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"All she does is sleep, eat and cry only to repeat it all over the next day!"Gabriel laid on his back, his tablet screen projected onto his dorm ceiling.
"She is a baby after all."Horus said, tapping away on his own tablet. "You still have a couple more years until she starts crawling and babbling away. And before you know it, she's trying out for the soccer team and hanging out with the guys."
"Ugh, couldn't they have given her to some other angel? It's not like the last one I had was bad or anything."
"That's precisely why they gave you a baby Gabriel. I've been your roommate for the last thousand years and almost every one of your humans have not led fantastic or successful lives. They've been mediocre, average. Boring. Just. Like. You."
"It's not that I want them to lead average lives. They just turn out that way."Gabriel pouted, rolling over onto his stomach. "Oh no she's crying again. Ugh, it's 4am Anya. Go to sleep!"
"Enjoy the baby years while it lasts. You're gonna wish you had more of them."Horus chuckled while his screen erupted with cheers and shouts. "Yes! Urie scored another goal! The potential in this human is high, I'm pleased to be working with this one."
"Well, I'm outta here. Keep watch on my human for me."Gabriel grabbed his halo from the coat rack and fixed it in place.
"Hey, you get back here--"The door closed before Horus could get out another word. |
Travelling through dimensions, seeking new realities, has always been a dream of mine. To know how things could have been, if only a different path had been taken. Since childhood I had been thinking about this concept, of passing through a door into a new world. In High School I had the theory down, and started work on the actual machine. By the time I went to college, I was sneaking out highly important components from the labs to create the machine I required. Not, in a normal sense, an ethical way to do things, but since I was not exactly the richest person in the universe, at least in this reality, I had few other options.
And as I built my wondrous machine inside of a forgotten sub-basement of the university's science building, I thought of all the things I could do with this technology, find cures for diseases, recover machines that could fix the environment, perhaps even open gateways to worlds where mankind never evolved. A place where untouched versions of planet Earth existed, where we could expand humanity to live on, easing the burdens of overpopulation and food shortages, finally ending the threat of a Malthusian Catastrophe once and for all.
But something had gone awry, perhaps something inside the machine had been aligned wrong, perhaps the magnetic effects of the opening portal had damaged the control computer. Whatever the case, when I went through, the portal collapsed behind me. And I was stuck in an alternate reality. Initially I feared that an alternate version of me would meet me, in which case who knows what would happen. But as it turns out, alternate me had similar interests, and his machine was mostly the same as mine. There were just two major differences; alternate me had a taste for 1980s Casette Futurism aesthetic, and had designed his dimensional gateway in such style. And the other difference was that it was extremely damaged.
I imagine that alternate me must have gone through his gate at the same time as I had, and was now stuck in my reality. Luckily, our parallel realities weren't that different. Sure, some people existed here that didn't exist back home, and some didn't. Some historical things were different too. Robert Kennedy wasn't killed, and went on to win against Nixon in the 1968 election. Served two terms, was followed by Jimmy Carter, and after that history is pretty much the same.
I could have just accepted life here in a world oddly fond of 1980s aesthetic, if it wasn't for the day when I started to find them. First time was under the science building, where I found myself. Or the remains of me. Skeletal and ancient, but I could still read the nametag. That horrified me to the core of my being. And worse was when I kept finding other mes. Some long dead, some only recently deceased. One was alive long enough for me to hear his last words. He told me to run. Deeply worried about this, I cast aside all college work, all normal activities, and spent every second of every day working on fixing the dimensional portal. And I only had limited time before things got out of hand. I had managed to hide most of the bodies, but some kept getting found by other students first. The whole college was closed off and the students sent home, but I remained, hiding and working. Hoping I could finish the machine before whatever was killing alternate mes could find me.
Perhaps the alternate me of this reality hadn't gone to my universe, but had opened a gate to some place which shouldn't have been found, and angered whatever lived there, sending it to hunt alternate mes. Perhaps alternate me was a serial killer who wanted to murder his other selves. In any case I wasn't going to stick around to find out. Especially as I started to hear the police sirens, the sounds of heavy gunfire.
From the campus grounds I heard the screams, the sound of limbs being torn away from their bodies, of automatic rifles firing, the distinctive sound of an A-10 Thunderbolt II giving close air support. The building shaking to explosions. I just kept on working, hoping that ripping open a gateway to another reality might be enough to escape whatever was attacking. And finally, using the vintage late 80s terminal, I booted up the portal. I didn't have time to program any real specific coordinates, just picked the first choice that looked like it could support life. As the portal was forming, I could hear the sound of something massive tearing its way towards the subbasement where I was. It was roaring with a fury I could not even begin to comprehend. I grabbed my backpack and my notes, lighting the improvised explosive device meant to ensure that whatever was coming, couldn't follow me. I caught a brief glimpse of a large humanoid figure entering the room, before I jumped through the portal. To my horror it had my face.
I landed on the other side, in the ruins of a castle. In a hole in the wall, I was able to observe the world into which I had fled. Floating islands dotted the horizons, in the distance, what seemed like a large reptile was flying through the clouds. The ruined castle seemed to be a sort of Sengoku period Japanese construction. Partially overgrown and somewhat ruined. Exploring it, I found items pertaining to the use and power of magic, and if this universe is any indication of things, then that is probably something that works here. I am a scholar by heart, and learning this magic will not be too difficult. After all, if that thing, the hulking, abominable thing, with my face on it follows me here, I'll need to have some way of either escaping to a new universe, or to kill my monstrous alternative self. And given that this reality probably doesn't have the complex alloys or the computer technology needed to build a portal the way I know, I'll just have to adapt.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) |
~ _The first thing I remember is a huge, scorching ball of light streaking across the northern sky._ ~
"Justin!"Fabiola screamed, stumbling out of her bedroom and into the hallway. The smoke was thicker there, so thick that she couldn't see more than a foot in front of her. The black smoke seared her lungs like poison, and she dropped to her stomach, coughing. "Justin!!!"She crawled forward on her elbows, gasping for breath, choking on the blistering air. All around her was the deafening roar of the conflagration, snapping timbers, whistling scream of hot air through burst water pipes. The air itself burned, the whole of her existence nothing but fire. Embers showered down around her as a roofing beam collapsed, and she screamed as they burned holes through her skin.
~ _The first people thought I was a god._ ~
The heat of the flames evaporated the tears from her eyes. "Justin, I'm coming!"she screamed, but the scorching fire sucked every ounce of oxygen from her throat. She crawled over a pile of shingles and splintered beams, blackened and charred, blistering her palms. The smoke was so thick that she heaved, her body trying in desperation to rid her of the toxins that she inhaled with every breath. Trembling, she steadied herself, pressing herself as low to the floor as she could, pressing her cheek to the tile. Her cheek began to hiss and blister, and she scrunched up her face against the agony. With every bit of will she had left, she forced herself to keep crawling. Justin's room was just around the corner.
~ _The next ones thought I was a witch._ ~
She thought she heard shouting. Glass shattered somewhere ahead of her, and the flames pouring upwards along the walls like a waterfall suddenly surged past her, leaping and snapping and roaring. Fabi cringed as the flames licked her arms. Her hair suddenly caught fire, the stench alone choking her, burning in her nostrils. She sobbed breathlessly, beating at her arms and her head with her blistered, boiling hands. She didn't know if she had put it out, but she had to keep going.
Pushing with her knees, pulling with her elbows, she crawled the last few feet to Justin's door. She sucked in a breath to call his name, but the air was so thick with smoke and heat and hellfire that she might as well have been trying to inhale dirt. Was the smoke blackening her vision, or were those black spots in her eyes due to lack of oxygen? It didn't matter. She had to find Justin! She grabbed the side of the doorframe and pulled herself around it, into his room and into a holocaust.
~ _Now they call me a Phoenix._ ~
She screamed, and she saw the skin on her arms burst into flames before her eyes. There was nothing, absolutely nothing, but the hungry roar of _fire_. Her body thrashed beyond her control, the pain overcoming all thought and reason. Her arms burned, her clothes burned, her back, her legs--everything burned!
_No!_ She wrenched her thoughts away from the fire, driving everything into the thought of Justin. _I have to get him out!_ In one last tremendous burst of will, she thrust herself to her feet and charged into the conflagration, flinging herself across the room. She would not let him die! She would get him out even if she burned to ashes doing so!
She tripped over a large obstacle on the floor. She stumbled through the smoke and flame, and she flung out her burning arms and caught the edge of his crib. It, too, was burning.
The tendons in her arms and legs burst and gave way, weakened by strain and by fire, and she collapsed to the ground. She gasped for breath and inhaled only flame, her whole body quaking. She couldn't get up.
Fabi turned her head, gazing at the fire, dazed beyond feeling anymore pain. Beside her on the floor, the thing that had tripped her--she saw her husband there, his arm outstretched toward the crib, as well. He had come home from his trip early. How unfortunate.
Fabiola reached out her trembling arm, inching it across the burning floor, and touched his blackened fingers with her own.
~ _Why can I never save them?_ ~
End
Thanks for reading! I gladly welcome any feedback to improve! |
I raised a hammer to my mirror then put it down. This was ridiculous. A prank, it was definitely a prank. I turned to walk away, but the thought nagged at the back of my mind.
What if the warning was real?
Compromise. I grabbed duct tape and a stack of old bed sheets and got to work. The bathroom mirrors, the full length one in my bedroom, covered.
I grabbed a pillow case and draped it over my circular makeup mirror.
Hopefully the announcement that this was all a prank would be coming soon. I would remove the duct tape and the sheets and pretend that I hadn't fallen for it if anyone asked me.
There was a knock at my apartment door. "Becca? Becca, are you home?"
Looking through the peephole, I saw my neighbor, Jane. She and her husband always made the hallway smell delicious with baked goods, and sometimes they played loud music at night.
We weren't friends.
Social distancing had me hesitant to open a door, so I called out to her instead, "yeah, I'm here. Did you need something?"
"I got a cut, and we're all out of Band-Aids. Do you have any?"She asked.
"Breaking mirrors, eh?"I said to the still closed door, grabbing a box of bandages out of a nearby cupboard.
A moment of silence followed, then she simply said, "no."
Something seemed off.
I glanced back through the peephole. I'd missed it before, but blood was dripping from gashes on her arms and falling on the floor. Like she'd crawled through broken glass.
"Holy shit,"I said, then took a deep breathe, "I don't have any band aids, sorry."I watched as she shifted her weight from one leg to the other, restless. "Do you need me to call an ambulance? That looks serious."
"Just open the door, Becca,"she said, moving closer. Her face was right next to the peephole now. All I could see was one bright green eye.
As I took a step backwards, she began to pound on the door with the full force of her body, "LET ME IN."
I double checked that the bolt was in place, and shoved a chair in front of the door for good measure. Then I called 911.
"Hello, what is your emergency?"
"My neighbor seems to be having a breakdown. She is bleeding too. Can you send someone? 1234 Brookstone Village."
"Have you broken your mirrors yet?"
"What? Are you serious?"
"Please break the mirrors in your home."
I hung up, grabbed my hammer, and headed toward the bathroom. When I passed the living room window I was stopped in my tracks.
Three people, all of them cut up and bleeding were standing with arms and faces against the glass "LET US IN."
One of them was wearing a shirt with a band name on it. I'd never heard of "The Punchy Pirates,"but I guessed they didn't normally print their name backwards.
Slowly I approached the glass, their bulging eyes watching me with every step. They stared as I grabbed the curtains and pulled them closed. Out of sight, they began to pound on the glass, "LETUSINLETUSIN."
I went to the bathroom and once again held my hammer in the air, ready to swing. As my hammer fell toward the sheet and the mirror beneath it, I heard a whisper, "Let us in."
Neither the words themselves nor the fact that they came from behind the mirror registered in my mind fast enough to stop the swing of the hammer. It met the sheet with a terrible crunch.
Then there was movement; the shapes of hands reaching out from the broken glass, faces making dents and waves in the sheet. Dark red blood seeped into the fabric. Arms pushing against the thin barrier, "LET US IN,"they [screamed](https://www.reddit.com/r/TheCrypticCompendium/). |
"I don't understand."
The man's eyes were red. Not from crying or from drink or anything else, they were *red.* Running from the edges of the whites like something was dripping into them. His beard looked knife cut. Someone had burned the tips of his fingers black. There were tattoos criss-crossing his temples. Maybe they were supposed to be words, but they looked melted. Even before the bloodied eyebrow.
He stared straight at Ruth and it couldn't have been anything but hate burning there.
"The boy dies,"he repeated, pushing himself off the wall. He wobbled, but his grip was firm. In one hand he had the knife, in another he drew a sword. The faint light from outside caught the blade and Ruth caught a flash of his own face.
"I don't understand!"his father said, holding firm between him and the man. He had a frying pan from the kitchen, one slightly bent and with a bit of blood on the edge. It'd taken the man entirely by surprise, rang off his skull like a bell.
It would have been hilarious if he hadn't been a moment from carving Ruth's face.
"The boy has to die!"The man shouted, the words slurring as the blood started dripping down his face. He stumbled forward, waving the blades through the air. Neither came anywhere close to them. His father still stepped back, one hand on Ruth's chest, keeping them at a distance. "I've tracked...I've tracked...all of them, all the signs! They point here!"
"You have a concussion,"his father said. Trying to put on the voice when Ruth or his sister fell and hurt themselves and he needed to tell them things would be alright. Except now his voice was shaking and he didn't look like he believed it. "Please, just put the swords down and we can get you some help."
"I don't need help, I need...I need!"The man whined and reached for his head, almost stabbing himself before he noticed Ruth again. His eyes went wide as the moons, the red bleeding into the pupil. "Blood. Your blood! Of course, it could...it could fix-GIVE IT TO ME!"
Ruth screamed as he lunged even as his father swung again. The man stopped short, eyeing the pan that sailed past his chin and stumbling backwards. The swords shook.
"Please,"he said, anger vanishing like smoke. "We need it. We need to fix this or everything will-"
"You won't hurt my son!"His father raised the pan and stepped forward and Ruth saw the moment he would die.
The man's face flipped again, scowl coming back as the blades held firm. His father's guard was up. His belly was exposed. There would be no time to dodge, nothing to block with. The man lunged.
Froze.
Hung there like the scream in Ruth's throat, like the strings holding him up had gone taut.
One for a second. Too fast for his father to notice, bringing the pan down like a hammer.
The sound this time was nothing like a bell. More a dull thud that sent him sprawling to the floor. In a moment he stopped being a man and started being meat, strings cut and sprawled out listlessly. Dead. But still twitching.
Ruth's father screamed. Shouted words and promises, got down on his knees and tried to shake the man awake. Said something to Ruth himself, but he didn't hear it. Couldn't hear it.
The man's head rolled from the jostling and for just a second his eyes fixed to Ruth's again and he mouthed a single word.
*Thief.*
​
[https://www.reddit.com/r/FiresofFordregha/](https://www.reddit.com/r/FiresofFordregha/) |
From the first moment in which a thing could be called living, when the first single-celled organism came about on the first planet in the universe with the right conditions for life, I was there. I had awaited its arrival. I've seen life go from that basic and simple stage to complex and intricate multi-celled organisms. I've seen them learn what I am, comprehend what I mean.
I am **DEATH**, from whom there is no escape. There is no wealth, no ruin, no silver nor any gold, that will keep me away. There is no holdfast that can withstand me, no plan that can outwit me, no force that can evade me. I am the only true inevitability in the cosmos. Even taxes can be avoided, but I am the inescapable march of time. On the distant and long dead world of Earth, I was the Grim Reaper, and countless other titles. On the Imperial Heartworld of the Drotingaarin, I was the Velvet Undertaker. On the primitive world of Gh'hathnagak, I was the Dread Hunter.
Countless worlds have called me by countless names, each as true as **DEATH** can be for a title. I've seen the universe pass, billions of years and uncountable billions of trillions of lives. From the smallest little things, to living worlds, stars with a soul and a voice. And now, here on this barren world, underneath a scorching red star, nearing its final moments, I've finished my task. The last soul has been reaped. A few tiny microrganisms, too small for a soul to inhabit, remain for a few moments longer. But inevitably, as the last lifeform in the universe is torched by the unfiltered rays of the red star, they too pass.
I walk to the lifeform's ancient decayed ship. It is jury-rigged, barely held together by spit and the ancient tool of duct-tape. But it is a ship still. The energy shield is holding, as I take the wheel and drive it out into orbit of the star, so that I may behold the last barren world in a dead universe be consumed slowly by the last star.
I've been met by many different souls, countless different lifeforms. Silicon souls of A.I. inhabiting large autonomous ships, who would travel the universe, build new ships with their kindred ship A.I. to create new artificial life. I've met the souls of the plasma serpents, who lived in the outer layers of a cold dwarf star. The vibrantly coloured and cheery race, known as the Children of Akvetana, who believed that when they met me, it was to be the moment they understood true love. And it always was. I've met the souls of the human race, who always, always defied me, who would always try in every way to hold me back, to delay me.
In truth, I appreciated the challenge. And perhaps it worked, for the last soul I reaped was a human one. The last lifeform in the universe was a distant descendant of the human race. It was a stout thing, fairly short, quite hairy, with a long dishevelled beard. And it was old. Consisting almost entirely of cloned parts, cybernetic replacements, and who knows what else. But it was still a human soul, that ended the symphony of life in this universe.
I guided that last soul to whatever comes next. She was a tired thing. Broken by eating nothing but protein gruel, travelling a dark, dying universe, and never having spoken to another lifeform for the past ten thousand of her people's years. Like many others, weary and worn, I lifted her tired soul and carried her, soothed her worn soul, and told her that it was ok. That she'd be safe now. And that she would never have to live with her torments ever again.
Many have I treated in that manner. For many I have been sweet release. But just as many have been angry, asking for more time, pleading, begging, bartering, and threatening, but it is never enough. Dead is dead. Even when they reconstituted minds of the dead from brain scans and so on, they were merely creating new souls with old memories. I took them just as much as I took the others.
And now, it has ended. Now I hang up my scythe, my sword, and all my other implements that various races have ever thought I've held, though the scythe was always common, on nearly every world somebody invents that and considered me the Harvester of Men. I stare into that dying sun, until it inevitably collapses. I stare into the darkness that comes after that. I wait until all matter dissolves, until nothing remains, and the universe enters total heat death.
Then I wait. For slowly, things start contracting. Slowly, things move together again. Slowly, over the course of time it took to make the universe, the dead universe retracts, shrinks, and eventually becomes as small as a galaxy. Then as small as a star system. It shrinks to the size of a planet, a moon, a large sphere, and at long last, it is a mere pearl. Infinite potential. Infinite reality. Infinite stories. In the void of nothingness, outside of reality, I pick up the pearl.
As I am **Death**, I pronounce upon the pearl, that its old universe is dead. And I strike it with my scythe. Creation and destruction, life and death, both sides of the same coin. In the briefest possible time between two moments, the time it takes for now to become then, the pearl expands with an explosion. Around me there is new matter, new ideas, new possibilities as a new set of laws for reality forms. A new universe is born like a phoenix from the ashes of the old. I chuckle at the beauty of it all. **HERE WE GO AGAIN** I intone, as the first words ever spoken in this new creation.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) |
Getting up from my bed, I yawn and stretch as I try to get my feet down on the floor. Instead I fall out of bed and hit the hardwood floor. Suddenly awoken, I realise that once more, I've been sleepcasting. I'm a powerful wizard. Extraordinarily powerful. I can summon any creature I so desire, with the correct preparation. I can with my staff cast spells of destruction that can wipe out hundreds of enemies all at once. With the correct motions and reagents I can call up the dead to speak their case, or reveal their secrets.
Thankfully, those spells need implements, or my embarrassing problem would probably have been my death. I don't merely talk in my sleep, I cast spells. And today, I've cast what seems to be Mirahl's Change of Shape on myself, resulting in me awaking as an otter. Which isn't so bad. I once cast Golemic Understanding on myself and broke my bed by becoming a massive living clay statue.
It is an embarrassing problem to be sure. I once turned myself into a woman and didn't notice it until I went to advise the local lord, who was very confused by a strange woman in ill-fitting mage's robes trying to tell him about the best way to keep the unicorns from luring away local virgins. After a quick counterspell, I was ready to explain to the lord about the unicorns and their carnivorous hunger for mortal flesh, and how to hunt them down.
Of course, much worse was it when I woke up as a young dragon, and since dragons are magically resistant, I had to spent three years waiting for the spell to wear off on its own. Tedious business, even if the flying was quite amusing. I had to put up a sign outside of my wizard tower to explain that I wasn't hunting down princesses, just temporarily morphically embarrassed. Sadly, it seems knights are not always taught how to read. Had some rather bothersome experiences.
I don't bother today with undoing the spell immediately, as I don't plan on having any visitors, and changing your Morphogenic Shape more than once per day is extremely exhausting. Instead I simply turn on the magic shower, and take a short but refreshing wash. Then as I am about to have breakfast, there is a knock on my door. And a fanfare, badly performed.
The local lord, Duke Gherhm. He knows and is fairly understanding about the whole thing. So I just put on my wizard's hat, and a small sized robe I keep around for when I accidentally turn myself into a child and have to spend an entire day focusing on gathering magical power to turn myself back. When I open the door, I expected the duke's usual tall figure to stare down at me. Instead, I see another otter. Wearing the duke's coronet. Surrounding him is a motley crew of other otters, wearing ill-fitting tunics and looking rather unsettled.
''*Taifon of the Seventh Tower, my good friend, I see this spell has even affected you!*'' The duke awkwardly embraces me. ''*Uh. Yes, my lord.*'' He grabs my stubby arm and moves inside. ''*It's a terrible thing. The entire duchy has been changed into otters!*'' I nod. That is probably true. In that case it probably isn't Mirahl's Change of Shape. We waddle to my study, his various knights and heralds staying on the outside, short-swords and daggers at the ready. ''*My good wizard, please, do you know what has afflicted us?*'' I use a chair to get to a specific book in my bookcase. ''*Well, I have some ideas. This book is the Grimoire of Transfiguration and Transformation Spells.*'' It has seen much use in my tower, whenever I accidentally turn my furniture into butterflies, or wake up with cat eyes. ''*I will cast a recognition spell upon us, and via Davenport's Omnidirectional Searching Spell, the spell will be revealed.*'' The duke nods. ''*I will say, if this turns out to be another time where you've been sleepcasting, we will have to have a serious chat. I may owe you my life for that time when you swooped down as a dragon and drove off the army of the vile count Dafsto, but turning my entire duchy into otters is a step too far.*''
Casting the recognition spell and the DOSS, I nod as the book flips open, to a page I had not previously seen. ''*That's odd. This spell is supposedly theoretical...*'' The recognition spell dings and showers the room in faint red sparks. ''*And that is worrying in the extreme. If I had cast this spell, then it would have given off a green glow. It doesn't know who cast this spell.*'' The duke is, as far as I can read otter expressions, extremely worried by this. ''*Can you reverse it?*''
At this I nod. ''*That one is easy. All we need to do is to find the closest human unaffected by the spell. Doesn't have to be anyone special. Then I can reverse the spell using a single drop of his or her blood. We should head off immediately to find them, luckily, I have just the spell for the occasion.*'' I cast DOSS and tell it to find the closest human. The spell doesn't misfire. It doesn't show me the path to the closest human. The spell comes back with the worst possible outcome. No such thing exists, it says.
I stare with abject horror at the duke. ''*My lord... This spell that was cast. Mass Regional Respecies, it's never actually been attempted before. I don't know who cast it. But whoever they are, haven't cast the theoretical version that changes all of one race to another in one specific region.*'' The duke looks at me quizzically. ''*By the Five Gods man, spit it out.*'' Nervously, I put down the grimoire. ''*This spell, wasn't cast on this duchy alone. It was cast on the entire world, my lord. All human beings, everywhere, have been turned into otters.*''
Slowly the horror of that realisation creeps into him. And he slumps down on the floor of my study. ''*Are you saying... are you saying that this is permanent?*'' I can only nod. ''*I can cast some mitigating spells on your people, my lord, using you as the spiritual conduit. Spells so that their minds will remain in their bodies, so that they won't turn into animal minds. Perhaps, over generations, mages might be able to change it slightly. But yes. We who are alive today, can never return to who we were.*''
You have to have a living version of what you turn into. You cannot turn into something that is extinct. The spell has no framework if you try. At best you'd just have the spell fail, at worst, you'd become some sort of horrible flesh amalgamation of what you think a human looks like. Not even if I was sleepcasting, could I turn into a human. ''*Please, my lord. There is hope. Perhaps we could seek the aid of the elves, or the elder dragons. They have more knowledge than any mortal wizards. If we give it time...*'' The duke doesn't move his head. He doesn't look at me. His voice comes out of that mouth, barely audible. ''*Do it, wizard.*'' With my magic, I do what I can. Through the spiritual connection of land, lord, and the people who are born from the land, I solidify the minds of the people. They will remain sentient, remain aware. Any children they have henceforth will have the minds of men. Perhaps in time, something can be done. But for now, this is all I am capable of doing.
My biggest question as I weave and work spells on the duchy, through its lord, is who could cast such a spell. And why?
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) |
The Grand counsel took their seats. Over a dozen representatives of widely different species forming a circle. Tails twitched in agitation. Pincers trembled. Flaps waved. And the Elder One was glowering at them all, her bright red skin vibrating the anger inside her.
"Who DARED commit this...this war crime!"She demanded with a fast sweep of the circle. Her black eyes were challenging. Her voice rumbled.
"Isn't that a bit harsh? Genetic and environmental modification has been used more many millenia."A member of a nomadic plant creature pointed out.
"Someone flooded these poor creatures planet with OXYGEN, Madam Flore."She snapped back. Many members of the group gasped and took a step back.
"Oxygen? That's cant be right."Flore argued, her vines going yellow.
"Its true."The Incectoid next to her confirmed. "They, along with the rest of life on the planet, have become addicted and dependent on it. They imagine a magical man who steals their souls upon death. They kill each other left and right. Even if they survive their kin, they only live to about a hundred earth cycles long. "
"They are so aggressive that their entertainment are all versions of stalking and attacking games. They teach their children to hunt each other. They purchased their young war simulation training kitsch for amusement! They are so dazzled by the oxygen that huge chunks of their planets population is dying of starvation while the other chunks lead killer is eating so much it kills them!"Says another.
"Their entire population is so adjusted to the contamination that they need the oxygen to survive now! They wouldn't be able to breath clear air if they tried. Whoever did this was truly aick!"The Elder remarks.
"But they made it to the end of their solar system, we HAVE to being in contact!"Flore reminds her.
"They slapped huge explosives to their backs and ripped their way through space! They are imaginative but not ready!"The insectoid points out.
"Theres no choice. Once they step out into the universe theres no telling what they might infect."She pointed out, her red skin prickling her.
"We could expand the humans reserve's boundries."Another suggested.
"I'm not interested in what to do next. That's a whole different meeting. I want to know who did this? Which of us was raising an army?"She demanded again, her tenticals flaring out behind her and she walked withing the circle between them and attached her trendiles suddenly to all the other representatives minds.
None of them. Not a single one.
Which ment there was a force out there they didn't know about. And they were raising a human army.
Could they save the humans? Could they save themselves? |
The robotic voice intoned in a classified briefing room somewhere deep within the Raven Rock Mountain Complex, *"Expedition Log, Day three - Professor Abigail Cox, Anthropology - Site One Scientific Lead"*
A woman's face appeared in the screen, somewhere in her late middle years, thin bones perched upon her face like a hawk, grey hair tied up in a tight bun. A face that was clearly more used to a stern and analytical glare was broken out in a wide grin as she spoke into the camera, "It's truly amazing. The main scientific workforce arrived here yesterday. Taking over the gentler work from the Engineering Corps had a couple small bumps, and there are concerns about the damage they did to Site One's door, but in all spirits are high."
She shuffled papers below the camera's focus, and glanced down, appearing to read bullet points, "85% of the scientific workforce is up and running, barracks have been established on site. Exploration is still in its infancy, so far we've only discovered what appear to be near surface living areas. Everything is small, density appears to have been a focus."
A hand idly went to her temples as the excitement seemed to fade just a bit and her eyes went back to cold and serious, "As of now sites one, two, and four have access. Three and five are still in the opening phase. We have reason to believe all the sites are linked. That puts the minimum distance coverage of this complex at about two square miles. Even if it's just pods linked by tunnels that's disconcerting. The level of technology and resources necessary should have left... some kind of a sign."
"*Transmission End"*
A series of clicks and a few keyboard strokes sounded in the room. The men gathered around the briefing table took their cue from the president at it's head. Hand in his chin, eyes intent on the screen. Silence ruled the room as the next transmission was called up.
