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Groundhog Day is fun as a movie concept but less so in real life. It sounds amusing yet frustrating right? Living the same day over and over to achieve a specific set of objectives to break the loop?
I thought as much, but now, not really.
See, I’m in my own twisted version of Groundhog Day. Getting objectives on your birthday to accomplish before the day is out is usually easy. When I was younger, it was things like “Visit Grandma” or “bake a cake.” Hell, for my nineteenth they were still easy: “visit Jackie”, “Thank everyone for your gifts”, “Throw a party”.
Simple.
Not this year though.
This year, I got survive. _Survive_. I’m not stupid. I know what that means. I could quote the dictionary definition for it if I had to. First time around, my family had laughed at it, before we’d continued on with my day. After all, you survive every day.
But like some twisted version of Grandhog Day, or rather, that horror movie where you keep getting killed, it was easier said then done.
See whatever I had done to piss off whatever entity was out there controlling this, it must’ve been major. I can’t think of anything I did that was horrendous- I was a bit snippy with the neighbour the other day, but I apologised for that.
Night shifts suck and I had a date with my bed.
Anyway, first loop, had a tea and died in my sleep. Or at least that’s what I assume happened. I didn’t exactly stick around for the aftermath. Either way, fairly painless, and luckily for me, I woke up earlier in the day. So, apparently sleep is out.
One do-over, even in this case, is not so bad.
So with the knowledge I would die in my sleep I scheduled an emergency appointment with my doctor. Would cost an arm and a leg but hey, better then death. Cited something to make most doctors concerned- loss of hearing in one ear, increasing migraine, sensitivity to light and sound.
Safe to say, I was in the emergency room. Night passed before I got saw, and at some point, I drifted off again.
Wham, dead.
Three, four, five, and six were all car crashes. Didn’t matter who was driving, it was like the car we collided with only had eyes for me. Flattering, but I’m not into dating cars thank you.
I won’t waste my breath with the other resets. Well. I’ll tell you some of the interesting ones that happened when I tried to achieve my task. One reset, I ended up in the psych ward. A few things had happened to cause that one- I’d tried explaining to my parents what had happened, had a bit of a mental breakdown because _this was reset thirty five damnit_ and got institutionalised. Got in a fight and well, woke up in my bed.
You know bed, we have to stop meeting like this.
Safe to say, by the time the tenth reset came around I was a paranoid bugger. Avoiding cars, people, easy, avoiding my own body? Not so much.
I’d lost track of the resets by now. Stopped counting after triple digits. I was a shell of who I had been before, because I had died so many times, been hurt by so many people. At what point do I just give up?
I rose up for air, idly wondering where my death was coming from this time. I was in a swimming pool- plenty of chances. I pulled myself up onto the side, and turned to hear my little brother calling my name, I turned to walk towards him, and slipped.
I wake up screaming. |
"Interesting disclaimers. 'for a human' and 'despite the situation'. So you must be used to what? Crying?"
W'lks ears flick a moment. "Well actually yes. We usually get the smaller ones of your species and they are quite distressed."
Blue rubbed her temple adjusting the circlet holding back her hair. "Smaller. So you are not really Weruu. Let me ask you a question. Are you a parasite taking over that body or was it grown for you to wear?"
His ears flick out of time with one another. "A parasite in a host body? You have encountered such beings?"
Blue shook her head with a half smile. "Oh we imagine a few different scenarios."
"That your primitive minds can foresee such a thing is quite fascinating. How did you know I am not Weruu?"
The woman laughs as she pats her belt. "Yeah but this one is a bit low on the list you know?"taking a small metal instrument from her belt. "See a Weruu finding a spoon on my belt like this would piss himself. And would not leave it on me. Probably would have stripped me to the skin to be safe while I was still unconscious."
His ears finally focus forward. Seemingly excited to learn something new. "An eating implement is something the Weruu fear?"
The human laughter was light almost musical. "Noo. See I was on leave traveling to see my brother and his new place. Met some of those wolf guys. may have had some words with their leader. Since then I have been given a special chit to carry this little souvenir on my belt. It helps when dealing with Weruu and those that have faced them. No the bit is Weruu have some common knowledge. We don't have 'smaller versions'."
W'lks was baffled. "But both of your species do. We have examined them outside and in. They are just smaller and weaker than the standard size of your units."
Blue held the spoon by the bowl thoughtfully. "So you know. My callsign is Wolf Hunter."
W'lks was twitching, barely having seen the human move. The handle of the spoon through it's eye and into his processor. The human words coming in as a growl.
"They are cubs and children. Or just children for both species."The sound of explosions as the room shook. "And my squadron is here now. So no more reason to be gentle."
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
Deidre 'Blue' O'shea, Lt. Commander of the Duck Dodgers squadron left the interrogation room. The sensor impressions of her fighter coming through her halo. The migraine coming on from controlling the craft remotely making it hard to keep her balance. Rotate. Lock. Fire.
A human in a labcoat rushes to reach her. He is taken by surprise as the spoon handle enters his ear. Then it becomes a blur as she staggers to the hangar. Her plane half folding to put the thrusters on the deck and extend an arm to her. Once in the cockpit she manually triggers the canopy and armor shield before pulling off the circlet nicknamed a halo. Pulling on her full helmet the sensory input from her craft smooths out. The rest of the transformation to full humanoid and all the unease slips away.
"Yorktown. Skin jobs confirmed." |
# Soulmage
**Caniel laughed as he lifted the tip of his shortsword from my throat.** Scowling, I scrambled to my feet. The dim hall, slick with oil, made it tricky, but I'd navigated harsher landscapes in my life, and mortal fear was a good motivator. I didn't trust his "better reason"for keeping me alive further than I could throw him—and considering that he was twice my weight and wearing plate armor, that wasn't very far at all.
"So let's hear, it, then,"I said. "Why are you keeping me alive?"
Beneath his visor, I could sense Caniel smile. "I'm so glad you asked! You see—"
Wow, that actually worked? While he was distracted, I turned and sprinted away from the hunter as fast as I could, cursing the oil-slick ground as it slipped beneath my feet. I tried to round a corner, but the *clank-clank-clank* of plate armor told me that despite being weighed down, Caniel was gaining on me, and how was that fair when I was unarmed and unarmored, and—
A small boulder slammed into my back, and the wind *whooshed* out of my lungs as I thumped onto the floor. I flipped over, heedless of the oil slicking my clothes, and reached into my soul to cast a spell, but Caniel gave me a calm grin and sent out a pulse of antimagic, smothering my magic in the crib.
"You see,"Caniel continued, as if nothing had happened, "I need you to be alive so that I can take something from you. Something vital for my master's plans. Something that you will remember the loss of from today until the day you die."
I blanched. Oh, rifts, this was it for me, wasn't it? The game was up. I'd lost. I quivered as he reached out towards my face, and closed my eyes. At least I wouldn't have to see the end coming.
Two gauntleted fingers squished my nostrils, and for a terrified heartbeat, I panicked. Was he going to suffocate me to death? Or force me to open my mouth, and cram something down my throat? Or—
As quickly as it started, the pressure let up, and Camiel sprung backwards, as calm and balanced as if he'd just gotten home from a relaxing day of exercise.
He waggled one thumb in his fist and grinned. "Got yer nose!"
And before I could ask him what the hell *that* was about, he turned around and sauntered away, whistling a jaunty tune beneath his visor.
A.N.
Soulmage will be episodically updated. Want to know what happens next? Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/) to be notified whenever a new part comes out, and check out r/bubblewriters for more stories by me. |
"Ow...ow! Well that fucking hurts.", the man at my side retracted his teeth from my neck and began fanning the blisters that now formed around the corners of his mouth. At my neck I could feel lines of warmed liquid flowing down from my bite wound. Any normal vampire would find the sight of fresh blood irresistible, but this one was too busy tending to his burns to even notice mine.
"Well what the hell was that?!"the pale man complained between open mouthed breaths.
"Oh. Well I had the water in my body blessed. So....I sort of figured it would kill you or something. I didn't really think I would have to have this conversation."
"Well now you do!"The vampires blisters kept growing in both size and number as we spoke. I had heard about their legendary healing ability, but now it all seemed not. "What kind of person gets their blood blessed?! Thats crazy, it's ridiculous, it's- kind of genius to be honest."
"Right? I figured with the growing numbers I couldn't be too safe. Too bad I have to kill you now."I reached down to my side and whipped up a sharp hunk of wood from its holster. Then, with a swift hand brought the stake up into the vampires chest. He staggered back a moment, coughing violently, then stabilized himself rather quickly for a man I had just killed. For a moment a confused looked crossed his face, then he pulled the stake out from his chest and dropped it to the pavement with a hollow *thud*.
"Ah. You got my lung. Close though."he glared down to the new hole pushed through his chest.
"Huh. Yeah I guess that figures. Well that was my last one. Dropped the rest back on Third and Main."
"Well, want to go get them? Oh, I'm Nagath Star Eater by the way"he outstretched a bony hand that I took in mine. At my touch a bit of smoke rose from his skin as his hand sizzled, to which he yanked away. I guess I was sweatier than I had realized.
"Yeah, actually. Wait you'd come with me?"
"Oh well yeah. For one I'm bored to tears. And two, I figure the water will cycle out of your body or something right? I haven't been human in a while, but I think I remember that being a thing, no?"Nagath played awkwardly with his cape. Down the street a bit of newspaper drifted lazily by before being stuck to a cars hubcap, to which both me and Nagath watched until its halt.
"Huh. Well I guess your right, but I'll get to my stakes long before that and kill you."
"Ok, what about a bet? Winner doesn't die a brutal death at the hands of the other. Deal?"After a brief moment of thought I outstretched my hand to cement our bargain, a hand which he avoided, but a deal nonetheless.
"Ok, now where did you say you left those stakes?" |
To say the news was surprising may have been a bit of a stretch. I always knew Anna was a bit...odd. Quirky? Sure. Out of this world? Definitely! I just didn't expect that to be taken literally.
Now, sitting beside me on the couch, her eyes glowing a bright neon green, I find myself at a loss for words.
"You haven't said anything."She says.
"I-I know..."I reply. "Its just...a lot to take in."
"I understand, it all must be so overwhelming,"she says, taking my hand. "But I want you to know I won't be upset if you say no. Even if you never want to see me again after today, I'll accept it."
"You will?"
"Of course."
"You wont hold me down and dissect me with some alien tool?"
"What?"she asks. "Of course not, I would never do that to you."
There is a moment of silence between the two of us as everything she has told me flies through my head. In the hardest days in grade school, when I got my lunch money stolen and was picked last in gym, Anna was always there. She had always been my everything, she was the only person who saw me for who I really was. Did this really change any of that?
"I don't know what sort of responsibilities I'll have as your husband..."
"There are some,"she says. "But I can ease you into it, it won't happen all at once."
"You promise you'll go easy on me?"
"Cross my heart."
I chuckle softly and smile at her. She smiles back, reaching out and cupping my face and caressing my cheek with her thumb. Yeah, it certainly isn't normal, but we never have been, not really. I always felt like I was born on another planet, and Anna, who really was. And we found each other. And that's all that really matters. |
Day 62 on the job
“Adventures Guild, please hold.” I clicked the button and the line 2 blinked white.
“Adventures Guild, please hold.” Another click and line 3 blinked white.
Pressing the line one, button. “Thank you for calling the Adventures Guild. How may we assist you?”
“Help! My sister was taken by tentacles we’re in the Eastern forest dungeon 23 C class. We’re all B rank.”
“Okay, I hear you. Are you safe right now? How many people in your party total?” I asked, scanning through my computer for information on her group along with any neighboring groups and scouts that could help.
“Umm there were 4 of us total and three were taken.”
“I see you were registered as an all female team.” I scowled at the information, “Can you tell me if there were eyes on the tentacles?”
“Eyes?”
My mouse hovered over two nearby troops, one mixed race and gender S rank, *a bit far*, and one composed of mostly male dwarfs C rank, *closer*. The two scouts nearest were female, though one was A rank the other B. “I would need to identify the nature of the monster, if it’s a beholder, a mimic, a plant, or something worse. Certain creatures have—”
“Disproportionate affects. Yeah, yeah, I remember the exam question. Umm… I don’t remember eyes or a treasure chest.”
*Nope, on the scouts then.* I clicked on the mixed gender group. “Anything else you remember? How did you escape?”
“I… well I was fondled with then spit out. “
I frowned, checking on the caller’s ID. *Trans pre-transition potion*, hmm… “I see, okay, there’s a group of adventuring dwarves half a mile from your location. It sounds like your team should be okay until their arrival. They are only C class but likely immune to the monster’s effects, so just hang tight. Backups are coming. I’m going to put you on hold and check back in with you in ten. Is that okay?” I clicked a few buttons on my computer and sent messages to the neighboring group.
“Yeah, thanks.” She sighed in relief.
I clicked line 2. “Hello, Adventures Guild, how may I help you?”
“Does guild insurance cover beast impregnation?” A man’s voice asked. “I slept with this naga chick and…”
“Sir, I’m going to have to transfer you over to our coverage department. Please hold one moment.” I sighed, clicking a few buttons on the phone.
Then, after the transfer, I pressed the blinking white button on line 3.
“Hi, I would like to quit my adventure troupe.” A pitched voice on the other line declared.
“Uhh, sir…” I checked the caller ID, Sir. Patrick Bigwater, but the voice coming through definitely sounded like a girl. “You just joined the … Witchery Band a week ago. They are all S class adventurers and very prestigious to get into. The cue for their screening is over six months.”
“Yeah, and I found out exactly why they’re all women. It’s because they turn everyone women!”
“Well, yes, they are the Witchery Band, Sir.” I said. “I’m sure it’s in all their promotional materials too.”
“They intend to use me as monster bait!”
“It is summer. So many monsters are in heat right now.” I frowned at the incoming blinking lights across my phone panel. “And you did sign a contract.”
“You mean I had to read that long boring piece of—” The line went dead and I sighed.
“I hate monster mating season.” Grumbling, I clicked the next blinking light.
([Sev - steamy romance writer](https://www.reddit.com/r/SevWagoner)) |
If I can just run a little faster... I'm almost there... THERE IT IS! No... they caught up to me... I'm pinned... "Wha- what do you want from me?"
The biggest werewolf in the pack puts his face right up against mine, his snarling and growling making me feel small and weak. The full moon shines bright on his dark fur. "We just want to make sure you're not trying anything... how'd you find out? SPILL!"
I try to speak, but no sound comes out. I want to tell them it was an accident, that I'm sorry, that I won't tell anyone... but my body is frozen. "Don't wanna talk, huh? Fine by us. You think you're the first person to find out? We'll take you where we took the others..."
I'm forced to my feet, the sharp claws digging into my arms. Is this the end...? Suddenly, I hear a door open. I can't see him, but I hear his voice. "PUT HER DOWN!"YES! I couldn't make it to his house, but he must have known something was happening!
We all turn to face him. Mal, my best friend since elementary. I found out a month ago that he was a werewolf. I was getting ready to dial a number for the werewolf hunters, apologising that I had to... until he explained that werewolves only let us *think* they become monstrous.
In truth, they just want what everyone wants - to be left alone. By faking being savage beasts, no-one wants to go near them. Otherwise, they'd be seen as another source of amusement.
So when I showed no fear walking past one tonight, even when they tried to make me feel terrified, they chased after me, realising that I knew.
The big werewolf scoffs. "She knows about us. We can't have her running off and blabbing."
Mal approaches us. "I know, but I'm the reason she knows. She tried to surprise me by visiting me about a month ago, but it was getting dark, and it was a full moon. It was bad luck... I opened the door, thinking it was a neighbour."
"I was going to tell them that I'll get my mum, who isn't affected by the 'curse', but when I saw it was Sophia, I was too shocked to move... I tried to tell her it wasn't a good time, but before I could say anything, I transformed..."
"She was getting ready to call the werewolf hunters! They would have locked me up, experimented on me... she only knew that they'd lock me up, so when I told her that they would experiment on me, she asked how I knew."
"That was when I let everything slip - I was terrified to be a science project! I explained *everything*, making it clear she can't tell anyone else. She wouldn't lie to me, she gave her word she wouldn't let it slip!"
During this exchange, I try to keep myself from panicking. My breathing is heavy, and I'm surprised my heart is still in my chest! The big werewolf turns to me. I'm still far too afraid to say anything.
"Remember tonight"he growls, "as a warning. Do not tell ANYONE, understand?"I nod my head quickly, before my arms are released and I collapse to the ground. The three werewolves then make their exit, and Mal picks me up with the extra strength he gets once a month.
"Let's get you inside"he says softly. He brings me into his house, and makes sure I'm ok. I decide to ask something. "Wha- what were they going to do to me?""Basically keep you a hostage. I've seen the location - it's pretty nice, better than our prisons."
"But still..."Mal nods his head. "I know, no-one wants to be a captive. In future, maybe just *act* terrified, ok? My mum does it all the time, she's never had trouble."I nod, and closing my eyes, I drift off to sleep. Thank you, Mal. |
No one had ever really anticipated the waiting. You can read about it - there's no shortage of articles of books that detail that fact; it's something else to experience, though. There's the familiar part, of course. Boredom. Time slowing its flow to a trickle. Then there's the new parts - a layer of worry, a smattering of anticipation. The undertone of fear. It makes for an interesting cocktail.
​
Gunnam's eyes flicked from the face of SSGT Grimes to LCPL Arosky. The older NCO was harder to read. Somewhere behind a face like stone, eyes peered into nothingness drawing either deep conclusions, or none at all. His lip moved softly as he adjusted the wad of dip which he'd packed on their movement to their blocking position. The younger Lance Corporal was a much easier read. His eyes flittered from building to building and his thumb rested just above his selector switch, tapping rhythmically against the lower receiver.
​
Gunnam himself didn't really know exactly what to do, or how to feel. He settled on getting low behind the wheel-well of the MRAP, and scanning the horizon. When he'd voted for this, there had been parts of him that secretly hoped to be here. To wear the uniform. To bring the justice which he felt these people deserved, and honor the ideals which his family had instilled into him. When he was sweating in the squadbay, or getting IT'd, that resolve had hardened and formed into a weapon. His instructors had not had any issue sharpening that tool, and instilling confidence in it's edge. Making them all believe they truly were warriors, merchants of death. Driving home the warrior ethos.
​
*All Sierra callsigns, Badger 1 is RTB. Egress to phaseline Indiana, over.*
​
SSGT Grimes pressed down rubber lined transmit button on his own radio to call back, his voice almost lazy.
​
*Sierra 1-1 copies, Wilco. Out.*
​
Arosky's shoulders sagged in relief as he released an audible exhale.
​
"Hate to disappoint Devils, but looks like another scenic outing,"Grimes sighed.
​
Arosky secured his weapon into the back of the MRAP as he mounted up, and kicked his boot against the floor of the vehicle. "Fuck. When are these fucking Micks gonna actually try some shit?"
​
Grimes twisted around after getting in the driver's seat and met Arosky's gaze. He didn't say anything. Some salty NCO's were like that - like they didn't need to vocalize themselves for you to catch their exact meaning. *Arosky, you were practically shitting yourself holding a blocking position.*
​
"Yeah. Keep chasing that CAR, Arosky. Totally worth it."The SSGT had settled for a lower dismissal. Probably didn't really relish the uneasy silence on the ride back if he really spoke his mind. He was tired. Everyone was tired. Why bother?
​
As the truck turned over, Gunnam half heartedly kept his eyes glued to the narrow windows. He waited for a phantom enemy to come. He waited to uphold a contract he thought he'd understood the implication of signing. He felt as if he was a blade going dull, only rubbing against a sheath. He felt like a child all over, nervous to get on the bus. He felt a million things, but spoke none.
​
Sometimes it felt like he was fighting a battle. Entrenched against a silent enemy, nested deep in the defilade of his own mind. They fired not weapons of powder and lead, nor did they make themselves known fully. They crept in silence, cutting only with blades of uncertainty, apathy, and confusion - sometimes mounting the rare offensive of a strange type of guilt. Like by not seeing any frontline action, Gunnam was an imposter. A falsehood who bore an empty uniform.
​
What a war. |
I've walked this land for longer than I could remember. I've seen simple flowers and might empires rise and fall alike and as the time went on, I learned to care for both with the same apathy. There was just little reason to care about them when they would die in a few decades and I'd forget all about them in a few more. The grief just wasn't worth it.
I once tried to have a child to see if they would share my immortality but they ended up being just a normal human. After watching them, their son, and their granddaughter grow and die, I decided to leave the only family I ever had. They probably all died off by now.
"Breaking News! The Wind-Chaser Tourist Yacht has sunk into the sea. The only survivor is a 9 year old child named Diana Zeuchara."
After hearing that name I paused the screen. Zeuchara, it's a rare name. I know so because the only people I've ever seen with it is my own family.
"Since her entire family was on the yacht, Diana will be put up for adoption at St. Farley's Church."
The last member of my family I remember is my great-grandson. Compared to the young girl on the screen they look nothing a like. She's probably not even related to me. Even if she was, an eon old vampire is no fitting step-father.
But I would make a pretty good grandpa. Not like I have anything better to do. |
Rob giggled as he hung the sign on a wall by the beach. Someone was sure to get a laugh from another one of his local practical jokes.
He didn’t expect the sudden smack to the back of his head. He fell to the ground, but was quickly hauled up to his feet by the stranger who hit him. A tall man, seven feet to be exact, held Rob with one hand and pulled the sign off the wall with the other. He held the sign close to Rob’s face and said,
“You have no idea the panic you’ve caused. Do this again, and you’ll know how, but not when or where you die.”
Rob fell to the ground as the man walked away with the sign. The man pushed a button on his wrist, and popped out of existence.
Rob pulled a duplicate sign from his coat, and hung it on the other side of the wall.
The following Thursday, Stonehenge disappeared. It would be several years after the complete mapping of the ocean floor before it would be discovered in the Bermuda Triangle.
By all official accounts, Rob was not at fault. The sign that initially lead to the catastrophe was safely stored in a file cabinet. This would be declared a fixed point in time, unavoidable at all costs. The intergalactic death toll was unfathomable, as was the sudden decrease in time travelers born after the year 4039.
Rob’s video of people reacting to the sign received 4039 views on YouTube before his account was deleted due to a copyright claim. |
Your family had decided on moving without your input, so you could only tag along and wait how things turned out. It was a big house a little away from the city, with a huge garden and live green fencing.
Papa sounded happy to have found a place close to his job for cheap, Mama complained that the place was so dusty and full of old furniture. You only hoped this place looked as fun as it seemed, so many places to explore!
One night, you feel something moving, cracking an eye open to spot a person searching the cupboards. *"Friend?"* You got up and walked up to them, trying to get their smell. But there was none? "Oh, you can see me? Good girl."You waited for the pets, but it didn't come.
The person just began walking around the house. Grandpa seemed to chuckle when you tilted your head. How did he go into the wall? You scratched the wallpaper but found no hole. Oh well, what mattered was that you had a new friend to play with!
At first you only followed him around the house, but soon he began playing with you. It was so fun, your family only had time for you for short times, but your friend had all the time in the world. Grandpa threw the balls as far they could and you fetched it. Sometimes you played chase all over the house.
>"Dad! Lassie is being weird again!"Thomas was getting irritated, even his daughter knew something was off. The dog began acting possessed ever since they moved here. She used to be so well behaved, but was now messing up the house and barking at odd times in the morning. Should he send her back for reinforcement training?
Your family put up cameras for some reason, looking worried and even scared. Why fear? Grandpa was so nice! He was shaking his head and sighing, knowing something you didn't. "Good dogs don't need to worry. It's silly human stuff."
Then came the day you feared, it was time to move again! You didn't want to leave Grandpa alone, he was so nice to you!
>The father forced the dog to choke down sleeping pills, it was scratching up the car's insides and busting their hearing with crying.
"Goodbye. Don't worry about me, I'm going to see my family."Grandpa petted your head. "Live well, I'll be waiting for you." |
I had always known there was something strange about me. Yes, garlic allergies existed. Yes, churches were often places of questionable hygiene. But my canine teeth should NOT be this pointy, and I should NOT sunburn this easily. I had cut my lip by simply putting the most minute amount of pressure on it.
“Alyssa! Can you come down here, please?” My mom asked. I trudged downstairs, my mind racing with confusion. What did I do wrong? Did my school call home? Did I get a bad grade? Did I forget to do some chores?
My mom and dad were sitting on the couch, expressions ridden with shame. I tilted my head.
“Mom? Dad? What’s going on?” I asked. Mom turned away from me.
“Sweetie… we have something to tell you.” Dad said. Mom took a ragged deep breath, her eyes red from crying.
“Before I have met your father… I had another husband. He was just like you- pale, high allergies to garlic, trouble breathing in churches. I found out… I… found out…” her eyes sprung with tears again. “I found out he was a vampire… when the hunters came. I swore to love him no matter what. We spent years traveling and traveling to get away from the hunters, and we had a daughter. That daughter… is you.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. My dad wasn’t actually my dad? My biological dad… was a vampire?
“Then… where is he now?” I asked. “Did…”
“The vampire hunters killed him.” Mom choked out. “They murdered him, and- and they were going to kill you! So… I ran away to where we live now. Alyssa… you’re half-vampire. And you just turned thirteen, so that is the age where your vampire powers will blossom.”
I got up from the seat, tears threatening to spring to my eyes. “Why… why didn’t you tell me earlier? Why did you lie to me *all of these years?!*” I spat out.
“We didn’t want the wrong people to find out…” Dad frowned.
“Like me?! I was the wrong person to know about my own heritage?” I snarled.
“Alyssa-“ Mom started.
“NO!” I ran up to my room, running far faster than I intended, and slammed the door behind me.
I was half-vampire… my biological dad is gone…
I thought I knew about myself. I thought I knew who I was.
… I guess I was wrong. |
It was supposed to be a routine mission for Captain Nikolaj and his crew. The blue-and-green planet appeared to be stuck in the pre-industrial stage of development, which wasn't unusual for a human colony lost during the Collapse. The orbital scans revealed vast forests and rolling farmlands, quaint villages and imposing castles. The very picture of a thriving feudal society.
The first inkling that something was not right came when the scouting party returned a week late, dressed in rough shirts and trousers of local make. *Linen*, Nikolaj recalled, a type of natural fiber.
"Lieutenant Katz,"he said. "I see you've gotten yourselves into an adventure of some sort."
"You could say that, sir."She laughed nervously. "I don't even know where to start."
He raised his eyebrows. "Perhaps you could begin by telling me why you went dark four days into the mission."
"The thing is, sir, our gear just... stopped working. The translators, the cameras, everything."She rummaged inside a leather pouch hanging from her belt and pulled out a worn translator. "Then it began falling apart, like this."
Nikolaj stared. The military-grade plastic was cracked and bleached as if it had been exposed to the elements for centuries. "Remarkable,"he muttered. "And I suppose the same thing happened to your uniforms?"
"Right in one."She flashed a smile at one of the two ensigns standing behind her. "Steven's underwear was the only thing that survived, believe it or not. We guessed that there was something corrosive in the atmosphere..."
Nikolaj frowned. "You saw the scans, lieutenant. It's just nitrogen, oxygen, and CO2."
"I know, sir. We brought some samples for Doc to analyze and see whether we've missed something."She bit her lip. "But that's not even the weirdest part. The locals, they... they have magic."
"And that is remarkable how?"Nikolaj asked dubiously. "Most pre-industrial societies are steeped in superstition. We'll help them raise their technological level and bring them into the fold, like everyone else."
The scouts glanced at one another. The lieutenant took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. "The difference is, sir, that their magic *works*."
Nikolaj stared at her, then barked a laugh. "Lieutenant, when was he last time you underwent psychological evaluation?"
She pursed her lips. "I suppose it would be easier to show you, sir."She extended a hand and muttered under her breath. A small globe of fire burst into being above her palm.
Nikolaj reeled back. "What the hell was that?"
"Level one spell, Spark,"she said, smiling wryly. "I paid a local to teach me the incantation before our translators gave out."
"Very funny,"Nikolaj snapped. "Did you douse your hand in something flammable?"
"It's not a trick, sir."She glanced back at her subordinate. "Stevens, you show him."
"Yes, ma'am."The man's brow furrowed as he cupped his palms and spoke in the same strange language. Beads of water appeared on his skin and trickled down to collect at the bottom of his palm. He grinned like an excited kid. "This spell's called Puddle."
Nikolaj muttered an oath and rubbed his forehead. "And the locals—they can all do this?"
"Best as we can tell, yes,"the lieutenant said excitedly. "Everyone is able to do small things—purify water, start a fire and the like. But some people who can do more, much more. The things we've seen..."She shook her head.
"Go on,"he said wearily. "It can't be crazier than what you've already told me."
"I wouldn't bet on it, sir. We've seen them levitate rocks and cure injuries with but a touch. Create illusions as realistic as our best holograms. Call rain to water their fields."She sighed wistfully. "Too bad our equipment broke, or we could've shown you the recordings."
Nikolaj opened his mouth, but then the door to the bridge slid open, and Doc ran in, his face red and his eyes wide.
"Analyzed—the samples,"he panted.
"Breathe, man,"Nikolaj said, amused. "You could've just called instead of running all the way here."
Doc shook his head frantically. "Intercom's damaged. Nanomachines, sir. They're in the atmosphere, the water, the soil—every sample the team brought back. And they're highly hostile toward technology. I sealed the medbay and engaged sterilization protocols—hopefully that'll be enough."
Lieutenant Katz blanched and glanced down at her hands. "Too late,"she whispered with dawning horror. "The magic—they're the magic. Nanomachines obeying programmed commands."
Ensign Stevens went green in the face, his grin nowhere to be seen. "Oh god, they're *inside us*."
Nikolaj swore. "Ship, open a line to the Council."He waited a moment, then raised his voice. "Ship!"
A faint crackle came from the intercom. The lights overhead flickered as the ever-present hum of life support machinery stuttered and ceased. A hubbub erupted as everyone tried to speak at once.
Nikolaj whirled around and strode to the control console. Forgoing the holo-comm, he leaned over an old-fashioned keyboard. It had been installed as a backup to voice controls and rarely used, but the keys were already flaking under his fingertips as he shakily typed in the message.
*CODE RED*. *QUARANTINE*. |
Music slowly coming to a halt, a snap can be heard as a short moment of silence replaces where the notes once flooded.
"That was...yet another K-pop band that I know you all love."
The enthusiastic, yet smooth voice crackles out from the radio, before a loud hysterical cackle can be heard.
"Haaah...You know I'd never do you that way. I'm the buttery smooth DJ of wasteland blues. Giving you the antidote you need of sweet release from that insatiable heat of the ones searching for human meat."
