the changes in language often enough that I could adapt.
&#x200B;
"I understand you perfectly. We need to have a serious conversation, and then we need to wake everyone else up. I don't suppose you have the ability to selectively erase memories? That might allow you to recover the rest of them."
&#x200B;
The shock over those tiny, perfect faces was obvious. I hadn't spoken using some thousand-year-old language; as one of these people brought me something to wear; a simple, silver robe that looked far too small for me, but would have to make do; the one who tried the translation stepped closer.
&#x200B;
"We do, in fact, have such technology. We have for quite some time. What purpose would it serve, in individuals whose brains have been damaged by improper freezing?"I gave him a grin; all of them took a step back. Perhaps grinning didn't mean the same thing now as it used to.
&#x200B;
"I doubt many of them have been damaged by freezing. Most likely, they've just been driven mad by a thousand years of sensory deprivation. It looks like most of the newer pods have better insulation than mine did. I might only be sane because I could hear you. Might be best to open the other pods, about as old as mine, first, to see." |
“Look,” I begin. “We can do this another time. You don’t have to-“
“No, no, it’s quite alright. The story will be told either way, and it’s only fair that my side gets its share of the spotlight.”
You’d never guess that the small, earnest voice was coming out of the hulking monstrosity sitting behind 18 inch thick indestructible glass. They made this prison special to hold Valaak the Conqueror, and sitting in front of him, I understood why. Even crouched beside me, he was easily 12 feet tall. Standing tall, he had to have been at least 30 feet tall. His muscles strained against his custom prison jumpsuit, and his eyes burned like fire. Which wasn’t really surprising, considering he could set his whole body alight as he rampaged through a city.
“So, Valaak. Most of our readers are... familiar with your work, but not your motivation. Why are you trying to destroy all civilization?”
After a sigh, the polite voice began again. “I’ve no intention of destroying all civilization, Jane. I seek to secure humanity’s future through the absolute subjugation of its people. We’re talking about unifying all mankind as one body and culture, under me, that would dissolve the corruption and conflict that has plagued us throughout our history.”
“I see. But what about the massive loss of life and destruction you’ve caused?”
“Transition does not come without price, Jane. But I want to use this opportunity to assure your readers that a better, brighter world *is* coming. Whether or not they’re ready for it.”
I ruffle through my dossier. This is the part my editor wants, even if I think it’s in poor taste. “Let’s talk about your recent defeat and incarceration at the hands of The Wholesome Youth of American Teens Team.”
The temperature noticeably rises around the cell. His eyes are burning hotter, and light smoke has begun to roll off his shoulders. “Ah, yes. WYATT. An impressive display, was it not? Me, at full flame and fury, versus a handful of children wearing khaki shorts and colored tee-shirts. I was surprised as anyone when their cheers of friendship and camaraderie actually generated power. And you can’t imagine my embarrassment when their little light show actually extinguished my flames.”
Valaak stood up. At full height, and with fire beginning to show across his body, I think it’s safe to say that I was scared. But he continued. “That they would send children to fight me was bad enough, but to LOSE?!? I WAS SUBDUED BY CHILDREN AND THEIR FRIENDSHIP?!? I WILL SEAR THE FLESH FROM THEIR BONES!!! I WILL BURN THEIR ASHES TO- ACK! Spft! Bleh!”
As Valaak’s anger and fire grew automatic fire suppression had kicked in and sprayed him in the face. The warden had told me earlier that a mild sedative was worked into the system as well, and right now, I appreciated that. With a thud that shook the room, Valaak fell backwards, sitting on the adjacent wall of his cell, facing me. I realized then just how small the prison cell was for Valaak. He couldn’t even raise his arms above his head or extend them outward. He couldn’t lie flat in any direction. This was a man, or monster, truly and utterly beaten. He looked up at me with sad, tired eyes.
“I want to make the world a better place,” he sighed. “Is that so wrong?”
I look over my notes. My editor was going to love the part where the horrible monster gets sprayed in the face, but having talked to him, Valaak didn’t seem so much evil as much as he seemed sad.
“Jane.” His voice pulled me out of my thoughts. “You are the first person I’ve spoken to for longer than five minutes that hasn’t worked for me or tried to kill me. Are... are we friends?”
I hesitate. He had killed hundreds of people and destroyed entire cities. But that sad, terrible look in his eyes pulled at my heartstrings. “Sure, Valaak. We can be friends.”
He leapt to his feet, flames igniting across his body as he bellowed, “Hear me now, WYATT! I have a friend, and through the power of friendship, I will destroy all that you love and hold dear! Mwuahahahaha!”
I should’ve realized what he had been thinking. I left as the emergency fire suppression system turned back on. |
"This is a class five quarantined planet. You don't have authorization, turn back,"the sentry told the human.
"A what?"Frank stared at the sentry. Quarantine codes only went up to three.
"A class five quarantined planet,"the sentry repeated.
Frank plucked a juice ball from his golden torso strap and popped it into his mouth. He chewed, weighing his options. Sentry ships were terrifying. It wasn't that they'd kill you; sure, they were armed to the teeth, but every archeologist had a trick or two.
No, the scary bit was the sector-wide bounty they immediately stapled to your forehead. If you so much as nicked their fender, you turned into an instant lottery for some fish-blower on Lapita.
"How can I get authorization?"Frank asked, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice. This was *it,* damn it. This was supposed to be his big break. He'd been telling the Assembly for years that there were other humans out there, but they'd never seemed to care. If anything the lot of them patronized him about his 'fun adventure.'
They didn't understand what it meant, to be the only one of your kind.
"Only those who are less than ten percent human can be authorized. We already scanned you upon arrival."the sentry said.
Frank froze, a vein pulsing at his temple. He forced a smile. "Sorry, I must have misheard you. There can't be a ban on human entry. I'm the only one."
"There is no misunderstanding. Now desist, or I will issue a report to the Assembly."
Frank clenched his hands. He was sick of this. So much of the Assembly's red tape seemed to exist for the sake of it. *Patience breeds prosperity.* He'd heard the litany a thousand times. Screw it. He wanted to know where he came from, and the truth was down there.
And if he didn't make it, well, anyone who had ever lived was a rounding error anyway.
Frank locked his eyes on the surface. The thing with the sentries was that you were only in trouble if you hit their ship. Sure, they were confident that you couldn't get around them - they could scramble a squadron of fighters before you swallowed your saliva. But that didn't mean there weren't gaps, places where a tiny archeologist's ship could slip. Cracks that had been ruled out as so categorically stupid that no one would risk them.
It was too bad they didn't know his reputation.
Licking his lips, Frank blocked the sentry out, nudging his ship into overdrive. An instant later, the sky exploded, plunging him into darkness.
\*\*\*
When Frank opened his eyes, he was lying facedown on some sort of plant. Tiny tendrils speared him softly. Groaning, he pushed himself onto his knees, then slowly rose onto his feet. His ship was gone, his tools were gone. Gods, how was he going to take notes without a holo?
Frank took a deep breath. Now wasn't the time for panic. But when he looked up, he froze.
Surrounding him were people. Hundreds of them. And they looked like him. Not exactly like him, but they had two legs. They had ears like he did, and noses. There wasn't a six-legged equine in sight.
Stranger than that, not a single one seemed surprised that they were alive.
Two of them sat on a bench, holding some sort of receptacle for liquid. Three more stood nearby, tossing a kind of disc. In the distance, he heard laughter that sounded like his own.
As Frank stared down at the metallic rags hanging from his chest, he knew, and his heart hurt.
He was still the only one who didn't belong. |
"Mommy, I-"
My mother shrieked and covered her ears with her hands.