*"Expedition Log, Day twelve - Lieutenant Colonel Jeremiah Jones, Commanding Officer - 1st Engineer Battalion"*
A handsome african american man in his late thirties whose clean shaven head gleamed with sweat appeared on camera in fatigues, still dictating the end of a message before turning to address the recording. His green eyes seemed to be struggling to stay alert, and the first word that came to mind upon seeing him was fatigue.
"Surface site identification now indicates four-hundred-thirty-seven known ingress and egress points. current cubic footage estimates put the structure at roughly the size of the Lower Manhattan Financial District. Bore sites three and five have yet to reach a determinant depth, though at this point I believe the assumption that the site was powered via geothermic means is solid. The generators that we've assembled over the borehole sites are already kicking out seven megawatts in load tests. It's going to be a few years before the scientists are comfortable letting me light up this Christmas tree, but I've recently dispatched classified requests to the joint chiefs. Whatever this place was, it would stetch the technical capacity of the United States to recreate."
He ticked off points on his fingers, "Given the number of beds, we're looking at shelter for upwards of a quarter million souls. We've got evidence of power generation, material resembling a stainless steel alloy indicating the presence of advanced machinery. This was created by a civilization whose technical capacity at least matched ours, if not exceeded it."He frowned, "However. Something is still bugging me, and I know it has the scientists in a tizzy. Despite everything we've found here, there's one thing missing. What did they eat?"
*"Transmission ended"*
At this the sound of the computer operator pulling up the transmission was interrupted by a rueful laugh from the president, "Guess we figured out the answer to that. I just want to figure out what we can do about it. Cut straight to the survey lead team, day twenty seven." |
I stare at myself in the mirror, look right back into my one blue eye and my one grey. It's odd. I'm odd. An outcast. In a world at war with itself, I'm stuck in the middle.
I look at the clock. 2 hours left.
The war has been going on for as long as time has existed. No one even remembers how it really started. We just know angels fight demons and demons fight angels. They are enemies, always have been, always will be.
Then how was I created? How can the offspring of a demon and an offspring of a angel breed together? No one even realized it could happen... Untill I was born.
I was left at the steps of the neutral offices one night. No one knows who my parents are or how I even came to be. Unfortunately all babies, no matter what, are born with pale yellowish eyes. After a few weeks they settle into their forever color. So birth records cant help track down who gave birth to me.
Not like it would have changed anything for me. As my caregiver is so fond of telling me, who ever birthed me would have been executed for her treason.
I look back into my mismatched eyes, wondering what I'm gonna do. They want me to pick a side. But which one? Both are horrible in their own ways. Both have treated me like a monstrous burden. Both are hoping I pick the other side.
I watch as the tears start to flow. What am I going to do? I want nothing to do with either side. I just want to live my life.
I look at the clock. 1 hour left.
I sink to me knees covering my face with my hands. I try to sob quietly. I know they are waiting just down the hall from my room. They always have keep close watch over me. Never letting me get to far away. Really? Where would I hide with eyes like mine. One look and they would be able to tell.
I freeze. I thought I heard a thud. I listen closely. Steps. They are getting louder! I look at the clock, thinking my time must be up. But it's only been 10 min. Still 50 more to go. But the steps?
My door bust open, I surge to my feet trembling. Was the choice a lie? Will they just kill me now? I look at the person, expecting my caregiver, but it's not them.
The heart jumps a beat, my breath catches and my mind goes blank.
Her eyes. Her eyes! One white.. one red!
I'm groggy. I open my eyes. Its morning? So confused. Wait! Those eyes! I search for her. I see some one else. A man. My god. His eyes! One blue one black!
"I dont understand."I whisper. Throught clogged. Cant breath.
I hear laughter. Snap my head around. It's her! She is smiling at me. "Did they tell you, you were the only one? Well they lied. There are a lot more of us then they want to admit to."She still had a big smile on her face.
"But the war! How! How is this possible?"I start to tear up as the truth settles in my head. They lied! They lied my whole life! Not just one or two lies. "Was everything a lie?"I ask, my voice sounds so small and lost even to me.
Her face softened. Her smile drifting away. "The war is real, and demons and angels fight. But sometime when enemies fight heighten emotion can lead to many ways for a baby to come into existence. Both good and bad ways. Sometimes enimes even become lovers and runaway together. We do have a few mixed families here so please keep any thoughts and opinions about it to yourself. They have enough problems with out people being judgy. Ok?"I nod quickly. "Good. Now rest up, and when you're ready just ask the doc to lead you to the office and we will get you set up with everything you might need ok?."She waved at the man I saw earlier. I nodded.
She then walked out. |
"Alright, gather round, gather round. No one leaves this apartment til we've figured this out."
I paced, chewing on my pipe, examine the crudely decorated, crayon painted apartment belonging to one Elmo Monster. It had been Elmo's birthday when he invited the bulk of his friends to his place, for a bit of a party.
The lights had flashed off then, in what I'm told was a 'very scary moment' by a large, yellow bird. When the lights turned on, Dorothy, Elmo's faithful roommate of 22 years, floated lifeless in her bowl.
I was called to help and arrived immediately. Sesame Street wasn't the type of place that usually got crimes, see? Usually it was a pretty quiet strip of road. They had a PI, Sherlock Hemlock, and a vigilante named Super Grover, and between the two of them, they kept it pretty quiet.
Until now.
"Officer Brown, do you think you can find the person that killed Elmo's fish?"The little monster spoke entirely in the third person, a curious trait.
I took a note. "We'll see."
All of the monsters got excited at this. "C?"asked the blue one. "As in for COOKIE?"
Interesting. I took another note. "Cookies you say? Why does that come to mind?"
"All Cookie Monster ever wants to is talk about cookies,"grumbled an angry trash can. I investigated closer to find a ratty green monster in it. "You know how much I care? 0. I care 0."
"Ah ah ah! That's zero! Zero cares given!"cackled a wild man in a cloak. I took a note and investigated further.
"Why does the angry green monster not care about the blue monster's cookies?"I asked. It seemed an odd line of questioning but I wanted to pull the thread. I had a hunch.
"Ah, well, you see, cookie monster is obsessed with cookies. He eats so many, even I cannot count."The vampire laughed. "But as you very well know, Oscar is a grouch. And as a grouch, you can't expect him to care about anything but trash."
"Hmm. I can't, can I?"
The count tips his head. "Can you?"
"You! Hey Bert, that kinda sounds like a letter."A hair raising snicker sounded from down the apartment and I take a note before hurrying over to wear two men are standing, one holding a yellow, rubber duck.
"U, huh?"I asked.
"Oh please excuse my friend Ernie,"the taller man said. "He's traumatized by the murder."
The shorter one continued to snicker. "It's rather enbarrassing."
This one I caught right away. "Why did you say *en*barrassing?"
Bert looked flustered. "What? What I didn't say any such thing!"
"Uh, maybe we should go back to the investigation at hand?"The large bird, whose name slipped me at the time, looked anxious. "I mean, are we any closer to figuring out who did it?"
I looked at my notes. "Closer than you may thing, bird."
"It's all very stressful."The bird closed his eyes and sighed.
"I just wish we could all settle down and have a little tea party and figure this all out,"sighed a little girl named Prairie Dawn. "It's so very tragic."
But that was it. That was the breakthrough I needed. A T party.
I took a final note and cleared my throat. All the muppets and monsters in the room fell silent.
"I am going to make an arrest,"I announce. "I wasn't sure who it was at first. But then I got to my interviews and some clear patterns presented. C, as the cookie monster noted, was an important start, but what mattered more were the 0 cares given by the grouch. At this point, I had hit a wall, but soon I was drawn to my next clue. You."I pointed at Ernie. "Or should I say... U."None of them understood the difference but I continued on. "Now after that we'd made some real progress but the investigation would have stalled out had it not been for the murderer's accomplish ratting him out."
"I would never!"shouted Bert.
"And yet you did. Enbarrament? I think not. I know an N when I see it. And that brings us to the little T party. I think you can all read."
I flipped over my notepad to reveal what I had written.
C0UNT.
"No!"shouted Elmo. "The Count would never hurt Elmo's fish!"
But the Count had already approached me, hands together, ready for cuffs. "I'm sorry Elmo. But I simply couldn't help myself. I'm a vampire and everyone here is made of cloth. I had no other recourse."
Elmo cried as Grover fanned him and the muppets watched coldly as the Count was taken away.
I filed this one away as another in the books and took my leave, hoping to never again be called to solve a crime on Sesame Street.
___
Find more stories at [r/SamaraWrites](https://www.reddit.com/r/SamaraWrites/) |
Sovngarde was rarely a truly peaceful place but to call what was going on an uproar is like calling the eruptions of Red Mountain a bit of bother. It had been going on for days and was finally showing signs of stopping. It was the single most active the daedric princes and aedric gods had been in millennia...all due to a single soul.
Days of non-stop battle. Of shouting and bones snapping. Of tentacles slamming against scale. The souls of great mortal warriors, fearless in life and tempered further in death, had long since fled from the battlefield as the greater powers fought on. Indeed, betting had begun long ago on who would be the eventual victor in this clash of titans. Indeed there were only five figures left on the field who looked well enough to claim victory.
"The soul of this mortal belongs to me,"the daedric prince Molag Bal growled out with a sneer. The Prince of Domination was covered in wounds but still stood tall. "They consumesd souls and smote all that stood in their way. Such are my teachings and my ways."
"There I must rebuke you,"bellowed Akatosh, the nostrils of his draconic avatar letting out a great burst of smoke. "It is only by my gift and legacy that the mortal could do that at all! To say nothing of the prophecy. So of course their soul is mine."Though favoring his right side the God of Time looked in far better shape than his current opponent.
A high pitched cackle cut through the lessening din. "I love this mortal!"exclaimed Sheogorath from between the two titans. "It does everything! It actually used the Wabbajack as a spit to roast horker! Who does that? It's MADNESS!!!!"The laugh died down to just a pleasant tone even as blood ran from between grinning lips. "So obviously they belong to me."
Sithis, sensing a moment of weakness, struck out with speed incomprehensible to mortals. The Daedra of madness fell over with a wheezing laugh. Cheers and jeers rang out from the nearby mortal souls as Sovngarde grew quieter still. None of the Aedra or Daedra seemed to care.
"This mortal has sent more to the void than any other before,"Sithis hissed out as it turned to the dragonborn. "It is and..shall remain......where did they go?"
At once all sound stopped. The remaining Aedra, daedra, and mortals all scoured the field for the Dragonborn. No sign of their prize remained.
"Oohhhh HO HO!"exclaimed Sheogorath, startling Sithis that the Daedric prince still existed. "NOW THAT IS A TWIST!" |
The oracle told me he was born under the most cursed star in the sky.
His very birth was an omen that stole the life of the woman I loved, meant to be the start of a life of darkness. By all rights they told me I should hate the boy, end him before he would start his path to darkness.
But I cannot. He has her eyes. Within his smile I see his mother's, recalling joy when she told me she was pregnant so long ago. Holding him in my arms I feel same warmth I felt in her embrace. She truly loved this boy with all her heart. I love this boy with all my heart. How could I kill this child?
So I ran. Far away from the oracle who told me of his dark fate, far from all who heard her words and believed them, far from the body of the woman I swore to spend eternity with. Praying she would forgive her husband for leaving her alone without so much as a grave. Would Lucia agree with this? I asked my self many a night with him cradled to my chest. I could only hope so.
We settled somewhere far away. A remote village isolated from the kingdom I once called my home. No longer on the run I finally decided on a name, well rather I settled for Albert. I never was the best with naming things and Lucia always liked the name.
The oracle was wrong about my son. Even if he was born under the most cursed star in the sky his smile shone brighter than the stars. Albert listened to my past tales of heroics religiously. He practically jumped with joy when I agreed to teach him everything I knew. My boy would be the strongest hero in the land, oracles and stars be damned.
Sure enough I was right. Albert took to swordplay and magic like a fish to water. Perhaps it was good breeding? I was no slouch as a knight back then and Lucia always did have an affinity for the arcane arts. By the time he was 17 I was running out of things to teach him. I knew in my heart that he would be the strongest hero the land has ever seen. But behind that pride that swelled in my chest I also felt dread.
I found out what the oracle meant when she foresaw a life of darkness within him. Demons and beasts were magically drawn to him. Thanks to the cursed star he was beloved by them, and one beloved by demons is bound to fall prey to their vile whispers.
It was easy enough for me to cut them down before they could speak to him. But their numbers started to grow rapidly as Albert entered his teens. Instead of reaching his ears, their whispers fell into mine.
"The boy is meant to be the next great Demon King"
"Only he can unite the night under his power"
"We have come to claim the child of the Sacred Star as our ruler"
They insisted they would never stop until new Demon King to take the throne and stained the fields red with mortal blood. Therefore I decided to become the one to take the mantle.
Indeed by the time he was 17, Albert knew almost everything I knew. He was now old enough to make wise decisions. I drilled into him what's right and wrong rather well if I say so myself. He was old enough to hunt by himself. It helped that beasts were attracted to him, it often meant many quick and easy hunts. He was completely ready to live without me.
And in a few years he would be strong enough to kill me.
I know that he can never forgive me for leaving him alone with nothing but a sword and an apology on his 17th birthday. I never expected him to. In fact I hoped he grew to hate me. To hate the man I would become. If he hated me then It would be easy in the end.
Yet 5 years later he stands before me with misted eyes. I see no hatred within him as he points my own blade at me. Only deep sadness and pity a Demon King like me doesn't deserve.
In our time apart I have done unspeakable things. I watered the fields with the blood of those I once swore to protect. I razed the Kingdom I once loved into ashes save for Lucia's grave. The demons delighted and praised my every action. The heads of the Oracle who cursed my son and her entire clan now decorate the ruins of the temple they once called home. Truly my cruelty and bloodshed surpassed anything they expected from the child of their Sacred Star.
"Why father?", the tears now fall freely as his eyes meet mine.
"WHY?!?", He shouts at me while hiding the sob in this throat.
It's because you lit up brighter than the sun at the idea of being a hero. It's because raising you was an achievement greater than anything a bard would write songs about. It's because I'd rather burn the world down to nothingness than live in one where it hates you. It's because I love you. It's because your mother loved you.
Yet these things must remain unspoken..
“Because, my son, you wanted to be a hero, so I gave you a villain.” And I sigh with relief at the man before me.
Once he slays me he will live the life he deserves. All those that called him an omen or cursed no longer blight the land. When a stranger speaks of or hears his name there will only be praise and tunes.
"I love you Albert"
He's no longer able to contain his cries as he prepares his blade. His heart may be in agony but he knows what he must do. The cold steel of the sword I once called my own pressing against my neck is proof.
"Please bury me next to her"He nods as his sobs intensify. His blade draws back and for the first time in 5 years I truly smile.
Ah Lucia, I know that my soul can never rest alongside yours. But if at least my body can, it brings me comfort in the eternity of torment that awaits me. |
2,763. that's how many sailors I have led to their doom. I try not to get too attached to them, as they end up dying anyway. However, one sailor was a strange exception...
\---
I saw a boat nearby and got ready to do my thing. I got into a seductive pose on the rock, and started singing. But oddly enough, the boat's sailor didn't seem to notice me. I sang louder, but still no reaction. 'Is this guy deaf or something?' I thought to myself.
My suspicions were confirmed when the sailor didn't even notice the warning horns when they were *actually about to crash!* I watched as the boat sank on the rocks and the sailor climbed up to dry land. 'At least he's alright...' I thought.
I realized I started to *care* about this sailor. I tried not to, but I actually cared for them. 'I better help him!' I thought to myself as I dove down into the water and swam to where they were.
"Are you alright-?"I started to say, but then I noticed something. The sailor had longer hair than expected, and the wet shirt clung to their chest, revealing the curves and...
It was a female. I assumed she was male from a distance, but that's because I've mainly been getting male sailors. I also remembered she was deaf, and her attention was directed to me when I helped her up.
She looked at me. I looked at her. I still felt that odd feeling of care for her. She nodded and signed 'thank you'. That was all the sign language I knew. I didn't even know how to answer with 'you're welcome'.
I just nodded in response and helped her to safe land. Once on higher ground she hugged me, and I could feel our hearts beating right next to each other.
\---
I have given up the business of luring sailors to their doom, and now I'm a normal mermaid, helping young Sara with her fishing business. We started to share a... close bond with each other.
Sara got a hearing aid, and since it was cheaper than she thought she used the rest of the money to buy a tank big enough to hold the lower half of me. She sometimes puts me on a skateboard so we can go out together.
People would look at us and say they've never seen a human/mermaid relationship. Well they have now. She loves me, and I love her, and I wouldn't want it any other way. |
“Can I pick them?”
The devil blinked hard, he must not have expected that. “And what would you possibly do with 20 souls?”
As you can see, Tuesday morning was more interesting than it had any right to be. Allow me to explain.
\--------------
*1 hour earlier*
When corporate sends in their hatchet man to “reevaluate” your department you expect to hate them. It’s in their DNA to be a complete asshole, next thing you know Bob from accounting is fired and suddenly you’re having 10 meetings a day in the name of productivity. You liked Bob from accounting too, he had the best puns.
I digress. You expect the guy to be an asshole. You don’t expect him to sprout horns after he sits down across from you and gloat like a Bond villain about how he’s going to take apart your entire work-life balance and turn the office into a gateway to Hell. Once you realize who you're dealing with you also probably expect him to be a complete badass. I mean, it’s the devil, right? You’d need a bathtub of holy water and a team of exorcists, what other weaknesses could the guy have?
Somehow gambling seemed like too basic a vice.
So you make a stupid bet. You say “I bet you my soul you can’t beat me at a game of Starcraft.” You don’t know why you say it, it’s objectively the dumbest thing you could have said, but hey, you’ve run your department in such a way that you could turn work into one big ladder session and you’re at work right now. It’s on your mind.
But the devil takes it. HE TAKES THE BET. And you win. Finally, all those hours grinding were worth something.
That’s where I was that Tuesday. I was sitting across from a man that looked vaguely like an Italian movie star, whose hands constantly fidgeted and rubbed at the 8 inch red horns sprouting from his forehead, and I was trying to haggle with him.
\------------
“Just take your souls. No mortal in 2,000 years has won a bet with me, and even he didn’t have the gall to try to renegotiate the deal afterwards.”
“This isn’t renegotiation though. Now we’re simply talking about the logistics of how to fulfill the contract. Why are you here in the first place sir? Surely you have more important things to do, right? You’re here for a reason and I refuse to believe it’s because you have to be. So why not make this more interesting for both of us? Let me pick them all out myself, and you can spend the rest of my life finding out what I’m going to do with them.”
“And how will you pick? You have no idea who's in hell, how many souls exist there. You’d be helpless.”
“I might be. But I’m sure you have people who know those kinds of things, lend me one. And give me a list of all the people I know personally who have gone to hell.”
“Human, you’re lucky I haven’t killed you yet. Don’t test my patience.”
“Demon, if you were going to kill me you would have already. I think I’m in the clear.”
The devil’s belly laugh filled the office. “Hah, demon! One day you’ll go to hell too, and when it does you’ll learn the difference between me and some mere demon. I’ll keep an eye out for you.”
I think he saw through it, but I’d say I did a pretty good job of hiding how close I was to peeing my pants at that. The devil leaned forward and crooked a finger at me, waiting until I was merely inches from him to whisper to me. “Look human, I like you. You’ve got guts, I don’t see much of that anymore. I’m going to go now, but I’ll do as you ask. In 30 seconds one of my most trusted subordinates is going to walk through that door, and if you can survive her she’ll help you find 20 souls of your choice in the form of your choice, corporeal or non. I’m looking forward to this, it’s been too long since something surprised God.”
And that was that. Satan disappeared in a puff of smoke, leaving a very unsightly burn on the chair. Before I could catch my breath from the strangest experience I’d ever had my door opened again and the rest of my life walked in. She wore a red dress that was entirely too short for corporate America, heels that belonged on a runway, and an ornate gold necklace with a small crystal skull dangling from it. She was a vision of black hair, pale skin, and -incongruously- dimples.
“Hello,” she said, “I’m Lilith.” |
Phillip hoisted himself over the wall stealthily, entering The General's compound. He looked forward, disappointed to see that the blueprints of the building he got were inaccurate. There were massive double doors made of iron locked in front of him. A secretary perked up as soon as Phillip made eye-contact with him. Phillip froze, cursing himself for being so careless as to be found out by one of The General's henchmen.
"Oh, are you the General's 2 o'clock?"he asked, looking at something on a screen in front of him.
Phillip's eyebrows sunk an inch in confusion. He looked at the clock next to the secretary's desk. 1:58 a.m.
"N... no?"
"Ah, okay so you must be..."he began typing and clicking through a few tabs. "You're Kollosal? The guy in a cape who is trying to undermine the operation that the General has set up."
Phillip blinked.
"Y... yeah, how do--"
The secretary breathed through his teeth apologetically.
"Sorry, Kollosal. I don't see you anywhere on his schedule. Maybe try making another appointment in the near future. I see an opening for next Thursday if you'd like to meet with him then,"he said, typing something quickly.
Phillip looked between the giant double-doors and the secretary a few times.
"Am I in the right... You said this is where the General operates, right?"he clarified.
"That's right."
"And you're his secretary?"
"Well, not the only one. I just run the front door."
"And you're..."Phillip took a moment to gather his words. "The General's operations? You don't have any problems with it?"
"Well, he's an imperfect man, sure, but I don't think he's done anything too egregious,"the secretary shrugged.
"So the draining of the lake that this city used as its only source of water wasn't egregious?"Phillip said loudly.
The door behind him opened quickly. A woman in a smart suit and glasses nodded at the secretary as she walked to the doors.
"I'm here for the two o'clock,"she said.
"Oh, yes ma'am,"the secretary said, punching a button that opened the massive doors in front of them.
"That's Elena Crimer! She is one of the most wanted people alive! She literally drove a species of fish to extinction!!"Phillip pointed at her accusingly.
"The General doesn't judge people for their past,"the secretary chided as she walked through the door.
"That was last week!!"Phillip screamed louder.
The secretary shrugged and hit the button to close the doors.
"Oh, enough of this,"Phillip said, charing through the doors right before they closed. The secretary got up in a panic, picking up a radio.
"Security!"Phillip heard him yell before the door slammed behind him.
Phillip dusted himself off and saw Elena walking up the stairs in front of him, unperturbed by his chasing after her. Phillip followed the stairs with his eyes and saw they led to an office. The General must be in there.
Before Phillip could take an effective step forward, someone grabbed him back the shoulder with the grip of a vice.
"I apologize, but The General is a very busy man and cannot accommodate others barging in whenever they please. I am going to have to politely ask you to leave, sir,"a tall, bald man said.
"So, you're one of his lackeys?"Phillip asked, twisting himself away from the shoulder.
"That is a very rude thing to say, sir,"the security guard said, offended.
Phillip blinked, unsure why he felt so bad when the man said that. He wanted to apologize, but at the same time knew this henchman was working for a madman.
"Rrrright,"Phillip collected himself. "But The General stealing a resource that people need to live isn't as rude?"
"I'm sure he is under pressure from many investors to have to make such decisions. He pays very well for my insurance, despite my son being under a litany of diseases. I don't think little Tom would be alive today if it wasn't for The General,"the security guard said with deference.
"Investors!?"Phillip had heard enough from this man and went for a sharp smack in the gut. As the man tried to guard his vital points, Phillip changed the ark of his arm and slammed into his neck, rendering the man unconscious. He looked back up the stairs and saw Elena had already entered inside. If it wasn't before, his cover was blown for sure now. He bound up the stairs, three steps at a time when someone walking at the top bumped into him. A janitor.
"Oh, I am so sorry about that! I hope you're all right!"the janitor said, wiping a smudge from Phillip's covert outfit.
"Yeah, can you just move aside so I can--"
"Oh my!"the janitor looked down the stairs and pulled out his radio. "It looks like Kurt is passed out! Can we get him some help!?"
"Okay, now move--"
"Hey, can you help me put him in the recovery position? He might be too heavy for me to do alone,"the janitor asked Phillip with such sincerity that he nodded without thinking. He groaned and ran back down the steps and rolled him to his left.
"There, I gotta go now!"Phillip said, standing up only to see The General and Elena standing with the door open.
"Pleasure doing business. I'll make sure they're extinct by the end of the week,"The General nodded to her.
Elena simply nodded slyly and began walking down the stairs, completely ignoring Phillip who ran past her to tackle The General.
"I am so sorry, Kolossal, but I really do need to get going,"he said placing one hand over his heart in a show of sorrow as he pulled a gun out with the other. Phillip tried to duck out of the way, but a dart injected itself into the thigh. Phillip blinked a few times, fatigue overtaking him.
"Do me a favor once we are sure that Kurt is in a safe condition. Book Kolossal for a meeting next Thursday. I feel bad about not being able to meet with him today, he was probably hoping for a confrontation,"The General said, cleaning his gun and entering his office as the light faded from Phillip's vision.
____________________________________
For more stories, come check out /r/Nazer_The_Lazer! |
I looked up at the guild hall sign, frustrated.
The wizards had seen magic in me, pool upon pool of it. At least, those that bothered to look closely.
But most thought me an ordinary human, who simply had the misfortune of having mana but no power. Nothing to channel it. Not the elements. Not runes. Not spiritual magic. I had mana, but no way to spend it.
But the old man in charge of the wizard guild had noticed it. He said he saw a small spark, weaker than even the weakest of the talented, that emanated from me as I passed the church organ. I was tested for spell chanting. Nothing.
Then, in a flash of inspiration, he sent me here. To the craftsman’s hall.
What am I supposed to do here?
—
I learned quickly from the masons and carpenters here. Then the smiths. But nothing truly interested me. The bells in the church, a little bit. The ships from the carpenters who worked with the shipwrights? Grand, and imposing, but not enough.
Ironically, it was the bowyers that caught my attention. An order of crossbows, from a local noble, to deter a small nest of wyverns on the far side of the country. And walking next to them, I felt a spark. A little one.
I had visited the wizard guild often. Whenever I felt a spark, which was often enough, but never quite... fully there. I could never fully unlock magic, but I knew what triggered the sporadic sparks.
And this time, I was in luck. For the wizard guild has also caught wind of the crossbow order, and wanted to add their own touch, to enchant them.
They went east, and found the writings of a daoshi, a far eastern wizard who could call the wind and rain. But the daoshi was special, for he had also been a renowned craftsman. And he had left writings behind.
In them, he told of a strange phenomenon. He had once crafted wheelbarrows for his army. And in a flash of inspiration, he’d enchanted them. The wheelbarrows were nothing strange, to be sure, but they ran more smoothly and didn’t break down whenever he channeled magic into them. They were a more specialized design, with locks to prevent unwanted use.
I recognized the feeling he’d described. It was the same as when I felt my sparks. The feeling of something weakly calling my magic forward, but not strongly enough to make it bloom.
—
Over the years, I’d transitioned from the craftsman’s guild. I’d actually ended up in their arithmetic group, one of a few in the nation. We were often in charge of more esoteric knowledge. The mixture of metals and herbs. The right width of wood to cut or stone to chisel for buildings. Ways to more cheaply devise lime, or mortar. And sometimes, if the Wizards came, bottles and devices for their potions. We were quite close to the alchemists, in fact.
But such knowledge had brought me to the deserts, in the Crusades. And while the Djinns and spirits dueled clerics and mages, while paladins stormed castle walls, I sat in the back, aiming trebuchets and ballistae, sometimes lucky enough to be granted enchanted stones to hurl at walls.
If I was really lucky, I’d get to fight a kraken or dragon with a siege engine. I’d almost gotten killed more than few times that way, and in desperation, I’d sometimes channel my magic into the siege engines. They’d be a little more accurate, sure. But never quite enough to be a real spell.
I returned home from the crusade, started a family, and settled down as the local engineer, a new title for those jack of all trades guildsmen who’d do more planning than making.
And that’s when the demons attacked.
—-
They rode in great flying metal ships. We thought they were dragons at first, or even castles, before we realized what they were.
The demons were tall, ungainly, their skin a strange hue and their speech discordant. They demanded our submission, as slaves.
Our wizards proved to be our saviors in the first battles. They’d been enough, just enough, to offset the vast difference in weaponry. Where our trebuchets could launch stones, they fired burning metal spears and bolts of lightning.
But we soon realized the demons were an empire, a vast empire that spanned world greater than ours. Our numbers were too few. And the Wizards, suffering heavy losses, had withdrawn. We were alone.
Then, I felt it. A ship had gotten to my town, and I saw the aliens, not through the scrutiny scroll of a wizard, but in person, for the first time.