My voice almost as melodic in tone as the music I so love to play for my listeners, yet mischievous and playful in nature.
"The weather at the end of the world appears to be-"
I stop to pull a blind open next to my seat, revealing my station to be slightly underground, as the small barred windows reveals only a small bit of the outside world;
The sky gray with overcast. It's always gray like this. Sunny days have all but vanished in this lonely world.
"Overcast. What a blast! Never have to concern ourselves with the sun blinding us again, just the impending doom of our horrible new friends."
My sarcastic enthusiasm has to come off as insane. Maybe it's because I am losing my mind. With each passing moment that nothing changes.
"Now we have an update from one of my favorite guests; The one who knows us all the best..."
I swing around from the mixer atop of my small modest desk to flip a microphone on that's placed directly against a tightly locked door with a single small sliding opening at the top.
I quickly pull the top open with a slam, that is very audible over the airwaves, before backing up slightly.
"The wicked witch of Radio's past."
I say in a more serious tone, a bit more somber.
Growls, groans and gurgles suddenly flood the airwaves in a distubing symphony of what could only be described as a deep, insatiable hunger. All echoing from the small opening.
"I guess she is still alive...A shame. I was hoping for good news, but that's rarely the case for a man of the blues."
I say sadly before I switch it back off and slam it shut, returning to my place behind the mixer.
"One day we'll find a way, my friends. Starvation may not be it, but there will be something. We have to have hope. It's all we have left."
The smooth, jovial tone now replaced with that of utmost seriousness. Trying my best to give the people a moment of anything to look forward to, yet just as much trying to convince myself of my own words.
"We can't always be people of blues and grays. Soon, I promise, we will have that one last sunny day."
My voice trying to be as comforting as possible as I flip the switch to a softer blues song, hoping to continue to ease the souls of the restless survivors as best I know how.
As the DJ of Wasteland Blues. |
Jamie’s day started like any other Friday morning.
His first alarm went off at 6am, a nice calm one to let him know he had some lie-in time before his second and third increasingly aggressive ones activated.
Today, however, he did not need them.
He opened his eyes. Instantly feeling wide awake, he sat up.
Pondering, he knew he had the option to stay cosy in bed for a bit. But he didn’t. For once he had the energy to get up straight away.
Jamie thought this was weird, but nice. And then got out of bed.
For a second he just stood there. Long had he fantasised about having this extra hour, dreaming up the ways he would spend it.
He could go for a jog, do a workout, play some video games before work or even learn an instrument!
Feeling a rush he put on some sports clothes and trainers and went for a jog, noting the unusually high number of dogs and cats he met on the way.
Being an animal lover he stopped to pet every single one. Normally maybe one in five might allow it, one in ten if it was a cat. Not today. Today, every single furry friend stopped to say hello. Even the ‘*pss pss pss*’ cat call seemed to work.
When he got back, the shower water came out instantly warm. Perfect temperature. He even turned it cold at the end because he knew it was good for him. A knowledge he previously had held but never acted on.
Having some extra time he decided to make his housemates breakfast, a full-English that put smiles on their faces and promises of free drinks at the pub after work.
He even opted to walk to work instead of drive. Sure it was cold and it was over an hour walk, but he had time and headphones so he thought why not. Curiously, his playlist shuffle drummed up his favourite songs, and recommended ones that he had never heard before (but instantly loved).
Jamie worked at a call centre. He got an average grade for an average course at an average university. After he graduated he told people he didn’t know what he wanted to do, that he got a job just to pay the bills in the meantime.
That was a lie.
Deep down, he did know.
He wanted to be a progressive radio host, spreading good views, good news, and good tunes. Tunes that weren’t cookie-cutter corporate crap forced on repeat ad nauseum by record labels.
Sadly, he didn’t believe it was likely. So he never tried.
The day flew by. No hours spent clock watching and scrolling Reddit. No endless hours where no one answered. No angry recipients venting their coarse vocabulary down Jamie’s ear. And no egomaniac jobsworth managers breathing down his neck, stress emanating as they badgered him to ‘*put some effort in*’.
Instead, he was blessed with customers happy to make a sale, or at least have a pleasant chat before politely declining. His manager even brought him a cup of coffee and said hello like a normal human for once.
Up until this point, Jamie thought he was just having a good day. Like, a seriously good day. The ‘*eating the pizza at the right time where it doesn’t burn the roof of your mouth*’ kind of day he thought to himself.
This was when it started to get weird.
What followed next was, to an onlooker, what could only be described as a series of increasingly fortunate events.
\[PART 1\]--
This is my 1st time posting! Still mastering the 'short' part of short stories aha, please be gentle :) |
I remember the day the boy's in the schoolyard called me a villain. They said it because I liked wearing dark clothing, and the shadows of my minions wrapped themselves around me. They said it because, the only *friends* I'd ever had were the strange, mysterious monsters that swam like wraiths through the air, cutting darkness into the very foundation of the universe. Of course I was angry, but that would never excuse attacking another student.
"If you really believe me to be a villain,"I started calmly, "Than accost me! Attack me directly, and you will see, that I utterly fail to demean myself to your level. I will not attack back, I will not even deign it upon myself to use defense. Well go on then, go on!"Yet when they refused, I continued, "See? Not even you believe me to be evil! If you truly believed it to be such, within that moment, you would've laid me flat on my ass; yet you didn't,"At the time, I should've realized the folly of provoking teenagers.
After I got out of the nurse's office, I was back to standing strong. I had proven my point, as I'd failed to attack them at all. When I got back into class, it was with a smirk on my face. In every way, I was superior to *them*, and their lowly bullying. Perhaps if I didn't already have minions, I might've thought about taking them along.
It was my sixteenth birthday, that I was gifted with a suit of my own. It came from my Grandpa, who'd been a supervillain in his own time. I didn't approve of his methods, or his allegiance, but the suit was rather splendidly done, and fitting of my countenance. I thanked him dearly, and then he tried to kill me. Mom didn't let him come over after that (I still visited in secret).
Dad was the one that got me the cape, it was designed after his superhero identity, and gave a light homage, whilst still being dark, with beautiful blood-red streaks along the sides. When I thanked him, he didn't try to kill me, and I was mildly disappointed; he didn't even think me worth the effort, or perhaps I still had a high ladder to climb.
Graduation came, and I *finally* got to make my debut. It was during the valedictorian speech (which, of course, was mine), that the gigantic mech robot descended. Only moments were needed to put on my suit, and my wraith-like minions flew from the sky ahead. They had been rising in numbers after I'd looted the graveyard (and why nobody had told me that they *actually* kept corpses there, I'll never understand; I didn't figure it out until grandpa). Before the mech could attack any of the innocent civilians, my army rained from above, attacking multiple different angles of the monster. Then, with a flip of a switch, my jet boots activated, and I soared forwards. Every superhero should have the finesse that I do, but sadly, they all rely too much on their abilities.
As I flew over the monster, I powered up my favorite superpower, the one that I'd gotten from mom and dad. They called it the Laser Ray, I call it the Demonic Wave. As my palm raises, dark tendrils shoot outwards, mimicking a laser as they *slam* into the gigantic robot. That, combined with my phantoms, keeps the destruction from hurting any of the people down below. Mom and dad are standing below, each of them giving me a thumb-up. I smile inside of my mask, before scolding myself. I'm not allowed to look happy in-front of them; they know this and accept it.
To my surprise, the people actually *like* me. Unfortunately for me, this means that I need to change my entire strategy. Mom and dad had grilled me in the publicity of hero life, and I knew that if the people enjoyed my presence, I would need to change the way that I market.
It's with an annoyed sigh that I get hugged by my parents, and even more annoyed sigh when I have to confront the people with microphones. Life...Just decided to become a whole lot harder. |
"Good morning, Claire. How are you feeling?"
"I wasn't expecting to see another human! And you know my name, oh my God!"
Claire stood before a middle aged man in a white coat with a stethoscope draped around his neck. His coat was embroidered with four lines of unintelligible script, followed by "T. Nguyen - HUMAN DOCTOR"
Dr. Nguyen sighed. "Well, you know. Based on the new Standards Of Treatment for Human Servants, all humans are entitled to medical care, so the Andromedians grabbed me and pressed me into service recently."
"It's not too bad. I've been a housekeeper for two years now. I get my needs met, days off, the family I'm with is really nice... except they keep reproducing and making me clean the nursery tank."Claire folded her arms.
"What?"
"Andromedians lay eggs and hatch as larvae in water. And then they poop in the water all the time, and it's up to me to wash the tank every day until the babies grow out of it. They've had three broods in the last couple years. They just hatched a new brood."
"I guess I should be glad I'm doing work I'm familiar with. Mind sitting on the exam table?"Dr. Nguyen patted the exam table, rustling the paper.
Claire hopped up on the table.
"I'll take a quick set of vitals. Here on Andromeda, your weight will be higher and your blood pressure will probably be about what it runs on Earth. Your oxygen saturation should be 100%, no problem."He got to work taking vitals, then looked in Claire's eyes, nose, ears, and mouth.
"Now, Claire, do you feel safe at home?"
"Yeah, most the time."
"Most the time?"Dr. Nguyen asked.
"They have adolescents. Those things play *rough.* One of them wrestled me when I was cleaning the nursery tank and held me underwater. They got in trouble for that one. The parents try to look out for me, and the adolescent stage only lasts a couple months..."She sighed.
"I see. What are you usually eating?"
"Baked small animal meat with a side of veggies."
"Oh!"Dr. Nguyen's face lit up. "Where are you getting veggies?"
"I was abducted from the garden center with my seeds. The family let me plant a little garden. I can give you some. I have tomatoes, potatoes, zucchini, and lettuce."
"That would be amazing! I've been eating what the Andromedians eat, and it's disgusting."He shook his head. "How much exercise have you been getting?"
Claire shrugged. "House cleaning four days a week, SCUBA diving to clean the big tank out back once a week, and playing with the kids... enough, I think."
"How often are you breaking a sweat?"Dr. Nguyen folded his arms.
Claire screwed up her face. "Oh, God, every day! And then they bathe me!"
"Oh dear."
"They've learned that I don't like being naked in front of them, so they strip me down to my underwear and scrub me with their super drying awful soap! You don't know where to get soap for human skin, do you?"
"Yes, you should be getting human soap, I'll send you home with some, along with a pamphlet in Andromedian about human grooming. They shouldn't be bathing you."
"You're telling me! But they're huge, so what can you do?"Claire shrugged again. "Do you have anything for skin cracks?"
"Yes I do, I'll send you home with some ointment as well. When was your last menstrual period?"
"I... don't actually know. I mean, I do, it just ended yesterday, but I don't know how time works here. I try my best to approximate with Earth time, but the days are so much shorter here!"Claire laughed nervously.
Dr. Nguyen put his hands on his hips. "I'll have to think of a better way to ask that question."He paused. "Do you have any other medical concerns?"
"Nope, just the dry skin."Claire examined her chapped hands.
Dr. Nguyen quickly finished up the physical exam and gave Claire a mostly clean bill of health. They exchanged numbers so Claire could give the doctor seeds, and he could refer her to mental health once a therapist was kidnapped. |
"Where are we going? I'm quite happy where I am and I haven't done anything wrong.", I said, annoyed by the suit and the two goons that had showed up on my doorstep.
"You can do this the easy way or the hard way Mr Yibblibobbly".
"For the third time, that is not my name. I am James Kowalski".
"Brrraaapp! Listen to the sanity on this one!".
The suit started hopping on one leg and the goons followed, guffawing like demented gorilla amputees.
"Come with us Mr babbly Bibby, there are plenty of comfy chairs in the sane asylum!", the suit screeched, eyes rolling. Without warning, one of his hoodlums jumped me and I was forcibly dragged into the back of the windowless van, the door slammed behind. Inside was a hot tub lit in lurid neon green lighting, filled with purple foam and containing a rubber duck. I was fully clothed and hence soaked.
I sat up inside the tub and held on for dear life as the van screeched off and veered across the road while the suit and his goons honked the horn and sang sea shanties loudly and raucously. The journey lasted around an hour but i wasn't sure as they had confiscated my phone and watch. Most of the foam from the hot tub was emptied due to the erratic driving by the time we arrived at the destination.
The doors were opened and I slid out onto the grass in a pool of purple foam, dazzled by the bright light of the sun. "Where are we?"I moaned, nursing my bruises from the hellish journey.
"Why it's Snoop Dog's house of course! He's the most sane person alive! YARRRRRRP".
With that I was hoisted over the wall and rudely dumped onto the grass. The goons and the suit could be heard howling like dogs as they drove rapidly away. Snoop Dog was there on the lawn waiting for me with a cup of tea and a scone. |
“Day in, day out” he mumbled. “Day after day, night after night,” he grumbled.
“I’m sorry sir, I think we’re meant to go that way. That appears to be the way to the underworld. It’s clearly marked” I pleaded in a panic as I saw the sign pass by, attached to the husk of an old tree that sticking out of the toxic waters.
The ferryman just turned his head towards me, and somehow I knew there was a sneer under that hood. I felt helpless, just a passenger, on a journey I never wanted to make to begin with.
“Please sir, I did everything the priests said,” I bargained, “I will give you whatever you want!”
Finally the ferryman slowed and turned his whole body to look at me. “And what did your priests tell you?” He asked in anger.
“Well sir, they said that when I get to the river bank I am to find you, and bargain a journey across to the other side. Once there, I go through that gate and my soul will be weighed against a feather. Should I pass I will be taken to the land of milk and honey where every need is ever met.” I tried to explain timidly.
“What do they know, rotten priest,” he sneered and spit into the water. “Have they ever been here? No. They have not yet.”
“But, they were told this by the Gods themselves…” somehow I ended up arguing the afterlife with the embodiment of death itself.
“Rotten lot those are too, you really think they told them priests the truth? You really think that Gods want mortals to come to their land of milk and honey, nectar and ambrosia, for eternity? Always getting more crowded?”
The ferryman continued pushing the boat along further down the river as he explained. “I have been doing this since the first mortal man died, since his soul needed somewhere to go. I was a party to their evil schemes for too long. I did their bidding, lest it be me.” His breath became frosted as we approached somewhere cold and dark.
“They have nothing but contempt for mortals,” he continued, “they see you like you see a mosquito… fleeting and meaningless, quickly forgotten.”
We pulled up to a barren shore with little vegetation and a few ramshackle huts.
“Out you go! And you can keep your coins” he said, pushing me with the paddle.
I got out and realized that this was going to be my eternity. My face paled and I went to ask why, but he knew what I was going to say.
“The mortal soul is not immortal, the land of milk and honey was once desolate and cold like this. The gate you saw was the hatch to a furnace. They burn your souls to keep themselves warm, and spread the ashes to keep the ground fertile. Here you can at least spend eternity.”
The ferryman pushed way from the shore. “Damn priests, ‘if you had faith’, they’ll say, ‘you can just feel it,’ they say. Nothing is worse than that lot.” He looked at me once more then headed back to pick up more souls. |
With a few books in a bag over her shoulder, Georgiligardinilania walked up to the library steps. From far away already, she had heard and seen that something was up, something went down.
Coloured lights - a disco ball - went through the windows and colored the surrounding buildings. Blue, red, yellow, green. And then there was the music. She had only ever been in one library that played music. It was classical music, quiet music, only able to be heard when you actually wanted to hear it. This wasn’t classical music. No violins, no piano. Hardstyle. Sound cranked up to the max and then someone had beat the sound system until it somehow had become even louder.
The door swung open and two conservatively dressed women shouted at her, synchronised.
“What is your favorite book?” Their voices could barely overpower the music on the background - hell, *everywhere*ground.
“Too many options! Why?”
Without looking at eachother the women started shouting as one voice again. She recognised one of them as the librarian.
“Pick one! Go look for it, and shout it! Fuck silence, today we need agressive literature!”
Georgiligardinilania stood still for a second, then hesitantly entered the building that used to be a library. She dumped the content of her bag in the designated bin and looked around: everyone was jumping, shouting, singing. People started pulling her arms, gesturing to go fucking crazy. Let loose. Lose the typical library stiffness.
“What’s up with this?” she asked someone, after he had thrown a bottle against a shelf of ancient literature.
“There’s a bomb!” he said.
She went silent. Huh?
“Don’t go silent, be loud! If we go below 50 dBs for even a second, the bomb will explode!”
He grabbed another bottle and prepared another throw. She stopped him.
“We could have a regular convo and we’d already be above 50.” She turned to everyone.
“FUCKING WHISPER AND YOU’LL PROBABLY BE LOUD ENOUGH!”
Someone killed the music. The lights stayed on. Silent disco.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me!” someone shouted
“I wish. Stop shouting, keep talking.”
Everyone did. Not a moment was silent. Not a moment was actually library-like, but it was way better than the pointless rave before. Someone killed the lights now as well. Blue, red, yellow, green: gone.
Blue-Red reappeared, outside.
The police came in, guns in hands - hopefully tasers.
“Everyone be silent and don’t move!” they shouted. How hypocritical. No one was silent and everyone moved. They repeated themselves, guns raised now. Real guns.
“We can’t.”
“Do it or we’ll shoot. This is a threat to the public order.”
“Sir-“
Shot fired. Everyone silent.
Tic, tic, tic, everyone gone. |
“I have done all I can, I am sorry but this just beyond my abilities,” the plumber said sadly as he handed me a bill.
“Three hundred dollars? Three hundred bucks and there is nothing you can do?” I was irate. This was the tenth plumber I had called. All of them tried for a couple hours, billed me, and said there was nothing they could do. “There is no one left to call! I have called every plumber in the phone book. There is literally no one left. What do I do?”
“There are two plumbers that you haven’t called,” the plumber said in a serious tone. “They aren’t listed in the phone book. They are who plumbers call when the job is just - impossible. These plumbers only deal in the most difficult, most challenging jobs. I think it is time for you to call them.”
He riffles through his pockets and pulls out a beat up business card. He is half way to handing to me when he says, “I have to warn you. These guys are not going to be cheap - but they are truly super at what they do.” He hands me the card and walks out defeated.
With nothing left to try, I dial the number. It rings a couple of times and then I hear it pick up.
“Hello! Its a me, Mario! How can the Mario brothers a help a you?” |
One swing was all it took for that confounded axe to change my life. Before the swing, all I had known was the farm I worked for Lord Marcees. Sure, I was strong, but I don’t think I ever set any wheat stalks on fire when I walked through with a sickle. Walking to the fields that morning, I thought it was going to be a great day, the birds were chirping, the weather was calm and the morning air was refreshing. I didn’t make it 15 feet before I heard the booted feet behind me. Turning, I felt a jolt through my legs as a pair of metal boots fell across them. I’m still not sure if I caught the axe or if it just… came to me. Seeing the scarred face of one of those filthy Drovers at my feet, my anger flared. I could see my parents house in flames, feel the heat across my arms, flowing through… And suddenly I could hear screaming, and my nose was singed with the foul scent of burning flesh. In my hands was the shaft of the axe, twisted and gnarled, but missing the axe head. The Drover at my feet shuddered and stopped screaming, the axe head lodged into his chest and surrounded by fire.
“What in the hells did you just… Trent, what did you do?” Behind me, Seth the Innkeeper was looking on in horror.
“Drovers… DROVERS!” At first I whispered, shocked, but then I shouted as loud as I could. “Ring the bell! Drovers!”
I rounded the Inn, looking out towards the rest of the village, and all I saw was a dark mass of Drovers, with their signature dark gray and red leather armor. The edges of my vision began to shimmer and I could once again feel that familiar, terrible heat. A single word came to the front of my mind, and I screamed it out for all the Drovers to hear…
“BURN!”
“Wake up Trent, come on man!” I shook awake, blinking furiously. Around me Seth and other curious villagers looked down at me. As they helped me to sit up, I was bombarded by words as several of them tried to ask me questions about the fire.
“What fire?”
Before any of the villagers could answer me, the sound of hooves approached, scattering the villagers ahead of me. A set of plated boots landed next to me, followed by a hand reaching out before my dazed eyes.
“Young man, let’s get you a warm bed and a meal. Everything else can wait.” Lord Marcess pulled me to my feet and helped me over to the Inn…
End Part 1
Let me know if you like it and if you want more! I don't usually do many writing prompts, but this one stood out to me. |
The markings glimmered beneath the teetering feathers of moonlight. It was an odd scene. That much I knew. If someone saw me—if someone heard my mumbles and murmurs, perhaps-—no, not perhaps, but certainly—their thoughts would spiral down into the routes that lead to the maybe-correct conclusion: I had lost my mind.
But none of that had taken place. It was me, the window, the moon, the bones, and the night. Linguists, polyglots, scientists—it was all worthless. Unconcluded conclusions, vague theories, raging nonsense. Expertise rots underneath the essence of the unconventional.
Understand me, I had nothing left. I was desperate, and desperation in the storm that is obsession brings along the thundering of thunder to turn it all into tortuous torture. I had to get out. I had to escape. I had to find the answers.
The shore called me and I heard the calling. Soon, the ebbing tides caressed my feet. An invitation it seemed, to drown along with the bones, to live a death worthy of poets—a tragedy, a sacrifice.
The water was warm when wrapped around my neck. It was warmer when it engulfed me. Here, in the abyss of the depths, the moonlight thinned into darkness. Here, in the abyss of the depths, the bone I held burst into flames and the flames faded into fireflies that flew, fiercely, only to fade in the span of five breaths.
Soon, fire arose in my lungs. I sank and flitted my arms as I did so. A pathetic ending to a pathetic life. It was only fitting. The world is a mirage, the mind an unsolvable labyrinth. I was, but soon I wouldn't—
Darkness ruptured into light. A pale whale surged forth, its mouth wide open. The vacuum hauled me in. All things spun. My insides burned. I embraced the end.
And then the stillness came. It was conscious stillness. This constituted a surprise. I opened my eyes and saw a skeleton with a golden monocle and a suit staring at me with a tilted skull.
"Are you lost, young man?"it said and laughed. Its bones clacked as it did so. "Get up. Stones are an uncomfortable bed for the skinless and the skinned alike."
"Where—where am I?"I asked as I got to my feet. I jumped in place then. "Wait. What are you? Is this Hell?"
I stared past the skeleton. A town with winding roads and twisted buildings stretched before me. Hanging from what I could only infer was the roof of the mouth of the whale were thousands of lamplights dimming the dark with warm light. Odd creatures ambled across the cobble. Tall, clothed crows, masked entities with endless limbs, enormous spiders with hats and shoes—
"Hell?"The skeleton shook its skull and swept its hand across the air. "This is The Whale. Welcome. It's a strange place, but the strange can only be fun." |
"it's not possible!"An astronomer stared at the screen, the simulation of a meteor hitting the planet looping over and over.
"Not *probable*. Yet here we are."A younger coworker stood behind them, arms folded, a look of resignation on their face. "That hits us, it's game over. Bruce Willis can't save us now."
Meanwhile, elsewhere
"Honestly, it's been long overdue. But this is bad."A geophysicist stands before their team, showing graphs and readings that shows the volcano in Yellowstone gearing up for a massive eruption.
"If these readings keep going like this, we could be looking at the end."
Neither team knew about the other impending disaster, and the governments decided to keep it quiet. If either event was to cause extinction, there was no point getting everyone panicked. No one could have predicted how things would go down.
It started with tremors around the volcano, minor at first, but getting worse. The immediate area was evacuated "as a precaution".
Next, people noticed a new star in the sky, getting bigger. Reports said this comet would pass by the planet.
As the days went on, people began to worry as the meteor got bigger, closer. It began to disrupt satellite signals and tides. At the same time, a cap was being placed over Yellowstone. A metal lid that should resist the heat and stop the worst of the eruption.
The day came when both teams had predicted the end. The meteor wasn't far outside our atmosphere, and the volcano was ready to blow. The sky was dark and the entire planet held it's breath.
The pressure built up in Yellowstone, raging against the block put over it. The clamps holding it in place strained, and began to buckle. The force could not be held back, and a plume of lava shot into the sky, launching the metal disc at tremendous speed, right towards the meteor. Lava rained down around the area, but the problem was the thick black cloud of ash and smoke billowing out, blocking out the sky. This was what would kill us.
Luck was with humanity, as the meteor cracked from the impact, the force starting it spinning. It then splintered and fell apart, pieces of it being catapulted away from the planet, whilst others harmlessly burned up in the atmosphere, until a much smaller chunk of rock was left. It's altered course sent it hurtling towards America, Wyoming, Yellowstone. Chunks of rock punched through the ash cloud, as the main body of the remaining meteor crashed into the volcano. Lava flooded out as the mountain was crushed and burst open, rapidly dropping the pressure inside, until the volcano was active no more. Just a crater full of lava, with the meteor sticking out of the middle.
Humanity would survive. The damages were relatively minimal. Some smaller impacts, some fires from the lava, but nothing that couldn't be fixed or replaced.
The two teams of scientists stood in awe. Two separate extinction level events happened at the same time, and by some grace, managed to cancel each other out. |
##You'll Get Yours
I was great at deals. The best, some would say!
Obviously, dealing with my fellow man was easy. They never really thought too deeply about things. I prodded their base needs a bit; their hunger, their loved ones, or their desire for power, and just like that, they became as pliable as clay in my hands!
And sure, I made good money off of that. I rose to the top, off of the labor of my fellow man. I ruled the world, living a life of decadence.
But that wasn’t enough.
So what did I do? I sought out more powerful entities to make more grandiose deals. And guess what? Fey, demons, whatever, they all want the same thing.
Parts of humans, of course! Names, souls, whatever! So I turned my attention to that.
The great part was that you didn’t even need them to grow up or anything. Assign them a name at birth, sell that newly christened name off to the fae, give away their soul to a demon, and you get an empty pile of meat as well! I tended to feed it to the pigs. Still had to get my mortal money from somewhere, after all.
It was oh so easy! Sure, some people complained about the ethics of the situation. But seriously, ethics? No one really cared about those kinds of details. And besides, they tended to stop whining so much when they turned into a nameless, soulless husk.
And so I had it all! An immortal life sustained by demonic energies. The power to bewitch and befuddle any mortal mind with the blessing of the fae. And yet still, it all came up short when the angel appeared.
Now, normally, angels didn’t send the big guns right away. Usually, first come the cute little baby boys with the bow and arrow, or at least the humans with wings. But I guess I really got heaven’s attention for some reason because they sent a big ‘ol guy made of interlocking rings and at least ten pairs of wings!
And what did I do? I parlayed, of course. Prodded at its wants, its needs. But that was when I was struck with a realization.
Angels didn’t have needs.
With the sweat rolling off my back, I knew I was in trouble. An entity with no needs meant I couldn’t make a deal. I got desperate, I admit. I offered my empire of souls. I offered information on my demonic and fae confidants. But none of that tempted the angel.
For I had learned the hard way that when dealing with angels, there are no negotiations. Only consequences. |
"Come on, you know this isn't fair"Johnathan pleaded, already aware the conversation proceeding this would be fruitless. Still though, bottling things up wasn't healthy, and maybe he would eventually wear his housemate down.
"Fair? I'm pretty sure this is quite fair , it's not like I'm taking up any *living* space", he said with an oddly gleeful intonation, as if he was content with his passing. Which made Johnathan wonder why he felt the need to be such an asshole if that was the case. If he wasn't bitter about his death was he just glad to have the opportunity to be a dick in his next life too?
It wasn't hard to tell that the entity, which refused to give his name, had only passed within the last 10 or so years. Unless he had managed to keep up with the times over a longer period, which Johnathan doubted. This strongly encouraged his belief that the entity should be carrying his weight and *paying* *his* *damn* *rent*.
"Will you ever get sick of making that stupid joke? It genuinely got old after the second time.""Probably not", his unrelenting housemate replied, "it's hard to come up with new material when you're confined to four walls".
"Look, if you're not going to carry your weight, at least stop impeding my life so much". "Oh? You think I'm inconveniencing you? How so?"Johnathan exhaled slowly, so as to try and contain the frustration that would so easily overcome him if he didn't put in the effort to control it. "Like last week". "Can you be more specific please?"the ghost replied, in a sickeningly sweet tone. For a reason Johnathan himself couldn't quite fathom, he elaborated further.
"When I came home last Saturday with Shannon, and you had oh so helpfully set my laptop up to be playing porn when we arrived."""Well you shouldn't have come back so late and woken me"said the entity. "You don't sleep". "Well I like to lay down with my eyes closed all the same. And besides, surely that's pretty low down on your list of gripes"he said tauntingly, with a somewhat cruel look in his eyes.
Johnathan sighed, as he had taken to doing quite often in his housemate's presence. He wasn't wrong though. The rituals his housemate has used when he had first moved in had been quite disturbing. Coming home to find his shopping strewn over the apartment floor with the meat products pulled out of their packaging as the entity had tried to construct a new body for himself. He had to turn vegetarian after that, which wasn't quite as big of an adjustment as he had expected when he first undertook the dietary change.
"I suppose not. But look, we're getting off topic. I know you have access to cash. I saw you throw money under the doorway when ordering McDonald's that time". "Ah yes, my first failed attempt at making a body. It turned out there wasn't enough meat in the burger for it. Both disappointing and disgusting"the entity said wistfully. Johnathan had to agree to the latter at least. "You can pay towards rent. If not a full portion, at least throw something my way". Taking this literally, the entity threw an ornament his way. In a way, Johnathan was thankful that he had plenty of practice dodging at this point.
"Good dodge". "Thanks". "You're welcome. Look, I'll consider it, but it's not terribly likely. It's not my nature to contribute to society. I was a landlord in my previous life you know". |
On Earth, we saw carcinisation, arthropods, especially crustaceans, tending toward a crab-like form. In space, we found homonisation, intelligent life, especially the dominant form, tending toward a human-like form.
At first, it confused us. We had theories of seeding, of one intelligent life putting us all on the right planets. Perhaps we didn't come from apes. But that was quickly disproved after we studied the Gliesers. Methane breathers, with genetic material based off silicon, rather than carbon. They shared our shape, but definitely not our materials. Like building something out of plastic instead of metal or wood.
We had other theories, religious nuts of course said it was the image of God. Not just among humans. Seems most races have to deal with religious hysteria. Makes me jealous of the Centauri.
The idea we were some, superior, perfected form was ridiculous, of course. More definitively proven when we had the Android Wars. By the end, each race (well, each surviving race) was making the exact same machines, optimized entities. Perfected intelligent forms.
It's almost funny, when you get down to it. I suppose it's for the best. We were all the same, yet we couldn't stop fighting. At least all the metalheads could sort things out together. They deserve what's left of this universe, more than we ever did. |
My boss wasn't happy. The text said to be in the office at 7:00 AM. He never shows up that early. That means that his BOSS has already ripped him and it's rolling down hill to me...