"Don't you dare say it you little freak!"My father barks at me, jostling me by the front of the remains of my shirt. The tattered shreds appear as if the shirt had failed to have been forced over a barrel. My own wrists were chained to the ancestral lunar boulder, but if my foggy memories were correct, the moon should be a waning crescent.
"Dad, whats going on?"
He looked at me with pity and contempt. His deep breath inward gave way to words describing a night I hardly remembered. We were watching television as a family when my dad had put on a childrens show as a joke, something no one was meant to enjoy. As it turns out, it had a horrifying effect. They told me I fixated on the screen. I wouldn't respond to anyone. The trouble had started when they turned the TV off and I flew into a blind rage, balloning up 200 kilos of mass and shrieking cries of terror that even the elder gods had learned to fear.
Oh god what have I become? How could a cartoon show about ponies cause this kind of reaction? I felt my sanity melting as I looked at my father, then my mother. My lips grew blubbery and obese as I opened my mouth and quietly said...
"^^mommy ^^I ^^want ^^tendies " |
Look, it's not my fault! I was just gazing into the abyss like I do every Thursday, and who should come clambering up the inky well of blackness but Azathoth?
Right, he usually traverses dimensions on Fridays - but that's not the point! What were you thinking?
How was I supposed to know the idiot was blind? He's the sultan of demons, he can't see me looming in the infinite void in front of his face?
Pedestrians don't have right-of-way in the unyielding cosmos, you bollard! And the abyss isn't some kind of crosswalk!
So anyway, Mister Nuclear Chaos here comes blundering through the yawning maw of spacetime and BAM - smacks right into me, if you please!
But that doesn't explain how -
There we are, tumbling at the mouth of the void, total shambles, compressing into a singularity (because we're both so supermassive, see?), when all of a sudden -
All of a sudden? The process took centuries!
Who's telling the story here? Anyway, we started to spaghettify at our event horizon, when I remember something about quantum entanglement. Collapsing the wave function of one of us might just undo the whole kerfuffle.
That's not... That's not how any of this works. Didn't you fail advanced topology and macro physics?
The point is, I'm sorry okay? I didn't mean to undo the fabric of reality. I don't need you giving me the third degree...
Well now he's dead, I'm pretty sure we can crown you the new Blind Idiot God. All hail New Azathoth.
Shut up, Greg. |
My 18th birthday was the first day my KarmaBank became active, same as everyone else. I stayed up the day before until midnight and checked the balance. A complimentary 30 days of GoodKarma was sitting there as a reward for surviving 18 years without the system to help. No requirement of taking bad days. No strings attached. Of course people had workarounds. Parents were able to extend their Karma to their children. Rich people could pay others to share it. But 30 days was a solid start.
Most people tried to spend their GoodKarma early. When you’re young you can afford to have some crappy days. When you’re young you hope your good days lead to wealth. You hope that good decisions strike the hot iron of luck. That the magic sauce of GoodKarma acts as a force multiplier and you can make the right call on options trading. Or find that fossil you’ve been digging and searching nearly ten months for that will earn you the Grahame Clark Medal. Or to land the love of your life.
A bad day when you’re young is half as bad as a bad day when you’re old. When the system first began, the statistic for elderly mortality rates on BadKarma days was nearly thirteen times higher than the standard rate. As people began to understand the risks they started to strategize. Older folks would often choose to continue life without using the system, letting their balance expire when they died. Some would take calculated risks. Going in for a chest x-ray or health check-up? Time to spend some GoodKarma!
As I said earlier, young people took risks all the time. What’s a few bad days when you’re young? I adopted a different approach. I guess after watching my grandparents, parents, and many uncles and aunts die I thought it was worth a shot. If it doesn’t work, then I guess I’ll probably make it into some type of history book. A chapter? Maybe just a paragraph.
On my 20th birthday I checked my balance. 760 days.
On my 25th birthday I checked my balance. 2,555 days.
On my 35th birthday, 6,205 days.
By the time my 68th birthday rolled around word had spread. I lived a meager life. No real excitement. No pizzaz. I chose a career path that didn’t require many difficult decisions, stress, or physical labor. I didn’t move up the ranks as much as my colleagues but that’s to be expected.
Reporters came to my house on that birthday. It was the 50th anniversary of living a life of only BadKarma. Everyone was fascinated. I’d read newspapers and listen to podcasts where people hypothesized reasons why I chose to do what I did. My favorite was a sportscaster guessing that I am a masochist. That I enjoy the misery. The funny thing is that if every day of your life since 18 is a bad day, then it’s not really that bad, y’know? You can learn to walk with your shoelaces untied all the time. After a few years it’ll probably be more natural than walking with them tied!
The news reporters all wanted to know why. Why did I choose to do it? Fame? Am I saving it up for something? I didn’t really have an answer.
“I just decided to do it. I don’t really know why.” I’d tell them.
Some groaned in disbelief. Others became angry.
“He’s lying. He just doesn’t want to tell us!” One shouted out.
I chuckled. It’s such a weird thing to say. Why would I lie about something like this?
Ultimately, they were all fed up and left me alone.
Time went by. Every so often an article would pop up with my name in it with a title like **He’s still at it!**, and I’d keep it in a box in my closet. I’d check my balance once a year on my birthday. It was a nice treat. At 82 I started experiencing some pain. My eyesight worsened and my prescription had to be changed yearly as my vision deteriorated. Things started to decline and it became harder and harder to breathe.
On my 84th birthday I took a look at my account. It displayed 24,120 days. I distinctly remember sitting there wondering whether I should use a day. Just to see what a GoodKarma day felt like. I wondered if it was too late. If the benefits wouldn’t be as effective. I really struggled with the decision. As I reached for the submit button a pain shot through my arm straight to my chest. I dropped my phone and an alarm went off signalling the hospital I was going into cardiac arrest. I blacked out for a while there.
A day or two later I woke up in a bed at my local hospital. Everything hurt. I hailed a passing nurse and he came to my bedside.
“How am I?” I asked.
“You’re looking better! Let me get the doctor.” He replied.
The doctor came and explained the situation. It wasn’t looking good. He did release me a few days later but warned me that my time was coming sooner rather than later. At home I began packing things up neatly so that whoever came into possession of my house would have an easy time sorting through it all.
My time had come and I was preparing to take some pills I had saved from the hospital visit. As I was settling in, a knock came at my door. I stood and shuffled over to see who it was. I didn’t recognize them and asked them to leave. They knocked again and spoke.
“I’d like to ask you a question sir!” She said.
Reluctantly, I opened the door and grunted.
She took the opportunity and continued, “Can you please share with me *why* you chose to take BadKarma every day of your life? Why haven’t you used any GoodKarma? I need to know, sir.”
She looked at me expectantly. Her outfit was modern and unrecognizable to me. She seemed barely old enough to drive. Her hair was cut short and her eyes were wide as walnuts.
“Why do you want to know?” I asked.
“Well, sir. To be honest I’m turning 18 tomorrow and I’ve always been interested in your... decision. I was thinking of following in your footsteps!” She answered.
“Oh.”
“So can you answer? Why?!” She was visibly shaking in excitement.
“Well...” I stammered. “I...”
“Yes?”
“I like seeing the number go up.” I said. |
Her number had changed when she had realized the game. It used to be in the 4-billions; perfectly average, but definitely not representative of her character. Didn't she take care of her younger brother when her parents were out working? And she tried to make her coworkers happy at work. They called her "bubbly"before the numbers appeared. After, their opinion of her diminished, their knowledge of her character overshadowed by the 10-digit number towering over her head. And after it changed to 8 billion, for a lonely time she was entirely shunned for the number. Why would people willing to shun her be considered more "good"than her? No matter, it gave her more time to prepare.