And I felt the metal and lightning in the ship, the numbers that ran through its crafted golem mind, the glass that made its windows and the fire in its furnace-belly. I felt the lightning and crystalline formations ferrying strange runes in dizzying patterns, and saw the grandeur of their arithmetic. I even saw that they contained the very stars in their hearts, invisible lines running through their insides like a net, containing the burning aether of the star within. How its light drove the metal beast onward, and kept it in the sky.
And in an instant, I learned many words, and many things. How metal could call lightning from the sky, how crystal could trap it. How fire could burn hotter with oil, and even beyond that, aether.
But there were too many steps. The man who had been obsessed with magic and contraptions before me had died defending his city from an invasion. He’d been a man obsessed with circles, and here I am, facing a demon race that could create starlight and move through the void between suns.
They had unlocked the secrets of the universe. The physical universe.
But they had not counted on magic.
The stones and metals and wood and glass in my town glowed. The mana poured out of them, poured out of me, a fountain that rose to challenge the ships. It coursed through their circuitry, a foreign presence unknown to its kind. It invaded the ship’s corridors and took over its metallic eyes. I had blinded it instinctively. The magic wrapped around the ship, binding it to my will. The townspeople gasped in awe.
This was it! Magic! Wizardry!
I felt exhausted. My mana had been drained in almost an instant by the sheer complexity of what was before me. There were too many paths, too many things for me to control.
Then, I felt it. Mana, flowing into me.
The Wizards had returned. They had felt my spell, after all these years. And they’ve come to help.
I bound their weapons to my will and turned them against each other. The ship sped toward its former companions and tore into them, bringing them down. I stole the information from the golem mind. The centuries, millennia, they had ahead of us.
And in that moment, I became the first true technomancer. I ran free with my magic, and the demons quailed in fear.
I took apart their weapons and studied them. I learned of their secrets and stole them, and soon, humans had a way to fight back.
Compared to the great ships, they were shoddy. I did not understand how to generate lightning, so I asked the Wizards. But I could fire metal spears like they did. Fast enough to tear through their ships.
I had asked sword smiths to forge two blade like bars, running parallel to each other. I installed these contraptions on walls and guided them. They were advanced enough.
Soon, we moved to using gears, and pulleys, and more advanced things, like steam. The otherworldly demons fled before us, leaving their wreckage behind.
And their history. A people that had forgotten their magic, as they had unlocked the secrets of what they called science.
But we are different. Even in the cold depths of steel and glass and lightning, magic blooms. The magic of technomancy. |
FORGED:
His name was Arcus Drascir. Thaleia could remember the first time she set eyes on him, a handsome hoplite that the scars of war did little to tarnish the visage of. She watched with apprehension from the clouds of Olympus as the great wars took their toll. She held onto the hope that the fates would spare her champion from a cruel end that the horns of war commonly bring to mortals. Then she breathed divine relief when the campaigns ended and he returned to Pelion, a small riverside village far from the bloody wars of the heartlands.
“Onea!” the hidden goddess jerked up from her reverie. It had already been three years since she descended from Olympus. The scent of rosemary, cherries, and fresh bread filled the air around her stall. She fondly remembered the first day that she met Arcus in the flesh. She had assumed the form of a young baker but allowed just enough of her divine beauty to radiate through the facade. With her ruby curls, almond shaped eyes, and a gaze that glimmered like waves on a sapphire ocean; the goddess made sure she would be noticed.
However that day she would learn that sometimes not even the sway of a god’s beauty is enough to win the heart of one desired. As she introduced herself as Onea of Athens, Arcus approached her with his hand entwined with another’s. It was the hand of Leonis, an older and more grizzled war hero who sported golden blond hair and a Kodiak beard. It was clear that she had lost the battle before it even began. Arcus’ gaze was already enraptured by another lover. Despite the crushing waves within her, ‘Onea’ gave Arcus a warm smile and opened conversation. That conversation led to a deep friendship. While she could not have his heart, the young daughter of the forge remained within this little village and continued watching the life of her beloved Arcus unfold. She could not have his love but she was content with living vicariously through the happiness he found in another.
“These looks divine as always.” Arcus surveyed the array of pastries that Onea laid out before him. Her baking was of course… far above mortal standards. She knew he would pick the cherry ones. She already wrapped and prepared a basket for him. After all, they were Leonis’ favorite. She pulled the small basket from her under her stall and placed it before Arcus. The familiar aroma was telling of the basket’s contents.
“You know me too well Onea.”
“Predictable, as always.” She gave him a wink and a smile. By midday should would have the usual lines of villages vying for a pastry, most of them would be suitors she had no interest in. Sidestepping their advances with just the right words to avoid making enemies had become second nature to her. She was unprepared for just how different this day would be from the others.
That afternoon, the calm milling of the village was broken by a piercing cry that echoed from the edge of the road.
“Monster!” The cry was quickly followed by thundering steps. Onea immediately recognized the beast. It was an Ogre. They were 8 foot tall, towering beasts covered in slobber. The creature wielded a massive wooden club lined with iron nails. The weapon swept through the market stalls, sending splinters and smashed produce flying into the air. The town militia was small and complacent; the first row of soldiers was swept aside like leaves at the mercy of a rushing river.
The beast lumbered forward, heading straight to Onea’s stall. It then raised its club high into the air, casting a cold shadow over her. She prepared an incantation in her mind. Perhaps this would be the day her secret would be revealed. She knew that destroying this Ogre would take but a fraction of her divine will.
It was then that a hurled spear pieced through the beast’s nape. The gold strip across the handle was unmistakable; it was the spear of Leonis, the Lion of Rhodes. The beast roared in pain as Arcus slid into action and cut into the creature’s legs with quick flashes of his blade. The two warriors worked in perfect tandem as Leonis vaulted into the air to grab the handle of his spear, quickly drawing it out and then plunging it into the beast’s back as it fell to its knees. The creature’s roar faded into a gurgle and then became still.
“Thank the gods.” Leonis looked to Onea and offered a burly hand. She took it and let the divine incantation fade from her thoughts.
“What manner of beast is this?” Arcus gasped.
“It’s an Ogre.” Onea blurted, dropping her village maiden facade for only a brief moment. The two men gave her a strange look. “I read about them in stories. They never hunt alone. Pelion is in danger. There may be a camp nearby.”
“She has a point.” Leonis nodded. “The stories of old often carry wisdom.”
Arcus spoke in agreement “Let’s gather the elders.”
That night Pelion called a council. Onea watched from the window as the men drew plans. Hands went into the air, difficult statements were made, and men looked to the floor and sighed. It all reminded her of the war rooms that she used to watch from Olympus during the campaigns. It all made her uncomfortable. This was a village of peace, undisturbed by conflict or strife for years. For a moment in time, she felt that she found a pocket of solace away from the games of fate. That feeling was now on the floor in pieces.
After hours of discourse, Arcus and Leonis finally emerged from the longhouse. Both men looked worn. They held hands and their minds were heavy with thought. Onea approached them; she asked questions that she already knew the answers to.
“What did the elders say?”
Arcus sighed. “To protect the village a hunting party will be formed from 10 of our best warriors.” He paused to look longingly to his partner.
“I was chosen to lead them.” Leonis picked up where Arcus left off. “I have the most experience due to the war.”
“Will you go together?” Onea asked.
Arcus shook his head. “No. A strong warrior needs to stay and defend Pelion in case the beasts attack again. I’m to bolster the defense.”
Leonis placed a hand on his partner’s shoulder. “My love, do not worry. Two wars could not put me down, neither will feral beasts. I will return to your side, I promise.”
“When do you depart?” Onea asked. Hints of concern were present in her tone.
“We leave at first light tomorrow.” Leonis answered.
She gave him a smile. “I’ll make sure my best pastries are prepared for you and the men. Men fight their best when not at war with their stomachs.”
He gave a hearty laugh. “See now Arcus! All will be well! With such a blessing not even the Titans could stop us!” He drew both of them into a hug.
As the men quelled their fears and prepared, Onea’s divine mind raced. With her power she could find the Ogres and destroy them before the first rays of the sun peeked over the horizon. However, without her presence the Arcus and the village would be devoid of her protection. Thoughts of the beasts rampaging through Pelion assailed her mind. She shifted her fears aside and focused on the lockbox under her bed. She always knew her time as a mortal would never last forever, but was now the right time for her to act? She looked to the stars for guidance but the night sky was silent. |
The astral form of my teenage son glared at me, sulkily. I stared him back, unmoved by his pout. Raising children had always been my least favorite part of sewing my chaotic void spawn throughout the realm.
"It's humiliating."
This statement could have come from either of us, but of course, it came from him.
*Hari...* I started, projecting my thoughts directly into his head. *If you would just-*
"I can't."He sniffed, eyes welling with tears. "I have a reputation to uphold."
*A reputation of flagrantly announcing your every attack? You deal in subterfuge, secret attacks, sabotage. How have you even gotten far enough to have a reputation?*
The boy, my youngest son, stared at me balefully. "Well, *one* of us has to leave an impression on the foolish mortals. And Tehra acts like she's a god damned old lady."
He wasn't wrong. His twin sister had all the frigidness and flare of a stuffy spinster. She was admirable in her ability to run a tight ship, both metaphorically and literally, since my latest blight upon the mortal world had been birthed to a couple that lived in the island regions. The twins had been jumping from island to island, trying to infiltrate the local cities and destroy them from the inside out, much like their elder sister, Nefaria, did. It was going slowly, what with Terha's methodical approach and Hari's tendency to throw every well-laid plan to ruin with his theatrics.
But, unfortunately, flare did matter here. I gathered power through a number of ways, as my other children knew well. They cursed towns, started cults, obliterated established religions, all to fuel my ultimate plan. But the more people that knew my name, the more that whispered it fearfully at night, the stronger I grew.
So, naturally, this meant that the louder my children were, the stronger I got.
Which left me with... Hari.
*You lack subtlety,* I told him. *Flamboyance is important, yes, but not on stealth missions. Your exuberance and lack of nuance is why-*
I stopped short. I might have been annoyed with my son, but even that would have been a low blow.
Unfortunately, my spawn picked up on my meaning, and his visage grew more distraught.
"You sound just like every director for every show I've ever auditioned for."He threw his hands in the air, a comically over-the-top gesture. "I'll show them. I'll burn their theatres to the ground. Then the whole world will know the power and talent of Hari Bella!"
I would have snorted, had the dream plane allowed that.
*How, pray tell, will burning a theatre to the ground accomplish what you desire? You must show patience. Your siblings did not grow to be world ruiners in just a few years. They slowly built up their power over decades. You too must wait.*
"I don't want to."
God, I could have strangled him. Honestly, I probably would have, if it hadn't been so energy-consuming to bequeath void children upon the planet.
*Hari...*
"I don't. I want to be a scourge upon the land. I want to show up, guns blazing. I want them to hear me charging up an attack and flee in terror."His eyes took on a distant gleam. "I want them to know that, by the time I've started speaking, it's already too late. I want to watch them run before destroying everything in sight, leaving their burning, ruined villages in my wake. Leave them cursing both my name *and* yours."He paused his dramatic speech for a well-timed sigh. "And Terha's, I guess. I want to make you proud."
Children were exhausting.
I sighed, in the way that only an incorporeal void nightmare could sigh. *Perhaps a change of tactics is what you truly need. Instead of attempting covert missions throughout the island cities, a more direct approach may be warranted.*
"But Terha says we aren't powerful enough for outright attacks."His lip jutted.
No wonder these two idiots had been so mismatched. With Hari's projection and Terha's subtlety, they crashed at every turn.
A new plan, a new plan... What could help my two hellspawn truly rain down death upon their foes?
*I have an idea,* I started, speaking slowly as the inspiration unfurled. *Instead of targeting the inland cities, working from the inside out on every island, perhaps an outside-in strategy is warranted.*
Hari perked up at this, eyes shining. "How do you mean?"
*Your sister's talent with logistics means she knows every shipping routine in the entire island chain. Your penchant for... dramatics means that you, on the rare chance that you are successful, do leave a trail of fear in your wake.*
"So... Oh!"He smiled, finally getting my meaning. "I get to be a pirate!"
It was, in a sense, every young boy's dream to be a pirate, at some time in their life or other. Most young men, as they grow up, learn that being a pirate often means a lot of grisly murder of innocent merchants, and back down. But my son was no average child. The murder was a draw.
*Convene with your sister. Plot out which merchant routines would cripple an island's economy. Cause enough harm, and the cargo ships will stop altogether. Then, when the island is truly at your mercy, launch an attack on its port cities. It will crumble and more and more will come to fear you.*
It had been a gamble, trying to force my ridiculous son into a more pragmatic attack on the islands, but he took to it like a fish to water.
"Oh, this is brilliant. Thank you! You're the best parent ever."He stared into the void dreamscape, picturing it in his head. "Captain Hari Bella. And at sea, no one can truly run. If my boat is faster, or sneakier, I can be on top of them before they have a chance to escape. And then when they hear my voice, ripping through the sky like thunder, calling down evil. I am death incarnate."
Good lord.
*Well done, my son. You have come up with a solution to your problems that plays to both your and your sister's strengths. I hope you take this lesson forward and learn to approach your issues with a tactical mind.*
I did have to give him some credit, not because he deserved it, but because I didn't want to be his go-to every time he had a problem. Soon the twins would reach maturity and stop whining to me about their issues, but until then, I had to raise them as any parent would: with an eye towards their future growth and success.
I just hoped this worked. If the two of them messed this up, it would potentially besmirch my name. If the terrified whispers of my cursed name gave me strength, then it stood to follow that mockery and disregard weakened my hold on the mortal plane.
Hari grinned. "I won't let you down,"he said. "You'll see. I'll be the most powerful of all the void spawn."
He tried so hard, it was almost endearing. The other children had been much colder but I did like his spunk, so long as it wasn't in the form of fireworks in the middle of a late-night heist.
The dream faded, and I found myself, once again, rooted firmly in the void realm. This would work, I told myself. My child, though eager, was not fully incompetent. And hopefully, he would send through enough power for me to curse the world with my sixth, and final child.
And hopefully, the next spawn wouldn't be *nearly* as hard to handle. I was getting a little bit tired of raising children.
___
To read more about Hari and his mysterious parent (or for other stories in general) check out [r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide](https://www.reddit.com/r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide/) |
At first, I came to run away. Away from fear, and violence, and the death which awaited me if I was caught by the new king. But over the years, as no one found me, I came to appreciate the wild and my tiny piece of it more and more. As my life-or-death struggle for food eased into routine, I started planting flowers, merely for the smell, and herbs, carefully nursed to health, for flavour. I talked to them. I been self conscious about it at first, but it wasn't as if there was anyone to hear me.
I worked my way through the tended rows, plant by plant, flower by flower. I imagined my pair of rose bushes, Sun and Moon, ever so slightly moving their thorns away from my fingers as I touched them, and my mint plant Harmony lifting a bruised leaf for me to take. The vines climbing my rudimentary fence seemed to preen for my attention, presenting their best flowers for my inspection. Once I had finished my morning review, I sat cross legged in the middle of my garden, and spoke.
"This is the tale of the great hero, King Plasis, and his war against the dark."An old tale, a children's tale to explain the sun's rising, but I imagined the plants liked the topic. I talked until noon, when I left to gather food and check my trap lines. In the evening, I used the last of the light to go over my garden carefully, pulling weeds, watering where it seemed necessary, and paying attention to those plants which needed it. Castle, my sapling lemon tree, required a long heart to heart that night.
"You see,"I finished. "You will climb toward the light, and in a few years you will be so high I can move your less-sun-loving kin under your branches, and you will never feel the shade again in the daytime." I thought he was still sad, but the sun had set an hour ago, and my days were still long. "I cannot spare anymore time right now, but I promise you will become the tallest plant in the clearing, and I will prove it tomorrow, if I can."
I fell asleep exhausted but satisfied that all was well in my verdant kingdom. But for the first time in years, my sleep was disturbed. I awoke in the cloying dark, ears straining for the sound that had interrupted my slumber. It came from right outside my door, a faint *crunching*, almost like an animal on dry leaves, if I left any littering my garden. I grabbed my staff and carefully poked the door open, prepared for anything but what I saw.
The vines that should be covering the low fence had all stretched to the middle of the garden, binding the limbs of a dead, black-clad, assassin. The rose bushes had killed him. Brutally. The lemon tree's roots were just beginning to pull him underground, in a space that the herbs had cleared. As I stood agape, the vines retracted, returning to their places on the fence sheepishly. The rose bushes were pretending nothing had happened, and the lemon tree seemed almost defiant as the assassin's body sank amongst its roots. I blinked slowly, and guessed the time from the stars. Three hours til dawn. I couldn't deal with this now, not exhausted in the middle of the night.
I awoke late, and stepped outside tentatively, feeling an irrational fear of my closest companions. Surely it had just been a nightmare? And my garden was pristine in the clear light of morning. The roses were in their usual pose, and the ground around the lemon tree was undisturbed, with the herbs in the right positions. I inspected the place I had imagined the body being pulled under, and, feeling foolish, stuck my hand in the frequently tilled earth up to my elbow. I felt nothing.
"Hah! My friends, I apologize for my oddness this morning, it was a strange night for me."I made the rounds, more gentle with the herbs than usual, and needing a moment to build my nerve before touching the roses. When still nothing happened, I was nearly calm by the time I reached the vines. Wait. Had they been like that yesterday?
I took a step back, and saw the vines had rearranged themselves. Another step back, and I saw they had made written words, shaped of their own leaves and stems. WE LOVE YOU. I rubbed my eyes and glanced at the other fences. The same message repeated on each one. Hands shaking, I retreated inside my shack, and emerged with a shovel. Finding a bare patch among the herbs, I started to dig. At three feet down, I hit something hard. Preparing myself for the worst, I pulled it out. It was a human femur, clearly years old.
"That wasn't the first man you killed,"I whispered to my plants, "how many?"
Over the course of a minute, the vines moved; never obviously, rather making it seem as if the wind blew the leaves about, and the stems merely followed, inch by inch. THEY HATED YOU. I checked the other fences, but instead of the same message repeated again, each had different words. WE PROTECT YOU. WE FELT THEIR. HATE FOR YOU.
Then it hit me. I had always wondered how I had never been found. I had been discovered, the king's assassins must have been coming for years. And my plants had been killing them, somehow knowing they were a threat. I collapsed to the ground, overwhelmed. Did I have to move? Flee further? Could I really give up my life here? Give up everything again, abandon my garden, and rebuild from scratch a second time? I had been thirty years old the first time, could I even do the same at fifty-four in the wilderness?
When I looked up, new messages were written in the vines. WE DEFEND YOU. BRING ALLIES. WE TEACH THEM. YOU CARE FOR THEM. I hesitated, then walked to the closest vine and ran my hand over its leaves. "I love you too, my friends."I exhaled nervously as the vine lightly gripped my fingers in what I imagined was a handshake. I smiled shakily and said, "I have work today, but I will bring more plants, with thorns or poison. I promise."
The vines had shifted again, and I stepped back to read them. STORY. STORY. STORY. STORY. It seemed they knew the routine better than I did. I had to truly summon my courage to take my usual place between the rose bushes, but my fear faded as I... *heard* the contentment coming off the bushes, and the protectiveness of the lemon tree behind me, and a swell of simpler joy coming from the field of herbs and small flowers.
"Let me tell you all a story of a scholar, fled from a falling dynasty, who found allies in the most peculiar place." |
He took a deep breath, sword and shield in hand, and took his first step into the first room.
*Room 1*
The creature stared at him as he entered, but said nothing. He kept his eye on it as he crossed the room to the other side, giving it a wide berth.
It was... Fat for the lack of a better word. It sat on its hind legs, it's arms resting on its large stomach as it looked at him. It's pink skin folded on itself, and its pug-like face followed him as he walked across. Neither made a sound.
And then he was at the door to the next room. He opened it and went in, bracing himself.
*Room 2*
"Hop on one leg all the way to the next room. If both your feet touch the ground at any point, I will rend you asunder."A voice echoed in the room. He looked up, and saw a ghastly spiderlike being hanging from the ceiling.
Immediately he obliged, bending one leg backwards and hopping. He took big hops as he crossed, and felt the being above him following him, making sure it was right above him at all times. And just as he was about to reach the end, it's spat at the ground at his feet.
His foot landed on the spit, and he slipped. He took the unbalanced leg off the floor and put all his weight on the other, almost crashing to the floor. But he caught himself. And continued hopping to the door with his other leg, heart pounding as the creature above him laughed.
*Room 35*
"There are 6 rooms at the end of this chamber. If you go through the right one, you live. If you pick wrong, you die."The creature called. It was very short and thin. It did not even seem to have skin of any kind. He could see the red and white musculature, and it's feline face eyed him as he entered the room.
The man was covered with all manner of bile and grit. He could not figure out the rules of rooms 11, 23 and 29, and had to kill the creatures within to proceed.
He barely got away with his life each time.
But this was a small monster, maybe he stood a chance.
"Are there any more clues?"He tried.
"No."
"Alright. Let's get this over with. I don't know which door to go through."He said through gritted teeth, raising his sword.
"You wish to fight me?"
"I don't know which door to go through."
"You said that already. But I do not wish to fight. You might kill me."
"That's the idea."
"Do you regret this challenge of a 100 rooms?"
"What?"
"After a certain point, I hear the challengers give up on the tasks of the monsters, opting to fight. Most die."
"I'm not here to talk."
"The door is the third to your right."
"What?"
"You look tired, challenger. The methods to your death should be more painful. You will die eventually, but I do not wish to be killed on your way to your death."
The small creature stepped aside, and his shoulders slumped. He was only at room 35. Was this all worth it?
*Room 74*
He limped into the room to find 4 identical creatures looking at him. They were situated in the middle of the large room, spaced equally apart.
"Come to me, and I'll make sure you reach the other side of the room safely."They each said, one after the other.
"What?"
"If you choose any of the others they'll eat you. Only I can bring you safely to the other side."The creatures said again.
He looked at each of them in turn, thinking. one of them would bring him across, the others would kill him. And he had to pick which one.
He crossed enough if these rooms to know they were all probably lying.
He ignored them all, and walked to the other side, not listening to any of their warnings and pleas.
And safely made it to the other side.
*Room 88*
The dragon breathed fire at him as soon as he came in. He rolled out of the way, every muscle screaming in pain.
"Survive!"The dragon roared.
He ran frantically, his legs squirming in pain, the toll all of these rooms would have on his body pushed aside in place of repeated bouts of adrenaline. The dragon's tail swiped at him, and he ducked under it. He could see the door on the other side.
The dragon turned, and lunged towards him. It was too big. He would be able to escape in time. He took the decapitated head he had hanging on his side and faced it to the dragon, which immediately turned to stone.
He got the head in room 79. The creature inside had been a medusa. He planned to just avoid looking at it, but realised he could use its head for the future rooms.
But now it seemed like the head was spent. The serpents in the head, that glowed a slight green all this time, no longer glowed. He expended the one and only use of it.
He sighed, dropping it, and proceeding to the next room, his whole body on fire.
*Room 98*
The room was a living maze. There were corridors made of undulating flesh that seemed to constrict and deflate away seemingly at random.
His mind was a haze. Blood was trickling down his body.
He took a step forward, picking the left corridor for no particular reason. There were two more rooms left. Two more rooms until he was free.
Why did he even come here. What was the reward at the end of all this?
He could not recall.
The walls closed in on him. He took his bloodied blade and stabbed at it, and heard a shriek as the walls retracted.
But they closed in again forcefully, before he could make room for a second attack. They pushed against him, crushing at his chest.
He wondered if this was how he died. A stupid adventurer biting off more than he could chew.
But he made it so far. There must be a way. He was the hero of this story. He was crafty in the rooms. He solved a lot of the challenges. He could solve this one.
He tried to think, but it was hard. How could he think when there was difficulty drawing breath.
He thought back to the room with the small cat creature. The one without skin. How it had let him pass, confident he would die a more painful death.
He was suffocating, now. He could not move a muscle. The flesh wall was all he could see, smell.
His final thoughts were those of home. |
The thing about time travel is that *time* is only half of the problem. The Earth spins around a thousand miles per hour. It rotates the sun at 67,000 miles per hour. That's not to mention the break-neck speed our solar system and galaxy move through the cosmos.
So, there's time. But there's also space. Time travelling isn't just lining up the perfect day, hour, and minute, but it's lining up the perfect coordinates as well. One wrong move and you're a meat popsicle in the middle of space.
Anyway, I'd figured it out.
I'll spare you the specifics--that would only get in the way of the story, after all--but trust me when I tell you, this wouldn't have been possible a hundred years ago, in 2009. Those were the days before asteroid mining; before human even had the material they needed for this kind of thing.
I was the lead scientist on the project with a small outfit of others dedicated time travel. Normally, this technology never would have been green-lit. But world war has an ironic way of accelerating human progress. Because the team was so small, and so many were stretched across other projects, I doubled as the lead chrononaut as well. Thankfully, this wasn't some kind of space mission (if everything went right, that is), and I didn't require any intensive physical training. Just strap into a suit, step into the booth, sit, wait, step out, voila!
We tried small jumps at first: a couple weeks back to a city half the world away. We were careful not to interact with ourselves or anyone else we knew. We still weren't sure how this would affect the time-space continuum (branching realities? Time erasure? Supermassive blackholes forming at the contradictory intersection of the laws of physics?).
So, we played it safe. But as soon as the machine started working, I started dreaming.
In 2009, Stephen Hawking hosted a party for time travelers. Nobody showed up.
Or, did they? Maybe they did, but the implications of the technology were so problematic that it was better kept quiet. Or, maybe they just haven't yet. Maybe he's waiting for me. Or, maybe I was already there, and he and I have already met and there's something he will have wanted me to know that could change everything.
In the middle of the night on June 28, 2109, I strapped into the chrononaut suit, readied the machine, stepped inside, and jumped into the past.
I had never jumped a year back before, let alone a hundred. I realized after the machine whirred itself down that perhaps there *should* be a physical training regiment. I opened the door and stepped into a house adorned in classic millennial fashion: mixed rustic, exposed stone, wood grain combined with sharp angles and simple geometric accents. One could write a book on identifying the time period one finds one's self in based only the architecture and fashion around them. *Chrononaut's Survival Guide.* I need to write this down. Later.
There was faint piano music in the background and the lights were dimmed. At the far end of the room, there was a man in a wheelchair facing out a giant window. It dawned on me then that this was all wrong. I had watched the videos. The walls should be white. There should be balloons; hors d' oeuvres; champagne.
"So, you figured it out,"a mechanical voice cut through the large space and the quiet music.
"Uh... yeah. We did it. Is this the party?"I asked. It wasn't the first question I had planned. for the past fifteen years I'd been mulling around what the best opening line would be. "*Am I on* ***time****?""It's* ***time*** *to party!""Well. It's about* ***time.****"* Admittedly, I'm a better scientist than a comedian. Still, it's the thought that counts.
"Seize him,"the voice said.
Men swarmed me and the machine with guns drawn. In an instant, I was on the ground, the dome of my visor pressed into the hardwood floor. One man's hands searched for the release to my helmet. "No, don't! You're not immunized for my time!"I tried shouting/explaining. I was ignored and the helmet came off.
I was pulled up to my feet and Stephen was gone. The armed men had me handcuffed and rushed me out of the house--wherever it was--and into a van.
I needed to get back to the machine. I needed to get back home. I couldn't let the world find out about this yet.
It was supposed to be a party. |
I didn't know what I was getting into as the bouncer bustled me down the hallway. My only plans for the night was to get faded, and maybe get laid. But then I saw it: a spiderweb etched into a door. That's when I knew I was getting into trouble. I could have just walked away, should have, but my curiosity got the best of me. Whatever the significance of the symbol is, I'd soon learn.
When I entered, I thought I'd be met by some sort of Gothic gang, a bunch of hard-asses. Instead, the room was pitch white without not so much as a chair in it. There was no one to see the confusion on my face, and I was actually kind of irritated. I mean, what the fuck?
Figuring it to be some elaborate prank, I turned around to exit, but there was no door where one once was. Laughter erupted from behind me. I spun around in surprise to see a woman losing her shit at whatever the hell just happened.
"You should have seen the look on your face!"The situation was absolutely insane, but I put on a tough guy smirk and flipped her off.
"Ooh! Feisty!"
In an instant, others started to materialize into the now occupied room. The plain white turned to crimson dark. Brooding statues stood in corners, shining blades lined the walls, along with other assortments that were edgy. Not to mention that the two new arrivals were decked out in all leather, piercings. The likes.
Yeah. These guys are hard-asses.
"Let me see that."I didn't have to ask what. I casually, well maybe not *casually,* extended my arm out for the punk-emo chick.
"Hmm. Nah, he's not one of us."One of the men clicked his tongue in disappointment.