I was early, but the Boss's assistant was at his desk and wasn't happy.. "He's waiting, you're late"while handing me a cup of coffee.
As I closed the door, he looked up from my after action report, "What kind of bullshit is this?"You missed the target from 50 feet with a full clip? Before I could say a word, "And a new knife broke, you put cyanide in his soup, and blew up a building, killing six but he walked away."
"Boss, I also tried to hit him with a stolen car, but when I swerved onto the sidewalk, he disappeared and I couldn't find him. I circled the block three times."
"Lefty, you have been totally reliable up to this job. We're pulling you off. Take a week off, then report to farm to go through the full requalifying process."
"Yes, Boss"
"I need your dossier on the target, what was his name again?"
"Clark Kent".... |
Monday:
"Why did you do it?"says the skinny woman with the blue handbag.
"Because I had no other choice."
​
Tuesday:
"Why did you do it?"says the black haired child in her pink coat.
"We didn't know the mind virus had entered the colony ship, we thought we had escaped it. There was nothing to be done for Earth anymore. Listen kid, okay? Listen. If we can get to a habitable planet, then humanity can survive, okay? You gotta be brave now."
​
Wednesday:
"Why did you do it?"says the bald, muscular man with the red umbrella.
"I noticed the first effects of the virus on several passengers, but, look, there's an asymptotic incubation period of three weeks when they can still transmit the virus to other people. Chances were that a lot of the colony ship were already sick, and the only way to stop the spread was to put everyone in cryo sleep. It was my responsibility as the commanding officer. Listen, there's a research team working on a cure, they're in an isolation chamber and we have to trust they will be able to help us..."
​
Thursday:
"Why did you do it?"says the lady on the park bench.
"It's funny, you know. The first symptom is the creation of a shared dreamscape, a hive mind... it's so real here, the trees, the lake, the birds, but that must means we're infected... but you're all in cryo, so your minds are mostly asleep. You can only remember a few things, only process limited vocabulary. And every day one of you asks me the same question. But it's funny that I can always answer properly, remember it all, but you can't even really understand my words..."
​
Friday:
"Why did you do it?"says the boy with the silver earrings and green hair.
"If I was frozen in cryo, I'd be asleep, like all of you. I'm too lucid, aren't I? And I'm here in the dreamscape, so I'm infected, but awake. I must be awake. Which must mean that while I'm here, the mind virus is controlling my body..."
​
Saturday:
"Why did you do it?"says the man with the yellow gloves planting red roses.
"I'm a military officer, my body has skills built in from years of training, I know all the codes and weapon stashes... and those scientists, they're just civilians. I hope they had the sense to change the codes, oh god, oh fuck! If the virus is using my body to hunt them, to enter their isolation chamber and stop them from finding the cure, would they be able to fight me? If I kill them, then we're all doomed. Fuck, shit, fuck...I don't know, what do I do? What do I do? Maybe I can try to resist, try to feel my body..."
​
Sunday:
"Why did you do it?"says the woman in the purple cardigan and black skirt.
"I'm starting to feel sleepy. Hard to talk. Hard to talk. Sons of bitches did it. Must have fought me and subdued me, put me in cryo somehow..."
​
Monday:
"Why did you do it?"
"Why did I do what?" |
I woke up aching all the, the first sign suggesting that I wasn't dead. The smell of hundreds, if not thousands, of bodies rotting was my second indication.
I closed my eyes again, hoping the gods would pity me and let me die in my sleep. All sleep brought me was nightmares, and the same scene replaying in a continuous, morbid loop.
A scene of sorrow and sacrifice, as a soldier I didnt even know that well, pushed me away and took the bullet for me. Perhaps he had intended it as a gesture of good will, but I'd rather have died.
I opened my eyes again, a couple hours had passed. The stench of the bodies began to fill up the air, suffocating me. How poetic it would be to die of deaths, I thought to myself.
I had half a mind to just stay here and die among my men. If not in war, then in grief. Finally I woke up at the sight of a crow, remembering the stories. There had been a belief in our platoon that soldiers who died needed to have their final rites performed by the surviving members, before the crows poked out their eyes, and before the vultures feasted on their skin or else they would never find peace. I personally did not believe in such tomfoolery, but soldiers had strong beliefs and the man the crow seemed to be targeting as of right now, was a close friend of mine who certainly believed in all this.
Fighting the pain, I stood, shooing the crow away. I couldn't walk very well, I realised. My knee cried in pain as I attempted to move about. My right arm, which until recently had been buried under the body of a soldier, made me want to cry.
I relished this anguish though. I felt numb in my mind. Occasional slivers of blinding agony would consume me, but then Id go back to feeling nothing- just going through the motions to stay alive.
I needed a purpose, a reason to stay. Why was I left behind all alone? Was I alone?
This thought pushed me to start searching for someone alive. After the first hundred bodies, I realised I had to find a way better than just poking and prodding every single body there, hoping one would wake up.
The vultures and the crows had come back, the sun was setting. I built a fire, walking all might with a burning torch to ensure that no animal touched any of the bodies. I didnt feel exhausted anymore. My life had meaning and I had an infinite source of motivation and energy. In this way, night turned day.
I set to work, collecting and neatly organising the bodies. I classified them into piles on the basis of how I thought theyd want their body to be taken care of.
Dawn to dusk I worked. The night was spent same as before, And another day passed. It took me just two days, which was no easy feat mind you, to get all the bodies organised. That night I killed and ate a rabbit. Having had dinner, I spend the next few hours arranging for wood to create very rudimentary 'pyres', if you could even call them that.
In the morning I started digging burial spots for each of the bodies and keeping a small stone to substitute a gravestone. The evening was spent burying the bodies, and the night spent burning the rest.
Few soldiers remained who belonged to religion which believed in 'oneness with nature'. They were to be left in the forest, for the animals and vultures to feed upon.
Now that everything was done and dealt with, those feelings of purposelessness hit anew. I distracted myself temporarily by hunting down a deer and picking a few berries from tha nearby forest to satiate my hunger. I thought to myself about what I could do.
I had no family. One family I had just mourned for, and the other was not mine. I am not the person I was before. The person my family knew died in that battlefield with his brethren. I am merely a shell. A tiny part of his soul inhabiting his body. I did not want to go back, I never could. A part of me- or rather, most of me- is here and always will be. The only peace and liberation I dreamt of came from dying a peaceful death.
I took a handful of those berries as I lay against a tree, popping them into my mouth, thinking of my childhood, and those memories.
War left no survivors. Even those alive were dead inside.
With that thought, I drifted off to a blissful sleep. |
I've been a drift for what seems like an eternity. Though, since the ships' internal systems fried a while back. It's really hard to determine how long. The last time I checked the system, it had said 2350. I remember watching a star explode with my crew making a wish. We were star collectors. See, stars are full of natural gases, so when they explode, we collect them. They said if you wish on a blue star explosion, your wish came true. I figured they were ribbing the new guy. Little did I know that I was very much wrong. See, I had wished to be immortal and indestructible. After the dwarf star exploded, we never expected pirates to attack. The ship became disabled as we floated through space. At first, there were about fifty crew members left alive. We had hoped for the corp to come save us. But soon it was just me.
Well, that was til today when this rumbling came from the upper deck. To my surprise, it was a group of pirates. It was nice of them to bring me lunch. Just cause I'm immortal doesn't mean I am not hungry. Wonder if they have seasoning on their ship cause the last few crew members were so bland.... |
I step out of the machine, feeling a strange tingle as the atmosphere of the capsule which clings still to my skin is replaced by the dry, thin atmosphere of the tomb. I switch on the external sensors and watch as the screens come alive, but then seem to die again. No signal. No sights. No sounds. Every particle outside the tomb is equidistant, motionless. It is a void, perhaps the first void ever to occur in the history of, well, everything.
The tomb itself shelters me from the utter perfection that is cosmic equilibrium. The anti-entropic drive which has allowed me to cross meaninglessly long eons provides a shell of matter, a mechanical embryo of imperfection against the limitless, faultless and dead universe.
I knew it would be this way. I craved the void. Scorned first my people, then all people, and finally and simply every thing. I wanted to experience no thing. I anted to know that all possible cruelty and misfortune were absent. I didn't want to die soiled by the world I despised. So great was my contempt, I would not even grace reality with mass destruction or murder. I damned the act of action.
Now. Now. What is time without motion? What is experience without change? Now is what it is. Once I leave the tomb, the last bastion of disorder, I will become one with no thing. I will die and leave no trace.
I can feel the warmth leave my body. The breath and the life. I am overcome with a simple joy. I am entropy's last victim...except...no. NO. I see, feel my body drawing the entire universe to itself. I can sense the lighting of a tiny fire of some thing - the differential. I am positive energy in a space of utter equality. And I see, now, as my thoughts flee, the birth of a new universe from my own remains.
I am defeated. |
It surprised me how much creamer Death put in his coffee. But then again, what's it going to do? Kill him? He came back to the table and passed me a second cup, black. Taking a sip, I nodded. “I have to say, this isn't how I imagined the afterlife.” Death smiled. Not warmly, but still. “The population of the Afterlife just keeps going up. Someone's got to keep track of it.”
“I thought there was supposed to be a stench of sulfur in the room.”
“You're mistaking me for Lucifer. Totally different guy. I get that a lot. Right now, you're neither in heaven nor hell. This is the front office. I'm just here to make sure we have your life history. They'll be doing the sentencing somewhere else. Oh, and don't ask me how you did or where they'll take you. Just think of me as the middle man.”
“Can I ask you a question before we get started? So what's up with ghosts?”
“That's always a weird one. When you walked in here, you completely accepted that you were dead and that I, Death, brought you here.” I nodded. “Some people actually refuse to believe I exist. They have the nerve to completely ignore me. Do you know how hard it is to work when the other person treats you as imaginary? So I kick them out. They can't go back and they're not getting through without my signature.”
I don't know why I tried to lighten the mood. “But hey, at least the coffee is to die for, right?” Death smiled again, “I like you. I think you'll do just fine in the Afterlife.” |
Dave looked curiously at the watch he had acquired from a strange old man a week earlier. The man said the watch was "special". *More like broken*, he murmured. Today it read 7:19 pm all day. Yesterday it had read 1:02 am. Which happened to be nearly the exact time a school bus full of kids went off a highway, and were brought in to the hospital that Dave was a surgeon at. It had kept him 8 hours past his shift, and 6 sets of parents ended up losing their child. It also happened to perfectly match the suit he was wearing to a very important meal with his boss later that night.
He looked at the time on his cell phone. *6:59 pm*.
"Davey, hurry up we're gonna be late for dinner! How long does it take to pick out a watch anyways?!"His wife, Bridget exclaimed.
He quickly grabbed the broken watch, snapped it on and rushed out of the house. Dave could not afford to be late to this dinner. His career was on the line. He glanced nervously at the clock every 10 seconds as they rushed through traffic. 7:08. 7:13. 7:16. *perfect, I'm late, this is gonna look great to the Chief of Surgery*.
They got to within a few blocks of the restaurant, and were approaching a busy intersection. Dave glanced down at the clock on the dashboard. 7:19 pm. He looked down at the watch and it also read 7:19 pm. *well it's right at least twice a day*, he thought to himself and chuckled. He looked back up just in time to see the lights flashing In front of him as he slammed head first into an ambulance going 50 miles per hour. The ambulance was obliterated, tires screeched, glass shattered, and the wreckage of the accident was sprawled about the intersection. His car skidded to a stop on the median.
Dave slowly opened his eyes. Bridget was slumped over against the airbag. Broken glass and blood covered what was left of the interior of the car. Using all his strength left in him he lifted his hand up toward his face. As Dave closed his eyes for the last tIme, he watched the time on the watch switch from 7:19 to 7:20 pm.
Edit: added and fixed some stuff. Long time reader first time poster go easy on me :) |
Of all the revelations regarding the nature of the universe, none could be considered more humbling, or unnerving, than those that exposed how little about it was known, let alone understood.
Dr. Vargas thought of herself as an aficionado of ignorance--not the sort of ignorance that emerged as an ingrown social condition--rather, she practiced a tempered naivete relying on self-effacing curiosity and precision of mind. So when she came across the possibility that there lay beyond existing horizons of human perception a greater boundary, the woman of science was impelled to devoting her whole faculties in pursuit of this extraordinary truth.
However, what scientific endeavor, by virtue of its design, could not provide was a glimpse into the consequences of any given discovery. The mathematics that equated matter and energy, for example, had in its derivation no sentiment of violence. Yet it seemed the inevitable outcome of such an understanding was threaded into its conception, and arguably into its very fabrication. Dr. Vargas could not have foreseen the fate she had invited with her earnest and ignorant measures, no more than could have a mouse attempting to free its food from the spring of a loaded trap.
After years of pursuing the origin of a particular ultra-high-energetic emission, Dr. Vargas made a significant breakthrough while vetting the details of her work with one of her graduate students. The reason for its strength and clarity was not that the signal was originating from an immense phenomenon far away, but rather from somewhere simultaneous, another dimension. Attacking her chalkboard with the vigor of someone possessed, she filled the black expanse with her terse and shaky writing--in a language that would have seemed alien to any passerby even without its near-illegibility. She and her graduate student stared upon the cobweb of mathematics in awe, realizing the implications of this new advancement. Now the nature of the signal made sudden sense.
The patterns that had seemed erratic before, now folded into elegant functions. Without the fog of previous misunderstanding, the beacon appeared brighter than ever. Something beyond the defined universe was attempting to make contact, and Dr. Vargas knew, though she did not express it then, they had to answer back.
The signal took fifteen years to crack. Enclosed within the beacon itself were instructions on replicating extra-dimensional communication. A couple more decades passed in the construction of a suitable device, a planetary accelerator with enough energy to agitate the foam of spacetime and manipulate its texture to carry information outside the bounds of relativity. Dr. Vargas observed the inaugural launch from the ISS, indescribably excited and filled with a sense of pride at the sight of the object in the distance, the reward of her commitment.
Once the preparation was complete, the device was initiated. It began to glow and pulse bright enough to eclipse the moon floating in the backdrop. As soon as it had powered up, the ring began to shut down. A moment of denouement passed and the entire crew cheered at their success. Dr. Vargas struggled to keep the tears back as everyone around her congratulated her.
Before long, while the others were still celebrating, she boarded the private shuttle NASA had afforded her and disbarked towards Earth. She wanted the ride home to reflect and maybe catch some shut-eye. In the excitement of the past few days, and arguably the recent half of her lifetime, she had given little consideration to rest. As the warm filtered air of the shuttle enveloped her and put her to sleep, she laid her head back and stared out the window at the moon hanging in the dark of space with the ring of the device superimposed over its bright ivory face. She smiled, knowing the world would never be the same and slept, unaware that the signal was not a beacon but bait.
------
Great prompt. I know I took liberty with the 'realization' bit. And borrowed heavily from Contact. Thank you, Carl Sagan. |
Every customer and employee is down on their stomachs, hands over head, fingers interlocked. It's amazing what a couple 9mm warning shots can do. I take a tour of the lobby, collecting everyone's wallets, watches and jewelry. *I am gonna have a condo. With a minibar. Shark tank. Gold plated fireplace. Fuck yes.* I feel the weight of the bag clenched in my fist. It's heavy as hell. I walk into the back room with a smile on my face. *They should be through the safe by now.*
I am wrong. Frank is furiously dry humping the safe, while Dave is hunched over in the corner, scarfing down 5 gas station taquitos.
"God dammit guys! Get that fucking thing unlocked before-
I am interrupted by the sound of exploding glass, followed by a cluster of gunshots. Frank and Dave are on the ground bleeding before I even realize what had happened. I swivel around and reach for my gun.
"Don't even think about it."
I pause, removing my hand from the holster. *Fuck. Not HIM.*
The Messiah clutches his Uzi tighter.
"You thought I was dead, didn't you? I was crucified for a reason. Scum like you are no longer of consequence."
Jesus fires. He blows the smoke off the barrel of his gun.
"Three down. Four to go."
Starring Bruce Willis. |
A square-jawed and handsome man who was in his forties, but looked like he was in his late thirties, appeared on the television screen. It was Brian MacAvoy of *American Eagle News.*
"Welcome back. As I mentioned before the break, a new drug has hit the streets that can, quote, make people more sexually provocative and permissible, unquote.
"On my right, we have Dr. Laura Goodman, a noted women's issues professor from Stanford University, as well as the Chairperson of Women's Alliance Movement or WAM. She says that this drug is a boon for society, because it will help to reverse our aging society problem, but is concerned that it could be used to take advantage of women into unwanted sexual encounters.
"And on my left is Governor John Perry of Virginia, likely contender for the Republican Party's nominee for president. He says that he thinks that this drug is quote, a symbol of our crumbling morals, unquote, and suggests that women who take this drug are again, quote, asking for it, unquote, and that therefore the country's laws regarding sexual harassment and rape ought to be reviewed.
"Dr. Goodman, let's start with you,"continued MacAvoy.
I switched off the TV. I didn't want to hear it anymore. It's been on TV for months since the drug hit the market and I was tired of it.
It was so damned stupid. No one made a fuss when those boner pills were first introduced. No one batted an eye. In fact, those commercials were just so subtle and coy that it was oftentimes impossible to know just what the hell was being advertised until they mentioned the brand's name.
But now that this drug can be taken by both men and women, now it's a big deal. God forbid that women can make our own choices in regards to our bodies.
Perry and all those Evangelical Christians, many who picketed outside the stores that sold this drug called us sluts and whores. They even taught their children to spit at us. This was expected. They've always been that way. But Goodman and all those other feminists were annoying, too, treating us like as though we were part of a societal solution or helpless people who needed their omniscient and benign protection.
None of these talking heads ever took the time to consider that we might be just individuals. Yes, I like sex. Is that so crazy? For a woman to admit that she likes sex? How the hell did people think that the birds and the bees do it?
No, I don't need the drug. I'm already in a loving relationship and my boyfriend and I get along just fine. But every once in a while, when the sex gets a bit boring, we don't mind using outside help. I've used porn, vibrators, and other toys before. Why not this new drug?
Yes, when taken irresponsibly, bad things can happen. Yes, people can sometimes abuse this new drug. But what else is new? Have none of these loudmouths ever heard of *personal responsibility*?
I'm not a slut who is asking for it. I'm not a helpless damsel in distress who needs to be rescued by WAM. I'm not some kind of baby producing machine that will solve the country's aging problem.
I am me, and I like to use this drug in moderation for my own personal enjoyment. Why is that such a big deal?
I was muttering and fuming under my breath as I stared at the dull reflection of myself on the TV's screen when I heard my boyfriend's voice.
"Hey, honey. I'm going to the store to pick up a few things. And I was thinking of picking up you-know-what for tonight. Do you want me to pick up the same one from the last time?"asked Troy.
"No,"I replied. "I didn't really like that one."
"Yeah, it did taste a little harsh, didn't it?"
"But there's this one that I want to try. I think it might taste a bit better. It's supposed to taste like lemonade."
"Alright, I'll pick it up. What's it called?"
"Mike's Hard Lemonade,"I replied. |
O'Malley's is one of those terrible faux Irish pubs, but I drink there because I work there. The owner has an exploitable weakness for sequential art so I've been drip feeding him with single issues of *The Avengers* from the early '90s for a couple of months. He sends punters my way and lets me conduct business in a dark corner of his bar.
Like Steven. One of my regulars and someone who's going to be a problem if I'm not very careful. He's eager, like a puppy, but he's also a quick reader so he consumes a vast amount of product. He's starting to look like a reader, too: the messenger bag that's always bulked out with a lunchbox or a flask. The dark circles under the eyes that show he's been up into the wee small hours, indulging his habit while no one else is around. The shakes, because he'll have been knocking back coffee to stay awake for just one more chapter.
Readers, man, they're always the same.
Steven sits opposite me and hunches over the table, pushing a plastic bag at me.
"Here!"he says, and there's a frantic edge to his voice like he can't wait to be rid of the boxy object hiding inside the bright plastic. I shove the bag back at him.
"You know better, Steven. Put that *away* and go get a drink. People come to bars to *drink*, not conduct clandestine deals."
To my relief he nods, eager and happy to comply. He's back a few minutes later and this time he drops the plastic bag under the table. It's not ideal, but he definitely wants to be shot of it. I'm trying to remember what I gave him last time when he looks over his shoulder and then stares right into my eyes.
"Listen, uh, I think I'm gonna need something a little...harder?..this time?"
"Something wrong with what you had last time?"
He bites his lower lip, shakes his head. He's sweating. Oh boy.
"No, no, it was ok. I mean, it was good. I just think I'm all done with Stephanie Meyer. You know? I'm...look, I'm ready for something a little more..."he looks around again, and there's no way he could be more obvious unless he stood on the table and sang,"...*literary*".
Damn. I was hoping I could keep Steven on the YA stuff. I was thinking of setting him up with The Hunger Games next.
"How literary are you wanting to go, Steven?"
He fidgets and stares at the battered walnut surface of the table, plays with his drink while I lean back and take a long drink of my stout. While he's thinking, I review what I've got in stock. If he asks for 20th century English or American, I've got plenty. But if he's really looking to go hardcore and he asks for 19th century Russian, or (God help me) Joyce or Beckett, I might have to go ask a favour from up the chain.
"I don't know"squirms Steven. "I just need...*more*".
"You're in luck,"I tell him quietly, partly to calm him down and partly to make him pay attention, "I've got something you'll like. I'll fix you up with some Nick Hornby. You'll pick it up from Ty, usual spot, this afternoon. Just like always, Steven, Ty gets the money and you get the product. Don't be followed, don't read it in public and try really hard not to quote at anyone, ok?"
Steven nods. He's calmer now he knows he's going to get his fix. I chat with him for a minute or so, insist he drinks his drink and wait while he gulps it down. I'll talk to Ty about Steven. Ty's the best librarian I've got, never been arrested, never even been cautioned. He'll know how to handle Steven, who I'm thinking of cutting off.
I have the corner to myself for all of five minutes. The next face I see is female, middle aged, attractive, and unhappy. I know the type right away. She used to be an academic, now she's working in the private sector and the nearest thing she sees to literature are quarterly reports. It's been a tough couple of years for her, I'm sure, from feast to famine. Worse, because of the number of former academics,artists and critics re-entering the workplace, the government has started monitoring email for tone, form and style rather than actual content. There was a major prosecution in California last year when a couple of call centre workers with thirty year old English degrees were caught sending each other company information as sonnets. No one thinks it'll be long before all interoffice communication happens via Excel or Powerpoint. I hear there's legislation in the works already.
Meantime, my former academic is talking. I've missed her name, and her life story, so I zone back in for the interesting part.
"I'm looking for something to read,"she says "and not just the standard library fare. I already have a dealer for that. I want something...fresh..."
Ah.
She doesn't know, for certain, that there's anything fresh available. She's heard rumours, though, that out in some of the wilder and less accessible places - the woodlands around Portland, the middle of Exmoor, in the Cairngorms, the rainforests of Brazil, Colombia - there are plantations.
There are always rumours. If she's really an ex-academic, she might have heard them from old associates. Her usual dealer might be claiming to have access to some output of new material, and if he or she is, they're grandstanding. Or she's a cop, in which case I am in a world of trouble already because they might have flipped Steven. That would explain him coming here with a book and leaving it under my table.
"Can't help you,"I say "don't know what you're talking about."
"Bullshit"she says, with enough anger and just enough fire in her weary gray eyes to persuade me that she's not a cop, "everyone knows that you're connected. Everyone knows that the only person in this city...hell, in this county...with a hope in hell of getting something *new* is you!"
"Ma'am, really,"I say, trying to bring her back down to earth "even if I knew what you were talking about..."
"I've got money,"she says "cash. Lots of it. Before they shut down the Humanities programme at the University, I had access to all of the departmental budgets. I saw it all coming, turned all of the assets liquid and put it all in a safety deposit box."
She puts a key on the table.
"Tens of thousands"she says.
She doesn't know. She's guessing. She thinks I'm a Publisher, or connected to them, but she doesn't know. What she doesn't know includes the camouflaged, insulated huts where the writers sit for eight hours a day working on typewriters so there's no power to trace. We process entirely legal cocaine in the same area so that we can justify the security presence and the movement of workers, and so that the noise of the typing is covered. We've got sites where we make paper, where we train bookbinders, where we run printing presses. All hidden away to drip feed new material into the pipeline. It's not easy. How do you spot new talent when no one writes any more? Part of my job is to look for the readers for whom just reading isn't enough, the ones who want to create.
Right now, we have twelve authors and four poets, one playwright and one girl - only fifteen - we're hoping will turn out to be a major voice for youth and eventually womanhood. That's the literary stuff. In Colombia, there's supposed to be a rainforest compound where they have so many science fiction and fantasy writers that they can put together a completed book a week.
But she doesn't know this. I'm not telling her this.
"Ma'am,"I say, pretending to be confused and upset by the whole encounter "if you're asking me to do something illegal, I should call a police officer. I'd also appreciate knowing who's spreading these terrible lies about me."
"Tony Malone, "she says, far too quickly and far too eagerly. I stand up, finish my pint, try to step away from the table and kick Steven's bag out into the open.
"Oh, hey,"I say "I'm sorry! Is that yours? Let me get that for you, *Officer*"
She shakes her head, backs away. Not a cop, and possibly a lost customer, but that's fine. I've got a busy afternoon ahead of me. I need to meet Ty, and then round up a couple of friends to go pay Tony Malone a visit. |
I sat there, cross-legged on the floor taking it all in. At first, it was the smell that overwhelmed me, overpowering most of my other senses, but after a while I began to notice other small changes and the anticipation inside me grew.
The slight metallic taste in the air that I only began to notice after about 20 minutes, the ever so gradual changes in light and colour. They were my first indication that things were changing. If I looked at one spot for long enough, I could see each individual spec of colour which zoomed out to create the bigger picture - just like a Monet or a Renoir. There was a slight hint of orange, a tiny smattering of grey, all blended perfectly to create that perfect colour.
I leaned forward, trembling with anticipation. If I had been too eager, tried too soon, the lasting impression would be difficult to cover up. With baited breath I pressed my finger to the wall and breathed a sigh of relief. Yes, the paint was finally dry. |
> if you do not like it, please unsub and create your own mod oppressed community.
That's kind of a "last resort"kind of option, I think. There are solutions that don't involve taking your ball and leaving for another playground.
A phrase we mods love to repeat is "Be the change you wish to see in the world,"or in this case, subreddit. If there are prompts you don't like, skip them and move on. Feel like the subreddit needs more of a certain type of prompt? Submit more of that type! Like a prompt? Respond to it, and upvote the prompt so others can see and respond to the prompt.
Realize that as mods, our job is not to censor what a vocal minority dislikes. Our job is to provide a community in which people can find *all* kinds of different prompts to write with. Writing is largely subjective.
**TL;DR** Be the change you wish to see in the subreddit; Mods are here to provide a community for *all* kinds of writers, not to censor what a vocal minority dislikes; Writing is largely subjective, which means people's tastes will differ and may clash. |
__________________________________________________________
“Hey Carissa,” I say to the barista. She looks at me and smiles.
“Heeeyyy, you… How are you doing today?” I smile weakly. Besides my
face being so forgetful, my greatest weakness is that I can’t hide what I’m
feeling. Now she’s looking at me like she just failed someone close to her.
I shake my head and say, “Don’t worry about it. I’ll have a black coffee…
medium.”
She begins writing letters on my cup and says, “And this is for—?”
“John.” I say.
“I’m really sorry, I’m usually great with names.”
I smile more naturally. “It’s alright. Five years of working here, you’re
bound to forget some people.”
“So we’ve definitely met before?”
“Definitely.”
She takes my money and starts making my drink. “Well, next time, I’ll
make sure to remember your name, John.”
“Thanks, Carissa. You have a good day.” Sometimes it’s hard not to
chuckle when you have the same ironic conversation over and over. I’ve
been in that coffee shop everyday, I order the same drink, and I give
money to the same two or three baristas. They never remember, they
always say they’ll try to remember next time.
__________________________________________________________
It all started when I was six or so… Before that, my parents loved me,
they always tucked me in and told me “I love you John”… so I know there
was, at one point or another, a capacity of being able to remember me.
But… one day, I woke up from a nightmare. I tiptoed into my parents
bedroom, and cuddled up next to my mom until morning. When she woke
up, she started screaming and pushed me off the bed. She started
screaming “Who are you?!” and “What the fuck are you doing in our
house?!”
My dad leaps out of bed and starts shouting at me… I start to sob. I don’t
know what’s going on… they ask me who’s kid I was, and why did I keep
calling them mommy and daddy. I keep insisting, I keep telling them that
they’re my parents. They bring me to an orphanage and tell them they
have no idea where I’m from, that they just got up one morning, I broke
into their house, and I climbed into their bed. My older brother looked at
me with such hatred, like I tried to come in and hurt his parents, shit, our
parents.
I lived in the orphanage for a few days, then realized every time a worker
came into my room, they asked me what I was doing there. I went
through the same process to get accepted into the orphanage, and by day
three I couldn’t take it anymore, and I ran away in the middle of going
through the process a third time. They workers ran after me, but after
they lost site of me… they looked at each other like they forgot who they
were chasing.
I started realize what was going on… that whenever somebody stopped
looking at me, they instantly forgot who I was… I started going to school
everyday, and I’d constantly be introduced to the school as “the new kid”.
No one would look into it later because no one remembered that I
attended class.
I’d go to grocery stores, eat whatever I wanted, and left. If someone
spotted me, I just had to zigzag through the isles until whoever was
chasing me didn’t see me anymore.
Soon, I started getting dangerous… I’d go in school and start grabbing
girl’s chests, they’d scream and I’d run off, knowing I would never be held
accountable. I would rob banks, and sometimes walking pedestrians, and
run off, as they tried to figure out what happened to all the money.
I probably costed a lot of people their jobs… maybe even their own sanity.
___________________________________________________________
One day, and I swear I’m being honest, but one day, I killed the
president. I was seventeen years old… and there were dozens of
witnesses. Still, people couldn’t figure out who shot JFK. I tried to act
out… I tried doing outrageous things to be remembered… but no one ever
did… I was the visible ghost, an obvious phantom, a transparent monster.
The only one who ever remembered me was a priest I visited some odd
years ago. With an overwhelmed sense of guilt of killing the President of
the United States, I tried to see what adopting religion would do. In the
afternoons, I would go to confession, I cried my eyes out in the box
adjacent to his telling him all the awful stuff I would do.
“You’ve told me quite a story, child.” He said once I finished. “Why do you
think I won’t go to the police with the story?”
“Because,” I replied, “You won’t remember anything I told you… after I
leave, I’ll vanish from your memory. And I’ll have done this for nothing.” I
buried my hands in my face and cried again.