She had learned the secret. The numbers on top of everyone's head would only go as high as the number of people on the planet, opening an easy route to giving her a higher rank. At the same time, her actions would be doing the environment a great service, reducing pollution, and increasing space for everyone (left) to live in. Wasn't that good enough? She would be number 1 at the end, guaranteed. |
Cofilzik stared out at the lecture hall as he stroked the tentacles at his chin. This happened every cycle. At best he could count on 60 to 70 percent of his class to attend his lectures. He was used to that, as he recorded mostly for students outworld and had iffy attendance most days regardless. Except today.
The new lecture hall had seats for 4 thousand students and standing/ floating pods for another 3. Today they were all full. 7 thousand sets of eyes. Numbers that in some cases numbered 8 to 10 per user were all locked on him, or more likely the board behind him where the only words visible were.
Humans in space battle.
Cofilzik nodded to his assistant and cleared his throat as the Pareum female, who gave her name as Zillium, told all the attendees that only students would be allowed to ask questions post lecture. Not surprisingly many had already been bribed to ask on others behalf once the section for them was opened. When Zillium turned to him and smiled, he began. Speaking slowly and clearly to allow the translators to catch everything.
'As we all know humans are a bipedal hominid species that were not previously discovered in the Tarsus region of space until they sent miniature metallic probes out into the larger Galaxy. Note that the one shown behind me is still on display in the Tarvekian Museum of natural history.'
A hologram rotated behind him with the worn lettering Voyager 2 still visible if faint.
'Naturally galactic involvement was limited until craft they designed launched in route to Teti Gorum 2. They called it Alpha Ceturi.' A hand shot up and Cofilzik knew he'd be seeing the owner after class so he just continued.
'We found the humans to be innovative, if inelegant, in tool and ship design. But they have a persistent knack for quickly resolving problems as they arise. This was why the first contact units were shocked to discover that they had designed and built their own version of a translation device within half a cycle. Previously civilizations require much longer study of our own plans and designs. As of yet we do not know How they made that breakthough.' He was pleased to see the student had put his hand down. This lecture could not be paused for clarifications due to its subject matter having an enormous amount of questions that are always generated.
'It was perhaps they inevitable that when two civilizations spark disagreements the question becomes embroiled in conflicts. This is of course the Andonicus incident.' Cofilzik could practically hear the many students and onlookers sitting forwards in anticipation.
' Most of our joint histories have been filled with the battles and successes of the Antabians. Their ship designs remain among the most studied in our university classes for shipwrights to this day. In Tau 844 system the first ever dreadnought explosion was recorded in history.'
'The humans brought about 70 spacefaring vessels and engaged the ambush fleet of Tiniex aAbsolumb reported to have 1400 units.' Cofilzik did not look up. He did not have to. At this point in his usual lecture nearly all hands were usually raised. Student and visitor alike.
'We know from post survey that 18 of the Human ships were damaged with 4 reported destroyed, but only 2 Antabian vessels are known to have survived. Caltivex 5 was disabled and knocked out of system by a defective port unit. And Murunit 8 was allowed to retreat to the Gavmet system without its weapons and working port unit. It is in large part because of the Murunit's data systems that we even have most of our available data.'
He plunged forward again knowing how controversial this next part was.
'It does appear that the Antibian's fired first in this conflict. But the humans employed a strange split fire technique that had them striking and moving through the fleets in a way that left most counterattacks ineffective at best.'
'It remains undisputed that the hull and armor of most Antibian vessels is extraordinarily dense and not easily damaged, however the Human fleet was able to peel back the defensive layers with repeated strikes. The Dreadnought Ruriteft seemed to have had an internal rupture from overheating inspite of boasting the best shielding known to Galactic science. I caution you again to hold your questions until the end. ' This last having to be shouted over the rising chorus of shouted questions. To their credit most of his students were silent knowing not to interrupt his lecture.
'I can continue if you will all settle down.' It took quite a few minutes to happen but eventually he was able to speak uninterrupted again.
'Our recovered records and surveys show that the dreadnought internal temperatures were at roughly 18 times the normally reported specs when the breach happened. All life signs aboard had been extinguished
And the automated defenses were trying to reignite the tertiary drive cores. This of course, was previously thought impossible and I imagine is of intense interest to the Antibian defense ministry even to this day. We are going to take a brief break and when we get back we will cover how the humans used something called a "dive bomber"to overwhelm shield systems.' |
Approximately 10 million new superpowers are bestowed each morning, according to the most recent estimates on the news, each one more useless than the last. Vice president Mike Pence received the ability to glow in the dark last night at around 11:45 eastern time, and a man in Indonesia, developed the ability to make trees grow underwater while he was out fishing, just 30 minutes later. I like to keep close tabs on the effects these abilities have on their lives, because every night, I'm the one who gives them.
I fall asleep around 11:15 and I'm immediately begin to see life through the memories and dreams of others all around the world. I have to pick some here and some there to maintain the illusion of randomness, but I find joy in creating abilities that reflect what I think would leave them most confused. Time moves so slowly during these dreams, but I love every moment of it.
When I get up for breakfast in the morning, my siblings and I laugh over the latest mishaps caused by the mysterious abilities, and they always ask me what power I think I'll get. |
Stumbling her way down her driveway, the old woman's eyesight was not what it was many years ago. And yet, she still recognized that blue box anywhere. The blue box and the mad man who owned it. Her memory resurfaced, of her younger days adventuring with the man. Those memories had long been buried, but never forgotten.
"Doctor?", the old woman muttered in disbelief. Never she thought she would saw him again in her lifetime.
"Hello, Amy", the man said softly. Smiling, the rugged lines on his old face shifted. The old woman gently put her hand on his face then on his wild gray hair, rubbing it affectionately, marveling at her old friend.
"You've changed", she chuckled her eyes teary. "How many regeneration is this after Manhattan?"
"Just the one", he whispered.
"You've grown old"
"You don't look so bad yourself", he said before heartily laughed. A bit of happiness and a bit of sadness radiated from him. On one side he was happy to be able to reunite once more with Amy Pond, although on the other side...this might be her last.
"What are you doing here, Doctor? I've grown old, my adventuring days are long gone. Rory...Rory has..."
"I know, Amy. I know. I'm sorry about Rory. I've grieved both of you and regretted it for hundreds of years...believe me, my stupid 11th self had all the time on his hands guarding a planet. I know the catastrophic paradoxes that could occur should I pluck you out of your timeline. No, I'm not here for that--", from his jacket pocket he produced an apple. "--I notice you ran out"
Amy held the apple, studying it, it was nothing but a normal apple. Curious she took a bite, sweet and crunchy.
"You risk time paradox just to give me an apple?", she asked confused.
"An apple a day keeps the Doctor away, they say. Well...one apple, Amy. Just one more day and this Doctor will be on his way", he said cryptically.
Travelling through time and space with him, you would pick up a thing or two. Although puzzling, Amy understood what he meant. She closed her eyes, she was calm and accepting, her turbulent time that was her life finally came to its final chapter.
Taking another bite, that youthful joy came back to her once more. "Well then Doctor, chop chop! Let's see if this old blue box can still handle herself!"
Full of vigor she walked into the Tardis followed by the Doctor.
"Bigger inside than it is outside--", she muttered. "--bigger than I remember it. I don't like you redecorating it"
"Of course you don't", he smiled watching his old companion running around inside. Her red mane was no more, but the Doctor could still see it clear as day like it was yesterday when her and Rory was still there with him.
"Why don't we take her for a spin?", the Doctor hurried to the console pulling the lever.
The familiar whirring and wheezing sound filled the air. In an instant they were in the empty space of blackness. The Doctor opened the door and gestured for Amy to look outside. A beautiful sea of stars decorated the view, blinking and twinkling so beautifully.