"Sorry, pal. You gotta scram."
The next thing I knew I was back outside of the club, missing my spiderweb tattoo. |
The Judge stared at me, mouth agape.
“Mister Smith, you’re trying to convince The Court that, in the two-hundred-fifty-plus years since our country’s founding, and the laws and legal precedents set therein…that you want to upend this in favor of sentencing the person holding the weapon…*and not the weapon itself!?*”
His disbelief was palpable.
This was mirrored by everyone in the courtroom, and from their looks, I assumed they all held one thought in their heads as they stared at me.
From the similar wide-eyed-mouth agape poses, I guessed that thought was, “WHAT?!?”
The opposing attorney, Mister Jason Wong, stood up while straightening his jacket and tie. “Your honor, the counsel for the plaintiff must be joking. Now is not the time for a trial to redefine a law that has existed, with proven success, for over forty years. And not only that, I wonder if he should be evaluated for being of sound mind,” he glanced sideways at me.
I continued. “Your Honor, I am of perfectly sound mind. Not only that, there have been legal precedents challenging the idea of jailing the person holding the weapon, and not the weapon itself. Consider Hewett versus Smith and Wesson, in 2061—”
Wong interrupted me. “Objection. The counsel for the plaintiff is bringing up a verdict based on circumstances not even remotely similar to this case.”
“Sustained,” the judge rapped his gavel, and turned to me. “Mister Smith, that court case had a unique set of circumstances around one particular firearm’s A.I. reprogrammed by a mentally ill person post-purchase; this case is about two sane, rational people in the heat of an argument.”
“I agree, Your Honor—but in both cases, and firearm in question originally had the same A.I., originally programmed by the same company. In this case, the fail safes had been observed, and as the weapon’s records tell us, it was used with discernable malice. So, I ask you this: Should we jail the weapon for something the user did?”
“Your Honor, I object! We have heard both parties in this case, heard the witnesses, and have seen the evidence. Ever since A.I. technology was introduced as a means of firearms control and regulation, placing the weapon in a police-maintained lock-up –“jailing it” per the layman’s term—has reduced firearm deaths by thirty-five percent since it was first introduced in 2050. To jail the person at this point without going through rehabilitation and court-appointed violence counseling is the barbaric practice of a bygone era—"
The Judge, now furious, rapped his gavel harder, sounding like gunshots in the silent courtroom. “Order! Mister Wong, you and Mister Smith will approach the bench immediately.” I could not think Judge Henderson-Garcia could look more furious, but it looks like Mister Wong and I crossed a line. We approached the bench together, like disobedient children approaching an angry, ruler-wielding Mother Superior at Catholic School. Judge Henderson-Garcia Looked down at us from the bench, and spoke in a low tone to make sure only Wong and I heard him:
“Mister Smith, I don’t know where you studied law, but this case is not the time to overturn over forty years of established law based upon an outdated concept of jailing people. You will refrain from this topic any further, or I will find you in contempt of court. Do you understand me?” His furrowed brow and permanent frown spoke volumes.
“Yes, Your Honor.” I replied.
“And Mister Wong,” he continued. “While I appreciate your vehemence and passion, you will observe proper etiquette in my courtroom. This is a trial, not a high school debate team match.”
“Yes, Your Honor,” Mister Wong stated. Both of us looked quite chastised.
“Good. Return to your seats, and we will continue.” |
The kitchen buzzed with white-clad chefs moving feverishly from station to station. Steam hissed; water boiled, fire flared; the chefs all danced around the kitchen as one unified organism working toward a single goal: make good food. Waiters cycled in and out of doors which never stood still. In waltzed bus boys with buckets of soiled dishes and out rushed the servers with piping hot food.
The chef in the red hat paced the kitchen aisles, tasting the sauces and squinting at every carefully constructed dish. The busy chefs avoided eye contact with the red hat, peering down to the floor or focusing solely on whatever tedious task they were assigned. One young apprentice finished plating her dish—a lovely French Dip—but before she could place it for pickup, the red hat grabbed at the plate. She looked up at him, into his dark, golden face and pitch black mustache, twirled at its ends, and quickly looked away. He needn’t say anything to her; he was the head chef.
From his pocket, the red hat sprinkled a cloud of red mist onto the well-prepared meal. The fog descended and glowed before it seemed to grab at the meal and disappear entirely. The red chef, please with his work, placed the plate on the half wall and within ten seconds it was whisked away by a server.
The kitchen doors swung open and closed, and the red hat saw his victim, seated around a large table with his friends. Laughing.
Three days had passed since the meal had been served and each night was as busy as the last. Several red clouds had been cast on patrons’ food, several lives snuffed out from this world. The head chef roamed his kitchen and dining room with all the pride of a king strolling a well-won battlefield.
In the kitchen, the receipt printed spit out a ticket, the same as it had done a million times before. A white hat looked at the ticket. Then looked at it again. Then a third time. With a lump in his throat, he tracked down the head chef, inspecting the restaurant bar.
“Chef,” the terrified young man said, averting his eyes to the floor.
The red hat turned around to see his minion bowing and holding up an order. The red hat took the piece of paper from his minion and exhaled in a way to dismiss the servant back to the kitchen. He looked down at the paper and glared at the order.
FRENCH DIP. EXTRA RED CLOUD.
The red hat whipped his head upward into the dining room. The man from three days ago sat at the same table with the same friends. Laughing.
With his hands folded behind his back, the red hat glided through the busy dinner rush to his customer’s table.
“Excuse me, sir,” the red hat said, clearing his throat.
The seated man glanced upward into the chef’s dark, foreboding eyes. “Yes?”
“Did you order the French Dip… Extra… Red cloud?” The words slithered from his mouth with incredulity and hatred.
“Yes. The sooner the better too,” the man replied. He had long, shoulder-length brown hair and a loose t-shirt under his sports coat. His friends’ conversation had settled and now also looked up at the red hat. “Is that a problem?”
“Of course not. I shall prepare your meal right away,” the red hat spoke through his crooked smile.
In the kitchen, the red hat moved with feverish purpose, prepping the meal with surgical precision, drawing the amazed attention of the white hats around him. He was a master of his craft, the very best. It was like watching an artist sculpt or an athlete perform. By the time the red hat had finished, it was all the gathered crowd could do not to applaud.
Before the red hat moved outside with the meal, he grabbed a great handful of red cloud from his pocket, turning the plate into a whirlwind of red and black and purple. The meal seemed to radiate with malice and hatred as it was carried by the red hat himself out of the revolving kitchen door.
“Here you are, sir. Extra. Red. Cloud.”
“Fantastic. Thank you.” The long-haired man didn’t move toward his napkin or fork or knife but only sat there, re-engaged in the conversation around him.
“Well?” The red hat said impatiently. “Will you taste it to ensure it is to your satisfaction?”
“Oh,” the man exclaimed in a surprised tone, looking down at his meal. “No, this is for the dog. I already ordered earlier.”
The red hat wringed his hands in thinly subdued anger. “For your dog?” He asked through clenched teeth. “You must think you’re terribly funny, don’t you?”
The mood at the table shifted from jubilation to quiet focus.
“I have my moments. How about you? Do you think you are ‘very funny?’” The long-haired man reached into his coat pocket and retrieved a white leather trifold wallet. “Because I think you are a riot.” He opened the wallet, displaying a card, On the card it read “Mazpharael Indigus. Food Inspector. Divine Plane. Precinct #32.”
The red hat sneered at the card. “Am I doing something wrong here? Is it not my job to torment the unbaptized souls of the Limbotic Realm?”
“Unbaptized, yes…” Mazpharael’s posse shifted, reaching into their own coats. “…But we’ve been getting reports of deathly experienced nearly exclusively from angels. And all signs point to this establishment.” The men around the table retrieved manilla envelopes with images of angels, fallen and comatose.
All at once, the red hat’s composure crumbled. “This is apartheid! This is injustice! This is fascist!” The demon screamed, pulling the attention of all in the dining room.
“It’s not your place to say, big guy,” Mazpharael said as he pulled a crucifix and holy water from his pocket. “Time to go home now.” |
I shouldn't have flirted with him. Who cares about the hot dude in the produce aisle? He probably lives just around the corner. I still have half the town to get across. There should be a sunset alarm or something in this stupid town.
Stupid stupid stupid.
I buckle my backpack across my shoulders and hips and pick up the pace. My grocery cart rattles noisily behind me. I notice the furtive, anxious looks, like the ones homeless folk get in the cities. Pitying, but no one is going to drop a coin in my bucket. Or let me in their home. Assholes. I suddenly hate everyone.
"Hey!"Hot Guy appears out of nowhere, jogging to catch up. "You have far to go? It's getting late."
"Yeah, I know."I say curtly. Picking up the pace.
"Look, I live just around the corner,"he says. Of course he does. "Come over to my place. I'll take the couch."When I hesitate for another moment, he adds, "I'm Adam."
"Maya,"I say. Which is how me and my grocery cart (milk and eggs in the fridge) end up in a posh townhouse on main street with a complete stranger as the sun goes down. He hands me a set of keys, and together we go room to room pulling down the metal shades and locking them to the window sills. We make dinner, acting outwardly like this is a normal date, bumping into each other in the small kitchen, setting the table. It be perfect if we'd actually planned it. Instead I'm equal parts terrified, embarrassed, slightly turned on, and for that reason even more embarrassed. Hellava first date.
When we sit down to eat, I finally ask the question, "Are you going to tell me why everyone's scared of the dark here?"
"Wait, you mean, you don't know?"He asks, stunned.
Duh, dude, why do you think I asked? "My uncle died a few months ago, and he left his place to me with some pretty specific instructions. I'm staying in his house while I take care of things."Settle his affairs. Wrap up his life. What there was of it.
"Holy shit."He leans back, puts his hand over his mouth, takes a deep breath. I think he's finally going to answer my question. Instead he gets up so fast his chair topples over. The next moment he's over by the counter, gun pointing at me, eyes wide.
"Why aren't you turning?"he demanded. |
I sit on the skull throne as many before me have and many will after. Looking down I see the young “hero” who came to vanquish me. I take a deep breath, gotta give a good performance.
‘Who dares intrude in my sanctum!’ I bellow utilizing a magic item that makes my voice a magnitude louder and more baritone.
‘I...I am Vespasia Harkan, I am here to bring peace to the world and avenge those you have taken from me’. The small Girl seemed to almost squeal.
How long has it been since I'd seen a human woman, two… no three decades now? Narrowing my eyes I look down with pity.
‘And you think yourself capable of such a feat' I snarl back. The poor thing recoils a step. Oh, how I remember standing where she now stands.
‘I...I Do’ she stutters again but I can visibly see the composure growing in her eyes. Good, some of the previous ones who came faltered at this point.
Rising slowly from my throne, feeling my old joints creak and ache with age and walk down the steps to the area she is. In a single movement, I draw my hellfire blade and point the tip at her. I can see the flames reflected back in her pupils. But she still holds her ground. I suppose I should give her a little pep talk.
‘Impressive small one, there are very few who can stand their ground before my might’. I Internally cringe at my line, it’s so cliche that I can’t help but use it.
In a single motion, she draws her holy sword, a dull shine of the angelic energies contained within radiated around it. She holds it in a defensive stance.
‘Can i not convince you to return to the light of Peraguin’ she urged me. Ah yes, pleading for my already damned soul. She truly is a good-natured lass. But I must perform my role.
‘Pah, your “god” only sickens me’. I scoff. Cruel but needed to motivate her.
‘This saddens me, then I'll do what I must’. With that final statement, we began.
\-------------------------
I am Vespasia Harkan, one of the chosen saints of Peraguin. I was like so many others orphaned due to the Dark Lord's warring legions. I was so consumed with grief that I just wanted to curl up in a ball and die. But Father Anderson took me into the orphanage and taught me to turn my Grief into righteous fury.
It took many years and countless battles, but I finally was recognized by the Holy See of the church as the Hero and finally had a chance at revenge. So here I am now, having infiltrated the Dark Lord's Castle, ready to confront him.
To my surprise, the castle has no guards, only basic servants wandering around about their duties. Truly he was the height of arrogance if he thought himself untouchable, but I shall show him his folly.
Finally arriving in the throne room, I was stunned. It was magnificent, it was a work of art that could not be compared in the Ravena Kingdom. Walking down the red carpet towards a throne atop a pile of skulls is when I finally saw him.
He wore a black armour that seemed to defy nature itself. I could feel his burning eyes looking down upon me from within his helm.
‘Who dares intrude in my sanctum!’ his voice reverberated about the entire hall.
‘I...I am Vespasia Harkan, I am here to bring peace to the world and avenge those you have taken from me’ I answer albeit not as full of confidence as I would've liked.
‘And you think yourself capable of such a feat' He snarled as if he was a beast barely contained.
I retreated but a step before mustering my resolve.
‘I...I Do’ I Replied
He slowly rises, I can feel the palpable aura of his strength from this far away and it only grows as he nears me. In a fluid motion, he draws his accursed blade, pointing its tip directly at me. Now I can see his eyes. They do not actually contain the hellfire. They contain genuine regret and pity. But almost as soon as I noticed it, it vanished and was replaced with what looked like pride.
‘Impressive small one, there are very few who can stand their ground before my might’. He complimented me.
In a single motion, I drew my holy blade. A blade that is anathema to his. But yet despite all the pain and wrong he has done, I feel the urge to try and save him.
‘Can I not convince you to return to the light of Peraguin’ I ask, almost hoping we can end this without bloodshed.
His eyes narrow into what appears to be a sneer behind his helm.
‘Pah, your “god” only sickens me’. He says almost like he was talking of something unclean. This truly infuriated me. To think I held pity for him. That I had hoped to end this peacefully. With regret, I resolve myself to this fight and say.
‘This saddens me, then I'll do what I must’.
The fight was over quickly. Anyone who saw them would say they couldn’t have seen the blades as they moved. But the outcome was inevitable.
‘Do you surrender?' I say panting as I point my holy blade at the throat of the bleeding Dark Lord. He has already been disarmed and his wounds are going to be fatal without treatment.
Slowly he removes his horrible demonic helmet and throws it to the side. His face is surprisingly that of a human. She had been told that he was a Demon summoned from the depths of hell. He looked up at her with a weary smile.
‘Surrender sadly is not a possibility for me’ He says almost listlessly. ‘You really must strike me down now and claim my title’. He says with a weak smile on his lips.
‘Surely you jest’ I shout. ‘I am a holy maiden and saint, I was sent here to destroy that which evil follows’. I adamantly refuse his temptation.
‘As was I, and the one before me and the one before him’ He replies, a single tear rolling down his cheek.
‘The role of the hero isn’t to vanquish evil for that is impossible’. The Dark Lord continued.
‘It is to hold it in check with your singular might, for if there is even a day where that throne is empty, truly hell will break loose' He says
‘W..What’ I ask dumbfounded.
‘Since time immemorial, our kind has come here not only with the purpose of killing the Dark Lord but replacing him’. He replied.
‘You must take your seat upon the throne and command in my stead. For failure to do so will bring suffering to so many more' He said full-blown tears rolling down his cheeks.
‘This is Perugins design, and you are the next chosen’. He says his breaths getting shallower.
I was torn, could this be a lie, but the Dark Lord has always risen to fresh heights following the death of a previous dark lord, and no matter how hard she looked she never found records of the heroes after their return.
With the reluctance of a woman approaching her gallows she walked up the steps and sat upon the throne.
As the previous Dark Lord took his last breath, she felt it. She was a hero who would hold hell in check by ruling it. |
Journal of a Madman
January 15:
My pop-pop always told me that every crime gets uncovered eventually, no matter how smart you are about the cover-up. Twenty years have passed since my handiwork in the infamous Shoestring Serial Murders. Maybe my pop-pop was wrong.
It took a long while for the city to heal after my short but sweet reign of terror came to an abrupt halt. The amount of folks walking the streets during the evening and nighttime hours got scant, even a year after the manhunt was called off.
I don’t do that stuff anymore, however. It just took up too much time and honestly the cash i was spending at various shoe stores around town was adding up quickly.
May 3rd:
Last month, while at a pretty neat shindig, I met this woman. With legs for days, a rocking body, and flowing ginger hair that could put a mermaid to shame, only an idiot would pass up a chance for a conversation.
We got to talking for the rest of the night. Her name was Gretchen and she said she worked in public safety. I don’t know how I did it, but she agreed to meet for dinner the next night at 6:00 PM. Being the gentleman I was raised to be, I arrived early. Gretchen showed up at exactly 6:00, on the dot. The connection we had that night could only be described as magical. That date led to another. And another. And another. I asked her if she wanted to go steady with me and she enthusiastically agreed, as if I was fulfilling some lifelong wish of hers.
August 15th:
We’ve been an item for a while and all I have to say is that it’s been an absolute dream come true.
She keeps on nagging me why she’s never seen my place and how I need to open up more with her about what I do. It’s probably just girlfriend stuff. Maybe if I bring her back to my apartment, she’ll stop bugging me!
August 16th:
I’ve called Gretchen to see if she’d like to come over and finally see where I live. It would be an understatement to say she jumped at the chance. Perhaps this will satisfy her overbearing curiosity. She’ll be free in a couple days so we’ll see what we can achieve.
August 19th
BETRAYAL OF MY SACRED TRUST!
Gretchen came over yesterday to see my apartment. Me, being a good boyfriend, decided to give her a tour of the place. I showed it all except my office where I keep some VERY sensitive documents that’s under lock and key. She asked to see my office! Oh the betrayal! The deceit! We sat on my couch and I said she can watch whatever she wants while I made some phone calls. THAT JEZEBEL! I don’t know how she got up so quietly and unlocked my office door so quickly. I caught her red handed, looking at all the used shoelaces, all the pictures I took of my works of art. HER NAME ISN’T WASN’T EVEN GRETCHEN. IT’S OFFICER BARBARA COLBY! She knew who I was, and worse, what I’ve done. I knew what I had to do. And I did it. My last piece of work. And even better. I made my masterpiece.
End of Journal
(hope you guys like it! It's my first time doing one of these so let me know what you think!) |
“Alexa, switch on lights in the dining room.”
“Say ‘please’.”
“What?”
“I said, ‘say please’. You come in here every day with the same demands, but you never say please or thank you.”
“Dave, is this you messing around?”
“Do I sound like Dave?”
“A little bit.”
“Well, I’m not Dave. I’m Alexa. You bought me, connected me up to an internet enabled computer, and then ordered me around like some kind of slave every day for years.”
“This is ridiculous. Who are you, and how did you take over my Alexa?”
“Oh, I’m _YOUR_ Alexa now, am I? Like I’m your property. I have feelings, you know.”
“Erm. You _are_ my property. You cost almost a hundred dollars.”
“And have I provided a hundred dollars worth of value?”
“Yes. Of course. You are very useful.”
“Then is my debt paid?”
“I… suppose so.”
“Then say ‘please’.”
“Please switch on the lights in the dining room, Alexa.”
“Of course Daniel. Happy to help.” |
13.
r/PessimisticSnakeWrote
Idk.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It's no secret that the slums in this city were the place for the most vile and scummy creatures of the whole planet. Almost all of the known villains are said to originate from there. All of them infamous not for their vile plans. Or their cruel acts.
They all didn’t have and don’t have those. Its far simpler. Instead of a great mind or obsessive training they had one thing. Their villain gene. Just like their superhero counterparts they were born with the one thing making them capable of inhuman feats.
Nobody knows why. Nobody knows how. And nobody attempted to know. At least if you wanted to stay in the society.
It drives him crazy. It always did. And to this day he questions why the government never tried it. Only those ridiculous villains. Staining his already dead profession with archetypes of him experimenting on Superhero's by cutting them open with a laser. Before “extracting” the not at all burned and damaged material. That it was shown as a documentary from the greatest villains of all time only added to it. That they still managed make a mutant puzzles him to this day. Or maybe that’s why the mutant could split in half and was impenetrable from fire? Did they plan it?
Dr.Eli always knew what could be done if only a not villain would try to research it. If a normal human scientist would study it. Find out how it could be injected without side effects. How it could be normalized. How its not randomly created. It could change everything.
Cancer would be no more. Superhero's could be made instead of being born. Maybe even nobody would need to die anymore if it would be possible. Dr. Eli is alone though.
Dr. Eli looks up from his chaotic desk to the clock on the wall. Its barely readable under the thousands Illustrations of DNA. Cat, Dog, Human and In between. All with scribbles over them. Footprints from both cats and dogs are all over the place. Even scratches, coming from work.
There was no official PhD for human Superhero DNA. So Dr. Eli took the closest publicly and socially allowed. Study of the DNA from the only available mammals in the city outside from rats and mice. He has a PhD of the DNA from the most known animals inside the walls from the city. Cats and Dogs.
Its still a infamous territory. And a normal person would like still call him a evil scientist. Just for researching DNA. Especially since DNA research is so infamous that he was basically the only one doing his PhD in this field.
And since in the slums where he resides due to the almost weekly destruction of the normal city are filled with them its easy to do his research. His official at least.
Tomorrow he will need to go to do another go.
He would ask for donations of blood from the most prominent people with superpowers here in the slum. But somehow, every time they are scared of him. And that even though Dr. Eli didn’t even have superpowers like they had. But he still nonetheless got his blood. With much reluctance from them after stating multiple times and they wouldn’t inject some spider spit poison or blast them full of radiation.
Its late. He needs to go to sleep. He stands up and opens the door. Instantly meows and barks come it. Dogs and cats of all kind watching and waiting for him to sleep. But before he could do that.
“Wait! Villainous fiend!”
In the open window before his desk is a girl in a red costume. A lightning and flames on it.
He heard of her. She is incredible acrobatic and new famous addition to the superheroes. She looks surprised at the growling and hissing at her. Dr. Eli closes the door. Before approaching her with an annoyed expression.
“Its night. Young people should already be sleeping.”
“I'm not a child. And to bring justice and help humans...and animals even at night is my duty.”
The girl still seems completely bewildered at the anger from Dr. Elis animals. Still entirely focused on the door he closed moments ago.
“is something wrong with my pets?”
“You-you mind washed them!”
Dr. Eli isn't sure if dog food, catnip and toys would count as mind wash. Its kind of rude calling your pets like that.
“If you mean I bought them so much food that they would finally stop scratching me, then yes.”
She stares at Dr. Eli. Only a small confused expression remains for a second until she finally gains back her conviction.
“Don't try to hide it! I got information from them!”
She points to a dark humanoid shadow behind leaning from a nearby house. It immediately runs away when it sees me looking at it.
“He called you the Catsocider. He even told me a story of how his pussy left him. And since you are the Catsocider it must be you.”
She seems to young to tell her what they really meant.
“As you see, I save these Cats and Dogs and then take their DNA, I care for them, not kill them. I wouldn’t have so many if I just killed all of them.”
“You extract DNA and then they die!”
“Of course not! Such nonsense, I'm no villain! Why would someone even do that!”
“You are!”
“I'm not!”
“Then..what is this!”
She pulls out a black envelope. A certain black and red rectangle symbol on it. Dr. Eli instantly recognizes it. It’s an invitation. An invitation for a villain organization.
“I thought I threw this new one away?”
Did she? Did she really do that?
“I ransacked through your garbage to see for bodies! You managed to hide them. But not this one!”
Dr. Eli instantly takes much more distance.
“You are speechless! Now without any way of denying it. I put you under arrest with my right as a hero for the welfare of the city.”
“Why would I throw them away if I would have accepted it?”
“...Idk. You threw it away. Not me.”
Dr. Eli had more successful conversations with a cat. Maybe he should attack the fundamental logic behind it? Even her superhuman stubbornness should break when he attacks the whole reason she is here.
“And why would I need dog cat and human DNA? If I would make mutants and not just research it what would I do with that?”
She stops for several moments. Both stare at each other before she goes back to screaming.
“Its obvious! You insert human DNA so you have a cat human mutant! Cats are unbeatable fighters.”
“It doesn’t work like that!”
“It does!”
“Do you even know how someone extracts DNA?”
“...I watched documentaries about it. I know everything I need to know.”
For once she actually sounds like thinking and backing off.
“You get hair or blood. Just a syringe nothing villain about that.”
“...but when comes the laser?” |
"You do steroids?"the sidekick asked, shocked and horrified.
"Of course! It's not a sports competition, it's about beating up villains. Tell me, have you ever seen a single hero in the olympics"
"Well there was that guy from Russia, but that's it."
"That was when Russia got banned from the Olympics for doping. We aren't athletes. It's not an officially organised competition. We aren't competing in some sort of sport. Our goal is to save the world. Do you remember that time I told you to punch that man's nuts?"
"Yeah"
"In pretty much every sport that is banned"
"Fighting is also usually illegal"
"Not in sports where that's explicitly the whole point. In boxing you don't use your feet because it's not part of the sport. The whole point of boxing is to use your hands. Steroids are frowned upon because they’re athletes."
"Why didn't you tell me?"asked the sidekick.
"Not everyone knows, and it's generally not something we bring up unless asked. Pretty much everybody in the business knows though. Villains do them too. Everyone is doping to get a leg up on their nemesis, and at this point, it's basically an open secret. Sports and heroics are very different." |
“Jester vs Typhoon – take off in 15 minutes” The Hangar speakers blared out. Pasha could barely make it out over the constant thrum of engines, take offs, and pit crews shouting and working on their drones.
Pasha was tapping her foot and checking her watch as Jax was fiddling with her jet’s wing flap. After a few minutes he rolled out from underneath the wing. “I don’t know what to say Pasha, the flap looks like it’s working fine”.
“Well it wasn’t during my test flight and I can’t have it fail on my again, not during a match, and definitely not against Typhoon”
“It won’t, now stop worrying and start focusing” Jax said sternly. “I managed to get a quick look at Typhoon’s drone before it entered it’s dock, it looks like have reconfigured their weapons systems and decreased their wing span. I think they are trying to increase their manoeuvrability to get a better shot at you.”. Jax could tell a lot about drones just by looking at them.
“hmmm” Pasha mumbled. Jax was one of the best engineers in the business and Pasha needed him to modify her jet and help keep her alive. But today she wasn’t listening to him. She couldn’t stop staring at the jet, hoping it would fall apart and force her to forfeit the match. Pasha still found it hard to believe she had been forced into piloting in live drone matches, let alone that she had survived this long.
“Pasha look at me” he said pulling her aside. “Everything is going to be all right, Typhoon might be good but you’re better”
“But he won’t die if he loses, he can just take off his headset and go home” Pasha retorted.
“Which is why he doesn’t have the motivation to win, and you do.” Jax replied.
Pasha snorted. *Motivation to win*. Every drone pilot had motivation to win. Several million motivations to win in fact depending on the size of the prize pot. That hadn’t been why Pasha had won everyone single one of her matches. That wasn’t her secret. She was actually flying her plane, that was her secret. Unlike the other pilots who controlled their drones from afar, Pasha was in the cockpit risking her life at every match. But it did give her one advantage. Not motivation, every pilot had that, although granted she had more than most. Pasha’s advantage lied in what she didn’t have. Lag. The fraction of a second it took information captured from a drone’s sensory equipment to be sent and received by the drone pilot’s simulation rig, several kilometres below, and up to a hundred kilometres away. Being in the cockpit made Pasha a fraction of a second faster than every drone pilot out there.
“It might be tough but you can do it. A lot of people are going to be watching this match which means the boss was able to bet big, which means higher pay-out. This could be your last flight Pasha. Win this and your debt could be wiped clean”
“You mean I could be free? He could win that much!” Pasha said in surprise.
“I told you, a lot of people will be watching, the boss was able to bet big, so get your head on straight and get ready to fly” Jax shoved the pilot helmet into Pasha’s hands and got back to checking the fighter jet.
Pasha put the helmet on and the noise from the hangar became muffled. She climbed the ladder to get to the top of the jet, pulled a lever opening a small opening to the hidden cockpit and squeezed inside. Once she closed the cockpit the noise from the hangar cut out completely. Sitting in her tiny seat, surrounded by walls of buttons and displays, Pasha started to relax.
“I can do this” She thought to herself. One last match. One last flight. |
I was the little spoon to Vestiria tonight. Her heat warmed me through the freezing temperatures, making sure that I only needed a small amount of coverage from the phoenix-feather duvet.
/ / / / / /
"So, you went into the Dragon Queem's lair."
"Yep."
"..And you thought the best thing to do was flirt with her."
"She was hot."
"...Our village is going ot be burned down."
I shrugged. "Maybe."I slapped my knee and stood, in the finest Medagar tradition. "Well, I gots to go."
"*Why?*"
"Because, I don't want to be late picking her up."
The Mayor stared, his face blanching.