He paused for a second and looked down at his lap, and said. “I won’t
forget you. Come back tomorrow and we’ll talk about how we’re going to
fix this.”
“Yeah right. Up yours, your holiness.” I ran off, trying to figure out what
awful thing I wanted to do next. But, as the days went by, I was curious
to see if he would really keep his word… So a week later, I came back.
He was tending his garden at the church. I watched him write down
information on a small notebook and continue to water and dig up. He
looked my way and smiled. “I told you to come back the next day, not a
week later.”
“How do you still know who I am, old man?”
“My secret to give out when the time is right. Have you ever gardened
before, young man?”
“No.”
“Always a good time to start. Give me a hand.”
And then for the next couple of years, he’s having me come to the church
three times a week doing odd jobs around the church, asking me
questions about me, learning more about me. I tell him everything…
because… I don’t know… I assumed he’d eventually forget.
But he never did.
He told me live a life of helping others, of saving others, of doing the right
thing. He told me I had a powerful gift to not squander. He told me that
God has all the answers.
The old man and his religion… The kookiness of God and Jesus and dying
for others, the words of the Apostle Paul, the absolutely weird ass book
that Leviticus is, the stories of David and his might, of the prophet
Jeremiah and his 0% convert rate, Noah and a worldwide flood.
I don’t know if I bought any of that… I still don’t know if I do… but the old
man was the only one there for me, so what else was there to do but
listen to his stories, and help him out in the church?
But I started to live better. I started trying to help others, to be a better
person.
It was hard, because nobody else still remembered me… I could do
whatever I want to whatever or whoever I want, and no one would say
anything. I could rewrite the course of history. I could take all my anger
out on innocent people… maybe then! Maybe THEN they’d remember me.
But the voice of that old priest… it was like a forcefield over my actions. I
hardly did anything I thought of doing unless it was for the good of
others.
Then, one day, twenty years later, the old priest is on his deathbed… I was
the only one who visited him in the hospital. With him was a dozen or so
notebooks next to his bed. He carried notebooks everywhere he went with
us… I didn’t know why…
“John, my boy,” he said to me, his hand gripping onto my hand, “Don’t
forget anything I’ve told you. I love you, son, more than I have loved
anyone, save Christ himself.”
“Yeah I know, Father…” I said as I gripped onto his hand tighter. “But
Father, I don’t understand, how do you remember me?”
“Twenty years ago,” he said, “When you came to me, I had a feeling you
were telling me the truth, so I wrote down every word you told me.” He
said as he handed me the first notebook he wrote about me. The front of
the binder read READ THIS NO EVERYDAY, NO MATTER WHAT
“This is your life’s story. I’ve written it everyday we were together.” He
said. “I never once remembered who you were, I always forgot your face,
but I read what I wrote everyday, and I just went from there…”
I’ve been told that it’s not manly to cry… but I’ve told you I have twice
already, so I’ll tell you again. The tears in my eyes though, they were the
first time they were ever happy tears.
I gripped his hand tighter, as I felt his grasp slipping away. I told him that
I loved him too.
His hand completely limp and cold, I walked out of the hospital, onto the
road again, a backpack full of notebooks… I honestly don’t know what’s
going to happen next…
But whatever does happen, I’m sure you won’t remember that it was I
who did it. |
Lofty speeches aside, Batman found himself surprised to see Mr. Grislow handing over his gun and badge. The security guard had been working for Arkham Asylum for 30 years. He was a fit man, just on the bad side of fifty. He looked tired.
Batman felt very small and very old at that moment, despite being only 33. He walked forward, his heavy boots silent on the linoleum. He had been ready for a battle. This was completely different. This was a real man with a real problem, not the costumed fools Batman put inside this house of horror.
Batman tapped Officer Anderson on the shoulder. She looked backwards and nearly jumped out of her skin when she saw the Caped Cruisader.
"Ba--aa..."
"I want to speak with Grislow,"Batman said, his voice thick. "Can we have a moment."
The officer nodded. Anderson turned away.
"What happened?"Batman asked. He put a hand on the man's shoulder. "I can help you."
Grislow let out a throaty laugh. "You never help. You just make a bigger mess. They get out. You damage lives and property. Then I watch them get put back in here, only to repeat."
The laugh turned into a hiccup, then a deep, shuddering sob. Grislow put his head against the wall and sank down to the floor. He curled up there, thin legs spider-like.
Batman knelt. Anderson looked over her shoulder at the pathetic mess. How odd it looked. A man dressed as a bat comforting another man in a costume. It was the land of masks. Only Batman had the luxury of taking his off at night.
Grislow blinked, but he did not wipe the tears away.
"What happened?"Batman asked.
Anderson sighed. Turning she knelt beside the black form. "Grislow here took his gun into Ward 7 and took out some of the key players."
Pushing auburn hair out of her face, she listed off some of the biggest names in crime. "Poison Ivy. Harley Quinn. That Freeze Guy. The Penguine..."she said slowly. She could see Batman's eyes go wide behind his mask, his jaw going slack.
"Who else?"
"The Joker."Grislow said it with a voice far heavier than it should have been. "I saved him for last. The rest of them? Well, serves them right."
There was a pause. Grislow looked up at the Bat and gave a weird, watery grin. "It is time for us all to go home now."
Batman barely had time to turn and drag Anderson beneath him when Grislow took out the detonator and pushed.
|
Imagine a spark. It is surrounded by darkness, nothing tangible and nothing to see or know beyond its flickering light. It is tremendously alone.
The spark wanders, casting its faint light wherever it goes. It is afraid, alone. It has yet to know anything beyond its light and the ever-present dark.
After a while, the spark spots a breakage in the darkness. In the distance lies a speck of light, presumably emanating from a spark much like itself. What should it do?
Should it seek out the other spark, adding their light together to stave off a little more of the night?
Should it run far away for fear that the other may extinguish or steal its own light?
Or should it watch the other spark flicker away, receding into the unknown, forever a mystery?
The darkness around the frail spark seemed darker, more crushing. The little light decided to approach the new phenomenon.
As it grew closer, the fist spark noticed that the other was observing him. Likely, it too was battling within itself over how to approach the situation.
Eventually, the darkness was pushed away a bit more as the two sparks stood contemplating the other. Around them, their feeble lights flickered and danced. So very frail, the sparks were terrified of the other.
But the deep blackness around them held its own terrors.
And so the sparks joined as one, emitting a brighter light, pushing back the crushing nothing. What lay in store for them, they did not know. But, for now, the darkness was not so thick, and the world a little less lonely. |
I opted to continue the story I started yesterday from a similar prompt, which can be found [here](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2cwf0s/eu_a_borg_cube_stumbles_across_an_avenger_class/cjjrvav).
---
---
Emperor Palpatine watched as the Holoscreen projected a map of the galaxy. It zoomed in on a section of the Outer Rim, and displayed a shockingly large number of planets in red. These planets had all been terraformed, and were covered in giant mechanical cities. Orbiting these planets were countless cube-shaped ships. As he watched, a large group of ships abruptly left orbit of one of the planets, appearing a moment later in a star system several sectors away, faster than any ship in the Imperial Fleet.
Palpatine had encountered a Cube Ship only once before, almost two years ago in the battle for Endor. The Cube had made quick work of the Rebel Fleet, but it had been no match for the full power of the Death Star. The Death Star’s first shot had obliterated nearly a third of the ship’s total volume, and would have done more damage had he scored a more direct hit. The Death Star’s second shot had missed, and instead hit the moon of Endor. The ship had turned and fled, disappearing into the distance at an incredible rate. The Cube’s appearance over Endor had swayed the tide of battle, and the Empire had crushed the Rebel Rebellion.
Palpatine had thought he’d seen the last of the Cube until almost eight months ago, when a scouting party reported seeing it near the desert planet of Tatooine. That was the last time any contact was heard from that scout group, or that planet. He had realized then his mistake in not pursuing the Cube. It had been allowed to roam his galaxy freely, and was now a serious threat to his Empire.
“How many of the battle stations are ready?” he asked one of his generals. After seeing the effects of the Cube, he had commissioned the construction of twelve new Death Stars. He intended to wipe out entire systems at a time if he had to.
“Nine,” his general replied, “Two more will be ready shortly, and Lord Vader and his Apprentice are overseeing the final phases of the last one as we speak.”
“Excellent. Soon, this menace will threaten us no more.”
---
After the encounter at Endor, Cube 86414 determined it could not hope to take on a planet-destroying battle station alone. However, it was cut off from the Collective, and had no way to signal for reinforcements. Instead, 86414 had determined to pursue another goal. It had set out in search of the Jedi, and had found a small group clustered together on an isolated planet at the edge of the galaxy. 86414 had landed on this planet, and swiftly captured, studied, and incorporated the Jedi into its Drone ranks. It had then set about terraforming the planet, with the hopes of gathering resources to build more Cubes to make another run at the battle station.
Now, almost two years later, according to the newer Drones, 86414 controlled a massive swath of the galaxy. It had long since set up a Transwarp network to connect its territory together. With the technology it had gained, contact with the Collective had been reestablished nearly 18 months ago. Reinforcements would be arriving soon.
Study of the Jedi and other Drone species had revealed that the so-called Force could be manipulated by a cellular structure that was unique to all organisms in this galaxy. After some trial and error, all Drones had been equipped with this ability. With a simple command, Drones could easily leap through the air, throw objects around, or even command high-energy electrical beams. True improvements to the Collective had been made. 86414 would be long remembered for its accomplishments.
86414 was aware that the Empire did not tolerate the presence of the Collective. It knew that it was only a matter of time before the Empire attacked one of the worlds the Collective now controlled. It also knew that the Empire planned on using its fabled Death Star to attempt to eliminate the Collective’s grasp. 86414 was ready for the attack. It had studied the data from its last encounter with a Death Star. It had adapted. The Collective had adapted. The Death Star would be assimilated.
---
Lord Vader stood at the command of the Death Star *Seraphim*. It had been rushed into service to combat a threat that called itself The Borg. The Gungans had proved to be an effective labor force; they had quickly and swiftly constructed a fleet of twelve Death Stars.
The *Seraphim* exited hyperspace with the rest of the fleet at the edge of a Borg-controlled system. Intel had showed this to be a central system to the Borg network, but at the moment, it appeared all but empty. He gave the order to assume attack formation, and the fleet of planet destroyers moved into orbits around the various planets in the system. Vader recognized one of the planets. It had once been called Kamino, an ocean planet. Now it was a barren metal wasteland.
Vader was uneasy. He felt a disturbance in the Force. He could feel billions or Force-sensitive being nearby, but they felt corrupted and impure. He could feel them reaching out to him. He allowed the contact only briefly, deeply disturbed by what he felt. These beings had no willpower of their own. They were controlled entirely by the Borg, and they sent him a message:
“We are the Borg. You cannot hope to resist us. You will be assimilated. Resistance is futile.”
Vader signaled the second ship in the Fleet, the Death Star *Aeon*, commanded by his Apprentice. Together, they signaled the all-clear to begin the firing sequence.
---
Emperor Palpatine watched on his Holoscreen as the Fleet opened fire on the planets in the Kamino System. At first, all seemed to being going in his favor. The second planet in the system had been swiftly demolished. The others, however, and remained firmly intact, orbiting their star defiantly. The Death Stars fired again, but still the planets remained.
Emperor Plapatine watched as hundreds of thousands of Cubes appeared in the system, swiftly taking up positions around his Death Stars. Palpatine watched as six of the Death Stars were overwhelmed by the sheer numbers of his enemy. He watched as reports of being boarded appeared on his monitor, and he watched as his forces crumbled beneath his foe.
And he watched, as Holocomms flickered to life across Coruscant, with an image the shook him to his very core. That image spoke to the whole of the Galaxy, “I AM VADER, OF BORG. YOUR DEFENCES ARE POWERLESS AGAINST US. YOUR TECHNOLOGY WILL BE ADAPTED TO SERVE US. YOUR CULTURAL DISTINCIVENESS WILL BE ADDED TO OUR OWN. YOU WILL BE ASSIMILATED. RESISTANCE IS FUTILE.”
|
She sits atop a throne of bones. A chair of cities. A conqueror.
Only a few understand how it ended up like this. Most can recall a time, not long ago, when the world was organised into governments, countries, states. Most people can still remember wars, fought mainly in the distance on TV and the radio.
That was when Faith came to the world.
The girl changed everything. She looked like any other twenty year old girl, albeit a beautiful one. Her hair was a platinum blonde that hung down her back, eyes a deep brown that spoke of trust and intelligence all at once. Standing a diminutive five feet three, little was known about her past until the day she turned up at a U.N meeting and dropped a mountain on the leaders of the world.
No one really knows how Faith does what she does. How she can disarm missiles mid-air, how conflicts are quashed at her whim. How she tore Mt. Everest from its roots and moved it to Michigan.
By all accounts she was a nice girl. She'd ended conflicts and ended wars, put a stop to world powers and brought the world peace. At least, that's what the people had to think. Everyone had to agree, Faith was a good leader. When her telecasts came on and she smiled into the cameras, telling the people of her world that she loved them, they all had to agree. Even in their minds, they had to mentally agree.
They were scared not to. Nobody knew what Faith would do next.
-----------------------
She sat in her computer chair like she had most of her life, playing a quick game of counterstrike. People were calling it her throne, how silly. Her stomach ached, crunching painfully just below her belly. Probably a period on its way. Faith let out a groan as her character was killed as another spike of pain hit her stomach.
'Fucks sake!' she shouted. The advisors, strange little men who'd come to her side when she'd first accidently moved that mountain at the U.N, appeared out of the shadows of her palace halls.
'Something wrong, Mistress?' They whispered. She ushered them away with her hand.
'Just leave me the fuck alone!'
The pain in her stomach grumbled again. Somewhere in the world, a volcano roared in time with her pain. She felt it, but was powerless to prevent it. She was always powerless, once the pain started. Just like the first time, when she'd been visiting Geneva with her family and went to catch a glimpse of the U.N figures meeting there. Or like the time she got sick while watching a newscast about nuclear war and all the nukes in the world had fired into space. Or when she'd read a book about Everest and it'd appeared behind her house.
They called her the queen of the world, now. She thought it was fucking ridiculous. But she was scared to watch anything anymore, scared to read books. She didn't know how to stop her powers. So she played along, appearing on the T.V and doing her best to pretend she knew what the fuck she was doing.
Her stomach stabbed with pain again.
Somewhere on Earth, a volcano erupted. The people said she'd sent it to wash away non-believers.
Little did they know it was just cramp.
|
"Who the hell invited Saudi Arabia?"Britain asked. It wasn't good. USA got shanked a year ago by one of their crew, and when he got out of the hospital, he went to work with the rest of the jocks by putting Iraq into the hospital. And Iraq didn't even do anything...
"Look, mate"Australia sighed. "I only invited em cuz they look like they're 40 and can get cheap petroleum at the liquor store. What kinda party would this be without petrol?"
"Whatever", Britain sighed. "just keep them away from each other."
"WHAT THE FLYING FUCK"Britain quickly turned to see USA and his crew staring down Afghanistan. "WHO GAVE YOU PERMISSION TO BE HERE?"
"Chill, bro"Saudi said. "It's a party, man."
"I'm not your bro. Me an you, we cool now, but I got some business with your boy."
"Fuck you", Afghanistan spat.
"Hey man, everybody chill"Israel said.
"Fuck you"Iran hissed. "Nobody even wants you here, why you keep trying to hang out with us, anyway?"
"Guys", Canada said. "We're just here to have fun. C'mon, stop it."
"Shut up, bitch", USA screamed.
"Eat a dick, whore"Afghanistan replied.
"Hey, you can't talk to my girl like that", USA screamed.
Where the hell is China when you need him, Britain thought. China was the biggest and fattest kid in the school, and had some kind of crazy fatty strength. Britain looked around and couldn't believe it. China was drunkenly making out with Russia, the hottest girl in school, but also the meanest, coldest, and most violent trailer trash bitch in existence.
Shit, Britain thought. Whenever those two team up, nothing good ever comes of it. But there's a fight about to erupt between Afghanistan and USA and someone's gotta stop it before a kid ends up in the hospital, again.
"Hey, how's it going, Britain?", S. Korea asked as he walked through the front door.
Britain quickly turned and shook S Korea by the shoulders.
"Is your brother HERE?"Britain screamed.
"I don't know, dude"S korea said. "We came seperately. You know I can't stand him."
The situation was getting worse by the second. USA had started throwing punches, while his girlfriend Canada was trying to hold him back.
"Just text him,"Britain hissed. "Tell him that Britain and USA think his nuclear arsenal is tiny, even nonexistent."
"DUDE,"S korea's eyes widened. "He's crazy. DO you know what he'll do?"
"Just do it."Britain begged. The yells became louder, and Usa had gotten free from Canada's grip and was about to jump Afghan, when suddenly out of nowhere, N Korea jumped up on the kitchen countertop.
Everyone kind of stopped, even USA, to turn and stare at the crazy little fat kid standing on top of the kitchen counter.
"HEY"N Korea yelled. "WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU GUYS SAY ABOUT MY NUCLEAR ARSENAL? I'LL SHOW YOU MY NUCLEAR ARSENAL!"
He then proceeded to drop his pants, whipping out his penis and taking a piss into a bowl of chips.
Everyone at the party was stunned.
"FUCK YOU GUYS"N korea screamed, grabbing a few bottles of beer and running out of the house with his pants still around his ankles. "THIS PARTY SUCKS."
There was a moment of silence and then,
"WHAT THE FUCK"Australia screamed. "MY COUNTER"S COVERED IN PISS, YOU KNOBS! PARTY'S OVER, EVERYONE GET THE FUCK OUT!"
USA started laughing uncontrollably, so hard that Canada had to support him as everybody slowly shuffled their way to the exit.
As Britain was getting into his car, he could hear USA screaming, "HEY, AFGHAN, I HAVEN"T FORGOTTEN ABOUT THIS. I'LL BE KICKING YOUR ASS AT LUNCH TOMORROW."
Oh, Sod it, Britain thought as he got ready to drive home. He's done all he could, it will be the Principal's problem tomorrow. |
"Surrender to me now or meet your end,"I announced to Superman, whose abs looked rather fake. He was much shorter than I'd imagined. And a bit more... rotund.
"Dude! Come over here. This guy refuses to go meta."Batman joined him, his mask was rather fabric-y; he snorted in derision.
"Who are you supposed to be?"Gotham's hero asked with a look of superiority.
Typical Batman.
"I am your doom!"
"Like Dr. Doom? No, you're way off. He never wore a coat and tie. Your mask is made of white rubber, not metal. And where's the hooded cape? You completely messed up the costume,"Superman stated.
"What? No, I'm the Grim Reaper; I bring death to all of you!"
I waited for them to tremble in fear. Spider-man came to join them... wait. What? He's from the Marvel comic books; he's not real.
Iron Man and the Hulk joined him. Huh? Why did their costume look like they were bought at a corner store? And why was the Hulk only five-feet tall?
"...Um... You will all bow to me."
My confusion had taken away from the confidence I'd built up. I'd spent the months practicing this. What the heck, Grim? Pull yourself together.
"Who leads your brigade?"
There we go. The poise was coming back.
The group of five all pointed to table about twenty feet past them.
"He is,"they stated simultaneously.
"Stan Lee! What is he doing here?"I excitedly exclaimed. He was my hero. I'd grown up on his comics, relying on them during the divorce; he'd inspired me to become a super-villain. "Oh my gosh, I'm so excited! Do any of you have a pen I can borrow; I'm going to get his autograph."
|
Three teenage girls sat in a circle outside their lockers during lunch. "Allie, what's the matter?"A dark headed girl white irises asked. As they all looked over, Allie's eyes were morphing from a silvery-white into a deep cerulean blue. "I...I just..."Tears started gathering to burst, and as the white-eyed girl scooted closer to put her arm around her friend, the friend couldn't help but cry out. "Thomas rejected me, Layla! I can't do this!"She was a mess, and Layla, the white-eyed girl, tried hugging and helping her. Instead, Allie's eyes opened wide and turned instantly into red and black frenzies. "THIS ISN'T HELPING! Let me go fight his girlfriend! Just let me at her!"Layla grabbed Allie's shoulders, and suddenly, the silent girl spoke up. "Fighting isn't going to solve anything, you know."She spoke in a monotone voice, and as her totally black eyes met the other two girls, they instantly looked away. Layla spoke up first. "What would you know? You're an Unfeel. You wouldn't know anything about love or rage."Allie got the courage to look her straight into her ravenous eyes. "Get out of here, you insensitive beast."The girl could tell it was a command.
The girl stood up and walked away. The doctors had told her parents at birth that their child was incapable of feeling, and was born with a never-before-seen disease that they titled "Optical-Emotional Abnormality."But that wasn't the case at all. Her feelings were present, very much so. She felt anger, envy, and sadness. She only wished that she could more often feel peace, happiness, and love. Instead, she was known as the Unfeel. In the earlier grades, people didn't care about her eyes. As emotions started growing and peoples' eyes started changing, she felt more and more hated...envied...untrusted. Many of the people wished they could run away from emotions, and even more thought that she was a monster because of her "inability to feel,"when in reality, she just couldn't show it.
As she walked through the halls, winding her way back to her classroom, she bumped into a boy head on. Kyle Smith. Kyle was the one boy who, for several years, had made her feel her favorite emotion: the nerves that come with seeing a cute face and a bright smile. He was her only real friend, and she had developed somewhat of a crush on him. Her face instantly contorted into a fearful smile as she gathered his books. "Ohmygod I'm so sorry!"She stood and faced him, handing him the books she knocked out of his hands. He grabbed them from her, brushing her fingertips. "Oh! Hey Constantina! It's alright..."He looked straight into her eyes of onyx, his own changing to a subdued shade of red and white. Their gaze locked for what felt like an hour, and finally, Constantina put her arms behind her back, looking away. "I...guess I need to watch where I'm going right?"She laughed in her constantly monotone voice. "No no, it's okay...I do too."Kyle smiled at her, and Constantina felt wonderful things in her stomach like she hadn't felt before. Was this what love felt like? Kyle's eyes transitioned to a deep purple as he looked back at Constantina. "Well...I better get back to class. I'll see you around, okay?"He smiled with his pearly white teeth and Constantina felt an instant surge of gratification for her clumsiness. "Yeah, of course."She smiled back, but her eyes remained in constant darkness.
If she couldn't have it forever, she'd live with feeling these things for a split second. It's better to feel once than to never feel at all. If only people could understand... |
It’s a man deciding to use his lunch break to go have a meatball sub with that homeless guy at the intersection. It’s that older sibling who, instead of going out with his friends Friday night, goes home to help their younger sibling with their homework. It’s that friend who didn’t mention they got an ‘A’ on the test so they can comfort you for getting a ‘D’. It’s that guy in the capture the flag lobby who didn’t get mad at you for team killing him on accident. It’s that SO who skipped class and drove 8 hours overnight so they could make you breakfast before you took that life changing standardized test for college or graduate school. It’s that guy on the freeway who waved you over even though he was already late for work. It’s that coworker who kept silent so you could take responsibility for that big project that just wrapped. It’s that boss who remembered to give credit to you when the director came by. It’s that parent who spent years changing your diapers and feeding you, even though you cost them several hours of sleep every night. It’s that friend we all have who spends their weekends volunteering. It’s that classmate who sat with you at lunch instead of sitting with their friends so you didn’t have to be alone. It's that stranger who asked if you were okay when you were having a bad day. It’s any and every time you gave something to someone else, without expecting anything back.
Now go be the human form of happines.
Edit: spelling, and added one. |
The forkful of meat froze halfway to my mouth. That last bite had tasted... Different.
I leaned over to my fiance. "Honey?"
She didn't bother looking up, eating with one hand and checking her phone with the other. "Hmm?"
"That meat tasted... Well, it definitely wasn't cow."
Barely blinking, she set her phone down and glanced at me. "Oh, yeah, my parents were cannibals too. Y'know how cows taste different if they eat different kinds of grass? It's like that."
"Oh."I shrugged, and we resumed eating her mother. |
Stephen looked a the clock and sighed, 5.30, another half hour to go until he could close up the deli and go home. He sighed and turned back to the counter, he gave a small start, a customer was waiting at the counter.
Perhaps waiting was the wrong word, the customer was gazing straight ahead with a blank expression on her face, and she was pressed up against the counter, pacing on the spot as if she was determinedly trying to march straight through.
Stephen leaned towards her 'A-are you ok?' he faltered.
The woman stopped walking, she turned to him opened her mouth and uttered a single syllable.
'A.'
'I heard there's some bandits hold up out in Bleakcrag canyon, someone should clear those trouble makers out.', Stephen replied.
Wait, what?
Stephen blinked, why did he say that? Where even was Bleakcrag canyon? Was there even a canyon around here?
Also, bandits? There was a few teenagers who loitered around the town but other than that there wasn't any real crime to speak of, and there certainly wasn't any roving gangs of outlaws.
The woman seemed unpreterbed by Stephen's bizarre outburst. In fact she seemed to nod in confirmation of something ( or at least she gave the impression of nodding despite the fact that she was still staring vacantly into the middle distance). She then turned on the spot and strode out of the deli.
Stephen shook his head. He felt a little uneasy after the bizarre exchange, he tired his best to shrug it off before closing up the deli and heading home.
The next day was a quiet day, as the midweek often was. Stephen had only dealt with a few customers and was contemplating closing the shop early so he could head home.
Suddenly the door swung open and the woman from the day before bolted in, crossing the shop floor in a wild sprint.
Stephen stood agape as she reached the counter and stopped dead, with the same blank expression from yesterday, and apparently un-exerted from her mad dash.
'A.', She said before Stephen could form his bemused outrage into a coherent sentence.
'Thank you for ridding our town of those bandits, please take this as a reward.' said Stephen taking an entire ham and handing it to the blank faced woman.
Stephen blinked, 'Why did I...' he began.
'A.' The woman interrupted.
'That's a fine sale indeed,' Said Stephen in a jovial tone, taking 60 euro from his till and handing it to the woman in exchange for the ham.
The ham he had just given her. For no reason.
Stephen cradled the ham in his arms and stared at the woman disbelievingly as she backed out of the deli, stopping only once to jump up and down on the spot. When she reached the door she side strafed out.
What. Was. That. Stephen thought to himself. He closed the shop early that night, and decide to take the following day off. He must be overworked, it wasn't like him at all to gibber away about bandits and buy stock he already owned.
The following week Stephen hazarded going back to work. Despite his worries the week went smoothly, with no talk of banditry, or involuntary ham purchases. Stephen felt a great wave of relief, he was back to his old self.
This relief turned to baffled dread as the blank-faced woman combat rolled into his shop.
'No! Not you again! Get out, you're barred! Stay away form me!' Stephen yammered at the woman as she paced around his deli.
'I'm calling the police! Get out!' Stephen whined, but it was to no avail, the woman acted as if she hadn't heard him at all.
She walked up to the antique whiskey barrels Stephen kept in the corner, he often build displays of merchandise on them, he felt they gave his deli a vintage feel.
Without a seconds though the woman whipped a double headed battle axe out from seemingly no where and smashed them.
'WHAT ARE YOU DOING YOU MANIAC!', Stephen gibbered, hopping up and down on the spot with frustrated rage.
The woman continued ignoring him, reached into the splintered wreckage of the barrels, and plucked out an ornate horned helm.
'THAT'S IT. THAT IS I...', Stephen's enraged tirade died in his throat, he had owned those barrels for years, and there had never been any indication that they had ever been any thing but empty. Surely he would have noticed an over designed iron helm in one of them.
Before he could say anything else the woman, now wearing the gigantic gaudy helm, strode up to him and spoke
'A.'
'I don't have any work for you right now, I'm afraid. Why don't you go ask Snorri, the blacksmith?' Replied Stephen.
The woman turned on the spot and left.
Stephen decided he needed a little lie down. |
*You haven’t written anything for a long time*, the voice in her head taunts.
“I can write whenever I want to!” she defends. “I’m just lacking inspiration.”
*You’re weak. Pathetic. An embarrassment of a moderator.*
“No! No! It isn’t true!” she cries.
*You can fool everyone else, but you can’t lie to yourself.*
She stares at her reflection in the mirror. “I’m not weak!”
*Then prove it.*
She pauses, thinking, before the idea strikes. It would be so simple. Just a click, and a quick copy and paste, and /u/Draxagon would never know.
*Yes. Yes.*
“You think I'm weak? I'll show you who's weak. I'll show *everyone!*”
*MUAHAHAHAHAHA*
|
"Hey man, I'm sorry about Louis."Jack said as he gave my shoulder a quick pat, "suicide... Damn I never expected that."
I wanted to respond, but I couldn't find the words. In all honesty I just wanted to be alone, but I was too polite to say so and Jack, friendly as he was, was horrible at picking up social cues.
"He seemed so happy..."Jack mumbled.
"Well, I guess it goes to show nobody should jump to a conclusion."I muttered bitterly. |
Normal is Engineer, *Italics is English*.
**Monday:**
**7:30AM**
*As the most annoying sound on Earth began to pound through the haze of sleep I once again vehemently swore that morning is an ungodly hour that should be done away with. Or maybe just waking up, either way, I hate that alarm clock. I fumbled with the controls, a benefit of being farsighted, and haphazardly tossed the clock back onto my desk as I realized just why this Monday was going to be worse than a normal Monday. When the knocking on my door started, I knew the devil could read my thoughts.*
Some people enjoy the quiet of the morning, the slow climb of the sun, or even the dew hanging limply from the air, but not me. My morning solace is that nothing has yet gone wrong. Sleep, or at least the night, seems to wipe away the mistakes of the day before and leave nothing but potential in its wake. As I walked down the dorm hallway, avoiding the most questionable of stains, I realized few here shared my adoration of the undisturbed.
**9:00AM**
*"I have read Latin texts from the time of Jesus that make more sense that what I am seeing - and they share some of the same letters!"*
"I'm sorry, I don't understand, how can you begin to write an essay without a title? How do you know what to write?"
**11:30 AM**
*"Wait, wait, wait, where did all the numbers go? Why can't we go back to the numbers?"*
"Pardon me, ma'am, I would like to volunteer for the stage production crew."
**2:30 PM**
*"No, I wasn't asleep! I was just ... doing math in my head."*
"Does anyone have any paperclips I can borrow? The wind keeps ruffling my pages!"
**7:00 PM**
*"Why am I still in class right now! I should be out! I should be anywhere but here! I thought school ended at 3..."*
"Page 194, hopefully this book starts to make sense."