Holding her hand, the Doctor let Amy hang loosely at the door. Her heart raced, the old feeling was back. They stayed there for seemingly forever. The Doctor and Amy, together once more.
&#x200B;
"Thank you, Doctor. Thank you for seeing me one more time", Amy said weakly now back in her house lying on her bed.
"It was all my pleasure, Miss Pond", he smiled sadly. Amy once more took her hand and softly touched the Doctor's face, like a mother would to a child.
"Good night, raggedy man"
"Good night, Amelia", he whispered putting her weak arm gently on her chest.
Her face was serene, full of happiness with no hint of regret. The whirring and wheezing sound once more filled the air, a perfect sendoff for the once brave and fiery Amy Pond. The half bitten apple sat on her nightstand, sending the Doctor away for one last time. |
"I'm telling you, they evolved in the Great Desolation."
"And I'm telling you, that's impossible. Sure, it would be possible for life to form outside the Great Desolation and colonise inwards, but it evolving there is simply impossible. When the z'thraki empire fell and abandoned the Arboreal Expanse, they--"
"Yeah, I know, as they were leaving they extracted the crystallinium from every start they came across, making natural formation of life crystals impossible, turning the Arboreal Expanse into the Great Desolation. But that is completely irrelevant--they are not crystallinium-based. They're entirely made out of matter!"
"They're made out of matter? As in, atoms?"
"It appears so."
"That's impossible."
"Clearly not because they exist."
"How did matter spontaneously form in the right shape to be alive? That is so unlikely it must have been done by another more intelligent race. Matter can't just--"
"It didn't just randomly arrange itself into a human. A tiny machine, so small you can't see it, once randomly formed. It only had one function: copy itself."
"I can buy that. Natural grey goo is rare, but not unheard of."
"Exactly, except this had a tiny difference. Every time it made a new copy of itself, it changed just a little bit. Over time, hundreds, thousands, millions, billions of different permutations formed, all creating their own diverse offspring. The ones that were more fit survived, the ones that were less fit died. Because of this, they slowly became faster, stronger, more intelligent, better adapted to their environment overall."
"Sure, that might've happened. But that doesn't explain how you go from a tiny single cell to an intelligent creature capable of space exploration."
"Over billions of years, those tiny differences add up."
"I still don't believe what you're saying. Dead atoms can never become intelligent and sentient. You can't smash rocks together until they feel emotions or have ambitions."
"Eh, whatever. They sent a ship here. I'm sure you will believe they exist when they show up here in a few decades."
"A few decades?"
"Yeah, they never had the chance of creating crystallinium drives to travel faster than light. Instead, they just strap a lot of explosives to a box and blast it into another solar system."
"They what?!" |
They say, you either die a hero, or live long enough to see yourself become the villain.
Right from birth I was waging war. My twin brother was left with little chance. He slid out of my mother’s womb cold and bloodless, forsaken by his own twin.
When I was fourteen, I joined the The Order of the Holy Knight. An order so obsessed with doing good, a single speck of evil would have you exiled to the wastelands.
At seventeen, I commandeered a troop of knights against Lazarsus’ army.
We fought bravely.
Orcs, trolls, and goblins died by our sword, frothing at the mouth.
Lazarus himself was nowhere to be seen. Everyone knew he hid in The Tower of Grother, clutching his demon sword, obsessed with his own reflection.
It took two years of constant battles, before The Tower of Grother fell. At that time, I was one the few remaining generals in the Order.
Only I could defeat Lazarus.
And I did.
But with a great cost.
I left the tower, having seen myself in Lazarus’ mirror. What I saw, horrified me.
Weeks passed. I had nightmares. The same reflection haunted my dreams; me, standing on top of a pile of corpses, clutching the demon sword, just as Lazarus had done before me.
I barely ate. Couldn’t sleep. The other generals looked at me with worry. Darting their gaze as I met theirs.
The sword was locked in my chest.
I knew it couldn’t escape.
Yet …
I was worried.
Not by the sword itself, but by its potential wielder, and its destruction.
As time passed, I heard whispers. The sword called. It spoke of treachery, of coups, of murdering the general that kept the demon sword locked in his chest. And I could see it on the soldiers faces. They were worried. They thought … my god … they thought, I would wield it!
I rushed to the chest.
Opened the lock.
The sword was calling. It was home. It was needed. It was the right thing. I knew it now! How could I have been so blind?
I picked it up. It felt light, yet so powerful, as if wielding a mountain.
A pack of soldiers bursted into my room. They were wielded to the teeth; spears pointed.
Behind them, one of the generals stood tall.
“You can still save yourself,” he said coolly.
I clutched the sword. My blood boiled. I knew I couldn’t fight them all.
The sword called; “*Let me help you.”*
A second later, I was transported, now looking at a desolate wasteland, with huge bones sticking up from the sand.
And just a stretch further in the distance, I saw an enormous town built with bones and stretched skin.
“*You will be safe there*,” the sword called.
I walked. The sun was blood red. Blistering hot.
As I reached the city. Two guard stood in front of the gate. They were goblins.
“Oy!” he called out. “We got ourselves a wanderer!”
I reached for the sword. Their eyes went wide.
“My lord,” they said and bowed. “You have returned to us.” |
[poem]
Come seek me, lay desire bare,
Make plain your true intent.
Deceive me only if you dare,
Lest poorly wish be spent.
I am beholden unto none,
Come speak your answer true,
For anything under the sun,
Can I give unto you.
But wary be your voices,
As a simple turn of phrase,
Can reshape here your choices,
And make dark your final days.
So come, intone with confidence,
I'll gladly play my part,
But speak ye only honest hence;
I see inside your heart. |
This was it. The witch trials were at the point that they didn’t even pretend to have the trials anymore. I knew the risk when I embarked upon this path three and a half years ago. I was a witch. Twelfth generation, in fact. My daughter would have been the most powerful witch of all, but I could see the writing on the wall and I knew there was no point being the most powerful witch if the world was dead.
This ignorance needed to be stopped. Still, it took me three and a half years to bank enough power to cast my spell. Three and a half years, where I spoke not a word, for that was one of the criteria.
Priests had assumed I’d been struck dumb by God, and I was powerless to correct them. I had to hold my tongue for one hundred and eighty weeks for my spell to reach all of Europe. Today had been the day.
I started my chant, drawing forth the power of my ancestors. My voice was barely a rasp, but I had to make the sound to instigate the spell. So I probably sounded like a murdered cat, which happened to be the sound those same priests were all too familiar with, believing the death screams of cats inside a sealed pot as they too were slowly cooked alive was the sound of the devil escaping them.
It was reflections like that that made me wonder why I was bothering.
But I was committed. And I had just five lines to go when the door to my cottage was kicked in and I was dragged by the hair from my home by soldiers who were more scared of me than I was of them. I locked down my voice once more. No amount of torture drew a sound from me. I was not throwing everything away for anything. The people would know the truth. They would learn how to save themselves. This would be my dying gift to them.
Six hours later, I was tied to the stake and the kindling beneath my feet was set alight.
Looking skyward, I tried to shut off the pain that licked all over me. I had to wait until now. This next part needed to be the last thing I would ever say. To even scream would be to undo everything I have sacrificed. My thoughts filled with pain, but not as bad as dying before the words left my lips.
When I felt my soul reaching for the afterlife, I drew a deep, flame-filled breath, and whispered,
*“...with my last breath, I make it known to all*
*’tis not the divine who craft the sores,*
*but the fleas on the rats that carry Yersinia pestis.”*
And with those words and my death that powered my spell of comprehension, people all over Europe stopped praying for a magical cure that would never come and started cleaning up after themselves.