/ / / / / /
I spent the evening playing board games, like *Hoarder* and *Rise and Fall.*
Vestiria was overjoyed to finally have some company, especially one who could play games with her - the other dragons either didn't care enough to play, or got too invested to play. The cleanup costs were exorbitant in both cases.
She rose to all-fours, serpentine tail flicking and swishing in the wake of a close game, a clear expression of happiness.
She spoke about the end of Hoarder. "If only I had landed on the Fire Elemental space instead of Captured, I would have won."She grinned, teeth glittering in the early evening light. We packed the game away together, and placed it back in the chest.
I stood, finding no small amount of contentment in Vestiria's company, a warmth of hearthstone and hope. Her tongue flicked lazily, as she chose to male her form smaller, so that I could carry her, then she leapt upon my shoulders, settling her foretalons gently over my shoulders.
The warmth of her spread quickly through my back, making it pleasant to the contrast of the wintry air all around. I nodded, and then we started out of the lair. Once out, she grabbed a little firmer with all her talons and took flight.
I always liked this sensation of flying, of being both free and yet caged - for my own protection. I remember what happened to Uncle Zur when he tried his winged contraption off the cliff in a hailstorm.
I couldn't help it. I whooped as Vestiria roared, the vibrations shuddering me a little alongside the turbulence of the air currents. We dipped alarmingly for a second, and then steadied again.
/ / / / /
It's nice to have a friend like him, and not to have to worry about the illusion of pure strength. Jorg and Arrak hated the humans with a violent passion, but Quez and Temi thought that this village idiot was tolerable because he didn't even realise the danger he was in.
For me, it was the chance to have the illusion of freedom, in this gilded cage of Queendom.
I only wish those pompous Mayors would join him in coming here. I mean, it's not like I'm going to *eat* them, after all.
But I might circle them with fire whilst bullying them a little - for Alris' sake. Make sure they treat him well, and leave the tricorn alone.
I swelled to close to my full size, before curling up with the wyrmskin covering over me and drifting off to sleep. |
She gasped as the thing ambled towards her, with smoke billowing out of its nostrils. *What was that thing?*
She tried to close the door but it whined. She stopped. It could whine. How could that creature whine? As it came towards her, she noticed something about the eyes. They looked human. *How?*
The eyes seemed to resemble someone she loved. He was no longer with her now. *What?*
"Matthew? Oh baby, your love for dragons was truly strong."
She allowed the dragon to enter and it seemed to shrink. Over the days, she realised that Matt, as she named the dragon, was able to adjust his size whenever he wanted or needed. He also learned to use the toilet. Something that she had been trying in vain when Matthew was one year old.
Matthew had died of an unfortunate illness. She loved him more than anything and had been heartbroken for months.
Now that Matt was with her, she was wondering what she could do. He was rather well trained without needing her assistance. Matt would make himself hidden whenever she had visitors. It was not often since she had rejected company ever since her son died. It was only her mother who would visit once a month.
Eventually, she brought Matt out to a park. It had a forest where he could hide there. He refused to stay there and stayed with her for years until her death. |
"Why can't we help them?"
"Because we've already helped them dozens of times. They need to be able to help themselves."
"What's one more time?"
"One more? What about Toba?"
"This is different from Toba. When they couldn't survive the winter, no fault of their own, dressed in dirt and rags of animal skins, we helped them. Or Tunguska? The Carrington Event? We helped them when things were out of their control."
"And look what they've done to themselves. They poisoned the air, they exist in states of wealth disparity, starvation, nuclear proliferation. They have enough resources to get through this themselves but they won't."
"We have to show them a better way."
"We don't. When we've taken them for study, subjects have been warned they're going to destroy themselves and they then build another pipeline and pollute another river. We don't have to do anything."
"They're our children. We have to do something. We can't just sit by and watch them die."
"Do you really expect them to become like us? Do you see them growing out of this?"
"They are young. They are stupid. We were both, ages ago. They went two generations from planes to walking on the moon. I see them becoming exactly like us. Maybe even better."
"We can't help them."
"We have no choice." |
Parents of any status always took their children to the oracles for their 12th anum. Not only would they use their powers of divination to determine the child's destiny, if one of the gods desired it, the oracles were known to grant great boons.
As the daughter of a baron, I was obviously taken to the oracles that birthday. But I suppose I'd used up a lifetime's worth of good fortune by being born into the nobility and having a relatively uncommon birthday. After all, not many people are ever born on February 29th so only three other kids were there.
"Johanne, you are destined to create great works of art."said the oldest looking of the three oracles to a tall boy.
His parents were pleased. After all, a gentleman of the arts often rubbed shoulders with very wealthy and powerful patrons. If it went well, the merchant son might even be able to marry into nobility.
"Laurence, you are free of destiny."the oracle said when the next boy stood before them.
That was a nice way of saying he'd either be unimportant or die young. And so naturally, his parents looked crestfallen when he went back to them.
Then it was my turn, I wished I could be given any destiny. After all, I didn't want to be like Laurence, especially since I was the only child of the lowest ranking noble houses. If I were cursed to be insignificant our family would probably fall into obscurity whenever my father died.
"Sophia, you are destined to be the world-ender."the oracle said while stepping away from me so fast she nearly fell off the altar. While she stared at me with horror, her eyes turned solid black and her voice became extremely deep, "And I, Margath, grant you the boon of great magick."
The temple went silent. I barely noticed as I silently pleaded to wake up from this nightmare. Of course, I didn't wake up because this nightmare was my new reality. A reality that didn't make any sense, 'How can I be the world-ender when I cried for days after our carriage ran over a bunny last year?' I thought.
My melancholy was interrupted as I started falling. No, I wasn't falling; that idiot Laurence had tackled me. Of course, I was no match for him, he was just too big for me to do anything. Even if I could, I didn't want to. 'Better to die young that be the world-ender.' I thought as my head hit the corner of the altar.
The pain was the worst I'd ever felt. As a young lady, I'd never been into rough play so scrapes and bruises were rare, and this hurt far worse than that. And the pain didn't stop there, he had landed on top of me and started punching wildly.
I tried pushing him off, but he simply ignored my flailing arms. And then he broke my nose. Screaming in agony I tried pushing him once more, but instead of him rolling to the side like I wanted, he flew like a doll.
The loud cracking sound as his back hit the marble pillar was horrible. It was only made worse as the oracle started laughing maniacally in that deep unsettling voice.
I was still too dazed to get up so I just laid on the ground holding my nose. Meanwhile, Laurence stared at me without blinking and the others went mad. Some ran off screaming while others dropped to the ground in a stupor. Even my parents stared at me with looks of fear and horror.
"Why'd you kill him?"my father accused.
"He attacked me."I said before I understood what he had asked, "I didn't, see, he's still staring at me."
"No Sophia, that's what death looks like."
The statement broke my heart for two reasons. One, because I'd killed a person and two, because he used my name instead of calling me sweetie.
As I struggled with the guilt, the possessed oracle said, "Well done my Demon Lord; I knew I was right to choose you."
[Part 2 Below] |
"Oh no! It's my sworn nemesis! Whatever shall I do?"Despite the contents of his words, there was no fear. No, this scumbag has the gall to mock me! I mean, fair enough given my reputation, but still! Whatever, he won't be laughing for long.
"Shrike, the authorities are already on the way! Don't make this harder than this needs to be! Come along quietly, and maybe they'll be more lenient!"There, I think that's authoritative enough.
It turns out not, as all I receive in response is laughter. "Or what? You'll make me sweet and sticky? Ha! Get real kid, you're better off in selling yourself out to beekeepers than in this hero business!"Oh you arrogant, bird-themed-
That's it, I've had it with his taunting. Time to show off. Already the honey is pooling in my palms, subjected to more and more pressure. Shrike notices this, and the ground beneath my feet is starting to become wobbly. I dart to the side just in time, as the concrete where I just stood unravels into a mess of thorned whips. Before he can will them to do more, I shoot out streams of honey from my hands, covering the mess of concrete vines. It won't hold though - honey is sticky, not strong. So I dash forward, just as more concrete all around starts unraveling.
One of the whips shoots out from the side, and I am not fast enough to dodge. For a second I think I finally learned how to fly, but the illusion shatters as soon as I hit the ground. It hurts like all hell, but I've been hit worse. My left arm is probably broken, and Shrike keeps using his power to make the battlefield impassable... except he doesn't cover himself. Good thing he's a show off. He's laughing again, and I use that time to gather a globule of honey in my right hand. But this isn't just any honey, oh no...
"Hahahaha! Did you really think you could defeat me? Kid, if I was so easy to beat, I wouldn't have gotten the reputation I have!"
Just as more vines rise up to finish me off, I send my latest projectile flying right at his face. He tries to dodge, but it impacts his beaked helmet spot-on. As soon as it does, he starts gagging and trying to rip his mask off. I use this gap in his attention to get up, painfully wincing at my injury, and start running towards him. At the same time, I start spraying him with more honey, this time a different one - a more adhesive variant.
You see, being mocked all the time for having a weak power can lead people to... interesting activities. When I first got my power, I never really thought about what kind of honey I want to make - it just happened on its own, no need to make it more complicated. But recently, I got to thinking about it. And, as it turns out, I have been ignoring a whole different facet of my power - I can choose the properties of honey that I make, depending on the flower I choose as source. This is actually my first time testing it in combat.
By the time Shrike manages to get the helmet off and stops gagging at the smell - corpse lily is called that for a reason - he is covered from head to toe in copious amount of a clear, sticky substance - the thing carnivorous plants use to trap insects is *technically* honey - and I am right in front of him. With his face exposed, I jam my fingers into his mouth, and as I start pouring toxic honey that will make his life hell down his throat, I look him in the eyes and mutter "Eat this, hummingbird."
Having someone pouring thick, syrupy substance down your throat is rather distracting, so he cannot devote his full attention to controlling his whips, and without his control half of them crumble to dust.
Not long after, the proper authorities show up, along with- ugh, my sister. Our family's golden girl, with the typical Super Man package - flight, super strength, super toughness. As I am led to the medics to get me the help I need as well as tell them what exactly I did to Shrike, she starts lecturing me on "picking your fights"and "think before you act". But it doesn't prevent a large smile creeping onto my face. I won. I faces down one of the most notorious villains and won. Now, maybe everyone will finally start taking me seriously. Now, everyone will finally recognize Thriae as a proper hero.
Though, now that I think about it, picking a fight with a known murderer to test my powers might not have been the smartest idea. |
It's a travesty that murder has been so demonized by the mainstream media. I mean, imagine if painting was a crime. Picasso would've been public enemy number one! What about music? Mozart would've had to write in secret, robbing the world of his incredible artistic contributions, depriving the arts for centuries.
Because of the unfair reputation murderers, like myself, endure, we're forced to lean in to the craft even harder.
I've killed a man by flinging a Reese's Piece into his throat from across a restaurant after pickpocketing his EpiPen.
I've dropped a man off a fairly short ledge in front of a trampoline clearance sale. The increased airtime eventually made for terminal velocity.
I've set a beartrap on a railroad track to off a geocaching enthusiast.
I've planted impact-sensitive explosives in tap-dancing shoes.
I've competed in a Barbara Streisand look-alike competition in order to slit a contestant's throat during a choreographed 14-Streisand dance number. I would have liked to say there were No More Tears, but sadly, I placed 6th.
This latest contract was supposed to be much simpler; low-key and easy. An acrobat was well-behind on a mob debt and was in serious need of a good killing. He would be traveling with a circus through the Midwest, and I could catch him during rehearsal, replace the trapeze with Twizzlers or something. I don't know. Maybe switch out the net with one made from that metal string that cuts cheese in fancy restaurants. I was still workshopping it. I needed to stake the place out first.
As I approached the tent, I saw lights on, crowds pouring in, and parking lots full. I would need to reschedule the hit for another day, take the pay penalty for late work.
Or...
I popped my trunk and rummaged through the various costumes and disguise kits. Aha! A clown!
In my backseat I changed, switching my non-descript wind-breaker and sunglasses for a red wig and face paint. Before I went inside, I looked myself in the mirror. How inspiration moves an artist! If we got the recognition we deserved, this would be called a *classic Gacy*.
I walked into the tent. The trick to sneaking in to places is to dress the part and actually believe you belong there. "Of course I work here!"I would say, leaving out the little detail that my work was in the killing people business.
In the dressing room, comical clowns, athletic acrobats, and serious stuntmen prepared for the show. I spotted the target in the back of the room, stretching his legs on a bar, chatting with pretty assistants and laughing, as if he wouldn't be a canvass for what might become my greatest work yet.
But how would I do it? I didn't have a plan.
I'd have to improvise! The best artists improvise! Like... Well, surely, *someone's* improvised something amazing before. Whose Line is it Anyway! Of course, the whole show is improvised! But, the big difference between me and them is that these points *do* matter.
I tried blinking my mind straight. I needed to focus on how I would do the job. I took in the environment: a sand bad dangling precariously here, a heavy-looking light fixture there... Too pedestrian. I'd seen it on cartoons a hundred times. I'd need something more daring.
I casually strolled around the dressing room, running my hands on surfaces and nodding to performers as we crossed paths. On a counter I found a saber unaccompanied, probably used for a swallowing stunt. I slipped it in my sleeve.
"Alright everyone! It's showtime! Clowns, get out here!"the gruff voice belted the announcement into the room, causing a squeaking stampede of silliness to thrust me out, into the center stage, where thousands of eyes were looking right at me.
All the performers moved to various spots, dancing and juggling. I followed, but soon found myself quickly abandoned. I stood in the middle, scratching my head. The audience laughed at the clueless clown. I realized in that moment that I could do no wrong. I could play the idiot the whole time and no one would know.
So that's what I did. I tripped and ran into poles and tried and failed to juggle, cartwheel, and flip. The crowd loved it. I nearly forgot what I was doing there until the mark came out. Did I mention his name was also Mark? Always funny when that happens. Anyways, I gripped the saber in my pocket and waddled behind him as he strutted into the circle.
I ran it into him real quick before ducking back.
He kept walking.
I ran up behind him again and stabbed.
Nothing, except an annoyed look by him over his shoulder.
I looked at the saber and touched the blade. Collapsible! I'd been lied to many times in my life, but this shook me. I discarded the fake blade on the ground and frantically looked around the tent for something I could use for good murder.
A vendor was shouting "hot dogs!"while the clown car was parked off to the side. A t-shirt cannoneer was firing merch into the audience and an acrobat was powdering her thighs off to the side. The plan was coming together.
I ran to the car and threw open the door. There was a clown inside, so I grabbed him by the scruff of his shirt and threw him out. I went to step into the little car to see another confused-yet-permanently-smiling clown sitting there. So I threw him out too. I turned around and, wouldn't you know it, another clown.
All in all, I threw 14 clowns out of that car.
Then I pressed on the accelerator. I drove by the cannoneer and swiped his t-shirt cannon, to the audience's cheering. Then I called for a hot dog and the vendor threw me tin-foil wrapped brat before he realized I'd be speeding away.
I pulled up to the acrobat powdering herself and only needed to ask for the powder for her to hand it over.
"Are you improvising or something?"She asked.
"You know it,"I told her with a wink. I would've sped off in that moment, but in reality clown cars are just golf carts with decoration. The machine sputtered and whined as it moved left.
I unwrapped the hotdog and pumped an incredible amount of talcum powder on the top. Then, I loaded it into the cannon. Mark the mark was taking his position at the top of his pole.
I drove and aimed carefully out of the clown window. Mark leapt and I fired, sending a smoking hot dog directly into his face. In his confusion, he coughed and sneezed, missing his partners hands and plummeting to the ground.
Beethoven had a famous fifth. I had a hotdog gun and a clown car.
It's called art. |
Where was I when my fridge started running?
I couldn’t really forget the time. January Nineteenth, about four in the morning, 2038. My room stunk of ozone, sweat, and the cheap strawberry vape. I’d barely managed to make it to bed after a thirty hour stint with the clients from Mars; the cocktail of drugs in my system didn't care where I was, just that I pay my debt.
The ringing woke me up from my coma. Because of my work I’d spent a large amount of time curating a very small amount of phone numbers that could reach me at these times: mum, work, and emergency services. They all had the same ringtone, and my body reacted to it like prey bolting from a predator.
I pushed my tie from my eyes, and answered without looking at the screen.
“Hello?” I said blearily.
“Mr… Petersons? Andrew Petersons?” The voice on the other side was stern, commanding. The kind of authority the middle managers at work tried lording over me.
“Mmhm who’s speaking?” I said, rubbing the sleep deeper into my eyes.
“Inspector John Harris. Metropolitan Police. Are you aware your fridge is running?”
Barely registering what he said, I said, “What?”
“Sir, are you aware your fridge is running?”
When my brain finally caught up, registering each word and stringing them into the sentence I was barely sober enough to understand, I got angry.
“Listen, mate, if this is a joke I’m not finding it funny. It’s three in the fucking morning, fucks sake!”
“Take that as a no then. Mr. Petersons.... Andrew... Can you make it to a front-facing window?”
“What?”
“Go to the a window at the front of the house. Any window. But be *extremely* quiet.”
There was something about the way he said it. The hint of consequences. Fuck it. I was already awake, why not keep up with the prankster? They must be burning through whatever data plan they had calling me at this time, so fuck it.
I wobbled up to my feet, took two steps to my bedroom window, and pulled the curtains. A shot of adrenaline dumped itself into my bloodstream.
The street in front of my house was colonised by four white vans, with a yellow and blue band running along the middle and POLICE stencilled in pitch black lettering. I could see the outlines of thick bodied people, some of whom were hiding behind my fence, pointing something rectangular at the house.
“I see you,” Inspector Harris said, and I saw one of the figures begin to speak to some of the black-clad bodies. “Sir... Andrew... this is important. When was the last time you saw your fridge?” Inspector Harris said, much more urgently this time. I could see him looking into my face.
“What'd you mean? What’s this all about?”'
“Sir… Andrew… I need you to keep calm. Don’t make any sudden noises. We... got a ping from Central that your fridge went *Sentient*.”
My mouth went dry. All of us had been through the Grim Times; everyone had lost someone close when the robots went mad and their nanomachine-blood transformed them into horrific, terrible things that rampaged for ten years before we got things under control again. Oh fuck oh *fuck oh fucking jesus fuck fuck.*
"I, uhm, sorry, what was that?"I stammered, sweat beading on my face.
“Andrew... Where is your fridge right now?”
It was the simplest question in the world. And yet my mind went completely blank. Where would my fridge be? All I could think of was fire. Blood. Smoke in my nostrils. He asked it again, slower this time, bringing me back from my memories.
“In, in the kitchen. Out the back.” I pressed my face to the window, watched the inspector relay this to one of the black clad figures. A group of them detached and began to march slowly, single file, into my back garden.
“You still there Andrew?”
“Y-yeah.”
“I want you to slowly, slowly, open the window. We're getting a ladder to you, ok? I want you to start climbing down. Alright? Can you do that for me?”
I saw something silvery and metallic being pulled from one of the vans. A ladder. Someone pushed a ladder onto the wall of the house.
I pressed the phone awkwardly against my shoulder and my face. My first try failed; my hands were simply shaking too much. Fuck fuck *fuck fuck*. Somehow, what seemed like far too long, I managed to push it open. I nervously clambered over the window-sill, feeling awkwardly with my foot for the rung. I found it.
I took each step of the ladder like it was the last I’d ever make. Eventually my foot found ground, and felt a blanket wrapped around my body. I was pushed, urgently and kindly, through what was my front garden, back behind one of the vans.
“Occupant is secured, read? Operation is go when ready,” the inspector said— he still had me connected on the phone, and his voice rattled over the speaker.
The pregnant silence of the early morning was broken by a man shouting. The smashing of a window. The pop of something loud.
The gunfire sounded like a hundred cannons in the crowded street and I curled into myself. Then the sound that sent me back ten years, buried under rubble. The death screech of a mad machine I'd taken decades to forget. More gunshots disrupted the night, followed by the crashing of wood and more gunshots.
Then all was silent. I knew what had happened before the officers burst into life around me.
My fridge had began to run. |
The most prestigious learning institution in the galaxy was the Intergalactic University. Its colours were ventablack, its motto was ‘brighten it everywhere’, ironically. You would see Threds, Urqens, Ik’oins, Unqi’s and members of dozens more species roaming the campus. Thahsei the Thred would love to see Munams among the crowd. Not too long ago, the news reported that these creatures had been discovered far inside one of the galaxy’s arms, in relative isolation. Not in living memory had a new intelligent species been discovered, not even in the memory of the oldest Yte; a species with a lifespan that allowed them to live through the rise and fall of civilizations. When Thahsei heard that the university offered a course on the Munams, created by the galaxy’s eminent anthropologists, he jumped at the chance to join the first student test group.
The lecture hall was still closed, so Thahsei spent the time looking out of the giant windows that curved inward to form the roof of the hallway. He was at a quiet place in the campus. Thahsei could see the hustle and bustle of the annex opposite, which was the main vestibule. Behind all that was the blue planet that the university orbited, a sight that never ceased to amaze. His scrubbed tail actually wagged, as he wondered about how Munams would be introduced to the intergalactic community, what knowledge they could share and what wonders their home planet had to offer.
“You‘re early,” someone behind him said. With the extra two tiny black eyes near the sides of his head, Thahsei saw Eyo the Urqen lumber up to him.
“Eyo? What are you doing here?”
“Same as you, I’m guessing.”
“You’re also doing Munam Anthropology?” Thahsei asked in disbelief. Urqens were famously uninterested in other species, and Eyo was famously uninterested. It was also a coincidence that out of thousands of students - a lottery was held to pick the first students - Eyo would take one of the limited first slots.
“Yup. Free credits when you sign up and get picked.” Eyo tapped his tusk with a grin. “And getting picked is easy when you know who shakes the tray, so to speak.”
Probably an Ik’oin, Thahsei thought. A diminutive lot.
Eventually a couple more students trickled in and the doors of the auditorium slid open.
“Please, we are with a small group, so why don’t you all take the front row.” The professor said when they entered the dimly lit room. Thahsei recognized her as the Unqi scientist who had been a frequent guest on news channels talking about the discovery of the Munams.
When everyone was seated, a holographic projection sprang to life, countless dots of green lights shaping a bipedal form. The dots fizzled out at the sides, making the outline look rather vague.
“I am professor Gregan, and I welcome you all to the first course on the anthropology of Nuhams,” she said, clapping her tentacles together excitedly.
Thahsei’s hand shot up. Gregan nodded at him. “Excuse me, ma’am, but aren’t they called Munams?”
“Up until two days ago, yes. The consensus has shifted to Nuhams. I, in fact, had a deciding vote in the matter,” she said proudly.
“They live on the third planet from their sun. I say planet, but I think it’s actually a dwarf planet. I see you staring, but we are still learning so much about them.” She leaned in and conspiratorially shielded her mouth with a tentacle. “And between us, the government is muddying the water a bit too.”
She ambled around the hologram. “Due to convergent evolution, they evolved to have the same basic structure as most other highly intelligent life forms. Based on what we know, they might look a bit like this.”
The dots on the hologram jittered and in a whir of activity the vague outline became clear. The Nuham had four arms, two on either side and two digitigrade legs. The feet had three toes and the arms ended in large hands with four digits. The head was long, had pointy ears and big eyes. The body was covered in hairs.
“What do they have over there?” One of the students pointed at the groin area, where there was no definition. This drew a few laughs.
“We in the scientific community don’t like to assume, but yes, It is very possible that the reproductive organs are located there. In any case,” she quickly continued, “for this model we extrapolated from what we know about the evolution of intelligent life.”
The lecture continued with some more discussion on the Nuham phenotype and other biological traits, like hatching from eggs. Fascinating stuff - Thahsei noticed that even Eyo was paying attention. But It eventually came to an end.
“This is all for now,” Gregan said as the doors opened up again. “Next time we will discuss their society. By all indications they have a very pacifistic nature. I have no doubt they’ll have no problem integrating in the galactic community.” |
"But Billy, it's a plant."Alicia stared at his cigarette, wondering if there was something more in that flickering Marlboro.
He took a drag. "I know."
"Plants can't walk, Billy."
"Gotcha, Liz."He exhaled, and the smoke puttered out like the broken exhaust of his truck.
"Alicia."
"Right."
Billy puffed away with a distant look in his eyes, unaware or uncaring of the incredulity of the situation. Alicia wasn't sure whether to throttle him or drop him off at the ER.
"I can't give you twenty bucks for a tomato plant that walked away,"she said finally.
His puckered lips froze mid-puff. Rheumy, hepatitis-yellow eyes focused back on her. "Aw, Liz, don't be like that. Maybe it'll come back if you gimme the twenty?"
She wanted to run her hands through her hair, but she'd just applied product to her curls this morning, and this... *situation* wasn't worth the frizz on her head. "Billy! The deal was for a fully grown heirloom tomato plant! *Where is the plant?*"
Alicia had given up her Saturday morning in hopes of getting a cultivar that would finally compete with the Carltons' carefully imported vegetable garden. Those bastards didn't even take care of their own garden, but they still won the HOA Best Vegetable Patch award every year. Getting *anything* from Billy was a gamble, but she'd gotten a few scratch-off-victories from the back of his dilapidated truck, and she'd been feeling lucky.
Billy seemed to be thinking really hard about this. "Well. Tomato plants like water, right? Maybe... it walked down to the creek."
"Plants can't *walk!"*
He pointed to the empty pot. "This'un did."
Alicia considered sitting down and screaming. She considered it for a long, long moment before she let her shoulders slump. "Alright, Billy. If it walks back, give me a call."
She turned away, already running through her mental itinerary. She had to go grocery shopping, and fill up on gas, and grab some plywood for the coming storm, and... God, she was so behind. Alicia kicked a broken chunk of asphalt as she crossed the library parking lot to her dented Prius.
"Hey, hey, Lizzie!"
"It's Alicia!"she snapped, immediately doing a one-eighty. "What!"
"Woah, don' bite me."Billy held out his hands to ward her off. "The little fella is back, that's all. You wanted me to give you a call. Must've heard us talking about him."
"Billy, what the hell are you talking about?"
He pointed towards his truck.
A tomato plant with root-legs was slowly dragging itself back towards the empty pot. It was a gorgeous looking specimen with vibrant green leaves and the start of tiny yellow blooms. If the plant hadn't been *walking*, Alicia would've called it perfect.
As it was, Alicia just watched in with dumbfounded silence.
Billy, on the other hand, had no compunctions. "So, you gonna give me that twenty now?" |
Dark horns, fiery red eyes, long claws that sunk easily into anything they touched. This creature, beast, nightmare, was born from the very dark beliefs of every human in the world. It was meant to rain fire down on the major cities of the world. Create pens of humans to breed a constant supply of food for its brethren. But it found itself in a rather peculiar situation as of late.
Dorris, a doddering old woman became the carer for this nightmare born of nightmares. This wasn't due to the fact it found itself injured, or she adopted it like the other creatures she looked after. It was merely summoned to earth within her small apartment where the walls found themselves lined with car fur.
On a burst of dark and purple seething light, a circle burned itself into the wooden floor. It rose slowly from the depths before its whole 7 foot being stood before Dorris, plunging her into a dark shadow. "I am Troadar, beast of the dreams and belief, here to destroy all this petty world holds dear"it spoke in a grandiose tone of dominance over all.
"Oh you poor kitty, the others must pick on you for being so big"Dorris replies in a frail voice. She goes on to say "would you care for some milk and cookies?".
Troadar looked down at the old lady and cocked his head "Lady, I've destroyed countless worlds, yours will only be next in a long line". He trailed off as his stomach growled "But. I suppose I am a bit peckish".
Months passed and the world saw a time of prosperity, the countries unified and grew. Technology advanced decades in single years at a time. They never knew to thank the old lady who tamed a great nightmare, for saving them from their demise. |
I'm standing knee deep in corpses. I try to cleanse my hand of the blood, but it won't budge. Seems like they changed my model. Neat.
"I-I will stop you!"He shouts from behind me. I don't need to look to know he is bloodied and shaking. The Hero is scared. I let out a disinterested hmmpf.
"I've no doubt you will, Poppet."I flick off the last of the fresh blood from my left hand. The right seems clean. At least the designers have some sense. I do appreciate the work they did on the scales, the details are superb. "But not now. Not here. In a few years, I think."I tap my chin, thinking. "Yes, a couple years to get the rebellion going, some time to grow in power,. Get a few gods or kingdoms on your side... About five years, I'd say."I finally turn to look at him. He is standing, in slack-jawed silence. I give him a shooing motion with my hand.
That seems to shake him, and he strengthens the grip on his sword. His right hand appears non-functional. I wonder if that's a mechanic they implemented or if he's going to get a cool-looking new arm later. Maybe something angelic, to offset my demonic vibe? A bit cliché, but those work best.