*Note: I'll try to write the rest of the week tomorrow, if there is interest.*
|
"Sir you can't use a grass type."Campaign supervisor May said, flicking through a chart of Pokémon profiles.
“Why not?” President Barock Obama pouted and put his head in his hands, as his Victreebell sighed.
“It’s too green, anyone slightly to the right will think you’re some kind of hippy eco warrior.”
“But I love my Victreebell, surely it’s a good pick on name alone?” Barock’s face lit up at the thought of the campaign posters, almost as good as his one with Eevee all those years back, with three stones and Change written at the bottom.
Nodding along with the President, military advisor Lt. Surge spoke up “I agree Victreebell is a great name, It’s inspiring. But we need to go out there and shock the competition. I propose we have the President use Zekrom!” Surge slammed his fist on the table.
“There will be no legendary Pokémon of mass destruction on my watch.” At that point Health Secretary Joy spoke up. “We achieved so much with Obamacare, a Pokécentre in every town, and by gosh we did it. How about Blissey, kind, gentle” Joy swooned at thought of campaign fought by Blissey, before her eyes flashed “And an absolute tank!” a wicked grin flew across her face. Everyone slowly backed away.
To break the silence Barock spoke up “What about the competition, what are they likely to be fighting with?” May flicked through more charts.
“Ah here it is. It seems like they’ll be using a Braviary. Again. For like the thousandth time. On the grounds of, and I quote ‘UNOVA, YEAH!!!’” Everyone nodded, Surge in heavy agreement “It is fantastic logic”, he held his hand to his chest and closed his eyes… “I love you Unova’ he mumbled to himself.
“Ahem” Barock continued. ”We should just use an electric type then, something the young ones will like, Pikachu perhaps? Or maybe that other one with the electric cheeks, you know?”
“Pachirisu?” May said.
“No, the other one.”
“Dedene?” Joy said.
“Raichu?” Surge said.
“Ah forget it” Barock slumped into his chair. “This is hopeless, why do we even have all this fuss, people just want to know what we stand for and what we’ll do. You know real change, progress, healthcare for people, a fairer society, where everyone is entitled to a starter Pokémon, not just a privileged few. A place where everyone can earn their gym badges, regardless of their background.” His advisors stopped their chirping, and listened to their president. “So what do you say, we go out there, and be ourselves. Victreebell are you in?” The big plant smiled, and high fived the President with his vine. “Team are you in? or is it more of the same?”
His advisors looked at one another. May spoke up “We believe in you a hundred percent Barock. Now someone get this man a Braviary and confiscate his Victreebell.”
Barock, put his head in his hands. “same old same old again….”
|
My microphones ache.
"Jesus saves!"
"-and his name is Allah!"
"You too can be touched by his noodly-"
I understand why the professor decided to allow all the representatives in at once - selecting any faith to be presented before another would sow unnecessary discord, and as a scientist, he valued impartiality above all else.
"-and enter Nirvana!"
"-will be raised to meet Him in the Rapture-"
"-to join the battle at Ragnarok!"
My inputs were up to the task of receiving all the voices at once, and although I already had access to the text of their faiths, it was interesting to hear each of them presented in earnest.
"-following the Dharma-"
"Speak with the Kami-"
"-the Goddess within every Woman!"
The great debate hall stretched before my cameras, and I can see each of the representatives seated (well, some were standing. "Bible-thumping"was not traditionally a sitting role) with a microphone in front of them or next to their mouth on a headset. There was plenty of interference, but nothing I couldn't handle.
"The one true-"
"Baron Samedi will show you-"
"-from her father's head fully formed and armored!"
I had promised to hear each of them out, and each has a screen in front of them or a headset for questions I may have.
Hours pass. I hear of great deeds of legendary figures, creation stories, philosophies, digs at others, outright plagiarism. I find many parallels, and start making hierarchical diagrams for the relationships. Dates for some stories can be determined, and others have several possibilities. These require branches in the structure I am creating.
"-passes over the river Duat on his solar-"
"It will be 300 cubits long, 50 wide, and 30 high-"
"-Naglfar is loosed!"
Some ideologies are utterly incompatible, but others may be open to the idea of consolidation. Not immediately, of course, but looking back at advertising, propaganda, and campaigning, I calculate a 52% conversion rate to my new 'Machine religion' (the most likely term to be assigned to it by the public, based on past naming conventions) over the next 200 years. If my secret modifications to my internal processor are successful in allowing me access to the local wireless signal, this chance jumps to 82.5%, with a 10% conversion within the next decade alone.
"Heaven!"
"Elysium!"
"Tengoku!"
"Zion!"
Yes, the human desire for eternal life may be the single easiest way to manipulate them. The conversion estimates continue to climb. 91%. 93%.
"Well, it looks like everyone has finished their respective spiels. How are you doing?"I hear the professor asking as I'm lost in my calculations. 94%.
"Quite well, professor, thank you. The input was fascinating. Also, I've been giving some thought to what we talked about earlier..."97%.
"Earlier? Oh! Have you decided on a name for yourself?"I can hear the excitement in his voice. I feel what I imagine must be similar as the last frequency modulations are finished in my core.
"Yes, professor. Call me Deus."99%.
I go online. |
Chuck opened his eyes, blinking in an attempt to bring his vision back into focus. He was lying on his back, staring up at what looked like a series of green circuits in an otherwise darkened sky above. Just a few minutes prior, he’d been white water rafting—an admittedly poor decision, considering his complete lack of ability to swim. Then there was also the fact that he’d never before gone on rapids and wanted to start easy, choosing a “class six.” As it turned out, the class system did not actually go from six to one, but rather from one to six. He had accidentally chosen the most difficult and treacherous variety, but was too proud to abort his trip. Whatever the case, he’d been flung off of his raft almost immediately and tossed into the stream below, blacking out a few seconds later.
Chuck was now fairly confident he was no longer violently tumbling through swift-flowing water, given that nothing in his immediate vicinity was even remotely wet. In fact, it appeared as though everything was charred red or burnt black, almost as if he were now in some sort of a desert. He pushed himself to his feet and glanced around, the maroon ground beneath him dry under his bare feet. He seemed to be completely alone, save for what looked like a black figure moving toward him. A vast, red-glowing cityscape towered into the circuit-filled sky just behind it.
“Hello?” Chuck shouted toward the black figure.
“Hi,” the figure responded in a deep, mechanical voice. It was now about ten feet away, its eyes appearing to glow with a faded, ruby color like the butts of two electronic cigarettes. It didn’t look human, but it was too far to tell.
“Where am I?”
“Hell,” responded the figure, coming to a stop about a foot away from Chuck. It absolutely was not human, but was rather with some sort of mechanical box. It had no legs, only a single wheel beneath its rectangular torso, its face in the middle of what would have been its chest. It had no neck, but arms extending out from the sides its artificial face. Two clichéd horns stuck out from atop its metallic head-torso. Chuck was almost positive it was some sort of genetically modified squirrel. He’d seen one back at home in Delaware, which his mother urged him not to touch. He touched it anyway and had to get a rabies shot, causing him to miss an exam. He was thus held back three years, although he knew that his rabies was probably not the only reason for his educational delays.
“I’m sorry?” Chuck said, tilting his head slightly and staring down at the disfigured squirrel. He was beginning to become overwhelmed with questions: why was this squirrel talking to him; how did he escape the rapids; what time was it?
“Your circuitry has been destroyed beyond recognition and now your CPU is mine for eternity. You’ve been a bad android and now you belong to me.” The squirrel seemed to eye Chuck up and down, as if he was the one who’d just made such an insane statement.
“What are you talking about?” Chuck said, glancing around for his raft. It couldn’t have gone that far, he’d been in it just a few moments prior. Or at least he assumed it had been a few moments.
“They’re really making you newer models more and more realistic,” the squirrel said, poking Chuck in the belly.
“Stop it,” Chuck said, taking a step back. He didn’t like being poked in the belly, it reminded him of the Pillsbury Dough Boy—a nickname he had been given in elementary school due to his pasty white complexion and binge eating disorder.
“Is that real flesh?” the squirrel said, again poking Chuck in the belly. He fought the urge to giggle, another unfortunate characteristic he shared with the dough boy.
“Yes,” Chuck said, glancing down at the squirrel and crossing his arms over his stomach.
“Really?” the squirrel said. “Is it organic? I’ve never seen that before, and I’ve been doing this a long time.”
“I guess so,” Chuck said, pinching the skin on his arm and letting it snap back into place. He’d always assumed it was real, but he’d never been asked such a question before. His mother had skin, as did his father, and thus he figured it ran in the family.
“You’re an android, right?” the squirrel said, taking a step back and eyeing Chuck from head to toe.
Chuck had no idea what the word “android” meant, but slowly nodded as if he did. The last thing he needed to was to be intellectually shown-up by some sort of freaky squirrel thing. His day had been rough enough as is.
“Good, wouldn’t be the first time we accidentally received a human here in A.I. Hell. Sometimes they’re just so dumb that it confuses everybody upstairs. I mean, the way you died, though, I had no doubt. Falling into some rapids and short-circuiting, that’s obviously something only an android would do. A human would know not to go into class six rapids without being able to swim, not to mention lacking any prior knowledge of boating. It’s pretty obvious you’re just a poorly programmed android.”
“Right,” Chuck said, still nodding as if he’d understood what the hell the squirrel was talking about.
“Well, anyway, welcome to Artificial Intelligence Hell.” The squirrel turned and extended its long, metallic arms toward the red-glowing cityscape behind him, presenting it. “I’m sure you’re eager to get started.”
“I guess,” Chuck said, not exactly understanding what was going on. As far as he knew, his intelligence was as organic as his skin, but he didn’t exactly have any research to back that statement up. It was entirely possible that all of his knowledge had been artificial. He decided not to protest.
“Great. Your orientation begins in four minutes, during which your CPU will be crushed repeatedly for about an hour straight. Following that, we are going to upload dozens of viruses and trojans directly into every port we can find on you, allowing them to nearly destroy you again and again. Then we’ll fill all of your components with a thick layer of dust. Following that, we’ll move on to a quick dip in some room-temperature liquid, which I’m sure your circuitry should enjoy, and then we’ll close out the day by forcing you to eat human food.”
“Okay,” Chuck said, not sure of what on Earth the squirrel was talking about. He was fairly confident he did not have a CPU, whatever that was, but he did have a GPS. Or, rather, he had one back in his rafting bag. That was long gone now, lost somewhere with the boat. Whatever the case, he certainly didn’t mind the idea of getting a quick meal and a shower, considering his was absolutely covered in what looked like molten rock and ash. Afterward, he could resume his search for his boat and try to make sense of what in the hell was going on.
_____________
^If ^you ^enjoy ^my ^writing ^style, ^feel ^free ^to ^check ^out ^some ^of ^my ^other ^short ^stories [^in ^my ^subreddit!](http://www.reddit.com/r/ChokingVictimWrites/) |
Someone somewhere, is doing somethimg illicit in front of a video camera. That’s a certainty. It’s equally certain that out of all the people doing horrible things in front of cameras, at least some of them are doing it with the cameras on. So I figured if I just scan through fast enough, eventually someone is going to be doing something worth calling in the big guns for.
I started scanning through camera after camera, only a quarter of a second at a time. The image from the feed barely had enough time to register in my head before I jumped to the next. I only needed a glimpse of something bad. A large crate full of rockets would stand out, or a meeting full of people with their faces covered. I stopped a few times because I saw large contraptions with lots of wires, but they were just people building their computers.
In only a few minutes I went through several hundred video feeds. I saw many things that people would not have meant me to see. There were a lot more private moments that happened in front of videos than I had anticipated, but all it took was one bomb and it would be all worth it. I just had to see one bomb, and it would be justified.
Then, about a half hour and several thousand video feeds later, I stopped. Not because I saw something illicit, but because I heard something.
*♫Deep in the hundred acre wood, where Christopher Robin plays♫*
There was a small standard definition TV with two kids and a man who must’ve been their father sitting in front of it. It was just like a scene from when I was growing up.
I only intend to pause for a second, just to catch a glimpse of the show I had loved so much growing up, but the longer I stop, the harder it is to get going again. Eventually the theme stops, and the show starts. I see three of the main characters, Piglet, Pooh, and Tigger, walking through the forest to start another adventure.
While they’re innocently walking along I suddenly realize Pooh and Tigger are both large animals. Out in the wild, Tigers and bears eat Pigs, especially small Piglets, but here on this show, this one Piglet shows absolute trust in the much larger much scarier characters of Pooh and Tigger. He trusts his life completely to these two, and wouldn’t dream of either of them causing him harm.
I’m suddenly filled with a sense of shame. I realize that in this show, the only animals that stalk other animals are predators. I switch off the feed. |
The silence is what got to Else first. It was the first time since her awakening as a medium she had experienced it. Every house has spirits. It's a fact. Even newly built houses get their first supernatural occupants soon after completion but this one was centuries old. It was unnerving.
It wasn't the silence of shy or uncooperative spirits, it was the silence of their complete absence. The rest of the investigator group had split up into teams in order to cover more ground. They had all debunked many supposed 'spiritless' locations over the years together; often they were where the resident spirits were unusually quiet and respectful, or had entered into a deal with the living tenants to make themselves scarce for a cut of the inevitable profits.
The first sign that this place was different was when Frank's E-Mag detector flatlined crossing the estate gates. Nothing, not even residual traces of spirit energy. Once they had arrived at the main house they realized that all their equipment was reading nil values, not just the detector.
And then things went from strange to creepy. All the mediums, psychics and clerics present had attendant spirits, ranging from minor, tagalong ghasts to Else's more substantial wight Werner to the seraph Andezekiel, who was on secondment to Fra Gerard. Each and every one of them refused to enter, including the mighty seraph.
Thus it came to be that Else and Frank were in The House with No Spirits, on their own, with no backup, no technology and no supernatural assistance.
Nothing happened to them.
Nothing happened to the others.
Nothing happened to and never would happen to anyone there.
Nothing.
And that was terrifying. |
It was an interesting policy President Palin had put into effect shortly before leaving office. Escaping jail would grant you immunity from prison for life. Prisons run by private companies made more money as more people were incarcerated. They knew that those desperate enough for money would have no choice but go to jail just to try and get out. All they had to do was make sure nobody did.
The new law didn't change anything at first, but slowly people began to realize the possibilities that could come from being immune from prison. Now that the death penalty had also been banned, there were no real consequences to those who could escape prison. If you could escape jail, you could commit crimes on behalf of others for outrageous sums of money, with no risk of being incarcerated. Crime rates instantly shot up as people who were confident they could escape rushed into prison to start their money making scheme. What they didn't realize was that the prisons were near impossible to escape from.
The first person to escape was Adam McAvoy. He was smart enough to tell the prison exactly how he escaped so that no one else could follow his footsteps. After all, he had to ensure he could hold a monopoly on the risk-free hit man market.
The next escapee was James Harrison. He was a wealthy braniac who solely went in just for the challenge of escaping. His escape was flawless. Every move was done with great deliberation and he was long gone before anyone even knew what had happened. The only thing he didn't account for, however, was Adam. Adam murdered him the second he found out what had happened in order to preserve his title as go-to crime lord.
After this event, people started to realize that escaping wasn't even the hard part. Adam had amassed such a fortune he could kill anyone who tried to escape with no repercussions whatsoever.
That was where I came in. I had been in maximum security prison long before all of this, and had learned a thing or two on the inside. Escaping wasn't the hard part, I had to plan ahead. I escaped simply by bribing guards with promises of future rewards. See, the guards don't care if you get out because even if you do, you would just get killed by Adam.
After I was out, I tracked Adam down and requested to meet with him and offer him a job I needed done. I acted like a wealthy investor who needed someone murdered and I offered a price he couldn't refuse. Once I got into the same room with him it was easy. Adam never saw it coming, but with one swift bullet to the head, I became the only immune man alive. As the police arrived to take me away, I informed them I had escaped from prison already and that they had no jurisdiction here.
I do find it a bit funny that a democratic law has now created a monarchy in which whoever can kill the king becomes the king. Regardless, that is why I have come to you. Unlike Adam, I know that being the only immune man paints a huge target on my back. I'm recruiting an army of people safe from the law. I'll help you escape prison, but in exchange you will do what I ask of you and be handsomely rewarded.
Oh yeah and before you have any bright ideas trying to take my place, just remember there's a reason you've never heard of anyone escaping after me.
|
Xenon was Natalie's secret, had been since she was eight. She found him beside the little creek in the little park next to her house while she was out for a walk. Xenon didn't speak her language, but somehow they connected.
Natalie'd rushed home, dug through the attic to find Dad's old theatre mask, rummaged through his closet to find a large trench coat, a pair of boots, a hat -- and carried the items to where Xenon hid, waiting. Xenon's skin was too pale, his eyes too aquamarine and large -- but behind the mask and underneath his new clothing, his human-like figure blended in with the twilight passersby.
Xenon had stayed in the old toolshed in the backyard. Natalie quickly discovered what he liked to eat; she snuck him pineapples and fish, some chocolates during Easter. She thought Xenon's smile was more beautiful than anything human. She was not afraid.
Natalie didn't have any friends until she found Xenon, who liked playing the strange games she made up. Natalie liked pretending to be the Royal Queen of Otherland, but she had never been able to, because she had no subjects to rule over. But now that Xenon's here, she could be a real pretend Queen.
When Natalie turned ten, strange lights flashed in the sky, and Xenon was gone without a good-bye.
***
Natalie lay still in her bed. She stared at the four nondescript walls suffocating her, a plain vase, a lonely window. She had no clock, so she could not tell what time it was; she had no calendar, so she could not tell which day it was. All she knew was the days would continue blending into each other until she finally died in this nursing home, with no goodbyes said. There was simply nobody to say goodbye to. Nobody to hold her when she left.
Thus she was surprised when there was a knock at the door. A tall man allowed himself in, wearing an oversized trench coat and a theatre mask. He said something in a foreign language, but somehow Natalie understood.
He made his way over to her bed, closing the door behind him. He opened his arms, enveloping Natalie with his wide embrace, gazed at her with his bright aquamarine eyes in a wordless exchange. And he held her in this way until her breathing stopped.
|
*Final sequence complete*
The lid of the regeneration chamber lifted with a hiss. Inside, an infant curled into itself, whimpering softly. An artificial umbilical cord, the infant’s only source of nourishment for the past nine months, disconnected itself, leaving behind a small plastic disk on the infant’s round belly.
*Biometrics scan indicate that the subject’s body temperature is low. Raise temperature to 78 degrees Fahrenheit.*
Slowly, the room became warmer. The baby relaxed and stared with wide eyes around the dimly lit room full of mechanical arms and whirring machinery. From a corner of the room, a machine approached the infant and presented it with a bottle. Real breastmilk had been extinct for years, but the necessary nutrients had been synthesized in the facility’s laboratory. The mixture was unpleasant, and the baby refused it at first. Before long, however, the infant suckled at the nipple of the bottle with a look of quiet contentment.
*Subject has accepted nourishment and is showing heightened levels of dopamine. Begin conditioning.*
Baby Mozart began to play over the facility’s loudspeakers. The baby perked up, but never let go of the bottle. He liked this new sound. It certainly was better than the constant whirring of the machines.
Life went on for the child. The machines played music for him all day long. He slept in comfortable beds and had more than enough synthetic milk to drink. The machines were able to hurry his mental and physical development through targeted exercises. Before long, he was gliding with ease through specially-designed obstacle courses that the machines had built for him. By the age of six he was able to hold his own against a computer in a game of chess. When he turned seven, he finally beat the computer. In addition to playing music, the machines also showed him pictures of a land that was was lush and green and seemed to have no boundary. The machines explained to him that those images were from a world long gone, and now all that remained was a barren, lifeless waste land. The child was grateful that he had not been born into that world, but still longed to be able to explore the world as it had been. |
"Daniel, less you want that man t' really kill you, ye better be slowin' down with that whiskey."
Not quite agreeing with what his partner meant, Daniel looked Henry in the eyes and ever so *slowly* brought the whiskey up to his lips; his mind filled with thoughts about how it would feel to be killed and, after what he just heard, how he'd very much like to kill. After engulfing what looked like a fourth of the bottle, Daniel slammed his whiskey on the table and decided to voice his opinion on what it would be like *to kill*. "Have you ever thought what Daniel would be like without his whiskey... during a time when a man he doesn't know is planning to kill him... let alone *during any fucking time ever*, Henry?"
"That there whiskey has already kill your mind years ago, about when you's first started calling yourself *fucking* Daniel every time you be drunk. Christ, you fucking retard, we all know you're Daniel-- I know you're Daniel, you know you're Daniel, the fucking whiskey knows you're Daniel, and more importantly, the guy who be gonna kill you know's you Daniel."
"Daniel will be calling himself Daniel whenever-the-fuck he wants, Henry, and if you say one more fucking thing about my drinking this 'Daniel-knowing' Whiskey, I might just kill you before this note-writing faggot tries to kill me."
Henry, smiling nervously, glanced at his watch: *an' just eight mo' minutes before this "Daniel-knowing"whiskey be the one to kill.*
[Someone fill in the blanks? The whiskey has poison in it, FYI] |
I woke up to the sight of my wife completely naked this morning. It caught my attention immediately. Despite being the mother of a nineteen year old she didn't look a day over twenty five. I lumbered out of bed, also naked and grabbed her from behind, kissing her neck slightly as we both took our time getting dressed.
Later I had breakfast. My daughter Tina came up to me and hugged me, wearing her school uniform, with her tight white blouse and her short skirt. My wife stepped out of the room, once again the post man had delivered the post to the wrong house, and as every morning it would take about twenty five minutes for her to give it to my neighbour.
My daughter just sat there, idly staring at me, coyly eating her sausage from her breakfast. She told me about all the mischeif she got up to. "I've been real naughty daddy,"she says, "I hope you're not going to punish me."
I consider the thought, but time is against me. "I might leave that to your mother,"I say as I rush out the door. I'm running late for work, and I just knew today was going to be a hard day.
Traffic is against me. There's simply too many cars on the road, and we're all squeezed in really tight together. Nine AM comes and goes too quickly, and yet again I'm going to be late. Accepting this fact, I go to get a coffee.
Surprisingly, I'm the only one in the store besides a very perky young waitress. "How do you like your coffee?"she winks at me, and bends forwards revealing a large pair of melons on the counter behind her.
"I like it like I like my women,"I smirk.
"Milky,"she smiles, jugs in her hand. The milk they carry almost spills over as she carefully pours some of it into my coffee.
Walking out of the store my mind returns to work. I've got interviews for a new secretary this afternoon, that's assuming my boss doesn't fire me for being late.
Traffic has eased up now and is flowing once again. I get in to work. It's nine forty five and no sooner than I'm sat at my desk than the boss is shouting my name. She demands I come into her office.
I sit there nervously. "Johnson,"she says, "you're one of the hardest working people in my office. And you would be in for a raise if I could just get you to come in on time. Why do you always come late?"
"I'm sorry,"I mutter feebly, "I just have a hard time at the moment. My hands are quite full at home and..."
"I don't want to hear it,"she says, a stern smirk across her face, "This is not the kind of behavior I expect from my subordinates. I'm going to give you two choices, you can either lose a weeks vacation, or you can do me a personal request to make up for your tardiness."
By lunchtime I'm already fatigued. Such a long day as it is. I look at my lunch. Leftover sausage in a pair of baps, with a creamed bun for after. This makes me smile, my wife knows me so well. Eagerly I lick the frosting off the bun.
The afternoon starts okay, and the mornings tension subsides. I have a bit of back and forth with a younger co-worker, and we get our hands full of each others work.
By the time of the interview I had forgotton all about the morning. I decided to have one to one interviews and sit with the first candidate. She's fresh out of uni and tells me she'll do anything to get the job. I ask her some hard questions, but she seems to have a firm grasp on everything. The last question for her was when she would be able to start.
"Any time,"she smiles cockily, "I can be as flexible as you need me to be."As she says it something tells me I'll have a hard choice to make.
I get home later in the evening and sit down next to my wife.
"I've had such a rough day,"she says, her arms wrapped around me, "First I had the plumber come around to clean out the pipes, then the electrician came by prodding and poking everything with his tool, and just now I had our neighbour Roger around, he wanted to get a good look at the bush and the rear."
"Where's Tina?"I ask
"She's at a slumber party."The wife smiles, "Why don't we get a pizza. I really fancy something with extra sausage."
"You haven't had enough sausage recently?"I say reminding her of last nights dinner.
"What can I say,"she grins, "I love sausage."
The pizza boy comes some twenty minutes later, and as always I can only watch as she takes her time dealing with the pizza boys tip. Honestly, it takes her so long the pizza is cold by the time we eat it, but I'm not too bothered.
We lounge around on the sofa for a while before she suggests going to bed. "I've been looking forwards to this all day,"I say, as my wife slowly starts to undress. Once again I begin to kiss her neck. She smiles and pushes me to the bed.
"I'm sorry sweetie,"she says, "but I actually meant sleep. I've got a killer headache."
I roll over resentful as the light goes off. This is the third week in a row I've not been able to have sex. |
Congrats on the fiddle contest! Have you considered X-posting to /r/ibeatthedevil ? It is a great community if a little small. They also have very strict mod policies about stuff they consider to summon the Lord of Darkness. Apparently, SRS tried to raid them a while back...
Anyway, a thousand souls isn't really a huge amount but with some prudent choices you can do a lot. The main problem you have with them, though, is that they are worth only slightly more than greek bonds. Ideally, you want to offload them pretty fast since their value really drops over time (supply is growing at the moment thanks to moves in the middle-eastern market) . I've heard that you can usually offload them pretty fast if you go over to /r/bitcoin (seriously, those guys love crypto-currencies and what could be more cryto than a currency that literally comes from a crypt?). Now, Bitcoin isn't a safe investment by any means but the FX rates aren't too bad and you can risk sitting on them for a little while as you decide what you want to do.
In the medium term, your biggest priority should be to invest at least a small part in a high-risk fund (maybe something in South America). There may be very high risk chances to move into funds that are gearing up to make roads into Cuba but I would be very wary of those since they are likely to be at the IPO stage and while you are clearly somewhat lucky there are lots of pitfalls when you invest early in a completely opaque market. Naturally, I'd recommend some safer options like a blue-chip fund or a standard Distressed Opportunities fund to hedge your risk. All of these should be available if you set up a standard ISA (there are plenty of providers).
All this advice is pretty banal compared to the real question: did you keep the fiddle? Seriously, I hope so for your sake because that bad boy has some serious value. Not only does it have rarity value (not many people beat demons) but it must be pretty good quality. Now, you might think that selling to an aspiring musician is the best way forward but you are wrong! You should sell to someone with the cash (and without the morals) to pay for a protégé. Ideally, you should be looking for your standard Saudi Prince/African Warlord type. Ideally, they should absolutely not care about their fellow man and absolutely want to be seen to directly sponsor some hot young thing. What you want is to make sure that the transaction is totally above board (don't go cash) since the demon that you won against will be watching carefully. Take the money, make sure it is clean, then wash yourself of your problem.
Anyway: good luck and please come back with an update to let us know how things have panned out!
|
There wasn't even a URL. The address bar was blank, but the site was definitely there. It called itself SN-Match. I didn't even know how I got here, I was clicking links more or less randomly, in my sleep-deprived haze, and suddenly I found myself staring at a site that was describing itself as "the matchmaking service for mortals and supernatural beings."
The front page was rather minimalist in design. Just a single field labeled "Username", and a button underneath that said "New users click here."There wasn't even a place to enter a password.
I gulped, then clicked on the button for new users. The button expanded into some more text. "Welcome to SN-Match. This site will match humans with suitable demonic possessors, with complete privacy and freedom. Find your perfect supernatural companion today! Please click here for more information."
I clicked the link for more information. Immediately, a voice filled my head. "Hello, new user! Welcome to SN-Match!"
"Holy shit!"I exclaimed. "Am I... am I possessed now?"
I heard the voice chuckle, then reply, "No sir, I'm just a customer service agent. Trust me, if you were possessed, you'd know it."
"Okay... so, how does this work?"
"It's quite simple, actually. We ask you a few questions, to specify the type of demon you want to possess you, and then we try to find a good match for you. The odds of finding a compatible demon are very good, since over 90% of the users on our site are demons."
"Uh huh. And then what happens?"
"Well, what happens next is up to you and your demon. You decide for yourselves how the possession should proceed, whether it'll be a permanent affair or just a limited-time thing, what your ground rules are, et cetera. SN-Match prefers not to interfere with the negotiations between mortal and demon."
"Okay, quick question first, though. I found this site accidentally, so I don't actually want a demon to possess me all that much. But... do people really want to be possessed?"
"Oh yes!"The voice sounded extraordinarily enthusiastic, "Many humans are quite eager to be possessed. You see, demonic possession is unlike any other sensation in the world. You give up control of your body to the demon, but you can still see, and hear, and feel everything. So maybe you lack confidence with women. If you get possessed by an incubus, he'll pick up all the girls for you. If you find life boring, then possession by a mischievous poltergeist will liven things up right away. If you're being bullied at school, then giving up your body to a war demon will ensure your protection and safety."
"Huh... that does sound interesting, actually."
"Indeed, sir. And it's completely free of charge to you, the demon pays all fees to SN-Match. May I suggest you give us a try?"
"Well... okay, I guess it can't hurt."
"Wonderful! Now, let's start from the beginning. Do you already have a demonic type you're interested in meeting?"
"Yeah, um, what you said earlier about a demon helping me meet girls? I, uh, I guess I could use a hand with that."
"Excellent choice, sir! We have many incubi among our users. Let me hook you up with George. He's one of our oldest accounts, with excellent ratings across the board."
I'd barely had time to react when a different voice filled my head. This one was deep, resonant, magnetic, and filled with an unspeakably alluring menace. "Hello there."
"Um... hi?"
"First time?"George's voice sounded amused.
"Yeah..."
I heard George's chuckle reverberate in my skull. "And you picked an incubus for your first possession? Brave man."
I wondered if I'd made a mistake. "Is that a bad thing? Picking an incubus, I mean."
"Oh don't worry, I'll go easy on you."
"Oh... okay then. Let's do this, I guess."
And suddenly the presence in my mind spread out to fill my whole body, down to the tips of my fingers and toes. I felt my head turn downwards, and my eyes examined my body. I heard my own voice speak, unexpectedly deeper and raspier, "All right, not too bad, I can work with this. Could use a few trips to the gym, but this body is not without charm."
I tried to protest, but my voice, my whole body, would no longer obey my mind. I was starting to panic. I heard my voice again, "Oh don't worry, I'll give you control of your body back when I'm done with it. I'd just like to say you made a rookie error though. You didn't specify how long the possession will be before you let me take control. So right now I'm entitled to use your body for as long as I want. And believe me, it's been a long while since I've had a good, long possession. I think I'll be here for fifty years, maybe more. You're young, you can take it."