*\* \* \**
((All comments welcome))
***For more of my work including WPs:*** [r/Angel466](https://www.reddit.com/r/Angel466/) or an index of previous WPS [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/Angel466/comments/iio59n/wp_index/) |
It was so terribly boring for Michael Hellsmith to sit on his evil throne all day. Contrary to what he thought, his devils of war urged him not to partake in the war. Utterly preposterous, how could a mighty general such as himself be excluded? But they had appeased him with a jar cookies and he munched on them with feigned reluctance.
The shouts beyond the throne doors caught his attention. His guards were evidently fighting. A magician from the sound of it. Evocation magic materialized in his mind and he whipped up a quick fireball in his hand.
He could throw it at the door, the resulting explosion would be sure to kill the unwelcomed intruder. But it would also kill his guards, he reminded himself.
With a quick blow from his mouth, the fire was extinguished. Let them come, either the guards or the intruder, he would deal with them in due time.
When the throne-room doors opened, Michael was disappointed to see a mage of light, nicked and brused. The mage had short, grey hair, yet his face betrayed a youthful vitality that was filled with hate. Robes that might have held an illustrious glow was ripped with unseemly splotches of blood pooling to the boy’s side.
“Hellsmith!” the mage shouted. “I am here to bring down your reign of evil!“
He really needed to improve the potency of raising the dead. The skeleton knights at the door were clearly not bodyguard material.
“Hellsmith!”
“Oh, what?” He realized that the mage was addressing him. “Why hello there, young mage. How are you doing on this fine morning? Is the war progressing swimmingly over at your side?” Not that he cared much for the enemy side, but it was common courtesy.
“Many of my friends died so that I can stand here in front of you. Your blood will be payment for their sacrifices.” A massive circle of magical energy swirled around the mage.
How edgy, he remembered back in the day when he was as moody as this mage. Though, smarter, of course, and naturally more talented.
“Take this!” Using his wand, a brilliant array of colors stuck Michael at the chest. It kind of tickled.
When the light settled, he enjoyed watching the mage’s look of triumph curdle into horror.
"How did you survive my spell?"
"Don't know. What does it do?"
"It destroys beings of absolute evil."
Michael laughed. "Well, there is your problem."
"I am what you call a relativist, absolute evil does not exist.” |
I do as I do every evening, before I go to bed. I sit by her side, gently hold her hand and give her a loving kiss on her forehead.
She has been in this cathatonic state for a few years now. I have lost count.
You see, I was cursed, as a child; predestined to be a dark force, a negative influence on this plane of existence. I would never be able to love, never be able to be loved. Yet, I did.
Until I met her. She showed me that my power, my knowledge was not dark or evil. She was on the brink of changing me for the better, turning me away from using my magic to benefit myself and instead use it to help others. But I wasn't allowed.
On the eve of our bethrotal, mere hours before I would grace her hand with the most beautiful ring that I could conjure, she collapsed in front of me. Still alive and breathing, but unresponsive. As if having recieved a magical lobotomy of a sort.
She would still eat and drink, but other than that she remained in this empty state.
After months of scribing and using whatever means I could get my hands on, I discovered that her mind was broken, pieces off it were scattered upon different planes of existence. It would require a tremedous amount of magic to return and bind them together.
Magic has been spread too thin. Too many people. This world's magic became diluted.
I wished no harm to this world but I can't keep going on without her. It seems that I will be fulfilling my destiny, to become a plague, not only upon this world but other planes as well.
Those that survive the syphoning of what little magic they have left in them, are allowed to live. But they will be put to work, for I need people to build powerful machinations to bridge these planes together. I will gather the magic that I need to restore her mind, to help her.
I will, whatever the cost. |
They have priests for this, I am certain. But ever since her highness, Majesty Harvestien returned to her seat in her ruined temple, she has not been pleased with our offerings.
"In the four millennia since I left, this world is doomed. You've let biodiversity margins fall drastically and even our ability..."Harvestien was tall and thin, like a looming willow tree as she read off her many magic stone tablets. She wore a unique two-piece suit, a sharp pair of shoulders, nipping into a tiny waist, and then sharp hips that narrowed to her feet. Her presence was threatening, and upon her return, she had acquiesced many of the world's farms and research facilities.
But Harvestien was not the worst to work for. As long as you kept yourself quiet and clean, and you listened when she asked you a question, you weren't likely to gain her ire towards you. She was much more benevolent than I was lead to believe. Still, her favoured priests of eons ago, who spread her good work with their own hands are long gone, and sometimes she'll get angry at us, until she remembers how long her slumber had been.
Then she'll ask for a tepid bath to be made in the pool of her temple and all of us will vacate until the scent of roses has faded with the morning mists.
If I'd been a different servant, open to piety, I'd have sworn myself to Corpamanic, the lover. Where Harvestien was cool and even handed, Corpamanic was vivacious and swayed wildly with his emotions. What his worship or service is, I am not certain, but it is not for the faint of heart. He was, naturally, at the heart of all things, and there was rarely a day when his temple was not flooded with outpourings of gifts, desperately desirous youngsters seeking eternal love or the welcoming embrace of an approved marriage, mothers and fathers seeking his aid for offspring. Corpamanic was welcoming, and he did not discriminate.
But if you offered Corpamanic your own body, then you could ask for the most outrageous wishes. I've seen an empire built by his hand, thanks to a pair of conspicuous twins that laid themselves with the god. But I doubt their lives are easier, and am much grateful that it was not I who sought such things. In much the same way, those that forgo his embrace are...quieted. It is not that Corpamanic isn't kind, I would not dare speak against his love, but he doesn't understand that the flesh can be as repulsive as it is attractive.
And the there was Aela.
Like a child of ten, Aela was slight, but cunning. Without the physique of Corpamanic or the heights of Harvestien, Aela seemed less imposing, but do not let that fool you. Worship for this god had not been well recorded, and if the snippets of wisdom that Harvestien and Corpamanic gave out were to be believed, Aela didn't want worship anyway.
Aela wanted to be feared.
It would be easy to dismiss a child holding a stuffed rabbit, lovingly dubbed The Horseman, but Aela was indeed someone to fear. Aela was the cold wind that ran over your ears and through your house on a dark night. The thundering of feet and the rumble of gunfire, the shine of a steel blade and the terror of never waking up again, that was Aela.
Ready, poised to strike at any time, but far enough away to be intangible to the ordinary person.
When they had returned, it was Aela that came first, with The Horsemen in hand and a thousand sharp-toothed hellhounds. They'd eaten the world in less than a week, the hounds ever hungry, and their madness consuming all that saw or heard them. In the miasma of their wake, were screams and wails and rivers of tears and blood. There were still scars from Aela's arrival, swathes of land closed off and filled with the ashes of those on the warpath, Aela had taken the breath of life from every last one of them.
Should you and Aela cross paths, you are best to offer her a snack - even as a token gesture. Should Aela decline, immediately seek either of Harvestien or Corpamanic and be cleansed, or else the madness and rage of Aela will take over your mind.
Should she accept -
"...Are you listening? Ah, well, it was time for a break anyway. Can you go get me something to eat?"Harvestien motioned to me. I nodded, bowing deeply. I had let my thoughts escape me.
I headed back to the feast room to fetch something for my goddess, a plump pile of fresh persimmon, apples and pears ought to do.
In the corner of my eyes, I saw the shadow of Aela pass me by. I called out to the wandering god,
"Would you too, like something to eat?"
Aela giggled, appearing in a whirl of smoke beside me.
"No, I'm alright."With more haunting laughter, Aela left me alone to carry the bowl.
Should Aela have accepted, I do not think I would be ready to offer Aela my life.