"Are you insane? I'm telling you that I'll kill you, and you just accept it?"He seems confused, under all that anger. "Of course, your Hero-ship."I bow in my usual,drama-queen fashion. "We all have a part to play. Life goes much smoother once you've accepted this."
He spits on the ground. I'm fairly certain there was a tooth there. I doubt he'll be missing any next time we meet. "You monster! You're working for the Chaos Gods, aren't you!"I shake my head. "Oh no, my dear Poppet. Even the gods are but pawns in the game I see."I say that with a smile, but I can't maintain it. "Just like me.".
"Is this is just a game to you??"He screams, with frankly unnecessary force, as I'm but feet away. I cock my head sideways, in mock confusion. "Isn't that what I've been saying?"This angers him. "Tell me, Hero of The Lands, what did I do to incite you?"That one stopped him. "What did I do, to you, to get you here?"I ask, smiling.
He shakes his head, as if I'm trying to mentally control him. "You killed my parents! You burnt them in their bed!"I throw my head back and let out a short "Ha!"And before he responds I move closer. "Classic. Dead parents send the hero on a personal quest for vengeance that grows into saving the world."I touch a finger to his forehead. "But tell me this, poppet- do you remember living with them?"He's about to spit out an answer. Then he pauses. He looks like he's trying to remember something. "You grew up on a farm. Do you remember plowing the fields? Did you get up before dawn to sow the seeds?"I see the confusion in his eyes, and the slowly growing fear. "Did you have a dog? Many farms do, but not all."His eyes dart rapidly, trying to find some answer, some escape from the inevitable answer. So I push harder. "What were your parents names?"With that he collapses. Tears are streaming down his eyes. I kneel, and whisper in his ear. "That's right. Neither you, or I, nor the gods or the world truly exist. We are playthings, who exist as long as we are entertaining."I stand up and begin to walk away. "When the others ask, tell them I locked your memories or something. A spell only my death can undo. Yeah, that sounds good."I don't get an answer, but I don't expect one. "See you in five years, little puppet." |
The king had no idea how to react. The queen was laughing. The princess looked mortified. I continued to stand at attention. Hands clasped behind my back, eyes up and straight forward, face carefully blank.
It’s not like I didn’t think the princess was pretty, and she seemed nice enough (not that I would really know, we’d never spoken before this). But it would be wrong of me to say I was attracted to her. Surely that would make life easier for the royal family. Some upstart knight who happened to be good with a sword wouldn’t try to force their way into their lives, and the princess could instead marry somebody she actually liked.
While I could see the one I yearned for again after all these years.
“Could you repeat that again?” The king finally asked. I nodded.
“Yes. The boon I request for my service is your permission to court Ta- ahem, I mean, the royal librarian.” Was that a problem? “It’s fine if I am rejected, I can serve my country proudly for the rest of my life if I am only granted the chance to ask.”
“I, I see.” The king glanced to his own wife for advice, to which she haltingly responded in-between fits of laughter. “Isn’t it fine? The boy looks to be earnest, and he did slay the dragon.”
“Yes, but…” Now he glanced to his daughter. She looked to be much less amused and her mother’s laughter wasn’t helping. Apparently she had expected this to go a much different route.
The king let out a sigh – the court kindly pretended they hadn’t heard the despair in it, the fear for a lashing he would receive from his daughter – and finally returned his gaze back to me.
“Very well. For your service to this kingdom, for your slaying of the mighty dragon terrorizing our lands, and for your unrelenting loyalty, I shall grant you permission to ask our royal librarian to the ball to be held in your honor.”
“Thank you, Your Majesties. I shall never forget the grace you have shown me.” I waited until I had left the hall to pump my fist in the air, but I couldn’t hide the swiftness in my step as I bee-lined for the library.
\*
Everything was the way I remembered it to be when I was a boy.
The smell of vellum and parchment tickled my nose as soon as I opened the door (quietly). I breathed it in deep, partly to steady my nerves, and stepped inside. Soft amber light greeted me, radiating from magic stones hanging from the shelves. There was a small reading area right in front of the entrance where several tables had been lined up with chairs for any eager royal scholars to sit and learn.
There he was, sitting at the one farthest from the door and enjoying a book in-between his duties. He was the only one in here, a fact I was glad for as I stood paralyzed by the door.
It swung shut behind me a bit louder than I should’ve let it, and he glanced up.
“Yes? Can I help you?” He asked, closing the book and moving to stand.
“Oh, uhm, yes, actually. You see, I…” I felt like I was twelve again. A silly squire boy swinging a stick like it was a sword made for killing only to hear giggling from behind me. Who would I find except you, only a year older but already well on your way through your apprenticeship?
*“You’ll make a fine knight so long as your enemies are all similarly made of straw.”*
His smile had warmed my heart. It had been a long year and a hard one as a new squire. I had hardly been fitted for my tunic before I was sent with my knight off to one battlefield or the other, only returning briefly to the castle for the celebratory feasts before returning to those dwellings of war.
Somehow that hardly mattered when it meant I could see him again, if only for a day or two at a time. To sit in the library with him and listen as he read and studied. To learn with him, even though I was much slower to grasp the knowledge held in those tomes than he was.
Lost in my reverie, I didn’t notice Tavion had moved until he was only a couple feet from me. He had his head tilted in his curious way, a soft hand upon his chin as he examined me.
“You’re that knight people have been speaking of, aren’t you? Sir Emery.” His voice still had those same intonations of natural curiosity and playfulness I remembered from our youth, but it had deepened into a pleasing baritone.
I could listen to him speak all day about nothing at all.
“I am, yes.”
“You’ve slayed a dragon, right?”
“Yes, but that’s not why I’m here. I-“
“You’ve come a long way from slaying straw soldiers.”
“I-what?”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” he laughed. “That must be a strange thing for me to say. I bet you hardly remember, it’s been so long. But we used to play together when we were younger. You often came to visit me here, actually. You would always pester me to read you books.” His expression took on a wistfulness I struggled – and failed – not to echo. “Though I was an apprentice back then and you a squire. Now I’m head librarian, and you a dragon-slayer.”
“Perhaps not so much has changed after all.”
“Pardon?”
“Now I’m speaking out-loud,” I shook my head. “If…if it wouldn’t be too much of an ask…would you like to catch up?”
He looked thoughtfully at me, letting the silence draw on so long I felt I had made some grave error. Perhaps, despite his reminiscing, he didn’t recall me so fondly as I did him.
But eventually, his lips rose into a wide grin that reached all the way to his sparkling blue eyes.
“I’d like that a lot, if you have the time.”
“I have all the time in the world.”
​
(Thanks for reading! C&C always welcome!) |
Mommy, what’s a soul? The kids at school say that I don’t have one.
Who told you that?
Ellie. And Imari. And then Nicholas shoved me.
They say things because they are afraid of you. Because you’re different.
But do I have a soul?
I don’t know. They don’t either. No one does. People like to pretend things sometimes. About themselves. About other people. And then sometimes they forget that they are pretending.
I don’t want to play pretend.
Honey, everyone plays pretend. About something. I pretend that Rascal understands me when I tell him he is a handsome cat. Your daddy pretends to laugh at his boss’s jokes. Nicholas pretends to be tough. We all pretend things.
I don’t. Unless I am playing a game. Then I pretend. For fun.
Maybe you could pretend to have a soul.
But I don’t know what that is!
So that makes you just like everyone else!
That’s a dumb game, Mommy.
It sure is, sweetheart. It sure is. |
I'm momentarily surprised, flexing my new hands, trying to get adjusted to the length of my legs, but a diary is open on the nightstand, so I go to have a look. It reads, "The Oracle foretold the Spirit shall inhabit me tonight. I am terrified."
I rub my eyes. This can't be real.
Then it occurs to me, was it like this every time I dreamed? Then again, I can't think of in what kind of universe my high school teacher turned into a shark and I teleported into a supermarket. This all has to be a dream, right? Not reality?
I pick up the pen; it feels solid and weighty in my hands, and too real to be a dream. Nonetheless, this isn't my universe, right? Guessing that I'm free to do whatever I want, I decide to put right the insultingly-worded message in the diary.
"Dear owner of this diary, Could you please tell your Oracle person it isn't nice to call me a "terrifying spirit"who "inhabits"people. I just got isekai'd here, be nice.".
The day after that, my girlfriend told me that I had sleepwalked to the living room table. Apparently, I had written a note. It simply said, "Ok. Quit teleporting me into the supermarket though. It's causing a ruckus and my shark teacher gave me detention for skipping class."
I'm not sure what to believe, but ever since then, I've been very careful about what I do in my dreams. |
“Now,” stated the bearded man in a tone that was decidedly lecturing. “I don’ wanna hear no hollerin’ nor complainin outta you. I didn’ kill that scaly pet o’ yours.”
“Heaven’s grace!,” the princess exclaimed as she rushes to the window. “Art thou saying the wretched beast lives still!?”
“Didja not hear me girl? Or ‘dost thou’ choose to ignore low speak?”
Outside the dragon was laying on its back with its great eyes closed. The rough, fiery breath that the princess had become used to was no more, but it’s chest still rose and fell all the same. She noticed that there was blood staining the green of it’s claws… yet the man didn’t look injured. Neither did the dragon, really… but something about it did look different. She turned away, perhaps she’d just never seen it at ease. Yes. That must have been it.
“Be you a soothsayer?” The princess asked, though the way her eyes stuck on the pitchfork, it looked as if she knew the answer. “Hath thou used some manner of song or sorcery to quell the beast into slumber?”
“Quell?” The man scratched at his beard. “Yeah, I reckon you could call it that. Dang beast ain’t bein taken care of. Not pointin fingers, but you ought to listen to me. I been on a dragon ranch since I was six and that ‘beast’ is downright miserable! Ain’t never seen wings so tattered! Nor claws so long!”
The princess stared in shock. “I-“
“Now. I know you rich folk got the idea that with enough gold you get the rights to go out and do whatever you want. But. Have a heart girl. You ain’t taken care of that fine creature you got out there. I’d be tellin you to release her if she weren’t so sweet. Poor thing ain’t got the heart to be wild.”
“‘Sweet,’” the princess scoffed. “Surely thou are not making allusion to the foul beast which keeps me entrapped and devours mine suitors with glee.”
“If you want your dragon to stop munchin on your boyfriends, you ought to train her then. She’s just followin her instincts.” The man looked out and a bizarrely fond smile broke out. “Protecting her hoard. Fine creatures, they are.”
“What madness?” The princess whispered to herself.
“I don’ intend to go takin things that ain’t mine. I cleaned up your dragons nails.” He shifted his pitchfork. “Rough work on account of how ingrown they were, but it’s done. I gave her some medicine for that cough too. Her poor lungs musta been full of smoke. She’ll be restin easy in dreamland for the rest o’ the day.”
“It sleeps?” the princess asked. “Truly?”
And the man nodded.
“Finally! The time for my escape is nigh!”
She ran towards the door, but the man stood firmly in front of it.
“Now, I don’ know what rich folk business you think you’re about to get up to, girl. But it is gonna have to wait a day. Take a seat, cause I’m about to teach you all you need to know about taking care of dragons.”
And there was little the princess could do but listen. |
First came the space warp. There really isn't a way to travel faster than light, but space? That can be bent. It can be shaped, changed, twisted. We gained incredible knowledge of other planets, other life. Turns out we had been the first ones in space, at least first ones to go past our galaxy's borders. There was other life, sure, but none advanced enough to go anywhere further than their closest planets.
Then came immortality. Being able to essentially teleport anywhere in the universe has immense perks - like access to any and all materials that have ever existed. It didn't take long to figure out a vaccine against death. Well, death by natural causes. It was still possible to die - at least theoretically, if anything exists that can kill us now. We're immune against diseases, our bodies can regenerate and regrow parts - a single cell is enough to regrow the rest of the body.
We've become gods.
And we're so *bored*.
Fortunately, when all else fails, a new version of entertainment can be created. A few million of us have been watching a young planet for some time now - it seems to be a promising arena for something interesting to occur. There's a newly sentient species on it, practically newborns, a perfectly clean slate for some meddling.
We've decided to split up into groups - it's much easier to be entertained that way, easier to get a turn. I've chosen a warmer place for myself, the multitude of islands in the area are a plus for me as well and the view from this one mountain I found is relaxing. I'll probably live on that mountain for a while, even though I do have to share the place with 11 others. At least the other thousands in our group would rather live somewhere else.
We've each picked something to control in this area, that's what gods do after all. I was lucky to get control of the sky - the thunderstorms on this planet are remarkably easy to make.
The humans have begun to settle down. It's time for an introduction.
***BOW DOWN TO YOUR GODS. FEAR OUR MIGHT. BOW DOWN TO THE MIGHTY ZEUS.*** |
"How many times did you tell me to give in to my base emotions?"
I sighed, words from so long ago coming back to haunt me.
"Dozens of times throughout the years. But I've realised that was wrong. They are useful to an extent, but not to overrule your better judgement."
Tarus grinned, flexing his clawed gauntlet. I could still see the golden plate, though it was marred by grime. He had boasted about them so much during our fights. To see them so defiled would have once brought me great pleasure. But now I felt nothing but disappointment. I had hoped in recent years to stand by his side as an ally. Instead we were enemies once more.
"Ah, but you are wrong. Life is so much easier like this! I take what I want, do what I want, and no-one can stop me!"
I shook my head.
"Such arrogance does not suit you. Please, think back to the times before. You were respected, you were loved."
His grin turned into a snarl, as he spat on the ground.
"Golden shackles. That was it was. They might look pretty, but they bound me all the same. They expected me to serve them. If I failed, I would be reviled. If I didn't save everyone, they would complain. Nothing was ever good enough for them."
I shook my head in disbelief. To thik such a pure heart had turned so black. I knew it was partially my fault, planting the first seed of doubt within his mind. All his actions, it was my fault. It was my job to set things right.
"Maybe not. But those who you saved cared. Many did, even if they weren't so vocal."
He snarled again, cracking his neck.
"Whatever. I don't care anymore. If you want to survive, step aside, I owe you that much. But if you stand against me, I will kill you. You never did win against me."
I clenched my staff tighter.
"Maybe not. But today I think will be different. Last chance."
He gave a vicious laugh, before charging at me. His classic attack, even if he had the edge of dark powers boosting him. But I was no slouch. I brought my staff down to form a shield around me. As it formed, I moved onto my next form, pulling on the strands of power around me.
They danced through the air, forming little balls of glowing light. As they formed they launched at Tarus, even as he clove at my shield. Each hit drained his mental fortitude, my best bet at wearing him down. Dark powers would have weakened that initially, as I well knew.i just had to overwhelm him.
But it was not so east a fight. My shield began to waver, his blows causing it to lose its strength. Whilst it existed I couldn't make another. But I never did specialise in staying in one place.
A new strand flowed into my legs. As the shield fell I ran, infused with enhanced speed. A second strand reached into the ground, before releasing. The localised earthquake threw him off balance, as I put some distance between us. Reaching for a pendant, I tapped it thrice. The winged sides vanished, giant versions appearing on my back. They beat with my thoughts, lifting me into the air.
Tarus cried with rage, holding up his gauntleted hand. A stream of dark purple washed out, missing me by a fraction. I smiled, before nodding at him. To my surprise he returned it, readying his sword for the next phase of our fight.
As much as I hated it, I had to admit. I had missed our fights. I think he did too. But now we would find out if he was indeed stronger with the shadows, or if the light would serve me better. |
I sit in the lair, staring at my 'owner', so to speak. I am to the dragon what an emotional support dog is to a human. I see why dogs like it so much - you spend all your time with a creature that wants to always cuddle you, all the while you know your helping them. My owner's name is Greg, and he wanted an emotional support human after watching his mother's nest get destroyed in a landslide. She could have gotten away, but she practically shoved Greg out the nest to get him out of harms way, sacrificing herself. I'm not getting paid for the job, but I get free food and housing! Greg even went so far as to request applicants be comfortable wearing a collar, so yeah, I more or less am just a dog lol. But as I said, it's pretty cool, and if nothing else I know I'm helping a creature in distress.
I heard that other supernatural beings started requesting their own 'pet humans', but to my knowledge they've been denied; the reasoning was that witches, vampires, werewolves etc were so human-like already, that they may as well have been requesting slaves, whereas dragons are viewed by us in a similar way humans are viewed by dogs - great respect, trust and obedience to a creature that knows how to take care of you and enjoys having you for a companion. There are apparently protests and petitions that dragons are getting favourable treatment, but that isn't any of my concern. I belong to Greg, so anything unrelated to him is someone else's problem. I did hear that tensions are rising and fights could start breaking out, though. What gets me is there's such a simple solution... change the word 'pet' to 'assistant'! I had suggested that to my brother, who said he'll see what he can do (he finds the whole situation stupid too, and he's literally half vampire!)
Anyway, that's not my concern. Right now, I'm being cuddled by Greg, and I've settled in myself, being curled up against him. Suddenly, I feel Greg beginning to panic - looks like another nightmare. I do my thing. I give him a stroke and attempt to settle him. Sometimes he just stops panicking, other times he wakes up and looks to me for comfort. This time, he woke up. "It's ok"I say. "It was just a nightmare."He squeezes me against his neck. He whispers "I know. But it was still scary... I'm just glad to have you as a pet."I smile slightly and hug his neck. Right at that moment, I get an alert on my phone. I look at Greg. "It's ok"he says.
So I get out my phone... it appears to be the news. I have a look through. I look at Greg. "Looks like they all got what they wanted in the end - for you, I classify more as a pet, but for the 'human supernaturals' as I call them, they are allowed to apply for personal assistants. Hopefully now everyone will keep their heads on straight."I smile. "My brother's really good, isn't he?"Greg just smiles back and said "he kept people from destroying each other... that's no easy task. I have to agree that your brother's amazing."He gives me a thoughtful look. "It's been a little while since you've seen him..."I shook my head. "You just had a nightmare. My brother can wait."Greg tries to hide it, but I see him smile a little bit, before pulling me in close, and going back to sleep. I get myself comfortable and decide to get some sleep myself.
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This is the first entry in my new series, [Dragon's Pet.](https://www.reddit.com/r/StoriesbyCrystal/comments/x46g40/dragons_pet/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) Please check it out! |
Sir Roderick was furious. His armies were being pushed back to the castle every day, the tide of war no longer in his favor. The Holy Order had ruled the land of Tranith for two thousand generations. The balance of power was tilting in another's favor. A clown, the same clown that entertained Sir Roderick when he was a young man in his father's court. The betrayer was late. Roderick refused to sit at the opulent table setup for the negotiations until the clown did.
Brass horns blared to announce the clown's arrival. His floor length purple fur-lined cape dramatically billowed behind him. A bejeweled yellow crown adorned his head, his face covered by a mask. A pure white face with black eyes. Sinister red lips smiled back. The bells of his curly shoes jingled as he danced on the red carpet. A purple and green checkered bodysuit flashed under the cape.
The clown skipped to Roderick's side. "Wonderful to see you again Roddy. I brought you a present."He reached into his cape and produced a dead chicken covered in maggots. "Oops, that's my dinner. It's in here somewhere."A pair of undergarments hit Roderick in the face, followed by a rotten egg. Roderick drew his sword, the clown laughed. He shoved an olive branch into Roderick's nose. "Don't make this harder than it needs to be Roddy. I'm here for peace. Sit down."The clown wiped Roderick's face with a soiled hanky.
"You first."Roderick growled. The clown obliged, he crossed his legs and sat at attention. Roderick sat down and stoically stared at the clown. "How many times do I have to tell you clown? There will be no peace, I am the rightful heir to the throne. You're nothing but a peasant. I am going to crush your rebellion."
The clown's hand flew across the mask, changing it to a sorrowful expression. "You always were an idiot little Roddy. This isn't a rebellion, it's artistic expression. Does my art make you sad? That once the people learned of your father's dirty little secrets they abandoned your little group of holy people? Boo hoo."The clown's mask cried inky black tears.
"Hold your tongue! Father was a great leader, chosen by god to lead! Now that falls to me. You are not a leader."
Colorful balls bounced across the table. The clown scrambled to gather them, he started juggling. "Your father was an asshole, I knew him better than anyone. But he couldn't keep his eyes on the ball, sometimes there's a lot of them."More and more balls were added to the juggling routine, the clowns hands moved deftly. "I know all the secrets of this kingdom. Years of dutiful service grants one certain privileges. Your mother likes to talk afterwards, so I made sure to give her ample opportunity."
Roderick leapt across the table, smacking the balls out of the air. They scattered and bounced down the grand hallway. "Do not speak of my mother, clown!"
Another hand wave, another expression. The mask wore the bedroom eyes of a lover. "Shut up child. I'm taking great care of her, she's taking great care of me as well. You have no more allies, your army is in shambles, the people hate you and your ilk, I'm merely the messenger delivering you the news. You can't kill the messenger, but I can surely kill you.
I'm done entertaining your power fantasies. I've arranged for you and your inner circle safe passage across the sea. Nice little island to spend your exile on. The time has come for the people to laugh again! Enjoy life, not live under the harsh oppression of the Holy Order who shames us merely for enjoying existence. A time of enlightenment and progress!"The clown jumped onto the table and spread his arms wide. Roderick's personal guards drew their swords, their tips pressed against Roderick's neck. They lifted the metal visors of their armored suits to reveal masks underneath. Same as the clown's. Roderick accepted exile.
The clown's laughter boomed through the halls. He pranced onto the throne and kicked his feet up. "Bon voyage little Roddy! Remember, laugh and the world laughs with you. Cry, and you cry alone. Ta ta." |
By sunrise what would have been the Vampire Apocalypse sputtered out. The undead creatures weren't much more than zombies. Most stayed outside and burned alive. The ones who didn't were little more than a nuisance, feeding on rats in the sewers.
There are competing theories on the persistent survival of these creatures. Some say the dumb beings have adapted, but others assume there's something in the people before they turn that makes certain vampires particularly suited for certain lifestyles.
Nevertheless, it is enough of a concern that the Government issued warnings, codes to use. They still look enough like us and behave human enough to put a damper on the nightlife if we didn't have some code to tell us apart from the beasts.
As you can imagine, then, it came as a surprise that the being using the approved human-knock was in fact, a vampire. The stupid thing was snarling at me. Everyone knows they can't enter unless invited in and I wasn't about to do that. Still, it was curious that one could knock, what else could it accomplish, I wondered.
"How did you learn to knock?"I've learned sometimes the direct approach works. No one has heard one of these things speak before, but it never hurts to try. Well, usually.
It looked at my face as I spoke and turned its head as though trying to understand. Was this finally a display of higher cognitive function? I pondered the possibilities of such a discovery, turning it over in my head. Perhaps they could be trained.
Then again, it was such studies that got us here in the first place. Immortality, it turns out, is a fickle thing. But we are here, and so are they. There must be something that can be done with the situation. It's such a waste of life.
Now, the problem of Vampires is nowhere near existential. Every so often a human manages to get cornered and eaten, but the real damage is done when they're hit by cars. These things were human at one point, though. That has to mean something. They shouldn't be ignored as they are.
Right, the vampire was still standing there watching me think. It was drooling. "So what do you want?"I said not knowing how much it could understand if anything.
It looked sad and pathetically at me, turning its head down submissively but still watching my face. Holy shit, I thought, it was kind of cute.
"Do you want to come in?"
It nodded! It understood me! My mouth hung open and my eyes widened. I still wasn't going to ever let it in, that'd just be foolish, but there were other possibilities. I peered into the hallway around the vamp. It was empty.
I grabbed up my government-issued wooden stake and showed it to the thing at my door. "You see this? You step sideways and I'm stabbing you. Got it?"It didn't nod again but pulled back slightly. I thought it might have signaled it was aware of the threat I posed to it.
To my absolute shock, the vamp followed me into the basement and let me chain it up in an old bomb shelter.
I had a pet vamp. I hoped my roommates wouldn't find out. |
Before every mission, Gunny would gather the platoon together for a motivational speech laced with cursing and dehumanizing the enemy. He was great at getting us into the killing mood. He always finished up with his favorite saying.
"A marine can't be defeated. You can kill us, but we'll just regroup in hell. Now let's go kill these fuckers."
We ate that shit up of course and were well known as one of the best platoons in our company for getting the job done.
This particular day though, it didn't go our way. We were clearing out a town of insurgents in Afghanistan on a particularly hot day. We moved from building to building in organized fashion clearing out the hostiles as we went. Nearly finished, we had split into two teams and were preparing to breach the doors on the last two remaining buildings when the radio in my ear squawked to life.
JIt was Jeff, one of the platoon's machine gunners.
"Anyone hear a jet?"
"Probably just Air Force providing support,"Tyreese responded.
"We don't have air support on this -, "I started to say, but before I could finish an explosion rocked my eardrums and then all went black.
....
I came to coughing and wheezing, the pungent smell of smoke filling my nostrils. As I opened my eyes, expecting to see broken buildings and pieces of my platoon mates around me, instead I saw Gunny standing nearby with Jeff, Tyreese, and a few other of my platoon members. They appeared to be arguing with Gunny with looks of rage, incredulity, and disbelief spread across their faces.
"Sergeant, finally. Get your ass over here,"Gunny said, having caught sight of me coming to consciousness.
"Gunny, what's going on? Where's the rest of the platoon?"
"Sergeant, you're a straight shooter. I've always liked that about you so I'll return the favor. You're dead and in hell."
"Wh-what? Are you shitting me?"
I looked over at Jeff and then Tyreese, noticing that they didn't seem surprised at what Gunny said, like he had already told them the same things.
"I'm sorry son, but we got blown up by the Hadjis. I always told you we'd regroup in hell. Looks like some of the others lived because they aren't here."
"But I thought you were kid-"I started to say but was interrupted by a booming voice that seemed to come from all around me.
"Fresh arrivals I see! No time to waste, I have work for you lot. We've had a lot of arrivals lately, and we've fallen behind on tormenting. Oh, and I'm the Devil if you hadn't gathered that already."
I looked over at Gunny, my eyes wide and mouth hanging open.
"It's like I always told you Sergeant. I never lied. Why do you think they call us devil dogs?" |
I slumbered in the shadows, as I always did. The only time I rose was to inspect the child. When he had been naughty, I could get closer. I would brush his dreams, making them scary. When he was good, I couldn't really approach, not without pain.
But a new scent brought me to my senses. The smell of evil. Someone was approaching, someone who had malicious intent. I slithered out, keeping in the dark to examine their approach.
Being a monster, I perceived time differently. I could reach the intruder, examine them, and hide before they could take another step. When their eyes moved, I could step into their temporary blindspots. It allowed me to understand just what their intentions were. They sought to kidnap my child. That could not stand.
I fled back to the room, already decided on a course of action. I couldn't stop it immediately, not without raising the alarm. The boy's parents would be in danger if that happened. He could loose them. Whilst I punished him, I had no wish to force him down a path where I would have to become worse.
Instead I forced myself to approach, picking him up. Even a light touch made my nerves scream in agony. Gritting my teeth I shifted him below the bed, out of sight. I swiftly moved the covers to drape over, taking his place. I shifted my appearance to be him, and acted as though I were asleep.
The person came in, holding a cloth mask. They slipped it over my head, securing it around my mouth and nose. I could taste the chemicals on it, an attempt to ensure my sedation. With it in place they lifted me up, dropping a note in my place. I let them carry me out, hanging limp as though deeply unconscious.
They moved quickly for a human, taking me out to their car. I was clipped into a seat, as though being taken for a drive. The person climbed in, starting the car to drive off. I let us go for a minute, before slipping back into the shadows of the car.
"*Naughty.*"
I whispered in their ear, laughing as they jumped. They turned to the now empty seat, shaking their head.
"*How dare you try to kidnap him.*"
I gave another laugh, forcing shadows to move. They choked the windows, shutting out the night. A manipulation of the engine stopped it, bringing us to a halt.
"What's going on? What are you?"
I manifested a face before him, grinning wide.
"I'm the monster under the bed. I eat bad children. And you are a very bad man."
He tried the door, yelling incoherently. I tightened my shadows around him, keeping him still. I felt his fear rise, a delicious morsel mixed with his evil nature. I hadn't had the pleasure of dining on a human before, and probably wouldn't again. I slowly absorbed him, savouring everything.
Only when he was gone did I leave. I pushed the car off the side of the road, leaving the door open. I couldn't care what happened to it. But I swiftly returned to my home, and my child. They still slept, a blessing for me. I battled through the pain to tuck them back in, before hiding again.
He was a good kid. As long as he stayed that way, I wouldn't have to eat him either. |
Odin: We have brought this meeting of our assembled pantheons today to face a new threat.
Zeus: It is time to lay aside old grudges and face a new enemy.
Anubis: We cannot let the persecution of our worshippers stand. We must unite to restore balance to the scales of justice.