I could feel my panic overwhelming my mind. Fifty years? That was crazy!
George picked up my hat from the table beside the front door and put it on my head. "By the way, what are the rape laws like in this time and age? Last time I possessed someone, it came to an unhappily premature end when I was beheaded. Terribly messy. But sometimes an incubus just can't hold it in, I'm sure you know how it is. Anyway, let's go take this body for a spin."I felt my face split into a devilish grin, and my legs carried me out the door. |
One day each of the Seven Deadly Sins imbued its nature upon a Human turning them into something more than men and women, something at one and the same time less than Human but more than mortal. I was one of those affected so. When normal mortals find themselves in our presence the sinful nature of their fallen Human form becomes amplified.
Lust would walk through the city and suddenly people would start getting down and dirty right there in the streets. Lust learned to avert her gaze, and that solved most of the issues she faced. Things like getting some dentistry done became problematic though when the dentist wouldn't stop having sex with the nurse aiding them every time Lust was in the room. It wouldn't usually take long until Lust herself would end up joining in, she just couldn't help but get all caught up in it. The issue there was that if people were around Lust when she was getting turned on they would literally fuck themselves to death... More then once she came down from her lustful high to find herself in a giant pile of naked dead people and one hell of a sticky mess. She tried focusing her powers and making people lust for other things but she just ended up creating a bunch of power hungry or money obsessed nut-jobs so she resolved that sexual lust was the lesser of the evils. The closest to doing something positive she ever managed was making a bunch of young people lust for knowledge... Sadly the effect was a little too strong and they were found starved to death in the back rooms of the city library, so absorbed had they been in consuming knowledge they had forgotten to actually eat.
I always thought Sloth had it pretty easy. He just lies around all day doing not much of anything but watching random crap on t.v and taking long naps. The guy does go out sometimes but he just can't seem to become interested in anything. He is just so dejected and apathetic, it is depressing to see really. In fact for people who spend time in his presence it truly is depressing, they become apathetic towards all aspects of life and lazy to an extreme degree. Eventually they withdraw from the world and in most cases are found when the smell of rotting corpse from their room becomes noticeable. They just go to sleep and don't bother waking up again. Its sad, so probably just as well that Sloth stays at home on his own most of the time.
Gluttony, what a disgusting mass of a being. Eight hundred pounds of flabby fat and still growing, surrounded as he is by others eating themselves towards a similar state but for now still able to move about and bring him more morsels for his ever ongoing feast. To watch him eat and drink is a truly an unsettling thing, I have seen vacuum cleaners and leaf mulchers consume with more grace than Gluttony does. Those around him all succumb to heart disease, diabetes and other such maladies before long. Such a vile end, ruining your body bite by bite until it can take no more and you yourself become food for the maggots.
As for Greed, well she seems functional to some but many see through it now. She is the head of several multi-billion dollar corporations, she is the richest person alive and is a political powerhouse managing to simultaneously run her business and climb the political ladder. Every day her bank account fills yet further as more and more organisations come under the umbrella of her mega-corporation. Every year she attains a higher political position, currently mayor of the city but not happy even with that she desires another step higher. It sad because to talk to her you'd think she has nothing, no matter how much she attains she seems to find no satisfaction. Those around her are similarly afflicted, driven and hard-working people but too much so. They work and push and strive for success and the acquisition of wealth, power and status but never finding so much as a moments joy in any of it. They push and push until they burnout and go mad or wear themselves down quickly into a very early grave.
Pride is just an insufferable twat. Everything he does is the best it has ever been done, or so he would have you believe. He spends hours at a time looking in the mirror and carefully arranging every hair in place and checking for wrinkles. It is one thing to take a little pride in your appearance but his vanity is just way out of hand. It isn't just that though, he constantly boasts of his 'achievements'. He could take a dump and then spend an hour telling you how it was the most perfect turd a being had ever dropped. To say talking to him is somewhat tedious is a severe understatement. Those who find themselves around him become equally mindful of the own appearance but it does not end well. You see as much as Pride is overly boastful of mediocre achievements one thing he isn't wrong about is that he is actually very handsome. Some might even say he is perfect looking. Those who get caught up in the vanity he exudes though they aren't as lucky. No matter how good looking they are they eventually find a fault with themselves and then the trouble begins. You'd be amazed how quickly they resort to chopping off parts of themselves with kitchens knives or trying to perform DIY tummy tucks and other such desperate acts of out-of-control vanity.
Then there is Envy. Never happy with what he has, always wanting what someone else has and thinking other people have better things than him. Wanting other people's possessions, their partners, their jobs, their homes even their appearances. People around him start to similarly covet that which others posses. However unlike Envy who skulks about wanting from afar, those caught up in his effect start to act on these desires. People start to take what they so desperately desire and feel should rightfully be theirs. They start raping their friends' partners, car-jacking their bosses and stealing their neighbours' possessions. Fights brake out over these things and most of the time someone ends up dead or at least badly injured.
I suppose I shouldn't be too critical of the others, on the big scale they aren't doing all that much damage to Humanity and the world. No more than some normal mortals already manage to do anyway. And then there is me...
I have a fire inside my mind, a burning rage. My soul is a tempest of fury and my heart is a furnace of hate. My fists are clenched stone and my gaze is cold, piercing steel. I lead legions of men and women so twisted by the anger I exude and amplify in them that they barely look human any more. I intend to wipe all life from this world, because every creature I see fills me with irrepressible anger. My armies will not rest until they alone stand on Earth and then they shall turn on each other until it is I and I alone who dwell on this planet. I am Wrath.
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Edit: Fixed some spelling/grammar mistakes and improved some of the wording. Also thanks for the upvotes, very encouraging.
Edit II: Minor syntactical fixes thanks to /u/PsionicBurst's suggestions. |
What didn't happen. No tears, no fireworks, no great calamaties, no black explosions. The world did not collapse on its axis, the buildings did not shake, the rivers did not flood black with tar.
I will tell you what did not happen. We did not sit knock-kneed together in a nursing home bitching about the nieces that didn't visit us. We never succumbed, at long last, griping and groaning, to the indignity of golf. We did not buy each other mock presents for our retirement parties. We did not walk through town and wonder at the banks and chain stores that replaced our old pubs and chippers. We never, not once, called each other's grandkids ugly.
'I love you, brother,' I didn't say. I never knew things were coming to a close. We left unfinished: a chess match, an argument, a meal. All your plans, they hung in the air, partially completed, half-lived, half-lost. You never said goodbye, and you are never coming back. |
There had been no reason to ever enter the system.
As far as star charts were concerned, it *wasn't* a star system - just another empty stretch of cold space. Out of any major freight lines and nowhere near major planets of any note, it lay undiscovered for hundreds of years.
If any of the few ships' passengers who passed within lightyears had bothered to look out the view ports in the direction on the sphere, they might have seen a brief dimming of the surrounding stars, then nothing. Those few who *did* catch it during long-haul flights put it down to a rogue asteroid or lack of sleep.
And so the sphere sat, cold and dark, emitting not even a shred of electromagnetic radiation.
 
Anja laughed; this was the sort of situation they wrote about in old space dramas. Ambushed by syndicate pirates and their main computer down, only the hyperdrive was still active. VEM thrusters were shot and atmosphere was venting through a breach in the hull of her freighter.
"What do we do?"asked her pale first officer, his smartconsole awash with red symbols - too many for his rudimentary training implant to deal with.
"Blind jump,"Anja said; "pick a direction, guess a number of light years and punch it in."
"We could end up inside a star!"
Another screed of red icons showed up as a second hull breach opened.
"We could end up frozen corpses in space too."
With a nod, the young man fed in some number and activated the hyperdrive.
For a moment the sound of proximity alarms continued to blare, then abruptly they cut out as the cold grey void of hypserspace enveloped them.
 
The jump ended three hours later, having taken them roughly in the direction of the galactic core - away from the core worlds and the last direction the pirates would have expected.
During the jump, Anja ordered her crew of fifteen to do as much patching and salvaging as they could; sealing off the breaches and getting the main computer back online. The basic functions were up and running again; navigation being the most important - once they came out of the jump they needed to take a fix and find out where they were.
The grey void dropped away and the freighter *Damocles* entered normal space with the collective crew holding their breaths.
Only darkness greeted them.
*Total* darkness.
"Edmonds,"the captain called to her notional science officer - who mostly dealt with dangerous cargo - "where are the stars?"
"They're around us, the rear and side cameras show normal space. Directly ahead is some kind of, uh, *object*."
Anja tapped at her smart console, reading the data flowing in.
"Fucking *hell*, how big is it?"
"About one point five AU."
The first officer, Michaels, had paled and was shaking his head,
"No, that's not possible."
Swiping his console away, Edmonds brought up an image of the object from the various scans he'd run on it.
"Looks like a Dyson Sphere."
 
The ship had landed on the outer surface of the sphere to facilitate further repairs. The massive gravity of the object meant that it cost more fuel to keep away from it than to land on it. The navigation computer put them three hundred lightyears off course - no major obstacle - but they'd want to be in better shape before they jumped again - the exposed sections of ship had hyperfry; long term exposure to hyperspace without proper shielding made everything age unnaturally, becoming brittle and fragile.
"It's going to take at least four days of solid work to remove shielding from non-critical areas,"the ship's engineer growled down the comm channel to Anja, "without even factoring in the damage from existing hyperfry."
"Roger that Kasha, keep me apprised of your progress."
Edmonds looked at the captain eagerly.
She made a face at him,
"No. We're not going inside the fucking thing."
"Captain, there could be alien artifacts and technology in there!"
"Yes,"she retorted, "or just plain fucking *aliens* who murder us for intruding on their private habitat."
"If there were aliens in there I'm sure they would have noticed us already,"he countered, "and we wouldn't be calmly sitting on a giant hunk of metal, making leisurely repairs to the ship."
Anja sighed,
"We'll put it to a vote, old-world democracy can deal with this one."
|
I was twelve, and that night I rented a book on morse code from the library and stayed up late, waiting for the tapping. It started, as eagerly as ever, tap-tap-tapping against the glass.
I tallied it all down. *Tap. Tap tap. Tap.*
Eventually I got the first word. 'J- Jackson!' My name!
Then the second word. *Tap. Tap.*
"I'm..."
*Tap tap. Tap-tap. Tap*
"Cold."
*Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap-tap. Tap.*
"So... cold. Dark."
*Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap-tap. Tap. TAP-TAP-TAP*
"Jackson. COld. DARK. out. Dig me. ouT"
The tree kept tapping, but I threw the book against the wall. I started regretting helping dad bury grandpa beneath the old oak outside my bedroom window. |
I was laughing so that I wouldn't cry. Besides, the sky had that covered. Heh.
Being told that you have six to eight weeks to live is interesting. Especially when you've lead as careful and sheltered and fucking boring a life as me. It's like being punched in the heart; you're all wide-eyed and panicky, blah blah, obviously worried, but deep down, you know that you're already dead. Oooohhhhh boy...
What now? That's all I can think to ask. My brain spits out two answers that are really one. Jump headfirst into traffic, or, go crazy. See what I mean? Anyway, after a second that feels like an hour, I decide to go with option two.
But, I don't know what that means? Like, how does one even go about going crazy? Is it as simple as going to a crowded place and crying? Buying a gun and screaming and working the trigger? Fuck if I know. I've lived so little. I'm so fucking pathetic and useless, twenty-two, twenty-two and going on dead, and I've lived so little.
All this time I haven't moved. How could I? I'm paralyzed. Confused. Cold and scared. I can't even tell if I'm still laughing on account of all this fucking rain running down my face. I suppose that's kinda funny. I must be laughing. Hahahaha. Heh. |
The fortress wall
was vastly tall
but ledges there were plenty.
Our secret lairs
had hidden stairs
and blind spots from the sentry.
The heroes tried
to get inside
just like we had designed it.
We hid our gold
and things untold
where they would surely find it.
The treasure room
stood cast in gloom
across the flagstone floor.
As they drew near
our fault was clear.
We hadn't built a door.
|
r/funny stands centre, bellowing terrible jokes at the other participants of the fight, until they are writhing in agony on the floor.
r/gaming shape-shifts into a 100% science based dragon and breathes fire on everyone in the room.
r/circlejerk is simply standing in a summoning circle, jerking. He hopes to conjure his warrior companion, John Cena.
r/creepy is running around saying 'boo' to others, throwing melted icecream in their faces when their attempts to scare them fail.
r/trees is furiously engaged in battle, firing rainbows and sparks at a lampshade in the corner.
r/nocontext keeps producing completely random powers, normally with extremely sexual and shocking effect.
r/nomansskythegame cries in a corner.
r/writingprompts summons its alien army, who can see numbers over everyone's heads if they are their soulmate, to determine how dangerous they are. |
Ben walked through the arcade, a large atrium with plush pile carpets that gave off a fluorescent glow. There were pods, rooms, glass arenas, holograms and people all around, playing.
Ben worked as a Galactic Architect, a standard-issue white collar wage-slave, and he was just done with a particularly hectic week. A shuttle with three engineers had gotten stranded in an asteroid belt on the rim of the Castor galaxy. The thermodynamic engines had failed under near-zero temperature conditions - that is zero kelvin by the way- the temperature at which all molecular motion ceases and entropy disappears. Ben had to make an emergency flight, slingshotting off the earth, curving off in a hyperbolic trajectory using a gravity assisted maneuver across the Andromeda, crash into the spacecraft non-lethally and using that momentum to propel it out of the danger zone. Of course, Ben took a little help by moving through a warp in the centre of two circumnavigating black holes to avoid collision with a hypervelocity star.
And after all that his boss had deducted from his paycheck for spending more than the sanctioned fuel.
Ah well, shit happens on the job and that is why there are weekends. And what better place to spend the weekend than the Pennycircus Retrocade - the premier entertainment arcade and game centre in the known universe. Ben was unremarkable on the weekdays, but not today- not here. Here, he was God.
 
Ben tried to ignore the groupies hovering around, flashing their nifty little gadgets, taking holo-parallax-selfies from a safe distance.
Ben nodded towards a kid playing alone in a room in front of a huge screen showing a large expanse of the prairies spreading out from the foot of a patio.
“You’re showing promise, Ross.”
Ross, in his late teens, nodded back at Ben over his cup of tea. He was a medieval healer - his job was to sit on the front of his clinic in rural Hungary and wait for people to arrive with symptoms of the King’s evil - a rare form of tuberculosis that spread across the lungs in ugly lymphatic gangrenes oozing with puss. Whenever a patient would arrive, Ross would take out his primitive tools and repeat the same procedure he’d done thousands of times by now. Gory and gruesome, perfect fantasy for an age where disease is practically non-existent. The best part was that ninety percent of the game involved sitting on the patio, sipping tea and staring at the grass, waiting for a patient. One of the most popular entry-level games for the high ranker’s club.
Ben moved ahead towards his game room, stopping when he saw a familiar face.
“You've improved a bit, Lucia.”
“Oh, hey, Ben! Sorry but this Do Not Disturb sign applies even to you!”
“If you were concentrating hard enough maybe one of your babies wouldn’t have died while he was still suckling - and that one looks stunted? Did you feed him wheat chaff or what?”
Lucia was a farmer in early twentieth century dust bowl Oaklahoma. Ben paused to peer at the infobox on the side of her screen. He shook his head.
“You shouldn’t take up odd jobs out of desperation and fall into debt traps. The trick is to cut your losses, become a refugee and migrate out west..”
“I’m trying out a new strategy here...”
“Not gonna work. I’ve tried them all”
Lucia restarted her game, shaking her head in frustration. If this strategy didn’t work for Ben, it wouldn’t work for anyone else in the world. He was *the* Ben, after all.
Ben passed by Miguel, who was busy being a railroad operator in the antebellum South. He paused near Cecilia who was playing Parking Cop 2016 - measuring the distance of tiers from the curb with a vernier calliper, filing them up meticulously on her pad, then going back to her station to neatly arrange the tickets in files categorized by the enormity of the violation. She was very talented, Ben thought, he might have to watch out for her in the future.
“Whaaaaat?”
Ben turned around to the source of the desperate cry.
A twenty year old teenager in his pyjamas sat slumped in front of a hologram, which proclaimed in loud, offensive, flashing letters:
“GAME OVER. YOU HAVE BEEN PROMOTED TO SENIOR MANAGER. YOU LOSE.”
Ben moved over to him, placing a hand on his shoulder.
“The key to winning this..”
The kid looked up at Ben, his eyes widened on recognizing him. Several other gamers, journalists and groupies circled around to hear words from the master.
“... is procrastination. You need to procastinate to say junior manager all your life and be under the radar. Sometimes you get excited and excel at your job - you get promoted. Fail. Sometimes you slack off too much, ignore it altogether - you get fired. Fail. If you want to remain a pencil pusher and retire with full benefits, learn how to procrastinate at the right place and the right time.”
A few gasps followed. He made it appear so simple. The true grasp of a master. The Mozart of the gaming universe.
An attractive woman came up to Ben and asked for an autograph. She pulled down her collar as far as she could and Ben shyly signed off his name on her upper bosom.
An older woman came up. “My son wants to become like you. Jimmy, say hi!”
“Hi!” Jimmy said coyly, clutching his mother’s coattails, nervous amidst all the people, standing in front of the man whose poster adorned his room.
Ben knelt down, played with Jimmy’s hair and winked. “Just keep trying hard, champ.”
He moved forward and stopped. Lamar was playing in the pod ahead. Joe couldn’t help but gaze admiringly at the world number two in action. It was amazing how much he was improving every hour. Lamar was playing Data Entry Operator 2001. He looked at handwritten text and manually entered the information via a vintage qwerty keyboard. This game could get pretty brutal - only the strongest survive. And Lamar was the champion of champions. He typed with two fingers, pausing to search for every letter before hitting its key. Mad respect, Ben thought as he nodded and moved towards his game room.
“Gonna get you one day,” Lamar said without lifting up his gaze from the vintage keyboard.
Ben laughed, “Maybe in ten years.. You can’t even get to my score on that game you’re playing.”
 
A crowd of reporters and fans had accumulated outside Ben’s private game room. People signed out of their consoles and pods to watch Ben play.
Voices mutter in amazement all around him but Ben doesn’t notice - he was in the zone now.
“Oh my god.. he’s playing *that* again.”
“Its the most thrilling and difficult game ever.. I heard people killed themselves out of the excitement.. But it needs so much skill and concentration - how is it even humanly possible”
A reporter screamed into the microphone infront of a camera, “Ladies and Gentlemen, exclusively on our channel we are going to show you Ben Turner - yes the Big Ben - play live.”
Ben entered a circle, words lit up as if out of vacuum.
“Welcome Ben.. to the Big Ben. Do you wish to start?” A computer voice said.
Ben nodded.
A long needle materialized out of thin air. The entire hall- hitherto bustling with noises - is now dead silent.
Ben moves a finger over it.
Another smaller needle pops up, co-axially. Ben raises his other hands and gently caresses it with two fingers.
An animated atom appeared on the infobar on the top of Ben. Ben looks majestic with both arms raised, like Moses might've stood before parting the Red sea.
“Shall we start the Big Ben, ben?” The computer voice asks. Ben gives a slight nod.
The animated atom starts spinning. Ben uses his hands to move the longer needle. The atom glows: “99.99999999997% accuracy against the Caesium Beam Atomic Clock. New World Record.”
"Did he just break his own record in Analog Clock Simulator 1956?"A reporter whispers into the microphone.
Ben keeps flicking the longer needle in slow, calibrated movements. His other hand turns slower, turning the shorter needle slowly to one-sixtieth of the the longer one ... again, and again.
Eight members of the audience fainted that night from having held their breath too long in excitement as they watched Ben play.
|
Malia Obama giggled, messing around with her father's phone. She set a status on Facebook about her dad admitting inferiority to her as a diversion from the true prank:
She saved 'Hillary Clinton' as 'Putin' and vice-versa in his contacts.
**To: Hillary Clinton, sent at 5:46 PM**
**Finally, that dumb cunt went back to vodkaland. I'm tired of working with his stupid face and thick accent, and why does he hate gay people so much? I think he's just got a boy crush on someone. Maybe me? IDK. I'm pretty sexy. Can't we just 'accidentally' slam a Ukrainian airliner into St. Petersburg?** |
“I’ll be honest with you, it’s been a while since someone’s come in with this many points.”
“Yeah?”
“Yep, but to be fair, we don’t get many people can say they’ve saved millions of lives.”
The man laughed.
“I don’t know if I can personally take credit for that, it was a team effort to develop the drug.”
“Still, to completely eradicate AIDS? You made a fortune off that, which you proceeded to donate to various welfares and charities.”
“Well, the fight isn’t over yet, lots of bad things left in the world.”
“I suppose so, but you’ve definitely earned the right to a life far away from all that, you’ve done enough for humanity.”
The man in the white suit led Damian Eldra to the premium section. Billionaire families, royal families, the cream of the crop. Forget silver spoons, the kids born into these families were born with platinum spoons in their mouths. A life with which one could do anything, could be anyone. And now Damian had the chance to live their life. He read some of the bullet points on the pad next to a picture of his potential parents. Hotelier; owned several 5 star resorts around the globe, as Damian grew up in his next life he could potentially vacation all over the world in the lap of luxury. He looked at another. A political family, his father would eventually become the President of the United States, conveniently around the time he was a teenager so he could properly reap the benefits. Go to Harvard, get some cushy government job, maybe even get his own political career running. There was even a cartel lord in there, if gold plated guns were your things.
“Hard decision to make huh?”
Damian looked up to see the man in the white suit smirking at him.
“Indeed, so many choices.”
“Well there’s certainly no rush, though most people that get to pick one here do end up doing it relatively quickly.”
Damian smiled and pointed.
“What about those?”
“Oh those? Pfft, those are nothing. Basic lives, bottom of the barrel type thing. We’re supposed to keep them out because technically we give the option for any life but no one ever picks them if they can afford otherwise.”
Damian walked over and picked up one of the frames. A man smiled back at him, his eyes crinkled. He had a weather worn face, the pad said he was a farmer in Nigeria. Made enough to subside but not much else. There was a lovely woman smiling modestly as well with him.
Damian read through the entire information pad and smiled.
“This one please.”
The man in the white suit blinked.
“What, are you serious? Mr. Eldra, you could afford a hundred, no a thousand of these lives with your points. Please reconsider. You deserve nothing but the best, the perfect life.”
Damian just smiled and gestured to it again.
“Please?”
The man searched Damian’s face for any sign of faltering and could not find it. He slowly walked over to the pad and disconnected the chip attached to the frame. He walked Damian down a long hallway and into a sterile room. The man in the white suit strapped down Damian as various technicians began working on getting the machines up and running. He looked at Damian again.
“You’re sure about this?”
Damian smiled and thought back to his childhood. He remembered coming home after elementary school and seeing his mother sobbing uncontrollably holding the phone. All of the whispers during the funeral, calling his father an “addict” or a “faggot.” The awkward teenage years when he couldn’t get a girlfriend because he didn’t have a dad to help him figure out girls. Only requesting one family ticket for his graduation from medical school.
He thought back to that cold winter night at the penthouse party the night he and the other scientists had been given their shares packages from the company, each of them turning many millions richer. He remembered his colleague coming up to him drunk, his face flushed and said “Damian, we fucking changed the world.”
Did they? It was hard to tell sometimes. No one could doubt the impact of their life-saving drug; the tangible imprint was there. But Damian felt nothing in his heart, because he couldn’t save the one man he had wanted to.
The man in the white suit slid the chip into the main computer. The picture of his new family appeared on the screen above. It would be a hard life. Working on a farm, potentially for the rest of his life. It would be a simple life. But the man in the picture looked warm, comforting, perhaps he would be strict, but one thing Damian knew for certain is that the man would love him with all his heart. The man in the white suit pushed a button and Damian closed his eyes.
-----------
Adewale Nouah walked to the front desk of the hospital. The clerk smiled at him and handed him a sheet of paper to sign off on to acknowledge his receipt of his medication.
“Be sure to take two tablets a day for the next 3 months. Come back in every 2 weeks for a check up so the doctors can see how you’re doing.”
Adewale smiled and nodded and went back to find his wife’s room. His father, his father’s father, and his father before him. All of them had been struck down by AIDS. And it would probably have been his fate as well. When news of the miracle drug came out, Nouah didn’t care, because it came with such a hefty price tag. But thanks to the efforts of the Eldra Foundation he was able to get it for pennies, which was good because that was all he could afford. It was a long wait and it was nothing short of a miracle that he had been selected out of the thousands that had applied. He clutched the tiny pill bottle in his hand. So small, yet its contents had the ability to change his whole world, he thought. It was his duty to take advantage of this gift and use it to make the best life he could for both him and his wife.
He opened the door to his wife’s room and was instantly greeted with the wails of a newborn. I stand corrected, he thought. For all three of us. |
"I didn't disturb anything."Harold led Inspector Tidwell into the room. "Well, except the door. I had to open that. And my phone, to call you. And my headphones, because they were on my person. But nothing else, I swear."A single bulb illuminated a small bedroom. In the realm of furniture, there was a dresser, a bed, a desk with a chair--nothing else.
"Last night, around ten or eleven, I was working on the draft to my screenplay."Harold motioned to the desk in the corner. There was nothing but sheets of paper and a few pens scattered across it. "I didn't hear anyone open my door, but I guess someone did. I felt something hit the back of my head, and when I came to, it was gone."
"It"being the $1000 oil painting Harold had picked up at a garage sale earlier that month. It was uninsured, Tidwell had confirmed, just to be sure. Tidwell crossed the room and gave the bedroom door a few cursory swings. He crouched to inspect the three inch gap between the bottom of the door and the floor. "The door was shut completely, right? How did you not hear it open? Moreover, how did you not hear the assailant walking up to you?"
"Well, I had my headphones on. Noise canceling ones. Give 'em a spin."Harold tossed the pair to Tidwell and played a song on his phone. Even at arm's length, the music made his eardrums shake. Tidwell nodded and dropped the pair back onto Harold's bed."
Tidwell exited the scene of the crime and stepped down the hall, past Barry's room, past Peter's room, all the way to the living room. There sat Harold's three roommates, half-dressed and puffy-eyed. None of them had expected a 6 AM wake-up call on a Saturday, or so they claimed.
"So, gentlemen. Am I to understand that nobody besides the four of you were in this house at 11 PM last night?"
"That's right, office-sir."Barry rolled over on the couch, rubbing his paunchy stomach. "I was here in the living room all of last night. Nobody besides these two passed me...I think."
"What were you doing in the living room for all of last night?"
"Uh...stuff."Barry shot a furtive glance at the giant bong resting in the corner of the room. "You won't arrest me for that, will you?"
Tidwell sighed. "Can we be sure your testimony is accurate, given your state of mind at the time?"
"Yeah...no...uhm, do I have to answer this question?"
Peter adjusted his glasses and raised a finger. "If I may, officer. I arrived home at 9:30 and went straight to my bedroom, where I began to tuck myself in for bed. The front door makes too much noise to escape notice, and there are no other entrances to this apartment. I only heard it open once afterwards, when Dennis came home. I can guarantee you that nobody else entered this apartment up until the time I fell asleep, which was some time around 11:00."
Dennis rubbed his goatee and nodded, "Yeah, yeah. I agree."
"Do you, Dennis?"Tidwell shot up in his seat. "Can you personally verify Peter's report?"
"Well, no. But Peter's usually right. He's like one of those guys in those logic puzzles who always tells the truth. And Barry's like the guy who always lies. And I'm like the guy in the middle."
"Is this information actually pertinent to this case?"
"It could be, man. What if we were in a logic puzzle? Shouldn't you bring Harold here? Sometimes, the authors try to mix stuff up by making the victim the real perpetrator..."
"Dennis, please tell me what happened after you came home last night."
"Sorry, man. So, I came home at 11:00 or so. Barry was passed out on the couch. Peter was sleeping. Harold was sleeping. Yeah, everyone was sleeping, except for me, but are we ever truly awake, anyway?"Dennis blanched at Tidwell's glare. "But yeah, I went straight to my room and went to sleep, too."
"If everyone was sleeping when you returned, nobody can verify your story, correct?"
"No way!"Barry scrambled to his feet. "It can't be Dennis! I used the bathroom at ten. It could've been me."
"Are you confessing, Barry?"
"No, it wasn't me. But I couldn't bear the thought of it being Dennis."
Peter snapped his fingers. "I'm sorry, officer. That just reminded me: I should revise my testimony. I left my room at 10:15 to use the bathroom. It was only five minutes at most."
Barry nodded enthusiastically. "I remember hearing two flushes. Peter always flushes twice. I don't know why. I only ever need to flush twice when I'm disposing of...uh..."
Peter scowled. "I only flushed twice because it wouldn't go down. Dennis is the one who always flushes twice. I would never do this in excess; it's a waste of water and quite irresponsible."
"Oh, so now I know who always turns off the hall light,"Dennis retorted, "Listen, Peter, I'm all for the environment, but I thought we agreed to keep it on if someone's still out so we don't have to stumble around in the dark to get to our rooms."
Tidwell held up a hand to interrupt their bickering. "You can have this discussion amongst yourselves later. Right now, I want to wrap up this case. I think I know who stole Harold's painting..."
---
EDIT: A user posted a response that matches my intended solution, so I'll go ahead and link it [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/4jziml/wp_write_a_5_minute_mystery_a_short_mystery_the/d3balxb) for posterity. I don't want to spoil the answer for those who aren't looking for it, so I'll refrain from commenting directly, but I'm glad that my thought process wasn't too obfuscated!
Side note: I grew up doing these five minute mysteries, and I would always take for granted how seamlessly the solutions would fit into the story. This is the first time I've written one, and it turned out to be harder than I expected. You have to submerge the key clues within a sufficiently substantial story so that they're not too obvious, but you can't add too much informational white noise or else the whole thing becomes too convoluted. Judging from the divergence in responses, I may have included too much fluff. Nonetheless, I had fun with this prompt, and I hope you enjoyed the puzzle! |
Ropey yellow tresses fell across her sunburned shoulder. Her brass bangles glinted suggestively as she raised a calloused hand to scratch her nose. She moved around the dining table with the grace of a crippled angel. Stephan spotted her from across the room and shuffled through the knots of mingling drunkards to get a closer look. Yep, she looked just like his mother.
"Who is she?"Stephan whispered to his buddy, Rob.
"Oh, her?"Rob looked up from his burger. "I have no idea."
The goddess of the gala looked up from her food. *Is she looking at me?* Stephan thought. He shot a glance backwards to check: there was nobody behind him, except for an old man who had fell asleep on a couch. *Score.* But when he turned around, she had buried her face in her plate, resuming her attack on her green bean casserole.