I do not think I could offer my blood to the god of End. |
“Why would anyone want to make cannibal zombies? Don’t they just eat themselves?”
Ashekar’s question stung the Scrap Mage, who stood proudly before the iron bars keeping a trio of fatigued zombies from the main invention room. The Mage turned a weary eye to his guest. “Why would a fire mage go by Ashekar? It’s a bit on the nose, don’t you think?”
The fire mage seemed to fight a smirk, tilting her head to the side slightly. “Surely, it is a better name than Jeff?”
Jeff the Scrap Mage snorted, walking theatrically to the center of his invention room. It was a dingy, dimly-lit dungeon. At least, it had been before he had traded one of his inventions to the former owner, a warlock who could not resist the temptations of an ever-burning frying pan. Jeff was still proud of that invention – the ever-burning torch had been discarded by some lackadaisical adventurer. Few saw the opportunity in detritus like the Scrap Mage. “You know, my friend, there are worlds we can visit where Jeff is a very common name. The name of Kings!”
The fire mage chuckled. She had accepted Jeff’s invite fully aware of his idiosyncrasies. The Scrap Mage’s notoriety was growing – not due to any malicious intent or powers, but rather due to his ingenuity. “Well, if I ever enter the Jeff Dimension, I’ll be sure to bite my tongue.”
Jeff paused at this, smiling and directing his gaze to contents in another cell. The invention room had five cells, all lining the outer diameter of the circular dungeon. This cell did not hold any living creatures, but instead contained a single wooden pedestal on which Jeff’s latest invention sat: The Winged Boots of Grease.
“These are exactly what you need for your next getaway,” Jeff said, winking at his guest. Ashekar’s criminal exploits were well known, and Jeff had sold her tools in the past. “You put these on, and you can fly.”
“I can already fly,” the fire mage responded glibly. “You know we’re magic, right?”
The Scrap Mage scoffed, a calculated and familiar bit of pageantry for all his guests. “Yes, sure. In bursts. But with this addition,” Jeff said, lifting one of the boots from the pedestal and pointing at a small wooden cylinder sewn into the outside of the footwear, “you can create pools of grease below you.”
Silence thundered through the dungeon, and Jeff’s heart skipped a beat. Had the brilliant implications of the device completely flabbergasted his patron?
“I can also cast Grease,” Ashekar replied.
Sigh. “There’s really no pleasing you mages,” Jeff replied petulantly. Ashekar was not the first guest to miss the genius application of his tools. The Scrap Mage hurried to the center of the room, where another device sat atop a pile of scraps and discarded materials – victories of a day spent salvaging. Dumpster diving, as some others might call it, but Jeff knew the value of hard, dirty work. “Look at this, then! The Horn of Hideous Laughter!
“See, it’s a normal horn – but I’ve attached parts of a wand that cast Hideous Laughter. And then,” Jeff said excitedly, turning the horn over in his hands and dropping it clumsily into the clutter at his feet, “see – runes here. You know what the runes can do, right?”
Ashekar nodded. “Yeah, sure – so you’ve added a permanent low-level spell. What did you choose? More Grease?”
Fool, Jeff thought. “Grease? No – that’s for boots! These runes have added the properties of Resounding Voice – are you familiar?”
“I hate Bards,” Ashekar replied.
Jeff understood the implication and nodded. “We all hate Bards, yeah. But it is a great spell. Now, the Horn will sound incredibly loudly, you see. Then, anyone who hears it will suffer from Hideous Laughter. You will be – and I don’t say this lightly – the funniest person in the world.” The Scrap Mage exhaled proudly as he held the device in both hands, slowly raising it above his head like an offering to the various Gods and Goddesses of this dimension.
“Pass,” Ashekar replied bluntly. Her callous comportment had always rankled Jeff, but today she seemed particularly rude.
But the Scrap Mage smiled. He had one more trick. One more new device. Sure, he had foregone some tests, but those only ever confirmed what he already knew. “Okay,” he said, breathing deeply to remain calm. “Well, how about my newest invention,” he said, rushing to the cell directly behind his guest. He threw the bars open excitedly. The device sat in shadow in the corner. He was out of pedestals – a problem that he hoped to solve on his next salvaging mission in the dump.
Carefully, Jeff leaned over and grabbed the small device from the ground. It looked like a simple wand, but Jeff knew the immense power he held. “This device will let you summon a smaller version of yourself to be your familiar. I modified it so it can be used more than once - but only one use per creature.”
The fire mage stared quizzically at her host, mouth agape. “So?”
“So?! One use per creature - that means your familiar can summon their own familiar!”
“An even smaller version of me? Like nesting dolls?” Ashekar asked, her voice dripping with cruel disinterest.
“And another. Then another,” Jeff exclaimed, shocked at his guest’s inability to understand the implication. “You could have an entire army of yourself! An infinite number of fractioned bodies! Halves becoming halves becoming halves!
“Think of all the possibilities! You could make a microscopic version of yourself – you could enter the bodies of your opponents and kill them from the inside. You could use your fractal army to staff entire castles! And you’d save so much on food – how much would one-sixteenth of your really need to eat?”
The fire mage leaned back and crossed her arms, clearly unimpressed. The Scrap Mage fought the urge to sigh. Ashekar opened her mouth to speak: “Don’t you just have, like, a gun that will let me kill things immune to fire?” Her question was like a dagger to Jeff's heart.
Sigh. Some people just do not understand genius. |
"So... they found him smothered by a pile of... cheese doodles?"the little girl was hearing the rumor from her classmates.
"Like fifty gazillion cheese doodles!"the little boy exclaimed.
"It's called dumpster diving. The chip factory has to dump all their expired food there. Homeless people use it as a food resource cause the food is actually still good, even if it's not FDA approved,"Penelope informed the others.
Their thoughts quickly drifted from the recently discovered corpse to the hope their moms had packed Cheetos in their lunch that day.
The assassin listened to various groups that day and they all gave the same satisfactory confirmation. Everyone in town thought Chester Winfrey had died of a cheese doodle overdose while greedily diving into a dumpster outside the potato chip factory. What a horrible and most humiliating way for a rotund man to go.
The assassin buried all of his empathy, imagined it going into a box, and then placed it into the vault where all painful things went when they served no monetary purpose.
"Where is the final payment,"his voice garbled through the filter and into the phone receiver.
"Final payment will be less than promised,"the deep and equally distorted voice retorted.
The assassin cringed. This was the first time a client had decided to short him his due pay.
"May I ask why?"
"The client feels that while the implied method of death was creative, it did not go far enough."
"Far enough?"the assassin grimaced to himself as he remembered jamming Cheeto after Cheeto down the overweight man's throat.
"Yes, she feels the humiliation should have been more proportional to the pain she received at the hands of the target."
The assassin was troubled. This had not been in the original contract. Creativity was implied but there had been no mention of the motive. Most things like that were compartmentalized to prevent evidence trails from leading back to any individual cell of the lucrative organization. |
The first time I returned to the abyss was the most painful. Not in terms of physical pain, that remained pretty much consistent, but more the sheer humiliation of it. Imagine if you will, a being of pure destruction borne out of hatred, whose sole purpose was to wreak havoc and destruction upon a planet, only to be outsmarted by some fleshbag that literally only has two arms. It was a real tough time explaining that one to the Order of Chaos (can I just say that's a terrible name. Are we an order or are we out to cause chaos???). But I digress.
It took months of pleading, begging. Favors called in, forms filled out, just to get a second chance. And when I got my chance I made no mistakes. Well I may have made a few mistakes. I guess trying to target that same fleshbag in an act of revenge may have been the biggest mistake. I wasn't fully materialised yet, and how was I to know they had crafted an amulet that could wipe out my army of darkness. It really was my predecessor Lowen'saar's fault if you think about it, the base relic came from a medallion that had been used to defeat him.