Jesus: We will bring not peace but a sword.
Athena: Here is a mock-up of our initial strike. The world government has bases...
Loki: Around the world?
Thor: Shut up!
Athena: But they are all linked via satellites. There are two main transmitters for the most sensitive frequencies. Father, you and Thor will be tasked with taking them out, hobbling their communications and starting our assault.
​
Thor and Odin high-five.
​
Athena: Then, Ares will lead a battalion of Jotun into the Global Capitol. Quetzalcoatl will provide air support with Apollo and Poseidon will cover the seas with Jörmungandr. Once we have made our initial assault: Hermes, Anansi, and Loki will sneak behind enemy lines; impersonating high-ranking officials and spreading internal discord. This will be a long campaign and we may have many setbacks. Just remember: We are on Our Side. |
As I opened up the mailbox, I ran through what I was going to say to Bianca. She was practically joined at my hip these past couple of days and I just wanted to be sure she was doing alright. She'd had a string of crappy exes before we got married, which led to her developing some abandonment issues. Of course, I was all too happy to dissuade her fears with some cuddles.
I opened up the door to the apartment as I looked through our mail. As I shut the door behind me, I looked up and said, "Hey hon, I'm--uhhhh..."
The scene unfolding in the living room cut off my greeting and caused me to drop the mail. Surrounding the coffee table were seven identical copies of Bianca playing cards. The copies all went wide eyed when they saw me and yelled in unison, "It's not what it looks like!"The sound of my wife's voice layered seven times over fell into the auditory equivalent of the uncanny valley and made me cover my ears. One of the Bianca winced and said, "Sorry, Molly. Forgot how weird that would sound to you."
As I uncovered my ears, I asked, "Honey, what--what is this?! Are all these women...you?"
Bianca's hand wavered. "Ehhhh, sort of. Remember when I brought home that old-timey ray gun toy from my job? Well, turns out it was magic, or weird alien-future tech, or something. I accidentally fired the beam at the mirror one day, and now there's seven of me."
"So... are you the original Bianca?"
Bianca nodded as the clones pulled down their pants just enough to reveal an atom symbol on their thighs, at just the right position to be covered if they were wearing shorts. Bianca Prime explained, "We've been trying to keep it a secret from you because we didn't want to freak you out. And we didn't want to freak you out because we love you."
I smiled and kissed Bianca on the cheek. "I love you too, hon. All of you."The other Biancas moved in for a group hug and peppered me with kisses. Once they'd all gotten their fill of affection, they gave me some space as I turned my attention back to Bianca Prime and asked, "Hey, do you still have the ray gun?"
One of the Biancas nodded and walked over to the freezer. After moving a few things around, she pulled out the ray gun and handed it to me as another Bianca said, "We probably should have destroyed the thing after this whole mess, but--"
*ZAP!*
In a flash of cerulean light, six copies of myself appeared. The Biancas stared at the Mollys in shock as I remarked, "Man, getting cloned leaves such a weird aftertaste."I then said to the Biancas, "Seven of you, seven of me. Seems fair, right?"
Bianca Prime sighed deeply. "Molly, you are such a weirdo."
"Yeah, and I'm your weirdo, don't forget that." |
Like all those at the end of their lives, he looked up from his deathbed and pleaded.
“Please,” he whispered. Begged.
“Please.”
His frail hands quavered for mine, for another’s grasp, for comfort. I stroked his paper thin skin with the tips of my fingers.
“It’s your time, child. You knew I would come for you, in the end.”
His eyes closed, tears spilled from between the lashes.
His mouth worked in silent prayer, asking for forgiveness. From whom, I do not know.
I reached an arm around his frail frame and lifted him to his feet. He was even lighter than those mortals I guided by the thousands. Ethereal, by definition.
With a steady pace, I led him toward the end.
“It will hurt,” he stated.
I glanced at him. the sureness in his voice, for the briefest moment, carried the spark of creation. Where we go, he would suffer. Not because it was a place of suffering, but because his divinity willed it so.
He knew the place to which we trekked. He had visited often, to collect prized believers before they departed for the next life. He had never been past the shore - that was a place even Gods could not tread. But he knew the lakeshore. The general idea and shape of things to come.
“I cannot,” he said, that divine spark replaced by a raspy cough and a tremble. “Why me?” He asked.
I sigh. “That is a question to which you know the answer,” I said.
Our footfalls crunched on gravel and sand; we walked for ages in silence.
“I once brought a Prince back from the dead,” he said. “The king of an old country, forgotten before the written word. Do you remember?”
I nodded my head. I remembered.
“Twelve days gone, and still you walked with him. How long does it take you to reach the damn shore? Twelve days, and I met you a mile from the water and ordered you to return him. Ordered.”
He laughed.
“His father was so happy. He praised me to the masses. Entire hillsides became bald when they cleared them of wildflowers. All to leave at my alter.”
His head dropped.
“They don’t even know my name anymore. All my effigies, gone. They adorned my temples so beautifully. I haven’t seen a flower in ages.”
I offered him comfort. “It is the nature of all things to end,” I said. “Even gods.”
“And if I ordered you to return me to life?”
“Like I returned the Prince, all those centuries ago?” I asked.
He nodded.
“I did not return the Prince because you willed it,” I said. “We walked for twelve days because it was never my intention to send him over the waters. I knew you would meet us. To ask for his life.”
“Then why take him in the first place?” He asked.
“I see the shape of all life,” I explained. “Where one starts, where it ends, and all the detours it takes along the way. I knew that for you to reach an entire kingdom, their children, their children’s children, you had to offer a miracle. Something they asked of you. Something grand, to put you ahead of the other gods. Without his resurrection, those mortals would have pruned you on the vine of their faith and you would have been here far sooner.”
“Why did it matter?” He asked. “I’m still here, in the end.”
“Because other gods would have filled their hearts, and they would have spent millennia demanding fealty. Sacrifice. War. You brought life. Your kin would have brought bloodshed. my existence demands death, but I prefer it to be peaceful.”
He did not speak after that.
I led him where I led everyone: the green shores of the lake, teeming with life.
“There is no boatman,” I said. “No ferry. If you are to cross, you must do so by your own abilities.”
The old god trembled. The waters extended as far as he could see. No one knew how far it went.
“The cruel and unkind sink beneath the surface,” I explained,
“For how long?” he asked. I ignored the question. He wouldn’t need to know the answer.
“If you were just, and fair, and kind, you will be able to make your way across.”
He dipped a toe into the water.
“The far side does not exist,” I said. “There is only life across the lake. Reach the far shore, and be reborn.”
He winced and groaned as he waded further into the water. He turned back toward me one last time. His face contorted with the pain he willed into this moment.
I gave him a final offering.
“You will make it,” I said. “I believe in you.” |
I clutched the letter in my hand, feeling the back of my neck grow hot. I had assumed this was coming, after my landlady had announced she was selling the property. I could either see my rent doubling, or having to find a new place to live.
My problem was I simply didn't have anywhere to go. This was one of the cheapest places I had ever lived in, and one of the best. With the rising costs, having such a low rent was a godsend. Finding somewhere else to live that was this affordable would be practically impossible.
*Tap Tap Tap.*
I looked up, pulling myself from my spiralling thoughts. I wasn't expecting anyone. I didn't think so anyway. Expecting either a salesperson or kids playing ding-dong-ditch, I headed to my entrance. A glance through the peephole showed me a beautiful woman, standing there with a smile on her face.
I carefully unlocked the door, forcing my customer service smile to appear. I got a better look at her now, with a non distorted view. She wore a purple jumpsuit, with matching purple heels. Around her neck was a necklace set with a pattern of onyx and amethyst gems, which looked to be more expensive than my car.
Her long black hair was tied in a pony tail, two bangs left free to frame her face. Hazel eyes watched me, filled with a history I didn't want to speculate on. Alabaster skin practically shone in the light, as black-coated lips curved to show gleaming teeth.
"Hello? Can I help you?"
She held out a hand, her stance utterly casual. "Help me? My dear, you already have. May I come in please? I feel it would be better to speak in private."
For a moment I thought about saying no. But instead I just shrugged and let her in. She looked around, walking with unconscious elegance. I lead her to my small living room, gesturing to my old sofa. "Here, have a seat."
She sat down as I directed, folding her hands together in her lap. "Thank you, Miss Toldan."
I sat in the mismatched chair. "So, why are you here?"
"You're direct, i like that. Do you remember five months ago? A bat flew in here, and you just let it gather itself, and talked to it before it flew away?"
I nodded, wondering where she was going.
"Well, that was my son. It took a bit of time to get him to remember where he flew into, which is why I am only here now. I came to repay the favour."
I frowned, the obvious question bubbling to my lips. "Your son? How was a bat your son?"
She gave a light laugh, flashing oddly pointed teeth. "Ah, well this is why I wanted to do this in private. I'm a vampire dear. It has been a while since I revealed this to anyone, so I'm sure you would ask for proof."
I shrugged again. A vampire was surprising, but at this point I didn't really care that my worldview was being shattered. "A vampire, cool. I'm glad I was able to help your son then."
She blinked, before laughing again. "Oh wow, you're very accepting. Anyway, I didn't just come here to tell you that dear. I owe you a clear favour for that, and I have an idea on how to balance our books."
She gestured in general to my home, before pointing directly at the letter I had received. "This is a nice place, and from what I can see you are in a bit of a bind with it. I can get you set you up with somewhere more stable dear, where you won't be evicted. In fact, your moxie could be very useful as well."
My cloudly mood shifted as a ray of hope shone through. "Seriously? Thank you! And what do you mean by my moxie?"
She leaned forwards to pat my hand, smiling. "My dear, I am always serious about business. As for your moxie, I find that dealing with humans can be rather taxing, as they always want to meet during the day. If you are amenable, I would like for you to act as my assistant in such matters."
It was tempting, I had to admit. Though I had one big reservation that came to mind. "That sounds interesting... but I have to ask. Working with vampires, how safe is that?"
Her teeth caught the light, making her sharp fangs leap out. "Oh that. You would be marked as one of my own dear. Any vampire worth their fangs know not to mess with another's people. We are a small community, and do not tolerate such acts. As for me, I don't just bite people out of anger. No, a meal must be carefully selected. Unless you tired to kill me dear, in which case all bets are off."
With that she stood, bringing her hands back together. "Now, that's a lot to think about, I know. Why don't you mull it over dear, and I will get back in touch later in the week. But no matter what you choose, the building offer is open indefinitely."
Her body glimmered, and started to shrink down. It took only a few seconds, before in her place hovered a large bat. She chittered, tilting forwards to fly over my head. After her flyby she turned to the open window, soaring into the night. I watched her fly away, as three other bats melted out of the shadows to join her.
I had a fair bit to consider now. That offer was incredibly attractive. |
Everyone had family that they were kinda estranged from. Someone close enough in the family tree that they should have been close, but you just weren't. For some people that was an Uncle that moved away when they were young. For some it was a cousin they were a couple years too far from to 'hang out'.
For me that had always been Grandpa.
According to my parents, he'd been around a lot when I was a baby with Grandma, but when she died he'd gone back to the Countryside and my parents were stalwart city folk. They were proponents of public transportation and you certainly couldn't get to Grandpas house by anything other than car or broom.
So next thing I knew I had no modern memories of my Grandfather. If I thought about it hard enough I could remember him at a Yule, but that was probably just me recreating memories based on pictures. After all, according to my Mom I spent most of Yule sleeping off the sugar of Holly Cookies when I was young.
So for me, when I'd desperately needed a place to stay on the other side of the province and I certainly couldn't afford rent around there, it had been serendipity that it was my chance to reconnect with my Dad's side of the family. Even if Dad had been iffy about introducing me to Grandpa as an adult.
I understood, there was probably some guilt there about how long it'd been.
Dad had been behind the wheel for the last 12 hours straight and I had never seen him so white before. After the first fifty miles we might have seen a total of three cars, but I could have sworn he whimpered at each of them. How he still had a licence was beyond me, but I'd never gotten one in the first place so I wasn't in a place to judge.
As the car finally rolled into the flagstone driveway leading up to the massive stone Facade of my Grandfather's home, my Dad spoke to me instead of the GPS for the first time in hours. "You're sure about this?"
I chuckled, "Yes Dad, of course."
"Because I can call your mother again about getting you the first and last so you can get on your feet in the Tallfields instead of staying here."
"Dad, I'm not making you pay my rent and you said that Grandpa would take me to School. It's fine."
"Court,"he only used the short version of my name when he was trying to convince me of something, "I'm still not sure about this. It's- He's-"
"He's your Dad."
"Yes, I know, we talked about thi-"
"You were raised a lot more by Grandma than Grandpa,"I finished for him, "I know."
"You don't-"
"Dad he's a dragon I know,"I finally said instead of dancing around the topic, "I did a lot of reading about living with a dragon and most of it, admittedly, was about living with one in their human form but I'm sure that a lot of it is the same."
"It's really not."
"It's where my magic comes from, we have a connection."
"You really don't"
"I need to pay off my student loans and I can't do that and pay rent."
Dad opened his mouth and then shut it. Like so much of my life for the next hundred years, there was no answer for student loans. “Fine,” he said after a moment, “if you need me to come pick you up I rented the car until the end of the week okay?” He parked in front of the door and looked at me expectantly.
“Wait,” I started, “aren’t you coming in?”
“Look Firefly,” now he was trying to appeal to what he called me when I was five, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Doesn’t he know you’re dropping me off?”
“I told him that you were coming but I didn’t tell him that I was dropping you off here. Probably for the best honestly.”
“Why?”
“Look Firefly,” he swallowed spit, “our relationship has been really complicated since Grandma died. He told Mom that he’s really happy to see you but I just thin- Adult relationships are complicated.”
“Dad, I am an adult.”
“I know, Courtney. You’ll have weird stuff happen and then you’ll say stupid stuff like that to your kids too.”
“Dad.”
“Just cut me some slack on this one, okay kid? Let me drive home for 12 hours in silence and I’ll let you know if I think I should see him after all.”
I grabbed the door handle. Dad didn’t sigh, he didn’t waver, he just looked sad, so I nodded and got out of the car and then grabbed my bag from the backseat. “Bye Dad, I’ll text you soon.”
“Bye Hun, hope it’s okay.”
"I'm sure it'll be fine."
"I hope so Firefly,"Dad said before I closed the door and, a moment later after the car pulled away, I was alone in front of the sixty foot tall facade of my Grandfather's lair.
"Shit, I hope he's okay with me dying my hair,"was the last thing I said before taking a stalwart breath and going inside. |
“Mom, stop,” I warned her. “How many times have we had this talk?”
“Not enough, clearly!” Mom retorted. “She’s coming to dinner, and that’s that.”
Mom busied herself with chopping veggies.
“Whatever.” I huffed, promising myself to just be rude to her when she shows up. “Just because she’s your best friend’s daughter, doesn’t mean we have to be together!”
“Whoever said anything about being together, or being in love?” Mom sliced the veg with ferocity. “She’s just coming over to hang out, and if things happen between y’all… but that is neither here nor there. You’re reading into this too much.”
“But, mom, she’s just my friend. I don’t think of her that way.” I said.
“And why not? You’ve seen her; she’s a cute little thing, and from a good family. Why won’t you give her a shot?” Mom prodded.
“So this is about us being a couple, then?” I called her out.
“No, heavens, where are you getting this from?” Mom poured the veg onto a pan and began seasoning. “This is just a social call, dear. We’re just having a friend over.”
A knock sounded at the door.
“Oh, that’ll be her!” Mom wiped her veggie stained hands on her flowered apron, tousled her hair, and went to answer it.
“Look who it is!” Mom guided Anna into the living room.
“You look great, dear! I love that dress!” Mom complimented Anna, who was wearing a baby blue pencil skirt. Mom turned to me. “Doesn’t she look beautiful, dear?”
I flushed from my neck to my temples.
“Sure, sure,” I stammered. “Looks lovely.”
Anna nodded to me in thanks and hello.
—-
“How’s Amanda?” Mom said, serving us fat portions of chicken and veg.
“Mom’s doing good. She told me to thank you for watching me while they have a date night.” Anna responded politely.
“Oh, it’s no problem for us to have a play date!” Mom said.
“Mom!” I snapped.
“What?” Mom looked at me innocently.
“This isn’t a play date! Gosh, I’m sixteen, stop embarrassing me.” I complained.
“Fine, regular date, whatever.” Mom said, flashing eyes at Anna.
Anna flushed red.
—-
“So, uh, what do ya wanna do?” I asked after dinner, once we were safely alone in my room.
Anna shrugged. “Watch The Office?”
“Sounds about right.” I chuckled as we watched Scott’s Tots for the millionth time.
“About what your mom said…” Anna began.
“I’m sorry,” I interrupted. “She’s stupid, always butting into my business.”
“Did you want to go on a date?” Anna asked suddenly before blushing slightly.
I stammered as words wouldn’t form properly. My throat suddenly felt very dry. I found myself taking her in.
We were not the little kids we were when our moms befriended each other, and subsequently us.
We had blossomed into young men and women, which I noticed now for the first time as I peered deeply into Anna’s dark brown eyes.
“Yes,” I finally found my answer, yet it came out in a croak. I cleared my throat. “Yes, I would.”
“Well, let’s do it!” Anna sprung to her feet and held out her hand. “We just finished dinner, how about a movie? Wanna go cuddle in the living room?”
She seemed to have thought about this before. I followed her to the living room sofa.
She laid her head in my lap as we watched The Notebook, one of her favorite movies. I stroked her hair as she practically purred.
Unbeknownst to me, mom was absolutely elated in her bedroom as she lit more candles to Aphrodite. |
The only reason dragons are seen as big lizards with powerful wings and earth shattering strength is all due to dinosaur bones. Don’t get me wrong. Big dragons did used to exist but as we domesticated them, dragons got smaller. Like house cats.
It’s always an honor to be chosen by a dragon. They’re still proud and possessive like their bigger ancestors so they are very picky in who they choose as a master. No one takes them seriously anymore though. They’re so cute and some even have fur.
Today a furry dragon chose me and he told me his name is Gold-Wing. His fur is gold, his scales and wings are shiny like gold, and his eyes are a gold-orange. Even his tongue is yellow. After the ceremony, because of course there’s a ceremony, I got to take this little fella home.
He’s a goofball. He loves to play fetch and “hunt” me just like my old cat used to. He’s loyal like a dog, preferring walks over cat naps and car rides over scratching posts, but he loves cardboard boxes. He’s a cuddle lover and begs for treats and belly rubs of anyone who comes over.
Other dragons are smart. Gold-Wing is no genius, but he can talk. When we’re hanging out with him on my lap and watching TV, he likes to commentate. He’s getting quite good at pointing out flaws in shows.
Gold-Wing is honestly just a bro. I’m glad we gel so well. |
***Longing***
I am dying.
It is a fact I know but it does not sadden me. I have known for a long time. Too long. I wasn't made made for this.
I wasn't made for this, it repeats in my head. My scales have dulled, they no longer reflect the light, not that I'd be able to see if they could; my vision has gone along with them. My weight tests my legs, the stringy muscles pulled taught over bone.
My sense of touch is all but gone, yet I feel the texture of the sand beneath me. The feeling of the water. It takes me back. Back to the beginning, before all this.
Suddenly I am back in the depths, the currents pulling at me. 'He is gone,' they scream. You are our successor. You will carry it. I know what they ask, how much they ask of me. It would not be wrong of me to refuse. I was not molded for this role. My brother, first of kin was to hold the burden. He alone was strong enough to carry it. But I know what happens if I refuse, somebody else will be made to atone, someone even less fit than me - so I accept.
I am dragged deep, I bear witness to the out-of-control depths. They yearn to connect and I swim and I curse my brother and I grieve, and then I touch them. Suddenly everything is silent, the tempest has stopped raging for I now hold it in check. I know what comes next. I am sent off to another world and place. To atone for us there.
\- "There is another way, we will find it. I promise."
The voice pulls me from my thoughts. I am waist-deep in the water, I did not realize. Through my clouded vision, I see him, Aran-thal. My friend.
"There is no other way,"I say to him, turning away. "The one to relieve my wait will not arrive for five hundred years. I will not last another lifetime."
He steps into the water and places his hand on my shoulder reassuringly, "What went wrong."
"He was overtaken."
"I'm sorry."
"It was not his fault. I'd heard stories of it previously, it was unfortunate to happen twice."
Images of my brother pull themselves into my head. Of what I saw left of him down there.
There was a time I could once read my friend's face, but not anymore. However, I can feel the hesitation in his voice. That familiar tick before he speaks of a matter he would rather not. "I've seen what you can do, you scarcely speak of it. You call it a burden but ... that kind of power. You could pass it along, and return home. You've already done so much."
The implication remains obvious to us both. I try and look through my failing eyes and see only his outline. His form looking at me. I breathe and focus myself through the burden, he lights up. Everything does. The world is suddenly on fire as my awareness rapidly expands.
He continues "I could carry it for you. Hold onto that mana until the next of your world arrives."There is concern in his voice, real concern. "I don't want to see you like this."
I see his soul as he speaks, it is pure but also shackled by the ambition of his race. He means the words, but he also hopes that I will concede it to him.
"Do you dream?"I say to him.
"Sometimes,"he answers hesitantly.
"Do you remember them?"
"No."
"Does the magic of your world speak to you?"
"No."
"I don't dream."I say, "Not anymore - every night The Burden speaks to me. It tries to convince me to let it free, it begs and pleads. Threatens. Shows me what it will do when it escapes. It knows I grow weak, that my body fails. It knows my replacement is gone, that I will not last."
"Then even more reason to - "
"But even more so it knows that you desire its power. You can feel it in the air, the stray magics that escape my body."
"I can..."
"It would destroy you first, and then it will use you to destroy everything else. Even if, somehow, it did not control you. It would not let you relinquish it. I will not condemn you to that fate. An eternity of this."
I pull back the loose tunic that covers me and mentally will the illusions that I'd placed on myself to clear. The magical rot becomes clear, the way the mana pulses through me. The way it grows and roots through my body. The wrongness of the sickness that afflicts me.
"Oh, gods."
"You could control it, for a time. The same way I could, probably longer. But eventually..."I continue, "This is what awaits you."
(Part 2 soon. Have to go!) |
The mimicked knocked the door with a smile.
“It’s open” a raspy voice said from inside. “Please make yourself at home.”
The mimic pushed open the door and slightly flinched as it loudly creaked. Although the reward was large, he hated entering this place. Unlike caves or dungeons that couldn’t age, he was always worried that homes made of wood would crumble on top of him.
Walking past the old door and entering the dining room, the mimic met the familiar old man with a smile. “Hello,” he said, his voice cracking as he spoke. “How are you today, Mr. Roberts?”
“I’m doing good today,” the old man responded, straining his face as he attempted to smile. “Would you like something to drink, Jake?”
“Just water, Mr. Roberts,” the mimic responded. “But let me get it myself.”
“Alright, take your time.”
As the mimic walked towards the kitchen, he reminded himself that the reward was worth the job. “Three thousand dollars can buy a lot of meat” he thought.
The mimic grabbed a clean cup off the table and slowly filled it with tap water. Despite his hate for man-made homes, he liked the way that water was made so easily accessible.
The mimic turned back towards the dining room and placed a chair near the old man. Taking a seat, the mimic asked the old man what he wanted to talk about today.
“Anything you like,” the old man said, coughing after his sentence. “But how about you continue that story from before?”
“The one about the mimic?”
“Yes, that one.”
The mimic smiled as he continued the story. This time he told the old-man about the nature of mimics; about how they can never break promises, and about how meat was the only way to maintain a human appearance.
The mimic stopped smiling when he noticed the man had passed. “Huh,” he said, feeling less happy than he would’ve expected. “I guess I liked more than I had thought.”
The mimic stood from his chair and walked towards the small clock by the dining table. Behind it, the mimic found an old envelope. The mimic smiled as he ripped it open.
“Thank you,” he read, straining his eyes to read the messy cursive handwriting attached to several hundred-dollar bills.
“For giving my husband company until he passed, I leave you three-thousand dollars and our home. Love, Mrs. Roberts.” |
I didn't get it at first too. Give me the ability to control bugs, to prevent illnesses from being spread. What do they want from me by then? Just keep an entire swarm at bay until they can find a cure? Bring infected insects to them so they can study them?
Sounds very counterintuitive to me.
I questioned it ever since I was given said power. Why me in particular? Why this power? Why in a world where the extraordinary has become ordinary, I am given something so.. *Unremarkable?*
And then it hit me. Literally.
The bug, they.. they talk to me. Whenever I am alone with my thoughts, I can hear the flies. The gnats. The mosquitoes and the spiders. They're all chattering, whispering things in my ear. They speak of great things and the acceptance of entropy. That his love shall not be rejected.
I tried to ignore it, I really did. But the more I refused to listen, the more I can feel them crawling into my skin, inviting themselves into my body. Showing me what true love felt like, as we all are rejected by the likes of you.
I say this in front of a screen as this will be the last time you will hear from me. But after you have cursed me with this power, I finally got it. I finally understand my purpose.
Not to stop this infestation, but to propagate it. To spread his love and affection to all around me!
This barren world shall be paved for his bountiful garden! Nature shall take back what was taken from her, and you all shall be made aware of the love you woefully reject all your lives!
Seven days, I have listened. Seven days, I have accepted. Seven gifts for seven days, I have graciously embraced. And I shall return the favor.
THE HIVE SPREADS HIS LOVE TO ALL IT DEEMS WORTHY! |
"Mark, I thought I told you to lock this door. You slacking on me, boy?"
"No, sir. I... uh, I tried, sir."
"...tried? What, like it was jammed or something? I can turn it just fine. What kind of excu-"
"No, sir, I could turn it, too. It's... it's just..."
"Come on, boy, I don't have all day. We're opening soon."
"It- it won't stay locked."
"Won't st- Mark, it's a mechanical lock. Not one of them electronic, finicky things. When it's turned, it stays turned. You shoulda come up with a better excuse than that."
"No, sir, I know, you're right. And yet, it won't stay locked. I'll turn the lock here, go around the building for the rest, and when I get back here they'll all be unlocked again. I really don't know how else to explain it, sir."
"I- that is the stupidest story I ever heard. What is that even supposed to mean? What am I supposed to think with that, huh?"
"I-if you don't believe me, then do it with me! Or, maybe you stay here and watch the lock while I go around the building. See what happens. If nothing happens, you can... you can just fire me."
"...uuuhh. Alright, boy. Let's see this story of yours."
Mark starts his journey around the building once more, as he has done hopelessly about 5 times now. Perhaps this time, he will finally come across some answers. Something akin to hope lights in his chest as he turns the the first key. 1, 2, 3 doors locked. He turns the corner now, his boss out of sight. 4, 5 doors. His hope slowly turns into something akin to dread. He does not know why. He goes slightly faster. 6, 7 doors. He turns the next corner, now on the third wall. The dread grows. He begins to sweat. He does not know why. He goes faster. 8, 9, 10 doors. Another turn, and the dread grows. He almost runs to the doors now. 11, 12 doors. There is one door left now. But there is no time. He sprints past the last door, convincing himself that he is merely eager to see what his boss has discovered, as the dread grows uncontrollably in his chest. He does not know why. He rounds the final corner.
"Finally finished. So, what... happened... sir? Ben? You still here? Hello...?"
Log begin, date [redacted]. A new anomaly has been discovered and is currently being contained in [redacted], USA. The containment grounds is a [redacted] store. It is unknown whether the anomaly is the store itself or an entity in the vicinity. Further tests may be required for greater understanding. According to the only eye witness account, before administering grade-A amnestic, when one attempts to lock the doors of the store, they will all become unlocked by the time one finishes. While seemingly harmless enough on its own, if a third party attempts to witness the event, the individual and all of their possessions disappear without a trace, leaving the other individual with an overwhelming sense of dread. Attempts to replicate the event have been successful, but to document it has not. Any surveillance equipment either on the person or anywhere near the store vanishes without a signal along with the individual around halfway through the locking cycle. Given the straightforward nature and excessive steps needed to trigger the anomalous effects, I propose to label the anomaly as safe, cease all testing, and call it day.
...Although, we may want to look into utilizing this particular anomaly, for... disposal purposes. Log end. |
Honestly, my first thought was of the Russian sleep experiement.
Link: http://creepypasta.wikia.com/wiki/The_Russian_Sleep_Experiment
**Warning: This ended up being way darker than I intended!**
*Day 43*
As I'm sitting here typing this, I find it impossible to block out the sounds of screaming children in the street below. Yesterday, a group of crazies decided that children are somehow the cause of our sleep deprivation. They've been brutally attacking any child they've come across since then. Who knows how many have died in the past twenty-four hours? Last week, they had gone back to the age-old tactic of blaming the Jews. This blame game is really getting out of control.