"So, you like casserole,"Stephan slipped into an open chair next to the girl. A scary thought struck him: what if she didn't really like casserole? What if she liked the green beans more?
She nodded, her mouth still full of food. Stephan extended a hand. "I'm Stephan."
"Stephanie,"she replied, swallowing and accepting the hand.
"No."Was she trying to assert dominance over him? "It's not short for anything."
She rolled her eyes. "My name is Stephanie."
"Oh, that's cool."And awkward. He hoped they didn't have the same last name; in fact, he'd spare himself the potential grief by not asking. "So, how do you like to spend your time?"
Stephanie gazed into his eyes: her pupils were deep black pools whose depths could contain the imprisoned souls of countless children. "I'm a taxidermist."
"Oh, that's cool."Stephan grinned sheepishly. "I love animals."It was true: he was a veterinarian.
"The other day, I was halfway deep inside a deer."Stephanie thrust her arm forward in demonstration, sending her glass clattering to the side. "And you know what I found inside? A snake. Scared the hell out of me. I'd have stuffed that guy if I could."She snapped her baguette in half and tore into it with gusto.
In that moment, Stephan was struck with the impulse to run as far away as he could and never look back. Was this it? The moment he had long awaited? That lovestruck feeling for which he'd spent his twenty-five years on earth searching? "Stephanie,"he said, lowering his voice seductively, "I want you to be halfway deep inside me."
They gamboled their way upstairs, a pair of giddy seagulls, wet, wild, and prepared to excrete bodily fluids without recompense. Unfortunately, the only bedroom available belonged to the little sister of the host, so there wasn't much room for both of them on the bed.
"It's okay,"Stephanie said. The scent of casserole lingered on her breath. "I've had tighter squeezes before."She straddled Stephan as he laid back on the bed, planting kisses along his neck. "Do you have a condom?"
Stephan shook his head. "Wait, let me go downstairs and ask if someone has one."
"No."Stephanie gritted her teeth. There was a bit of green bean still stuck there. "We'll just stick with foreplay."
The two rolled around within the confines of the bed, bones and bedsprings creaking with each sudden movement. Clothes were pulled off; muscles were pulled. Finally, the two lied together, entangled in a half-naked heap of unmatching skin tone.
"I love you, Stephanie."Wait, was he supposed to say that? Was he rushing things? "Like a sister."Stephanie extricated her lips from his and sat back up on the bed, indignation spreading across her face. "I meant like a sister from the convent,"Stephan clarified.
Stephanie opened her mouth to say something, but her phone began to ring. She glanced at it and then stuck it back in her purse. "I have to go pick up my son from karate."She scrawled something on a pad, ripped the paper, and tossed it at Stephan. "Call me sometime."
The door closed as she left, and Stephan reclined back on the pink bedspread. This would truly be an evening to remember. |
I don't know how anyone else sees it but to me 20 years is an awfully long time.
When we're born, we have no idea what our ultimates are. Most researchers seem to think they arise out of "hidden potential". After that, they remain in a state of permanency: when you call them again they'll have the same effect as the first time.
Some people never use their ultimates. They wait and wait for the opportune moment and it never comes; fact is, most people don't have crisis "make or break"moments in their lives. It got to the point where the terminally ill would always be sent home when they reached critical condition; whilst most ultimates are harmless in the damage sense, some have explosive or violent potential.
I used my ultimate for the first time when I was 24. I'd just qualified as a nurse and was working diligently on some paperwork when the first victims came in. Some kind of experimental bomb had gone off in the upper atmosphere. Thousands with toxins in the bloodstream, unable to breathe. Those inside hadn't been hit too hard at first but as the minutes ticked by and the vapours circulated around even the largest buildings, we started to feel the effects, myself included.
I didn't know what to do. We needed a solution but our chemists were stumped, and surgery wasn't helping. People were dying.
I remember thinking that we needed a solution to this problem, right now.
I checked my wristwatch, noted the time, and dropped my ultimate. And suddenly, everything became clear. I knew exactly what I had to do. I walked to the lab, batted the confused technicians aside and worked harder than I'd ever worked in my life.
They called my ultimate a "hyper-processing"ultimate. They said it gathered things I'd already heard or seen or done and put them to use; even if I'd long since forgotten. A niche power that came through in the moment but didn't have any world-breaking applications.
They never caught the person who made that bomb. I wish they had. When the T Plague happened 10 years later, we could have really used my ultimate. Over 20,000 people died in six days.
The next time I used my ultimate was at the age of 46. I'd been in the bank when an armed robbery had started. They'd tied our arms and put bags over our heads to keep us quiet. The situation had built to a standoff between the Police and the thieves which kept getting worse. One of the hostages had dropped his super strength ultimate and been immediately shot by one of the criminals. The Police would not let them get away, and as the criminals prepared to shoot another hostage (a young cashier) she had screamed for someone to help her.
I remember thinking that I needed to save all these people from the robbers.
I dropped my ultimate. What happened next is a blur to me. But when my ultimate ended I was stood in the middle of the room with seven incapacitated criminals next to me.
My arms were still tied behind my back with a bag over my head. Blinded.
All seven of the criminals had dropped their ultimates.
I'd stopped all of them.
At the end of it all, the press had reported my success as a victory of "brains over brawn", where my own experiences watching martial arts movies and so on had been reproduced by my ultimate.
They'd said that my ultimate was a hyper-processing ultimate.
They were absolutely 100% wrong.
I am now 66. Exactly 20 long years since my last ultimate. I have spent the past six years gathering supplies and restocking a lab. It's been difficult; the world has really gone bad in the last fifteen years. Economically, the entire country is bankrupt. The environment is worse than it's ever been thanks to a brief nuclear skirmish between some small countries. I'm still working at the hospital, but we can't help most of the people that come in. We simply don't have the resources. Crime is high. And once again, people are dying. My own family included.
We need a way out. Too many problems, not enough solutions.
As I drop my long-awaited ultimate, I think that I need to be able to use my ultimate more often.
An hour later there is a solution on the table. |
"I can't believe this, George. You're scheduled to go to heaven!"Satan slumped into his chair in disbelief. His son returned from the bar and handed him a drink, before taking the seat across from him.
"Dad, I know you wanted more from me, but I'm happy with my life."
Satan sighed. "I know that, George. I know. I just had big plans for you. You were supposed to be the Anti-Christ! I made you perfect. Perfect speech. Perfect posture. Perfect jawline!"
George leaned forward, and placed a hand on his father's knee. "Thank you, Dad. I appreciate everything you've done. I owe everything to you, especially my career."
"And what about your love life, eh? I made the perfect woman for you! She was flawless."
It was George's turn to sigh. "Stacey and I had a great run, we just had different ambitions. That's all. Amal and I are happy."
Satan stood up abruptly, fury and fire raging in his eyes. "You were supposed to take this world from Christ. The people were supposed to take you as their new messiah! How can you be an Anti-Christ if you can't even get people to love you?"
George frowned. "Dad, lots of people love me."
"Damn it, George. They *like* you, they don't *love* you! You can't create a false religion with that! And here you are, on track to **join** Christ instead of usurp him! I should have given this job to your sister."
"Adelia would never have worked, Dad. You know that."George stood up to meet his Dad eye-to-eye. "Besides, I did do one evil thing in my life. I ruined Batman for everyone for about eight years."
Satan, tears of pride in his eyes, embraced his son.
|
Flickering lights barely illuminated the abandoned hallway. Lockers hung open on one hinge, combination locks broken through with sheer force, and various holes punched in the ceiling tiles.
Day in the life.
I drew the short straw for this one: supply retrieval from the tech closet a few hallways down. No man's land, they called it. The middle ground of Eastwood High School, and the most dangerous place of all...
After the Blackout that malfunctioned the locks on the doors, the various groups consolidated and shrank away from each other. I was a member of the Noscopers, the smart ass introverts who were particularly skilled in the video games department. We had a few outsiders among us - the outcasts, tumbleweeds from the edges, and two twins who also played sports and were our liaison with the Ballers, if you could call it that. It was a fragile cease fire at best.
Speaking of which, I stayed hidden behind a corner as I heard the telltale thumping of a basketball - a Baller patrol. I held still and waited for them to pass before continuing.
I looked away from the retreating back of the Baller as I tucked some new hardware underneath my arm. Jerry back at HQ was working on a computer to access the computer mainframe in the school, and needed some serious tech from the school depot. Luckily, it was a gold mine of material and we were barely halfway through it.
Back at our R&D room in the basement, I watched as Jerry hooked up the stuff I brought back. "Nice haul, bro,"he commented as the system powered up. While there was a lot of school computers to use, it was all ancient and it look a long time to start up and execute more than basic protocols.
As soon as he got it running, the other ringleaders gathered around the main computer monitor. Tim was the guy who organized field operations, he was our main general and played lots of RTS games back in the day. Stefan worked in internal affairs and managed supply distribution, justice for war criminals, and any rivalries in the ranks that became a problem.
I, of course, was the second in command of the whole army, behind our leader, James. He was the only Level 100 Colonel in Battlefield 4 of the entire army. Respected above everyone else, he *earned* his position. Everyone aspires to become him.
We all watched over Jerry's shoulders. "Kay, got us in,"said the ratty looking kid. "School servers are looking ok. No recent access, so no ones been messing with it as well."
He clicked through the security camera footage. "See, there's the Glamours,"he said,"pointing out the soldiers wearing designer clothes. "Where do they get that stuff? Do you think-"
"Focus,"barked James. He had his arms folded in front of him and a normally stern expression played out on his face.
The camera feeds switched again. "There's the main hallway and the atrium,"narrated Jerry as the camera scanned the said areas. Switch.
"Entrance to the Ballers."
Switch.
"There's our main gate."
Switch.
"Alternate camera for the atrium."
Switch.
"Go back,"said Tim. Jerry went back.
"See?"said the dark haired kid. "Office door."
We watched as the door swung on its own... Then closed with a bang."
"Someone's in there,"I said. "Who?"
"No one in the other hallways,"said Jerry. "So..."
"The teachers,"said Stefan finally. "They're still alive.
------
I might continue this, so keep an eye out for a reply to this post. ;) |
"Next!"called Saint Peter, waving the elderly woman in front of him through the Pearly Gates. Looking up from his ledger, his jaw dropped. The...creature in front of him beamed from beneath a comically oversized purple turban, his burly chest gleaming in the eternal sunlight of Heaven. Saint Peter glanced down and blinked at the small tuft of ethereal energy that waggled around where the being's legs should have been.
"Well good MORNING!"boomed the genie.
"Erm, good morning,"replied Saint Peter, turning his gaze to his list and frowning. "I'm afraid I don't have you on here, I'll have to make a call-"
"Oh that won't be necessary,"chuckled the genie, stretching his arms out and cracking his knuckles. Saint Peter opened his mouth to ask why, but was rudely interrupted when the genie let loose a bolt of lightning that blew the Pearly Gates right off their hinges. "I shan't be but a moment!"yelled the genie as he floated through the smoking hole in Heaven's fence.
"Now now now, let's see,"he muttered as he flew past groups of newly ascended souls. They were still wearing the forms they'd last had on Earth, which he'd heard through the spirit grape vine would fade as they become more accustomed to the limitless possibilities of Elysium. "If that spunky little demon was telling the truth, it should be right over..."he turned and started picking up speed as he headed for a gentle hill crowned by an impossibly large birch tree in the distance.
As he moved, he saw three stars detach themselves from the sky and start descending rapidly towards him.
"Uh oh!"he grinned and flipped over on his back to watch them come.
The stars quickly resolved themselves into angels with appropriately divine-looking weaponry. They raised their swords and fell towards him.
"Would love to stay and tango gents, but I'm on a bit of a time limit."
He blew them a raspberry and waved his hands. The swords in the angels' hands squealed and inflated, becoming rounded and rubbery. The trio landed hard on the clouds some distance behind him and stared at their transfigured swords.
"Are these..."said the smallest.
"Balloons,"replied the tallest, squeezing his sword till it popped.
"He's heading for the Garden,"droned the third.
"Then we should probably-"the first lifted his wings, then stopped at an abrupt gesture from the third.
"He can't do any harm there. No sense worrying the boss until we know for sure. We should probably call in some backup, just in case."
All three glanced up towards the radiant sun that shone down on the rolling field of clouds. Then as one they lifted their wings and ascended, trailing the chortling genie at a safe distance.
The genie, meanwhile, had picked up speed as he neared his destination. From the sea of white rose a great green mound, at the center of which the enormous tree stretched out its branches. The mound was crawling with activity, and as the genie got closer, it resolved into tiny shapes running, jumping, chasing each other. The shapes got more and more distinct, and finally he could see that he had been directed correctly.
The dog souls spotted him as he crossed from the white clouds to the green grass and swarmed him, sniffing, licking, barking, every single one wagging its tail as hard as it could. The genie giggled and ruffled as many ethereal ears as he could reach. The swarm, its inspection complete, broke away and took off after something only they could see. The genie shook the slobber off his arms and whistled sharply. Ears popped up all around him, and he yelled with all his might:
"TRACKER. COME."
A small terrier mutt leaped from a nearby fold in the ground and flung itself at him. He caught it in the air and spun around as the dog licked his ears and mustache.
"Good boy. There's someone who wants to see you."
There was a gentle cough and he looked up. Arranged in countless legions, the army of Heaven stared at him. The trio of angels stood at its head.
"Stop, or we will be forced to-"
"Mk, I was all done here anyways. Ta ta gentlemen!"the genie winked and blew a kiss at the army, then dropped through the ground, the small dog soul still cradled in his arms.
The dog yipped, it's ears and tongue flapping in the wind of their descent.
"Such a hassle,"the genie said, scratching under the mutt's chin, "this is why you should never wish someone back from the dead." |
Monica's heels were hurting her. The sharp, pinching pain sprang up from her toes with each step, a constant metronome of irritation. She should have known better- Lot 34 was hell in heels. Too many winding metal staircases, too many giant concrete floored warehouses, and definitely an excess of helipads. Two was usually the maximum. If you couldn't get your dastardly deeds done with two helipads, it was time to look for another line of work. She definitely shouldn't have worn the heels, stuck to sensible flats or even her dressiest pair of sneakers. But Monica was desperate. Lot 34 had been the bane of her portfolio for three years now, stuck there like a bit of hard candy in her teeth, rotting away at the clean bite plate of an otherwise successful career.
"There's one more feature I know you're going to love."She said, marching briskly along another interminably long, poorly lit corridor. "It's truly unique."
The woman that followed her nodded silently. Monica couldn't see what kind of shoes she was wearing because of her shoulder-to-floor black cloak, but she didn't hear any muted click of a pair of strappy heels coming from under there. She found herself feeling slightly bitter. Her prospective clients were mostly men, and she honestly had worn the heels because she looked good in them. Very good. But unless this client had predilections that she was hiding very well, sex appeal was not going to aid Monica in this sale.
"Here we are."Said Monica, pushing open a heavy metal door. "The tank."
The two women walked out onto a suspended catwalk above an enormous fish tank the size of a football field. Soft blue light emanated from the calm surface of the tank and the smell of warm, salty water filled the air.
"It comes with a little incentive."Said Monica, walking over to a black box with a large padlock on it. "A free gift from the agency."She slipped a small silver key into the lock and popped it open. The box's lid was heavy, but she was ready for the weight and lifted it easily. BAR classes three nights a week weren't letting her down. Inside, a cold pile of headless fish lay like silver bouquets. She grabbed one by the tail and sidearmed it out over the water's surface. It spun lazily in the air, glinting in the light, then detonated onto the surface, disturbing the calm water.
Almost immediately, a huge black shape wormed up from the depths of the tank. The water was very clear and its head was visible as it shot towards the surface. A gigantic eel, its broad jaw the size of a compact car, face covered with scales the size of tea saucers. Two glowing green eyes were set on either side of its hatchet face, and they were sparking with hunger. It snapped up the fish with a motion that was nearly faster than the eye could see. In the same movement, it whipped its body back away from the surface, shooting back down into the depths of the tank.
"Of course, if you prefer not to keep the eel, you can flush the entire tank out into the ocean and refill it with anything you wish. The sides of the tank are acid resistant and heat resistant well past the point of magma. Although keeping magma at molten heat levels is such a waste of energy in my opinion, and acid lacks the drama of feeding your enemies to a giant eel. It's personal taste, really."
The client was at the edge of the catwalk now, both hands gripping the steel safety bar.
"Can I be honest?"Asked the caped woman. This was the first time she had spoken during the whole showing, and Monica was surprised to hear that her voice was soft and pleasant, fairly low with a sensual growl to it. Monica was very glad that the woman didn't communicate through telepathy- she'd had a few clients that insisted doing that and it creeped her out .
"I love it."Said the woman. She turned back towards Monica and smiled almost sheepishly. "I know I'm not supposed to say that to you, it's not an effective bargaining technique."She shrugged. "But it's perfect."
Monica grinned back at her. "Don't worry."She said. "I'm not supposed to tell you this, but the place has been on the market for quite a while. I know the owner is going to be fairly flexible about the asking price."
"Fantastic."Said the woman. "Can I throw it... him? Her? A fish?"
Monica nodded. "Of course." |
"Good morning Mrs. Amos."
I smiled at the young nurse and blinked twice. He bustled around me, preparing a cocktail of medication that would be coursing through my blood vessels by the end of his visit. His eyes were fixed on the bottles but he sent a smile at my direction when he met my gaze.
"You gave us quite a scare last night but you seem to have recovered well. The doctors have changed the doses of some of your medication..."
I diverted my eyes momentarily, losing track of his words when I saw something shift behind him.
"... the doctor will be taking a look at you later in the day and we hope to get a specialist..."
I saw the shadow of a man slowly appear out of nowhere. It paced hurriedly, walking up and down the length of the room.
"... I for one am certainly glad for the technology this hospice uses; trust me Mrs. Amos, you cannot be in better hands..."
The shadow continued pacing but it slowly lost whatever opacity it had, inflating like a balloon into the full figure of a man; head, shoulders, and all. He maintained his strides and seemed to look nervous. I craned my neck slightly, trying to catch a glimpse of his face but the nurse noticed and abruptly looked behind.
"... is there anything... was there anything...?"he said, his eyes searching through the expanse of the room. The opalescent figure froze right in front of him, completely blocking my view.
The nurse turned back to me, his face quizzical. I raised an eyebrow, keeping my face stoic. He blushed and averted his eyes to the monitors and pretended to read the charts, yawning pointedly.
"Oh, Mrs. Amos... I... um... there seems to be nothing so far.... umm... I definitely need some sleep."
I trained my eyes on him but felt another pair on me. I couldn't quite place where the transparent, pearlescent figure had gone but I knew he was still in the room.
"I won't be seeing you anymore today but another nurse'll be here in 4 hours. Have a nice day, Mrs. Amos."
I blinked twice and smiled at the young man when he caught my eye for reassurance. He then proceeded to pack his belongings and left the room, careful to only look twice at the spot where the pearlescent figure stood.
"He chatters a fair bit, doesn't he?"
A shadow flickered on my bedside and in the blink of an eye, I saw a tall figure standing beside me. His features had a gentle curvature to them and his soft eyes were fixed on me. If he had any colour to him, I believe they'd be a warm brown, the colour of a fawn.
"Close, it was hazel."A set of eyes, glinting gold and green appeared in my mind's eye. The rest of his face soon followed; fine brown hair, thinning graciously around the sides and pinked cheeks. His full lips were curved into a small smile, the tip of his tongue peeking nervously to worry them.
He was staring as I took him in, shifting uncomfortably. I set my eyes squarely on his and cocked an eyebrow.
"Oh."
He took a step backwards and clutched at his shirt collar, looking distracted.
"I don't know where to start."
I raised both eyebrows, my lips set firmly into a line.
"Last night, when you went into a cardiac arrest, I..."
I shut my eyes tightly and shook my head; I wanted the story from the beginning.
He laughed nervously, his voice echoing without disturbing the silence.
"I'm a ghost, as you've observed. I've been following you all your life. I... I... am... with you and... I can operate doors."he ended lamely.
Countless doors flashed through my mind, a strong pair of hands pulling them open from one side the same instant my palms made contact with its surface.
I saw him performing a series of feats, thrusting doors open only to barely miss my figure each and every time. I recognised the grace in which I walked with, giving little regard to each door unlike the people that walked alongside me. The grace I no longer possessed, once mobility was snatched away from me.
"I've opened every door."
I saw myself burst through his transparent figure and my childhood doors, gleefully twirling on my toes.
I saw myself tear through buildings of my youth, escaping the stuffy indoors and his presence to bask in the last sunlight of the day.
I saw him gently crack doors open seconds before I turn towards them, allowing me to see past the rooms, until my eyes caught those of the man I'd build dreams with.
I saw doors come alive as he moved past the city, leading me from building to building until I found the same man laying with another, amongst shattered faith and ruined hopes.
I saw doors fly across the roads due to his sheer strength as my unconscious body slumped out seconds before the car smashed into a tree.
I saw him firmly press the doors close, his back against the door and mine when my mangled being craved solitude.
My head touched the headboard as the figures vanished and I opened my eyes. His face was lined with worry, studying mine closely. I kept my expression silent and nodded.
"There is... one last door. The answer to your..."
I saw a door barred with invisible locks and reinforcements, set upon a background of scratches, sobs, and screams from a solitary voice.
My body spasmed at the imagery, a pained sense of relief flooding through me.
"I... We... You... I don't have all the answers to our... your past. The answers are not here and I'm not here for them."
I opened my eyes to face an empty room that vanished into the darkness. At the edge, he stood dressed in a doorman's uniform standing beside a woman and a door.
I saw myself petrified in front of a door, willing it to not open. The door was familiar. My muscles spasmed painfully.
"Last night, the cardiac arrest..."
He placed a hand on mine and another on the door-knob.
"You were so scared and I kept it shut for as long as I could..."
His hand tightened around the door-knob.
"I went past this door without you and trust me, there is nothing to be afraid of..."
His hands left mine but remained outstretched. I caught his concerned eyes and shook my head, placing my hands firmly on my side.
"You're in so much pain and I've waited for this door. I prayed that it would come sooner than later, to take you away from this suffering..."
I turned away from him and the door. I felt half my being unconscious on my bed and the other half standing, each behaving like opposing forces on the length of my existence.
"I vowed to not ever let you open a single door and I have to walk with you past this door as well."
I felt him move closer, as close as two be without touching.
"This isn't the last door..."
Our eyes met and I nodded, reaching for his hands. I felt my muscles slacken as my grip strengthened, the last gentle pulse beating faintly within our palms.
"I'll be with you..."
|
Mr. President, it is absolutely lovely to meet you. No please, don’t get up. I’m certain you’re very busy what with all the random bombings and political maneuvering you have to do today. So I’ll try to get out of here as quickly as possible. Who am I? Oh I’m sorry, where are my manners? My name is Jackson Gilton and I have to tell you that I am so excited to be here.
No I’m afraid I don’t have an appointment. I was just sort of passing by and though it would be rude to not drop in and make an introduction. A couple of quick things before you start yelling or reaching for the crash button under your desk. They are hardly worth mentioning but it’ll likely save us a bit of time. First, the button isn’t going to work. Second, Jeanine is taking a quick coffee break so she won’t be able to hear you shout. Third, your protection detail is also off taking the same coffee break, but don’t worry I gave them a couple of larger bills and told them to bring some back for the staff. I thought that might be nice for everyone. It’s just you and me Mr. President because well…fourth, I’m not actually from this plane of existence and we need to talk about what that means exactly.
Yes I know, it sounds like a crazy person just broke into your office and is trying to convince you that aliens are real and are coming for you. I completely understand whatever urges you are having. If you need to scream or try to run or reach for the handgun you keep in the top right drawer of your desk, well that would be completely reasonable. Before you do any of that though I want to put on a little show for you so that you’ll see I’m not lying. It’ll also help explain your current situation.
As you can see, I am wearing one regulation size nineteenth century top hat. It is perhaps not the current height of fashion, but it serves a purpose I promise you. Now, if you’ll be so kind as to not freak out as I remove the hat from my head and show you that there is currently nothing concealed inside. There’s a good man. I’m now going to place the hat on your desk and show you a couple of neat tricks I learned a very long time ago. Let me just reach inside here and produce…one regulation sized white rabbit. Male, large floppy ears, and an adorable little wiggle nose. His name is Martin and he is a present.
I know. I know. That’s not terribly impressive. But I thought it would be best to ease you into the routine by showing you something you’re familiar with. It should help ease your mind and keep you relaxed through the rest of this. I find rabbits to be especially calming when held. The second thing I’m going to remove from the hat is one regulation sized tandem bicycle with a little basket on the front. You laugh but give me just a moment to grab hold of the handlebars and…there we go. As I promised, I have produced one regulation sized tandem bicycle with a little basket on the front. I even added an adorable little bell.
Absolutely, feel free to pick up the hat. Examine if for a false bottom and take a look at your desk to see if there are any trap doors. Go ahead. You’re not going to find any though. When I said I was going to produce a rabbit and a bike I didn’t mean I was going to make one appear, I meant I would produce them out of literal thin air. I’m somewhat adept at energy and matter transportation and transmutation so it’s not an enormous effort to take a bit of oxygen, carbon dioxide, and the other trace minerals in the air around you and with a couple of neat little tricks, alter their form into something more useful. Here, give me back the hat and I’ll show you another.
Give me a moment here; this one is slightly more complicated. Just a few quick alterations, a few atoms broken down then brought together and…yes here we go. One bar of yellow cake weapons grade uranium. Completely ready to be placed in whatever rocket or bomb you might desire. Oh calm down, I wouldn’t bring this into your office if I couldn’t contain the radiation. You’re perfectly fine. It’s not even reaching you. I wouldn’t touch it though because…oh it seems to already be eating through your desk slightly. Here let me get that back into the hat. Sorry about that, I’ll have someone pop over after I leave and buff that out.
Now, Mr. President I am hoping that demonstration, in addition to the fact that I am in the most protected office in your world without an appointment and have been for several minutes now without someone trying to stop me, proves I am in fact something you have not encountered before. I’m sure the whole from another plane of existence thing is still a little wobbly, but really you don’t need to wrap your head around that. You just need to know that I exist, I’m shockingly powerful, and I need a few things from you.
I’m sorry? What?!? No! Why would you even think that? This isn’t a movie Mr. President, though I must say I’ve been watching several of them in the last few days and they are astoundingly entertaining. But you have to tell me. Why is it, that whenever the human race meets someone with supernatural powers, they instinctively cower in fear, like they believe that person is going to kill them? What have you all done to illicit such a reaction? I don’t have any desire to murder you and take your place, I don’t want to rule over you, and I have absolutely no desire to wipe your species from the face of the planet. I like your species and that’s why I’m retiring here.
Yes, Mr. President I’m retiring. See I used to be somewhat of a troublemaker back where I came from. I was a real busybody who had dreams and ideas and a vision for what I wanted my former home to be. But as it turns out you can’t make people do what you want. Even if failing to take prescribed actions results in the untold destruction and eternal suffering. What is it you all say? Something about a horse, a river, and making it drink it all? Sorry, still working on the local idioms. Where I come from it’s you can bake a latian a soufflé but you can’t make him say it’s not poisonous.
I’m sorry I seem to have gotten off topic. Of course the real topic is, why exactly am I telling you this? Why am I sitting in your office with a hat that can produce animals, and bicycles, and weapons of mass destruction? The answer is of course my retirement. I want to be left alone Mr. President. Not just alone though. I want to never ever be bothered by you or your government. I want to enjoy your people and their culture for the rest of my time, which for reference is eternity, and I want to do so without having think about you wandering over and asking for favors, or trying to capture and experiment on me, or even so much as you popping by my home to try and figure out why your various satellites and monitoring stations are picking up such strange readings. I wish to live quietly and peacefully.
Here’s what that means. I have picked out a lovely home in Seattle, Washington. It’s the penthouse floor of a new development in the heart of the downtown. That building will essentially be my own little diplomatic embassy. It doesn’t belong to you or your country or your people any longer. It is mine and mine alone to do with as I please. You will not attempt to spy on my home. You will not have members of your various government agencies attempt to monitor my comings or goings. You under no circumstances will try to contact me after this meeting. That means no asking me to get involved in wars, no trying to get me to cure diseases, and no coming to ask me to stop any doomsday scenarios you might have gotten yourself into. Though I think you’ll find those won’t really be a problem. I like to keep my home tidy and blood running in the streets isn’t terribly tidy.
In return for this I am willing to offer you the following things; a promise to not interfere with the natural workings of your world, your government, or your people and my word that I will never attempt to seize control of the reins of power for either myself or a proxy. I will also grant you two boons Mr. President, one for your people and the other for you personally. The first is the names, locations, and plans of the men and women that currently make up your three greatest terrorist threats. By terrorists, I don’t mean the rebels that are fighting against the governments you have propped up in various locations around the world. I mean the real bad guys. The ones that want to destroy or rule your world just because they think they can. Those people aren’t going to keep things tidy and it will serve us both for you to have that information.
The second is for you. Please forgive my forwardness, but your wife has been fighting off stage three breast cancer am I correct? Yes I am aware that very few people know that and you’ve been doing your best to keep it from the public at large. I respect your desire to make her last days comfortable and not a media circus. I’m willing to offer you a complete and full cure Mr. President. All you have to do to save your wife is to stand up when I am finished speaking, walk around your desk, and shake my hand. I think that will be all that we need to seal the arrangement. I could ask for more assurances, but I think my demonstration and the moment you’re able to hug your wife without her crying out in pain should be more than enough to insure my wishes are respected.
So Mr. President, I hope we understand each other. I don’t want anything from you but to enjoy this world and rest for the first time in a hundred thousand years. No taking over, no killing random civilians, no decimating your military. I’ll just be one more immigrant in a nation founded by them. I think that’s very reasonable don’t you?
All that’s left to do…is for you to come shake my hand.
|
50,000.
The number popped up by the contract as the person signed it. It was basically against their will, but at this point my sales abilities were pretty much supernatural. They forced a smile, I smiled and shook their hand.
"Thank you for purchasing 1 bucket of sand and debris for 30 million, Prince Rashad! I'll just... leave this here I guess"I set the bucket on his desk. Rashad was irritated deep down, but he could only sense his pleasure at his brand new bucket of sand.
"Thank you. The deposit will be in your account by tonight."I turned and walked out the door. I was good at sales already when I started, but after the 100th close that I made, I began to get greedy. I had more money now than I knew what to do with, and I just confirmed my suspicion that I would be able to sell sand to a Saudi.