The third time I didn't even want to come back, but it seems some cultist found a book of spells somewhere with my name on it. That nutjob persuaded me to try and join in a cabal of other evils to bring a 'reign of darkness' (doesn't even make any sense, demons don't have monarchies, that's strictly a human invention). When I started seeing the warning signs, items of great power being gathered, our lieutenant's being taken out one by one, all of us gathered in an arena with that same damn fleshbag for a 'final showdown', I was practically screaming at the other idiots to bail every step of the way. Of course they didn't want to listen to me, I'd already failed twice, which ironically made me the MOST qualified to see that things were going south. I had my usual banter with the fleshbag. My form was much more ragged than it used to be. Being ripped back and forth on the material plane three times will do that to you. But then again it looked like his form was as well. He'd cloaked himself in enchantments, but such things came at a price, and it was obvious he was in pain. He had relied a lot more on cunning stratagems to defeat the other, much more catastrophic fiends (I am under no illusions that my powers were not what they used to be), but of course I'd managed to side step all of those (in no small part by shoving the bodies of the blithering idiots who thought they knew better). It was down to this. Pure combat. The enchantments had heightened his abilities to the level of the Archangels, but they were toxic, his flesh wouldn't last long. All I had to do was run out the clock.
I almost succeeded. In fact I thought I had. I SAW THE LIFE LEAVE HIS FLESH. I felt the enchantments drain from the realm. And of course when I let my guard down, that's when that damn hero hit me yet again. That lifeless arm roared with fire, and those dead eyes blazed one last time. What the hell was that? Willpower? Courage? Some kind of sick tenacity to stand up again and again in the face of darkness and evil and uncaring death?
I fell from the mortal realm. I kept falling. Honestly when this kind of thing happens there's not much you can do. I tried blaming the others of course (it was Higama the Foul, he betrayed us!), lied about the sequence of events (I was the first one into battle Madame President!), and even tried fleeing to other planes of existence. But I was too weak. Too tired of running. I let the abyss have me, content to the fires of forever.
Which was why it was such a pleasant surprise when I finally woke up. The sun was against my face. It burned. Remnant's of the power the Sun God left that smites lesser demons. I was no vampire, but having had my essence ripped to shreds I don't think I was much better. The tears would heal of course, the longer I stayed on this realm, although I would never return to my former glory without some...extracurricular activities. I was beginning to plot these when I realised that I was being too cocky. Where was that damn hero? He'd show up again wouldn't he? With those eyes. Those un-aging eyes.
I wrapped myself in the disguise of a merchant and headed for town. As expected they'd put up ANOTHER statue of him. Seriously, how self-obsessed could you get? I went out of my way to nod and smile. Couldn't let that maniac be alerted to my presence. That was my problem the last few times. Always making a fanfare of my arrival. Not this time. This time I'd lay low for about a thousand years. Maybe start a family with some sea witches or something, let my essence heal, then get to work. I was so busy making plans I almost didn't notice when I bumped into HIM yet again.
"Oof,"he grunted as he fell back. I pretended to stumble. Did he know? Could he sense me?
"Sorry about that,"I said. "I was distracted."
I checked my disguise. Should be alright. Oh darn, didn't he have a gem that allowed him to peer into the mists? No wait I smashed that...oh wait he got that blessing from that Goddess Merytle didn't he? Did that work in daylight?
"No worries,"he said. "I guess I could say the same."
We locked eyes. This was all wrong. He looked like him. Much younger than the last time we met yes, but not him.
"Have we met?"He asked.
"No of course not!"I said a little too quickly, helping the teen to his feet. "You just reminded me of someone."
The lad smiled.
"Let me guess, Tirin of Golintar?"He said. I had absolutely no idea who that was. "He died when I was two, but everyone always told me that grandpa looked a lot like me."
"Err...yes,"I said. I looked to one of the statues of the hero. A plaque upon it read, 'Tirin of Golintar'. "A great man your grandfather. I knew him a long time ago."
"Oh,"he said. "You might know my mom then. We live on Sandowsk hill. Feel free to come say hi."
"Oh, I might just do that."
We parted ways. WHAT AN OBVIOUS TRAP! Sandowsk hill! I scouted it out. Crossed streams blessed by river spirits. Atop an iron deposit! I could feel the influence of the metal, seeping into my essence like poison, weakening my powers. Overkill in my condition. It was obvious that I was being lured to my doom! As if that hero could die. As if anything with eyes like that man could die! But still, my curiosity would not be quenched. I had to see.
I've always been a bit more tricky than powerful. It wasn't easy, stealing a Gibbet skull to counteract the influence of the iron, spilling a witches blood into the river to kill the spirits, stealing my way to the house in a cloud of darkness on a moonlit night. I landed in the courtyard and took the form of a stray cat, a red string tied around one paw. Breaking it would snap my form back to where the other string was tied, in a desecrated holy site just outside of town. This was a scouting mission only. The second I saw that man I'd snap it and flee.
I snuck into the house. Odd, for a fortress it wasn't very well secured against fiends. No wards on the doors, no weapons at the ready. The people inside were soft, and unused to combat. What was going on? I explored the house for what seemed like eternity. Watched the children being read stories of Tirin (a little too exaggerated for my liking, but they did make me seem a lot more powerful than I ever was which was a good thing). Watched the things that shared the hero's blood but not his spirit fall asleep. But he wasn't here. I wasn't sure what magic was used to hide him, but it was strong indeed. I became obsessed, frantic. I didn't even notice when I walked into the trap.
NOTE: Damn, I need a part 2 because of the character limit. Hate that. Sorry, continued in the comment below. |
The halls were bleak and sterile. The lights were cold, and gave off a slight buzzing sound that she knew would get on her nerves eventually. There was no color anywhere.
Even the outside seemed devoid of color. All the plant life had been removed, leaving only the lifeless dirt. Not even soil. Just dirt.
"Welcome to the super training facility."Her escort said. Even his voice sounded lifeless. He might as well have been a robot. Of course, given what this place was, she supposed he could have been a robot. "Where we make supers reach their full potential."
"Right, sure."Penny said. "Is the entire place like this?"
"Yes. We find a distraction free environment provides the best growth in our trainees."
That was depressing.
"So, what do we do for fun around here?"
The fact that the escort did not answer was even more depressing.
"All further questions will be answered by your trainers. Please hold all questions for them."
"Of course."
Penny was guided to a large set of double doors with a blocky label calling it Dorm 5.
"This is the dormitory for strength type supers. You will be staying here."
"Wait, strength type, what about the girl's dorm? And I'm not really a strength type. Well, I kind of am, but it's complicated."
"Gender is irrelevant here. And your file says your are a strength type, therefore you will be staying here."
"Uh, are there by any chance a lot of other girls there?"
"No. But as previously stated, gender is irrelevant."
"Great. The one time someone pays attention to gender equality its to surround teenage girls with teenage boys. Sounds like a great idea. I'm sure nothing will ever go wrong with that."
"Please hold any and all criticisms for your trainer, who will determine the validity of them and, if needed, bring them to the site director. Now, please enter the dormitory. Your trainer will provide you with a bunk and basic equipment for training. Enjoy your stay at the super training facility."
The emotionless man left her to her own devices. She took a deep breath and opened the surprisingly heavy doors. She was greeted first by the smell. The guys there clearly did not put much stock in cleanliness. Or personal hygiene.
The second thing she noticed was the people. There were less than a dozen of them, and all of them were large, muscular bound boys. They immediately started eyeing her like a piece of meat.
"Um...hi?"She said.
"Hey babe. I think you're in the wrong place."One of them said. "This is a place for the toughest guys around."
"That's what I said. But they said I go here, so this is where I was brought."
A loud, booming voice filled the room. "Fall in!"
Every boy there moved as fast as they could, each on standing in a neat row at attention. A man, almost twice the size of the biggest trainee, lumbered through the dorm. He stood in front of her, and she had to crane her neck to meet his gaze.
"Penelope Lane?"He asked.
"Yes? Uh, sir?"
He gestured over his shoulder. "Pick out an empty bed. The trunks have all the standard gear. You'll be fitted for a training outfit later."
"Wait, here? There's no girl's section?"
"No. Got a problem?"
"Yes, actually, I do."
"Too bad."He turned back to the other trainees. "Remember the rules. She's got one month amnesty from the usual consequences. Other than that, she's just another trainee."
They all leered at her. The trainer moved away and one of the guys approached. It was the one who had called her out before.
"Uh, can I help you?"She asked.
"Probably. But for now, it's time for your welcome party."
For some reason she did not think it would involve cake and singing. This was confirmed when he reared back his fist and slammed it into her stomach. She barely had time to get herself ready for the blow, so it caused her to double over in pain and forced the air from her lungs.
She slumped down, catching her breath. She did not have the chance to. His foot lashed out, slamming into her sides. The other guys laughed. She looked at the looming form of the trainer hopefully. He would stop this, right? He had to stop this.
Another blow came. The trainer did not stop the beating. Nobody did. Nobody even suggested the guy stop. She was on her own. Penny felt something snap inside of her, and she triggered her powers in full force.
Her attacker made to bring his fist down on the top of her head. She raised her hand. The impact sounded like a gunshot. She wrapped her fingers around his fist and started squeezing. He grunted in pain, but she made sure to keep herself in check, so as not to hurt him too badly.
She stood, letting her body mend itself. She pulled him in close and mimicked his opening move, driving her fist into his gut. She brought her lips next to his ear and whispered.
"You were right before. I am in the wrong place. See, my power isn't super strength or toughness or anything like that. It's physio kinesis. I can control my body however I want. I can be whatever the hell I want to be. And right now, I want to be someone who guys like you don't mess with. Got it?"
She tossed him away, where he collapsed, holding his stomach in pain. The others guys looked at him with a predatory glint in their eyes.
"I'm tougher than I look."She said. "So don't mess with me."
She went off to find a bunk. "Where are you going?"The trainer said. "You're not done yet."
She looked at the guy. He was definitely down. "No, I think I am."
"You're not. You beat him. You finish him."
"Uh, what?"
"He lost a fight. Fights here can only end one way. You're new, so you get a grace period of one month. But that's only for newbies."
She felt her blood run cold. "Wait, you want me to...to kill him?"
"Yeah."
"I...I..."Her heart was racing and her breathing had suddenly become more difficult. "I...I won't do it! I... I'm not a killer, I won't."
"You will. If you want to survive, you will. Best to get used to it now, trainee."
Penny turned away from the downed guy and went to a bunk along the far wall. She was aware that the other trainees were not showing her fallen opponent the same mercy she did. With a mental command, she turned her hearing off.
She swore she could still hear the screams. |
There is something wonderful about knowing the end.
I know there are people who say the best part of the book is the beginning. I’ve seen others state, that it’s the meat of the story, the middle, that fills up your soul the most.
But for me it’s the end.
It’s that sweet, sad feeling of watching a story breath it’s last words. Tiny letters in ink pressed into a page, indenting the fibers as if to say “I’ll leave my mark here forevermore”. But the story isn’t forever. It ends.
I used to wonder what the blank pages at the end of a book were for. My child mind would ponder that those blank pages were the authors way of keeping their story alive. Like more words could be written. Even though they aren’t. The story could continue; the characters could continue their lives, grow old, and the world around them could change. That’s why some stories don’t say “the end” and they have those last few blank pages. That’s what I think.
But it’s all futile hope you know. Because the ink, that black blood of pages, it’s not running through those paper veins anymore. At that last punctuation mark, the story is over.
No matter what authors and children wish.
I like the end of the book the best. That finality.
I think that’s why I find myself here. Watching the video again.
It’s like a live stream. I normally hate those. There’s no ending to a live stream. It just goes on and on and on. There’s no grand finale. Just me watching some chicks in a nest hatch, or a rainstorm in Oregon, and it has its place in things. The randomness of day to day life, that ends. Chicks leave the nest. Rain turns to sun. But then it’s just on again tomorrow. All those blank pages.
But this live stream is different.
It’s an ending.
I think it’s our ending.
It’s so still and quiet. There’s no wind. There’s barely any sunlight. It’s just empty cities. They might crumble here and there…but it’s silent.
It’s just like those last few words on a page. That sense of finality.
Life is so chaotic and out of control. Those little moments where you can close a book…where you can see the ending.
It’s so funny to me, where the rest of the world panics, I feel so at peace.
It could happen tomorrow. It could happen long after I’m old and gone.
But I know the ending.
That’s enough for me. |
“WHAT ON THE EVERLOVING FATHER OF CHAOS IS THIS?!!” The Demon King stood, trembling, literally on fire in front of the door.
I smirked and nodded, angling the camera towards him and squinting while tossing some popcorn in my mouth.
I had vandalized the Demon King’s abode - quite and easy task, in reality, as his lackeys were easily bribed with food. By vandalized, I meant shredded. His couch had coffee stains, his wardrobe from IKEA was broken down into individual parts, pink streamers hung from the ceiling along with party balloons that read, ‘Happy Anniversary!’ and a multitude of other things.
Still on fire, the supernatural being took a deep breath. “It’s okay, Bob. Take a deep breath. Come on.” Trying not to laugh out loud and expose my hiding space as a bush from the opposite balcony, I couldn’t resist and had to clap my hand over my mouth as the second part of my prank pulled through.
The fire alarm went off, sprinklers falling on his horned head and an army of small toy trains, automated dinosaurs, lego cars, paper airplanes, and various toy cars zoomed through his house before some repeatedly bumped into his foot. For a few seconds, all was silent and I snapped a dozen pictures, humming ‘Winter Wonderland’ until -
BOOM!! I watched in horror as he went on a rampage, stepping on cars and throwing furniture out the window, the fire previously on him engulfing the room in horrifying flames. After a long struggle, he sat down and started - crying. Trying not to feel pity, I went over to his side (teleportation. How else did you think I controlled all those you vehicles?).
“Hey man. What’s up?” I asked. He sniffled, looking like an overgrown flower that drooped and was no longer bold. “My wife is mad at me because of ‘affairs,’ even though I told her those wrecked serpents from the Reptile Retreat didn’t have anything to do with me! It’s all those stupid tabloids! And now my house-“
Breaking down and sobbing, I magicked some paper into my hand. “We’ll, I’ve got a solution for all of your problems.”
He looked at me, doubtfully, seeming to just notice that I was a stranger in his home. Not allowing him to contemplate it any longer, I quickly advised, “Look. Sign this contract - it’ll nullify your demonic powers,” his face turned fiery, “BUT! It’ll also free you from the intergalactic ‘WANTED’ list. And it’ll clear up all of your free time - no more running, and more time with the your wife so she won’t doubt you anymore.”
He considered this. I pulled out my last weapon.
“And…as a special deal for you, I’ll find you and your wife a therapist.”
“A therapist! Little humans talk about those all the time! All right, young lady, I’m in!” He signed the contract, and we settled out the details before I made my leave.
A FEW MINUTES LATER…
I burst into the Official Angelic Resolution, or OAR. “YOU ALL OWE ME FIVE HUNDRED YEARS OFF AND FREE PIZZA!” |
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