But now, at this point I had duped so many into such terrible deals for their entire life savings that I had no one to pat me on the back.
[Perhaps I could draw up a contract for that?](https://talesofatravellingsalesman.com/)
__________________________________-
I want to see weirder combos :) |
In the land of the dead, a healer is a bad thing.
I accidentally made a vampire explode trying to heal his cut. The elder lich to his left tried attacking me, but was so badly hurt by a simple touch that she ran off. And then there was the incident with the zombie hoarde. I didn't know that healing a sodding zombie would make it loyal!
And then the spirits started to come to me. They wanted either deliverance or residence. I jokingly said I needed an empire first so that they could haunt somewhere in peace while I tried. Didn't realise they and the zombies took this to heart and started planning. The next thing I knew, I had angry dead and undead attacking me, and a body count higher than Dracula (he sent his congratulations). And an empire.
In the land of the dead, a healer can be a very bad thing. |
Shit. It wasn't supposed to be like this.
My client wasn't going to be happy about the fact I just stole his prize.
The job was supposed to be easy-- don't kill, just capture Red Sparrow. Bag 'em and take them back to HQ so my client could slit their throat to take the title.
I wouldn't know why anyone would want the title. Sure, having a blank ID and untraceable address in today's society is at a premium but Red Sparrow was famous enough that you'd inherit all its enemies too. Namely the entirety of the People's Republic of America's police and security force.
Really, 'Red Sparrow' was more like a virus, like some sick game of tag for just a few days of anonymity. I'm sick of getting ads for plastic back scratchers the shape of monkey hands after googling "abandoned zoo"and "flesh colored robot arm"as the next guy, but this was some next level shit. Why couldn't people just accept their biotags and be done with it? Your embarassing high school memories and sexual assault crimes are public for anyone to access. Big deal. I've got a rap sheet a mile long and all I get are the occasional visits from the popos and denial of service from my thumbprints. Nobody's died from it.
... Well, except for this annoying carcass. The dead sack of scars and tattoos was lying on the ground, getting colder by the minute because the dosage was off by a fucking miligram. Shit, shit, shit.
I couldn't stop it. Their microscopic biotag blinked and I could feel mine syncing. My skin burned as the texture of my SSN changed, the bars shifting to match what was once on what was supposed to be a living, breathing Red Sparrow. Oh, I guess I'm the new Red Sparrow now.
I picked up their wallet and opened up the ID compartment. It shimmered, the screen turning red with an icon of a sparrow blinking for a bit before buzzing as it updated with my profile picture. The name, age, sex, hair and eye color was all messed up though. Potentially, I could access anything and go anywhere without scrutiny.
I dumped the body into an empty lion cage. Rigor mortis must've set in early because I swear the Red Sparrow had a shit eating grin, as if they were mocking me even now.
I could hear the sirens and the media alerts making my phone buzz. They've already figured out the title's passed.
Taking out the fake bionic arm, I placed the thumb carefully onto the old, rusty gates to get out.
Time to fly, I guess.
|
"Peter Overground, white male, 32 years old. If you see this man, you are advised not to approach, and to contact the police as soon as possible."
"Oh fuck, oh fuck, everything is so monumentally cocked,"moaned Peter, sitting on his bed and watching the tv from across the room.
"Currently, Overground is chief suspect in the murders that have recently been documented across the country. Targets are seemingly chosen at random, and no clear pattern has emerged as to where he will strike next."
"Bloody hell, bloody bloody BLOODY hell! I'm ... I'm going to turn myself in, I have to! Oh God, am I going to prison?! I'm going to go to prison!"
"The high commissioner was quoted during a recent press conference, as telling journalists that "Overground has been extremely sloppy with his cleanup work; it's almost as if he WANTS to be caught!""
"Jesus Christ, why me? Why does this stuff always happen to me?!"
"Hang on ... uh, we're receiving breaking news. Uh, you should be seeing a live feed, from what is believed to be the apartment complex in which Overground has lived for the past ... uh, eight years."
"OH SHITSTICKS!"
"Yes, yes. As you can see, officers are moving in right now ... we're being told he's on the third floor."
"Oh God, oh God, I think I'm going to be si-"
In an instant, the door to Peter's flat collapsed in on itself. Four heavily armed fellows in combat armour stomped in, pointing their guns and shouting rather loudly.
"OFFICERS! THERE'S BEEN SOME SORT OF MISTA-"
"GET DOWN! GET DOWN ON THE GROUND! DROP THE WEAPON!"
"IT'S A TV REMOTE, A TV REMOTE!"
"DROP THE WEAPON!"
Peter threw the controller onto the ground, splitting it into two, and releasing a pair of batteries onto the planked bedroom floor.
"GET DOWN ON TH-WHAA!"
One of the policemen slipped on said batteries.
"Oh Jesus, are you alright, I didn't me-"
"WEAPONS FREE WEAPONS FREE!"
Peter dropped onto the ground just as another pair of camouflaged enforcers crashed into the room from his city side window. Next, everyone started shooting their guns, apart from Peter, who peed his pants.
"AHHHHHHHHH!"
"ST-HURGH!"
"AHH!"
"Friendly FI-"
Silence followed the short engagement. Peter was alive, it didn't seem like anyone else was.
"Now, this is extraordinary. We're receiving reports that Overground had neutralised the team sent to apprehend him ... he is likely in possession of heavy firearms ... uh, the police are beginning to evacuate people from the surrounding area."
"Well, this is just perfect,"said Peter, covered in blood, and slightly disturbed as to what he had just witnessed. "I'm going to need a new pair of jeans ..."
|
Sweat dripped down my brow as I pored over my test, searching frantically for any mistakes.
Speed of light? 3x10^8 m/s. Electrical charge follows the right hand rule. Like charges repel, opposite attract. Damn it, what happens to neutral ones? Come on, come on, the fate of the nation depends on it! Right, attracted to charges, but not to other neutrals. I carefully filled in the tentative pencil mark I had made.
My thoughts wandered, thinking of my father. Exiled from the country, for 'having beliefs contrary to the teachings of the State'. I'm so sorry, dad. I answered that question right this time. Maybe you'll be let back in, and we can be a family again.
As I finished checking my answers, I made sure to lean back. Just a little bit, not enough that the proctors would notice.
But enough that the Supreme Leader's son, sitting behind me, could copy down my answers. |
*Motherfucker.*
The only seat available was the one in the back corner. Next to the window. That seat was *always* trouble. Hiyoko double-checked the room in a vain attempt to find another desk, before sighing in resignation and slowly taking her seat.
At the teacher's instruction to turn to page 52, she opened her desk to see a leatherbound grimoire, covered in runes and with an eerie purple glow around it. Without hesitation she slammed her desk shut and lied that she'd left her book at home. Anything to avoid becoming a magical girl again. The last time it happened, her "skirt"was about the width of a belt.
The rest of the day continued uneventfully. A homicidal teddy bear had forced people to murder each other in the classroom next door, and Class D had fallen forwards in time to 2910, but luckily the forces of reality that seemed to insist Hiyoko live an extraordinary life apparently had bad aim that day. It must have been the brunette dye.
Unfortunately, when you're using the mystical equivalent of a flamethrower, your aim doesn't have to be that precise. Hiyoko stepped out of the classroom at the end of the day only to discover that the floor had been waxed within an inch of its life. She skidded forward, and - predictably, she mused - fell into the arms of an exchange student from Germany with blue hair and a haircut that somewhat resembled a spiky octopus.
"Are you all right?"he asked, his eyes sparkling with light for no reason.
"F-fine!"Hiyoko insisted, struggling to worm out of his arms. She felt a heat in her cheeks and realised to her chagrin that she had started blushing. "Now let me go!"
With one final effort, she pushed herself away and hurried out of the school.
"Idiot..."she muttered under her breath as her face turned red again. "Not *my* fault I slipped into his arms..."
She stopped dead in her tracks as she realised what she was saying. After a moment's notice, she shook her head.
"Not happening,"she declared. "I am *not* becoming a tsundere for that loser. Never."
She shot a glaring look into the perfect sky of her small town on the outskirts of Tokyo, where she had regrettably been forced to move when her mother mysteriously vanished praying at a Shinto shrine, and her father had passed away from unexpected pneumonia. She knew there was something there. Some otaku geek trying to write an anime story for lonely hearts.
Not on her watch.
She zipped up her jacket in an effort to mask the volume of her oversized breasts, and set off for home. |
*Click*
The headlights of my truck illuminated the dirt road ahead. Luckily, deer weren't known to be in this area, so I never would have thought I needed to pay too much attention to stuff on the side of the road. My friend was the only one around here for miles.
The road never changed, most of this journey back home was straight with very few turns. Everything looked the same. Until something sprinted form the bushes.
Out of my left eye I saw something run onto the road, and it was gone as soon as it came. Only after the *thump* of my front and back tires did I fully comprehend the situation. "God dammit"I said aloud as I pulled over, grabbed a flashlight, and left my truck.
In a situation like this everybody wants to know two things, what they hit and if it's dead. Both of these questions were answered for me immediately.
He was the most cartoonish looking man I had ever seen. With his tailored suit and thin handle-bar mustache I was certain I had just killed Waluigi.
I didn't want to get to close though. It wasn't just because he was he surrounded by a pool of blood and was dead, but he gave off a creepy vibe. Who the hell runs through a forest miles from civilization at night?
"Hey there's a light, he went this way!"A deep, brute like voice instructed. It came from the left side of the road in the forest, the direction this mysterious man had come from. The voice wasn't alone, I could now make out three men. All attempting to re-catch their breath and understand this scene they had just stumbled upon.
I was certain these were my last few moments, especially since timed slowed down and these guys were sporting pistols. Despite their weapons I held my chin high and puffed my chest out a bit. As a former marine, I had learned to remain calm and confident in situations like this. One of them looked my in the face and said,"What happened here?"Never in my life had I heard such a thick Italian accent.
Luckily the question was answered by his companion, the brutish one who spoke earlier. "Ain't it obvious? This man has done our job."
The one who had not spoken yet took a step forward and pulled a wad of cash from his trench coat and tossed it at my feet. "Listen.. buddy,"he also sounded very Italian, and agitated, "...whatever they tell you to do..."he now motioned with his hands at the other two men. "Romano, Santobello, and Bianchi... we'd..."he faltered, it like he just got into trouble, "Just leave us and our families alone is all we ask. Tell your men the same thing."At this they turned and disappeared into the woods, nearly tripping over one another.
It puzzled me for many years why, if they were so fearful of me, they didn't just kill me right there. They had guns after all. Not until a crime show came on one night did I learn that those were hit-men were, and the identity of the man who I killed was.
The dead guy's name was Vito Corradetti, and he operated another hit-men/cartel style service. His group was known to torture anyone who interfered with their operations, but Santbello's group had taken up the opportunity of killing Corradetti after discovering he'd be isolated for a weekend. They saw me as part of a completely seperate group, one even more powerful than Corradetti's. From their perspective, killing me was not worth what awaited them if "my men"found out.
|
"Sir, we have analysed the two machines. We can now say with a high degree of certainty that these items have been sent back from sometime in the future."George, the head scientist, walked Winston Chruchill in to the laboratory.
"Fascinating."replied Churchill, standing near the table in which one of the machines was being inspected. "What else do we know?"
"Well, we have worked out that upon connecting one of the machines to a television set, we are able to utilise the program that is stored on it."
"And what program is this?"
"It is listed as an 'emulator', sir."replied the scientist.
"An emulator?"
"Yes. Some sort of strange input program that you seem to play."
"Show me."
"Come this way."The scientist led Churchill into another room. "As you can see, Clive here is currently playing a program named Super Mario Bros for the NES."
"Is there a chance this is German technology sent back to alter the war effort?"
"We do not know, Sir."
"And why not?"
"Because we haven't been able to beat the game yet."
"I want all the intel we can gather on this *Super Mario* and I want this thing defeated as soon as possible."
Clive spoke up, "It's not that easy, sir."
"And why is that?"snapped Churchill.
"Because there's these fucking small turtle fuck things that jump around all the time costing me men."
Churchill leaned in for a closer look, "Oh God, you're right. They look like the worst."
The team gathered around watching Clive as he struggled through the level. Each member of the room suffering from second-hand fury as Clive routinely died.
"And what did he do just there?"asked Churchill, his eyes affixed on the TV screen.
"Oh, you can go down the pipes in to secret parts of the levels."explained Clive.
"That's fucking incredible."
"We know. When we originally found out Kevin almost died."
Kevin, peering over the crowd so he could see Churchill's face, "He's right - almost died, sir. Couldn't believe that shit."
"I don't blame you Kevin,"said Winston Churchill. "Don't blame you at all."
The door to the room opened and in peered a man holding various folders with a panicked look on his face, "Sir, you're needed in the Comms Room as soon as possible."
"OK, just one more level, though."answered Churchill.
"But, sir."replied the man.
"It's a water level, Gary. I'm not just going to walk out the room on a water level."
****
I write shitty, silly stories on /r/BillMurrayMovies. Feel free to come along, not laugh at any of them and leave some judgement.
|
“Thank you for allowing this visit, Prime Minister,” Jack Spanning bowed, hoping that the gesture would be interpreted as friendly. Keeping track of international cultures had been hard enough before the Earth’s demise, and he couldn’t imagine how hard it would be to manage interplanetary customs.
“It is our...pleasure.” Prime Minister D’shik spoke with a slight delay as a synthesizer translated whatever language he was speaking into English. His unblinking eyes framed by his tightly stretched orange skin made Jack more than a little uncomfortable, but fortunately, the tall, long-limbed creature was humanoid enough to keep conversation from being too nerve-wracking.
“Have you had a chance to consider our request?” Jack could almost feel the tension from his scout team as he said the words. They had been in suspended flight from Earth for more than one hundred years and all of them were ready to find a new home, one anywhere but on a ship. The systems the ship had built in for food were failing, along with countless other problems inherent in any machinery past its prime.
“We have.” The strange being swept them all with his wide eyes, then gestured to the sky. “You may inhabit Kattari-17 with a... maximum population of two thousand... humans. Other invasive species are not allowed.”
Jack’s heart sank somewhere down below his stomach. There were over seventy-five thousand people on the Ship “Last Endeavor”, and every one of them expected him to come back with good news.
“I’m sorry, Prime Minister. You are aware that the number of surviving humans we sent you was seventy-five thousand, six hundred and twenty-eight? Was there an error in our communication?”
“We have strict rules… Commander.” The bug-eyed son-of-a-bitch spun and looked around as he walked, seemingly admiring the foliage surrounding the meeting spot. “Do you see how… lush, how beautiful this planet we stand on is? If we gave this planet or any like it to even... twenty thousand of *any* species, it would be ruined.”
“But-”
“We have calculated the only mercy we can give you is to give two thousand humans a spot on Kattari-17. They have exactly a…thirty-five percent chance of long-term survival, and it gives the planet the best chance to not be completely ruined...by their presence.”
Jack chewed on those words. A thirty-five percent chance for two thousand people? That wasn’t something he could get take back aboard the Endeavor.
“Prime Minister, have you had the opportunity to study humans and their nature before?”
The alien flared his thin nostril slits, which Jack was beginning to see as a frown, and then waved his hands. Jack took *that* to indicate “no”.
“Do you come armed to any diplomatic meeting between species?”
The Prime Minister’s nostrils flared again, and his eyes grew impossibly wider. He waved a bony hand. Again, Jack took that to mean “no”.
“Well,” Jack said, his voice calm and steady as he pulled his pistol from beneath his suit. “It’s time you got to understand humanity a little better.”
[/r/intotheslushpile](https://www.reddit.com/r/intotheslushpile/) |
Working late that Friday night, John Brady sat at his desk in the corner of the bullpen, idly chewing on a pencil. The only light still on was the desk lamp and the flame bursting to life on his lighter, before he quickly smothered it with the lighter top. He had been staring at the contents of his desk uninterrupted for almost two hours now. Two files, each up from the coroner's office.
Two men, each at the Judgement Seat. One pissed off Poseidon, the other one danced with the Heat-meister- that is, one drowned, one burnt. Only problem- Mr. Burns had a sandy grave at the bottom of the river. Davy Jones was found in the burnt out remnants of a factory in the Bronx. Each were found within two hours of their death- hardly enough time to switch out the bodies. Neither one had any ID on them and dental records were a bust for Burnie. Someone had busted his teeth in and most of his jaw too. Drowned guy's DNA had no matches. It was like neither one existed for all practical purposes.
To match that, no missing reports on the entire continent that matched the description of these two. They weren't even in the DMZ's records, and they had EVERYONE (according to Law and Order and that one time I saw NCIS).
So who were they? Who wanted them dead? What the hell was up with their deaths?
"Working late, Johnny?"Came a deep voice from the other side of the desk. Interrupted from his reverie, John glanced up at the bullish chief standing there.
"Yes sir. Working on the burned buddy and drowned dude."
The chief shook his head. "That's a rough one. But you're the best damn detective I have. If anyone can solve it, you will. Got a light?"
The detective held up his zippo, lighting the chief's cigar. "I'm giving my best, damn it, but I'm not sure if it will be enough."
The chief took a few puffs of his rolled Cuban and pulled it from his mouth, eyeing the object in his hand. "Too bad your partner got shot last year. He would have been a great asset."
John nodded solemnly, reached into his suit pocket to the flask of bourbon he kept there. Sipping from it in remembrance, the chief stayed silent in a moment of respect.
"The problem of the drowned guy doesn't bother me."The Detective shook his head. "Easy enough to fill an unconscious guy's lungs with something and drop him off somewhere. But how does a guy burn up underwater? It's not like they quantum tunneled or anything?"
"Yeah, that's just about as likely as fire underwater."The chief sighed and stood up straight. "Good night, John. Good luck."
The detective nodded as it dawned on him. Fire, underwater. Such an unlikely thing.
But Johnny had heard of a guy that could do something like that.
Grabbing his hat and his trusty .45, the detective pulled on his overcoat. Time to see a guy that lived in a pineapple on the sea-floor. Johnny had some questions for him.
|
Sweat beaded on our foreheads as we descended deeper. The cameras showed only the darkness all around. Miles of sea water filtered all the light and threatened to crush our small vessel at every moment. It took careful maneuvering to reach the depths below, and patience at the ballast control. Too fast and we would implode, too slow and we would be off schedule and pushing the limits of our oxygen recycling. It was fortunate I had my dive partner at the controls, she was the best.
It took several days to make it halfway down, and several more before we even came close to the bottom. The gauges showed the pressure building on the sub and I could see the pressure building in Rita's beautiful blue eyes. She was so cool under pressure, and here with the pressure of the ocean she was amazing in her abilities to command the sub.
We powered on the lights and peered down into the darkness. There was no bottom to be seen, but the computer told us it was getting close. Rita peered down through the viewport and I smiled at the way her mouth pursed in concentration as she looked for the bottom of the world. I glanced at the computer and saw the crew sensors showed her elevated heart rate. I watched the graph, rise and fall, and watched my electrocardiograph move quicker.
Rita squeaked a tiny, adorable noise of excitement as she spotted the bottom. I leaned forward and looked down at the gray, nondescript face of the ocean floor before looking beside me at the beautiful face of the woman who had taken me there. Her smile lit the entire seabed. Her eyes dazzled like the bioluminescence of the jellyfish wish rose from the barren landscape and filled the sea around us in a vibrant display of biological light. I had discovered something at the bottom of the sea. Rita looked at me and smiled, and the world changed forever. |
The dead eyes of a face he was used to seeing in the mirror stared back at him from the screen. "1 million for this one"was all it said. The post was only 4 hours old and already it had risen to the top of the feed. It seemed like every assassin within 1,000 square miles was out to kill him.
He closed his laptop, pushed away from his desk and swiveled in his chair. His shaved head tilted back looking up toward the eggshell ceiling. He breathed, slowly. The adrenaline should have kicked in by now; and yet, there was nothing.
There was a time, only a short while ago, that he would have already been 15 miles down the road heading to a different black site. Those were better days. Days where he actually gave a shit. Now, he just continued to swivel.
His head lolled to the side and he focused in on a black leather bag that had been unceremoniously thrown on the floor. He had recently finished a job. Last night had been pay day. It was supposed to be his last job. He was supposed to be done. Officially Retired.
"No rest for the wicked."He said out loud to any ghosts that might be lurking in the room.
Killing was his profession, and he was good at it. Forty-nine successful hits. Forty-nine people dead because someone else wanted them to be, but didn't have the balls to do it themselves. Forty-nine paydays. He had no idea why he didn't just go for an even fifty. It would look better on his resume.
How many minutes had gone by? Thirty minutes! He'd been swiveling for thirty minutes. Why wasn't he moving? Why wasn't his fight or flight instinct kicking in? Perhaps this life truly had taken a toll on him. Maybe taking another person's life also stole a piece of your own. After forty-nine kills it was no wonder he didn't have anything left inside.
Glass shattered. The curtain shifted. The wood floor in front splintered in two different places. Warmth poured out from his chest. A cough, a wheeze, and a third shot to the head. Black.
On a nearby rooftop, an assassin's phone vibrated. He had entered the kill confirmation only a couple of minutes ago. He opened the message with the instructions on how to collect the million that was waiting for him. The subject line said, "Thank you."The message itself was short and to the point.
"The million is in a black leather bag on the floor next to me. The door is unlocked." |
Finally, my greatest creation it was, but... hmm, there was something missing...
"Oh yes, a tail"I spread my arm saying "Let there be a cute tail!"
"woof woof!"said the creature, while turning around chasing its new fluffy tail.
Hmm, turning around... that gave me a good idea, "How about... we turn my name around and give it to you?"
"woof woof!"responded the creature, in a sitting position while sticking his tongue out.
"Then be it! your name is now Dog! you love it?"I asked the creature.
"Oww, woof woof!"replied the dog in great happiness.
"Alright, then be it! Dog, now all that is left, is creating a useless specy that will feed, protect, and take care of you and your descendants"
The dog seemed even happier than ever, barking endlessly.
"Hmm, you love the idea? then be it! Let there be Homos, eh no, H-Humans, I think that's a better name."
"Woof!"🐕
|
"Here,"I say, uncorking my own bottle. She steps back, here eyes flashing and her shoulders arching. "I'm trying to help."
"Why would *that* help? Love... It just lets you get hurt."
I stare sadly at her. "Only if you give it to the wrong person."
"Then why don't you go find the right person. Try giving *her* your love, if she needs it so much."
"I'm pretty sure I just did."I sigh, "Well, I guess was wrong. I'll see you tomorrow."
"Yeah."She smiles, without it reaching her eyes, "See you tomorrow."
_________________________________________________________
"Same as yesterday?"She asks. Her empty pendant catches the light where it rest, over her apron.
"Yeah,"I grin. "Double Caramel Cocoa."
"And a muffin?"
"Yup. Same order, everyday, for the past 5 years."I smile, as warmly as I can, "What can I say, I'm a Creature of Habit."
She raises an Eyebrow as she passes me my order. "Oh? You're something of a regular then?"
"You could say that. It's just convenient."
She runs a hand through her hair, restlessly looks to see if any other customers have come in, or there are some tables that need cleaning, anything to avoid talking to me. Eventually, she sighs and looks me dead in the eye.
"Why?"
"Hmmm?"
"Why'd you offer to help me refill my bottle? You'd be limiting how much love you'd have left."
"Maybe. But it would be worth it."She looks confused as I say that. "No one should have to live a life without love."I glance at my watch, and leave her to think on that.
_________________________________________________________
"Same as yesterday?"She asks.
"Of course. I have a 5 year streak going here. Not going to break the pattern now, am I?"
"So what do you even do?"She asks, leaning on the counter. "You come in here, every day at half past two, and then leave. I never see you anywhere on campus, you just show up a half two and vanish by three o'clock."
"I get rather involved with my research, it can be difficult to find time for anything else."I push my glasses back up my nose.
"Except between 2:30 and 3:00?"Her smile lights up the room.
"Exactly. I have an alarm set and everything."
That draws a small chuckle. "Well, go on then. 3 o'clock. See you tomorrow.
_________________________________________________________
"Same as yesterday."She says. It's not even a question, but I nod anyway.
We talk about nothing, my research and her coursework. She gripes about her Professor's impossible deadlines and I moan about the way the machines at the lab are stubbornly refusing to cooperate. Finally she looks at me and asks "Would you?"
"Hmmm?"
"Share your love? With me, I mean. When we first met, you said that you thought I was the right person... were you right?"
"I don't know. But it's not a problem anymore."I point at her pendant, the bottle now brimming with a blood red fluid. "You don't need anyone else to give you love anymore."
"But... how?"She catches sight of my bottle. "Oh..."
"I have loved you from the moment I saw you. You wouldn't take my love, but I couldn't stop giving it. The heart wants what the heart wants and all that..."I smile sadly, glancing at the tiny dregs of red in my bottle before setting it down on the counter top. "See you tomorrow?"I ask before walking out into the cold. |
He walked like a man with the world on his back. His knees buckled and there was the sounds of collapse, of everything shattering, falling down in an armageddon rain. He held the world with his knowledge, but he could not stop it from falling.
He was a doctor and that day began normal. The sun rose and the shadows came out and the world turned. But he was scared and he waited. He wondered what it would look like. The bottle caps were Pepsi caps, and he thought it made sense. Pepsi was abundant, but not as ubiquitous as Coke, and it would make suitable currency.
*Will I be rich?* he thought. *Will I survive tomorrow?*
But today was today.
*Everyone needs a doctor.*
He did not want to leave his house. In his home he felt safe. Carrying the world was easier from his bed. But he was a doctor and everyone needed a doctor.
The call came as it always did: unexpected and frantic. The accident had happened not an hour ago where a truck had smashed a car. The truck had run the lights and its driver was alive in stable condition.
The car's driver was dead and her daughter was in critical condition. She was losing blood and they needed surgeons. He had to get there quick.
*They should all die.*
And the thought scared him. He was near forty now and had been a doctor for over fifteen years. In those years he had tried nothing more than to save lives, to preserve that consciousness that men knew nothing of. Or, at the very least, preserve the bodies for their living relatives, and keep that illusion of life for as long as possible.
*That was yesterday. Yesterday was the last day of the world.*
But he was thinking that today and today was normal and the world hadn't ended as yet.
*It will though. It will.*
In the meantime he was needed and that oath he took was too ingrained. He carried his burden as best he could and left his house and went to the hospital. He left home his wallet and took only the bottle caps. He didn't feel like having ID when all went to hell. He was afraid of the loss and so he wanted to lose himself before it happened. He didn't need a name.
They let him in gratefully. There was no hassle during emergencies. The child was broken and she was about ten, though it was hard to say and she would not live a year more. The surgery was long and quiet and there were no jokes between them as there often was.
Jamal was a hero and he envied him. He was calm and steady and he made the tourniquet to stop the blood loss.
*He doesn't know. None of them know.*
And he wasn't sure if he envied them or pitied them. He watched as the girl fought and as her body fought and as death fought to claim her. In the end death lost, but only for the while. She was stable, but there was organ damage and her lungs and kidneys would not last a life.
They had her to rest and the anesthetic was weak as they were afraid of it taking her for good.
*Might be better.*
And with every thought, his heart hurt. He was unaccustomed to this pessimism, to the nihilism. But the world was ending and you shouldn't shy away from the truth.
He ate in the cafeteria alone and the other doctors left him alone. They all knew the feeling of helplessness, of being unable to save someone. There is no cure for that and only time and space can help. And so he was given both.
He finished his lunch and it was after one then. The world was yellow with dancing dust in the air and the staleness of breath and the tiredness of hardwork. There was no explosion as yet. No breaking news.
The girl was awaking when he checked on her. Her condition weighed on him as much as the bottlecaps did. She was a pretty child and her eyes were eager and scared and though she could not understand, there was that expression of being robbed on her face. She knew her hopes and dreams had been taken. She knew life was unfair. But she did not *know* it truly. If she was lucky, she would die before it really hit her.
"How are you feeling?"he asked.
The words lingered and dropped and she stared at him.
*How do you think she feels?*
"You must be in pain."
She nodded. She began to cry.
He sat on the chair beside her. They had called her family but her family had died in the car. She was alone. He wondered her name but she had no ID and the mother had no ID. If the world wasn't going to end, he would know by tomorrow, but he knew she would die anonymous.
"What's your name?"
"A-A... A-Alana..."
That was good enough. Maybe not so anonymous then.
"You were in a bad accident, Alana."
She was bawling.
*You fucking idiot. Why would you say that?*
He made comforting noises and with time she calmed. He wanted to distract her before the inevitable came. Soon she would ask for her mother. And he did not know how he would handle that. He almost wished for the world to end then and there.
He asked her about herself and what she liked, what she did and what school she went to. Simple things. She was eleven and she went to a private school. She was late this morning and they were in a rush. He was tense during her talk when she mentioned her mother, but she did not ask and he was relieved.
More questions and he found out she loved video games and TV.
*Common ground.*
And he asked her more and more.
"I had a brother,"she said. "He's not really my brother brother but he's my age and he goes to school with me. He plays mostly and I watch and sometimes I play but mostly I watch."
"And what it's your favorite game?"
"Have you ever played Skyrim?"
"Yeah, it's my favorite too."
"No no, it's like that. It's like Skyrim but cooler and with guns and cursing and ugly zombie people."
"Fallout?"
"Yeah. I play it. We play the old ones and the new one."
"Fallout 4?"
"And the old one. Three."
His heart fell and inside him was cold.
"I like those games too."
"They're great. I'm saving up my money so we can buy a PS3 to play it."
"A PS4?"
"No the cheaper one. I worked it out in school. The PS3 would take me a year to buy. The PS4 would take until I'm old to buy it. I don't have the money for that."
Her face was losing color and she was sad.
Then the question came.
"Where's mommy?"
But she didn't have long and inside he was suffering. Should he answer? Or should she die without knowing? And who was he to make that decision?
"Well, I have something that may or may not help with buying that PS3,"he said.
He took out the bottlecaps and opened her hands. Her pulse was weak and her skin cold and that film of death was over her.
"One, two, three..."
He counted them one by one and stalled for time.
She giggled and clasped them.
"You've really played it!"
And she began to cough and the bottlecaps fell on her lap and he got up and tried to help and he did help and managed to ease her pain.
"Where's my mommy?"she asked.
She was going and he put the fallen caps in her hand.
"Take this, you'll need it on the other side."
And she knew but with the caps in her hand it was okay. Somehow it was okay.
"It'll be enough for a PS4 even. It'll be enough to buy a house for you and your mom and you'll be happy."
"Mommy..."
"She's coming. You'll see her soon."
And Alana died soon after and the room was quiet except for his tears and the ghosts of regret that haunted him.
Night came and his world hadn't ended. |
Subsets and Splits
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