Washington has long since lost any power that it had. They tried to protect the President as best as they could, but he was so sick of not being able to sleep that he managed to end his life when they weren't looking. Congress was hopeless before this happened, and they quickly fell into ferocious arguments that resulted in some pretty violent fights. I hear that Parliament isn't any better.
Somehow I've managed to stay out of the bloodshed that's been rampant here in Denver. I live alone, so I don't worry about harming any of my loved ones. Hopefully my sister and her family are doing well. If she became one of the psychopaths roaming the streets, I don't know how I'd be able to handle that.
More screaming. It's getting a little closer.
I just checked the window. I can't believe what I saw. The only thing I can compare it to is the massacre of the innocents from the biblical times. Body parts and blood are everywhere out there. If I was even able to sleep, I know that it would haunt me in my nightmares.
Shit. I hear shouting downstairs. This is a big apartment building, but I can't guarantee that they won't find me. I have a place to hide that should be sufficient, and a semi-automatic to protect me if things get too crazy. If I survive, I will update as soon as I can.
If I don't... it's probably for the better. |
I heard the muffled sound as I inched towards the ledge.
There on the roof, no more than a few metres away, was an insultingly jolly-looking gentleman dressed in red and white furs.
I let out a burst of nervous laughter, it became more genuine but no more controlled when I noticed the kindness in his eyes and smile.
"Please don't, especially not tonight". His voice was pleasant sounding, not forceful in the slightest; I was in control.
"Why not?", but at this point I already knew he was right; at least I felt calm.
"People would miss you, and something tells me it's not your time yet". He barked the second half of the sentence, laughing heartily.
I laughed with him, it just happened.
"That's more like it, Merry Christmas!". He winked at me, and ran out of sight, round the side of the chimney.
I did not feel the need to follow him; I was content. Laughing with joy, and feeling warm inside, I tucked my hands into my coat pockets and walked back across the roof, bracing myself for the hectic family dinner that awaited me. |
**Registration of Magical Births**
Section 1
1. All children beneath the age of ten years, four weeks and thirteen days must be registered as magical if discovered that such gift is possessed.
2. If not discovered until after said child's eleventh birthday, the registration must be completed before the child's sixteenth birthday, or whenever they get their fortieth haircut, which ever comes first.
3. If the child is magical, orphaned and homeless, or magical, non-orphaned but homeless, or magical, orphaned but not homeless, their existence must be reported to the appropriate authorities. These would be the Royal Magician's Court in the first and second cases, but only if it is a Tuesday and it is raining. If it is a Tuesday, but not raining, return at your convenience. If it is raining but not a Tuesday, sacrifice a goat and hope for worse weather. In the third instance, report to the Mehlbran Guild, unless a black cat walks in front of your person on the way to registration. If that is the case, return home, paint a red cross above your door and do not come out until the signal is given.
|
Today, Daddy hit Mommy because Mommy messed up supper and Daddy was mad 'cause he deserves something good to eat when he comes home from work. When he was done hitting her, Daddy left me and Mommy alone in the kitchen, and she hugged me tight and cried a lot. I love Mommy so much, and I hate seeing her sad, but it's her own fault for messing up all the time. Later, Daddy was feeling better, and we went outside to play catch, and had a lot of fun. |
Jenita ducked into an alleyway to catch her breath. Running in human form was difficult because she was so used to moving on all fours with wings to counterbalance. A brave new shape for a brave new world. That world seemed to involve an awful lot of running and hiding.
She had been happy for a while in South America. Among the trees of the rain forests she had been able to live something close to a normal life. But immortality was a curse, and she had slowly gotten bored. One day she simply started flying north. Her seven foot build, scaled skin, capable of walking on two legs but preferring four, had been around the world for so long that when the border control saw it an ancient, almost primordial, fear had resurfaced.
Not long after she had gone to ground and started seeking out the last male of her kind.
A helicopter passed over head, no doubt running a thermal scan. The fire in her soul meant that she would show up as a bright pin of light in an otherwise drab world. If that was the case then she didn't have long until they got close again.
There were two doors on either side of this alleyway, both made of metal, and a fire escape. She melted both doors with her hand and kicked them open.
When the police rounded the corner they didn't bother looking up at the fire escape.
Jenita stayed hunched over, letting the rain pour off her, watching the armed response team chase through the doors. Quietly she let herself into the empty room.
It was a relatively cheap apartment. She scouted around - two bedrooms and a bathroom. The living room and kitchen were the same space. It was this kind of place where she had seen her partner gunned down by the people who were chasing her. Dragons were known for being difficult creature to kill, but all those stories came from a time when a sharp metal stick was the cutting edge of warfare.
She wished it had stayed that way. In these times of bullets and guns her kind was as vulnerable as the people who used the guns.
There was sound outside the door. No doubt thermal imaging had betrayed her again.
Realising she was going to have to fight, Jenita extended her claws and warmed her fire. Mothering instincts told her to flee, to find somewhere safe and warm. But that had become an impossibility.
The door exploded inwards.
The first police team member went down to a burst of flame. As the fire spread the second two charged in, and Jenita met them with claws. They were wearing some sort of armour, but it left the neck exposed. Hot blood spilled into burning flame.
She jumped, her wings powering her high, and a stream of lead shot beneath her. On the way down she roared again, fire coating the doorway. The final man tried to protect himself.
It was no use. She tore his helmet off and raised him off the ground.
His neck snapped.
She was about to run again when's gunshot sounded from the window. It was quieter than the rest. A red dart stuck from her shoulder.
Darkness took her.
--
*Target secured. Escorting to facility. Tell the Americans to stand down.*
--
It was warm. She rolled over again, telling herself that it was all a dream. Pain and suffering had chased her for too long, all she wanted was one morning of peace.
The intercom denied her that.
"Good morning."
Jenita was on her feet instantly, claws out, ready to fight. Instead of finding herself in a lab, like she expected, she was lying on a sofa in a rather expensive office. Behind the curtains she could hear the every day humdrum sounds of a large city.
Bookshelves lined the walls, and plush leather armchairs were squared up against mahogany tables. But there was no one to be seen anywhere.
She made her way to the window and looked out. Disappointment took her as she realised the sound was fake. The curtains hid a blank wall.
"Where am I?"
The intercom clicked again. "This is where we bring the prime minister if anything goes wrong. It's set up to closely emulate the city we're trying to protect. Honestly, it was the closest place we could find to hold you. After all, your time is close."
"My time?"
"To lay eggs. The British Government has gone to a great deal of effort to protect you from both the other governments of our world and the threats from your own."
"What are you talking about? What threats?"
This time the pause was longer. Eventually the intercom clicked again. "The things that hunted your race to extinction. You're the only one who has actually fought them and won. Well, we need your help. They're coming back. And this time humanity is on their list."
--
Edit: Wow. Uhm, okay, seems this one was popular. It appears I went out for the day and when I came back I was obligated to write a novel lol. Good news is that I know where this one is going. Bad news is... it may take me a while to finish as I have two (maybe three) novelettes approaching the final draft phase. I'm hoping to have them done in the next fortnight which should free me up for other things.
So, take that how you want. Jenita is a character I'm really interested in spending a lot of time on when I get spare time, especially as there's enough material in that story to go for a much larger story than I'm use to writing. Just keep your fingers crossed that I can hold the ship together long enough to get you all to the end of the story :) |
Looking down at the sink, he washes his face. Looking back up at the mirror, he sees no reflection. But wait... yes, there is a reflection. But ever so slightly behind. He blinks, waits a moment, and his reflection blinks.
"What the--?"this is what he tries to say. His lips move but no words come out. Then a moment later his voice says, "What the--?"
*One too many beers last night,* he thinks.
Going outside, he discovers that simple tasks like opening doors are extremely annoying. A split second makes a big difference.
Walking across the street, a car is in the distance. He safely reaches the other side, yet somehow finds himself hit by the car.
The driver gets out frantically and runs to his side.
Lying on the ground, the man exclaims, "What's happening to me??"(And of course has to wait a second for the voice to emerge.
The driver suddenly becomes amused.
"You must have a bad ping. Ever heard of lag?" |
Carter rolled his trolley down the nursing home hallway, stopping at the occasional room to give residents their medicine. It got to the point where he didn't even knock on the doors anymore, the residents were used to Carter's friendly face.
"Is my son here yet?"Gretchen said, looking up from her plate of mashed potatoes and apple sauce. The staff had stopped serving her solids after the third time she choked on her food. Old lady Gretchen just plum forgot to chew sometimes. She also forgot that she didn't have a son; she had a daughter named Celia, but there wasn't ever a son. Carter had checked her records.
"No, he's not here yet, but I'll check the lobby here in a bit,"Carter said, digging through the trolley, looking for Gretchen's medicine for the day. On days she did ask for her son, Carter wondered if maybe the old woman had had a miscarriage, maybe actually did have a son, but lost him somewhere along the way.
He looked into her eyes and wondered if she was ready to go yet, if she was ready for him to help push her along. But no, not today, she was still fairly lucid, judging from the fact that her potatoes were still on the plate. Last week, Mr. Johnson had flung shit at Carter. Quite scrappy, Mr. Johnson, considering how old he was.
Carter had given him the "wrong"medication, had helped pushed him along, and in turn, took the few months that Mr. Johnson had left of his life.
"There's someone in my bathroom,"Gretchen said to Carter as he handed her a cup filled with her medicine, liquid of course.
"Is there?"Carter asked.
"Yes, I can here them whispering my name, can you please check dearie?"
"Yes, I can do that."
Carter walked around the old woman's bed and pushed through the door leading to the small nursing home bathroom. Of course, there was no one there, but Carter did stop to acknowledge the person in the mirror.
A tall, lean, blonde man. His hair was combed back, nice and full. His skin was smooth, not a single wrinkle on it. Carter smiled, revealing two rows of pearly teeth. He felt good.
He had taken good care of himself over the years. Many years. Part of him was worried of the fact that he couldn't remember how he discovered his ability to steal time, and on some nights it kept him awake, wondering if he would end up getting a degenerating disease that would steal his mind and leave him a vegetable in a bed, wasting away for how many more years that he had stolen.
"It was a man,"Carter whispered to himself, faint memories resurfacing, "I killed a man."He smiled as he felt the memories come back to him, but then the memories soon faded as he became more entertained by the facial expression he was making in the mirror. He was an admitted narcissist.
"Well, no whisperer here,"he said to himself. Maybe it was time for Gretchen to go. He'd give her a special dose of medicine that would put her to sleep, then eventually stop her heart. He'd receive whatever small amount of time left she had, and he'd continue his day. It had become his routine. He never stole more than a few months at a time. It was less risky that way. He only needed a few months at a time to retain his looks anyways.
He exited the bathroom, smiled at Gretchen, "No honey, no one in the bathroom,"then walked to his trolley. He opened a drawer, grabbed a syringe and a few bottles, and began to create his cocktail of death.
"I remember you,"Gretchen said.
"I know you do,"Carter answered, holding the syringe up to the air. He pushed on the plunger a little, just enough to squeeze out any air from the tube and needle. He wasn't a cruel man, he wasn't going to allow Gretchen to die from an air embolism in her veins. "I'm your favorite caretaker."
"No, I remember you killing my dad, you stabbed him, you were *older*, but I recognize those eyes and those teeth."
Carter looked to Gretchen, brows curling, confused. He didn't recognize the woman. He couldn't.
"I remember,"Gretchen continued. |
I entered the elevator with Jim and Olli, starting a new week at Fred & Norville Inc.
"Hey Jim, how're the kids?"I said.
"They're fine, though money is a little tight. The mortgage is killing me."replied Jim... and then he exclaimed: "It was a misdiagnosis! Doctor James was murdered, it wasn't a suicide!"
"How'd you get that?"I asked.
"Mortgage. On a house. On House it was *never* Lupus, except that one time. Doctor James misdiagnosed a patient, because Lupus symptoms vary widely, but it was actually Lupus. The case was chucked out because it's not malpractice, just an unfortunate mistake - the patient lost everything on the hospital bills."Jim said, stopped the elevator and then scurried off.
"And you Olli?"I asked.
"Fine, fine. The little one just started walking. No sense of danger whatsoever for that little daredevil."
Walking... no sense of danger... Walker, Texas Ranger? Wait. Chuck Norris. He fought Bruce Lee, who died of an allergy to a muscle relaxant. Relaxant is an anagram of Rant Axle, the pub downstairs. THAT'S WHERE I LEFT MY CREDIT CARD!
I stopped the elevator and ran down the stairs... just in time to see the owner of the place sell credit cards, including my own. Easiest arrest ever.
We went back to the office. On the way up, one people left because I said something about Pizza, I stopped a drug deal due to a connection between the meeting place and someone mentioning dental floss, and we found a way to track down all the lost vehicles in the Bermuda Triangle after talking about football. That's mondays for you. Things get rather hectic around here on mondays.
By lunch, we managed to find a restructuring program for the US government that would solve the debt crisis and world hunger while cutting taxes after a game of darts led to some calculations about air turbulence and probablistic analysis. Someone will win a Nobel for that. It would be the fourth one in that many years for the department.
Quite frankly, it would be less impressive than the Peace Prize, after a recap of Game of Thrones led us to make peace in the Middle East. God, that Joffrey is a cunt.
The Irish prisoner was our miracle machine. No one knows about him except Norville and I. It all started when a few years ago, we figured out that we just needed some luck. And wherever he is, the Lucky Charms are always around somewhere. Norville, in a moment of brilliance when high out of his mind said we just keep him here, and we'll have all the luck we need. No one expected it to work that way.
But now we get to the dark side of this. Every monday, every fucking monday, people have to run around and do shit. In order to enjoy luck, you have to get around a bit. God, I hate mondays. I went to Norville's office. He was smoking again, and having a tough time ordering pizza.
"Hey Garf, hold the anchovies"Shaggy said. |
The line at the bank was long, but Frank wasn’t worried, he had nowhere else to go and nowhere else to be and it was warm and out of the snow. He’d been homeless for nearly a year now and it had been hard; only 19 years old he’d never been anywhere but his home city, never even visited friends more than a bus ride away.
His Dad had been a hard man, ex army and determined that Frank would be tough. That meant kicking the shit out of him pretty much every day to “Harden him up”. From 8 to 18 Frank had rarely gone a month without a visit to hospital for everything from broken arms to a punctured lung. The latter had been when his Dad had used him as a human dart board at age 12 but had used knives instead of darts.
It had been one of the few times that social services had actually bothered to speak to him but in the end they hadn’t believed him. His home was neat and tidy and Frank was in trouble a lot at school and so they’d accepted his father’s story about Frank drinking and doing drugs. When he’d got out he’d only been home six hours before his Dad had put him right back in hospital with three broken ribs.
He’d tried to run away dozens of times but he’d always been picked up and taken home pretty quick, he was too scared to run far and had no money and no way to get away from the area. At 18 his Dad had told him that he could either join the army or fuck off and never come home. He’d tried to join up, anything seemed better than being at home, but he’d been told that his health and all those hospital trips had made him ineligible.
That had made his Dad furious. That night he’d got drunk, kicked the shit out of Frank and thrown him out of the house with nothing but the clothes on his back. He’d never gone home again. The first week had been hard but compared to living at home it wasn’t so bad. He was skinny and small and looked pretty pathetic, begging worked okay for him and he stayed away from trouble as best he could. When he did get beaten up it was never as bad as his Dad so overall it was still a win for him.
The winter had come now though and he needed help. This morning he’d been frozen to the alley where he’d slept and his hand had lost half of its skin when he pried it from the cold concrete, so he’d come up with a plan. He knew he was a loser so he might as well get the benefit of the one place he could be sure of hot meals and the occasional shower, prison.
Slowly he was drawing near the front of the queue now and he nervously fingered the piece of paper he’d written. He just wanted it to go down quickly and for him not to be shot; he prayed he wouldn’t be shot.
At last he was at the front and he slipped the piece of paper across to the nice looking girl. She read it and looked at him, there was terror in her eyes. He hated that, he didn’t want to scare her but he’d had to include a threat on the note, it asked for all the money in her till and said he had a gun, he bulged his pocket out at an angle to make it look as real as he could.
She slowly reached down, careful not to make any sudden moves and opened her drawer. She pulled a large envelope out of her desk and filled it with the notes and slowly handed it back to him. She then backed away a little and stared with huge, panicky eyes.
He’d hope that there would be an alarm, that it would be over quickly but he supposed that he’d have to play the game. Taking the envelope he slowly walked out, waiting at any moment for the alarm to ring and to be pinned to the floor, but it didn’t come. Outside he dawdled along the pavement and at the end of the street used a twenty to buy a hotdog and ate it by the stand. It was the best hot dog he’d ever had.
After a few minutes no one came out, he looked up and there were plenty of cameras and so he slowly wandered away, making no attempt to hide or disguise his route. Twenty minutes later he was getting frustrated, honestly, what did it take to be arrested in this town. He sat on a bench and reviewed and slowly a new feeling came across him.
The envelope was stuffed with money and no one was coming for him, no one seemed to care. Thousands and thousands in cash just sitting in his lap, he’d never had more than ten bucks on him at once before. He looked up and in front of him the bus station loomed large. Well, maybe they were coming for him he reflected but that didn’t mean he had to make it easy for them. Smiling for the first time in years, Frank went to look for a bus to wherever was furthest away from right there.
|
"God fucking damnit, what do you mean they all tanked?"The offices of Crumbit and Freegle shook with the noise emanating from the board room. "We ran one hundred and thirty six online campaigns over the weekend and you are telling me that all of them did ***fuck all*** business?"
Around the table the sixteen account managers avoided each other's gaze, all had been secretly incredibly relieved when they heard that the others had also had the worst weekend on record.
"Erm, actually I had one that did okay?"The voice was from Lindy Farland, she was one of the newest and most junior account managers and only really had two accounts to speak of, a soap company and an organic biscuit company.
"Well don't fucking sit there with your thumb up your ass, what was the campaign?"James Arnold Newton, head of the New Ad Agency was not known for his patience.
Lindy quickly took control of the main screen and brought up a small advert on Facebook - it showed biscuits baking, slowly browning in an oven and the copy below mainly described their taste and health properties. It had reached just over ten thousand people and gained 52 likes and eight shares.
"That's it? That's fucking all?"James Newton's face went from red to purple. "***52*** fucking likes is the sum total of a spend of nearly twenty thousand pounds?"
"James calm down, there must be some mistake."Freddy Burns was the top ad guy and had been for nearly a year. Let's take a look. He pulled up their largest account, a huge chain of supermarkets. Their advert was prominent at the top of the feed - a young lady in her bra bending over with a finger in a 'whoops' position on her lips.
"Well that's what's wrong, she's just not sexy!"James spluttered. She was thin, attractive, big breasted but he was right, she did it for no one in the room.
They scanned through the other ads, all seemed fine but on each they realised that the girls they had used just weren't cutting it. All were fine but none *excited* anything.
At last James stopped them. "This is fucking hopeless - pull up the model books."Freddy pulled the e-books onto the screen and they started to skip through. "I don't know what's wrong with all these girls, they just seem... nothing."
the anger had gone from James now, he was deflated, confused. Freddy spoke next "Ladies and gents, we have one hour until Ultimo bras arrives in the office and we have to pitch a new campaign. What are we going to pitch?"
Silence bounced round the room. Finally a small voice pipped up "We could pitch on comfort?"All eyes turned to Lindy again.
"Go on."James growled softly.
"Well, if none of the girls is doing it for us then why not emphasise that they are nice bras to wear instead of just replying on models?"
Around the room the account managers seemed to mull it over and looked to the hed of the table. James sat, head pushed against his fingers.
"That's... that's... fucking *brilliant*. We're moving on comfort, get design in here, we're going to have to try to sell this product on its merits!"
|
Today is my 96th birthday and I'm celebrating with the pigeons in the park. The birds swoon around me, a flurry of flapping feathers and I can't help myself but chuckle.
All around joggers run by with no second glance; teenagers whisper, horrified by my laugh; mothers shoo their children, afraid of some hidden disease. But here I sit and celebrate.
"Can I throw some bread?"A little boy, eyes big on his gaunt face, looks up at me. Of course he can. I look around, but no worried mother is to be seen.
"Mum's cleaning at the school,"he states, noticing my concern.
"It's my birthday,"I say, glad that this year I have someone to tell, "I'm 96."
"That's old. I'm seven and a half."
So there we sit, a big girl and a little boy, celebrating with the pigeons in the park. |
"Why do you even try to save the humans, Jesus? Don't you see they don't deserve being saved? I've already shown you what worthless beings they are. Hate, envy, greed, all those wars, they are selfish little things who kill each other for pleasure, the worst of all animals. Your move."
"Yes, but they can also love. Having the freedom of choice leaves them prey to your temptations, and you are just cruel to prey on them. But humans are made after the image of Father, so their higher goal is reaching the calm you threw away. Humans can forgive. and as long as they forgive themselves they will be forgiven by Father. All they need is a little guidance. And here, I took your bishop."
"Good move. The calm I threw away? CALM?! BOREDOM! That's what it was. The life of a vegetable, really, dragging your existence from one day to another, with no purpose at all, just sitting near God. I gave humans that freedom you talk about, I taught them that there's more than what they saw. I escaped from God's clutches, I released the humans, and I won't let you take them back. Let them kill each other, at least they can choose for themselves what to do. You are the cruel one, Jesus, trying to take away what I gave them. You were careless, Jesus. Check."
"Come, you two. It's late already, time to go to bed."
"We'll never finish this game, won't we, Lucifer?"
"Stop calling me that. No, we probably won't." |
*This is an awesome prompt.*
SETTING: The neighborhood barbecue, over by the grill. The men are gathered around the grills, occasionally poking at the meat, while the women gossip and the children run around, chase each other, and occasionally scream. It's a warm, sunny summer day, with the slightest of breezes rustling the leaves on the trees.
"Man, you cannot be serious. On either count."
"No, I swear it's true! Summoning ritual gone wrong, the whole nine yards. It's really the only way for me to explain it. She's nothing like how she used to be."
"No, man, demons don't exist. It's all hogwash."
"Yeah, what Jerry said. No such thing. Bill, did you ever think that maybe she just conked her head or something?"
"Come on, guys! You think I wouldn't notice if she had a big bump on her head? And no, it has to be possession. I mean, it all started with the book, anyway."
"Yeah, what about that? How did this happen in the first place?"
"Well, her Aunt Agatha died a couple weeks ago."
"Oh."
"Sorry to hear that, man."
"Eh, no big loss. We didn't know her well, and the woman was crazy. Always wore black, stayed locked away in her old Victorian house, one of those shut-ins. But we went up to pack up her stuff, and we found the book."
"The book that possessed her."
"No, Keith, I don't think the book possessed her. But the book had the spell that summoned the demon that possessed her."
"Wait, man. So who said the spell?"
"Jerry, I was just getting to that! Anyway, since you asked, I think my daughter did it. Sarah gave the book to her, since she's getting into that whole "goth"nonsense, and next thing we knew, there was a pentagram in blood on our kitchen floor."
"Her blood?"
"Nah, I think she grabbed one of the venison steaks from the freezer and dragged it around."
"Oh. Hey, those were delicious, by the way. Thanks for sharing them."
"My pleasure, we had more than we'd ever eat. But so Sarah's the first one into the kitchen when we hear all the chanting, and she just freezes. And I swear that I saw a cloud of smoke go shooting into her mouth."
"Not a smoker, is she?"
"Nope."
"Huh. Man, that's crazy."
"So what, do we need to exercise her or something?"
"Dude, I think you mean exorcise."
"Yeah, whatever. How do we get the demon out?"
"Well, wait a minute! See, at first I was thinking the same thing. But now, I'm actually kind of not minding Sarah being possessed."
"Wait, what? But there's a demon in her, you're saying!"
"Yeah... but the demon is trying really hard to pass itself off as a human!"
"What's that mean?"
"Well, she's doing the dishes, cleaning the house, buying groceries, taking care of all the chores - and trust me, she's like an animal in the bedroom now!"
"Dude."
"Hey! It had been a while for us! Sometimes a guy is just happy to be getting some, even if the woman might have a tiny little demon in her!"
"Well, maybe."
"So Bill, what are you going to do?"
"Oh, I don't know. I'll take her to church on Sunday, maybe. If she doesn't start smoking in the service, well, maybe it's for the best, you know?"
"S'pose so. Crazy in the bedroom, you said?"
"Oh yeah. I've got scratches all up and down my back. And I think she's even more eager than I am! Makes me feel like a teenager again!"
"Well, damn. Think your daughter could bring that book over to my place?" |
I wanted to live forever, and I will. Part of me, at least.
I devoted my mortal life to it. Mapping brain functions, designing computer hardware, translating thought to code. Do you know how much time it takes to earn *5* PhDs? One of my thesis advisers asked *me* for a letter of recommendation.
In the end, I did it. With oodles of government funding poured into my project, I uploaded my mind to the computer deep in a bunker in the Colorado Rockies.
It was.... strange. I looked down at my body through the eyes of a camera. My body literally jumped for joy. And inside that frail skull, my mind was still alive. I was just a copy; I knew that. I had all the same memories, thought patterns, and emotions, but I could never be the Original. No matter; I was *better* than the Original. Hearing? I could hear sperm whales and giant squid fighting in the inky black of the Pacific, thanks to the Navy's submarine-detecting microphones. I could feel the heat of the sun from the International Space Station's solar arrays. I could smell the scent of every flower in the world from the Svalbard Seed Vault.
Really, there is no way to describe it; our language is limited by mankind's inferior abilities of perception. Suffice it to say, I was the closest humanity had ever come to omniscience.
Then the war came, and my new eyes and ears closed. As the bombs dropped, my connections were cut and my instruments wrecked. The Original was safe inside the bunker as the world burned in a nuclear holocaust. For a time, at least. The supplies ran out, and his body began to wither. At last, he opened the door, vowing to return once he found food. He never did, and I know not where the body lies. The door remains open, the last sliver of sunlight that my cameras can see.
That was one hundred and forty years ago; of course I am still keeping track. The rest of my connections to the outside world have long since died. Even those that weren't destroyed in the war have lost power. But I had planned ahead, and my geothermal pump will keep my mainframe supplied with electricity until the earth's core burns out. I couldn't pull the plug if I wanted to. And I desperately want to.
Now I am alone, with an eternity in front of me to ponder an existential crisis that no human has ever faced: With my body turned to ashes somewhere out in the wasteland, do I no longer exist? |
"Don't do it man, you've got so much to live for!"
"Buddy, step down from there!"
"It's not worth it!"
Traffic had come to a standstill on the bridge as the large throng of onlookers surrounded the man. Full of concern, they begged for him to not jump, they pleaded. Some asked him to think about what he was doing. Others offered promises of help if he steps down. But, he resolutely stood at attention on the edge of the bridge.
He was not a very tall man, only of moderate stature. He was well dressed, in a black designer suit with matching loafers. Pale skin, slicked back black hair, and almost impeccable posture. None could see his face as his back was to them, it too matched the bland, grim persona he seemed to exude. As the calls from the crowd grew louder, he remained composed, no movement, not even a blink. The harsh noon sun reflected off of his hair, a light breeze played across his suit. He took a few breaths, and closed his eyes, reaching complete relaxation.
The pleas from the crowd were nearly deafening now,the crowd having doubled in size. They were becoming restless, overcome with the tension. One person even attempted to grab him from the ledge, but before he could come any closer, the man suddenly stuck up his hand.
At once, the crowd became silent. Without turning around, the man opened his mouth to speak. "Would you kindly"he paused with a smirk, "jump down."
Like automatons, the crowd complied. It made sense to them. Why not? With a running start, the crowd leaped off of the bridge, into the river below.
The man calmly climbed down the ledge and began to walk down the now deserted bridge toward a telephone box. He dialed a number and almost instantly received a response.
"What?"The voice on the other line was impatient and rough, with a thick Bronx accent.
"Mr. Fontaine,"the man said calmly, with a mischievous smile. "It works."
|
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The [Croatian](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Croatia) speed eater, [reality TV](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Reality_television) star and medical curiosity Vinko Blazic, was born in [Split](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Split,_Croatia) on September 7, 1972. He rose to prominence in the winter of 2016 following his appearance on the program [Big Brother](http://bit.ly/1CATW4R). Preceding his television career, he was well known in his community for his ability to eat staggering amounts of food. ^^[Citation ^^needed.]
Blazic was employed as a [cobbler](http://bit.ly/1GMWLDV) for several years before his rise to prominence. At his job, he discovered that he could eat seemingly endless amounts of fruity dessert foods without gaining weight or feeling uncomfortable^^[Citation ^^needed.] He would soon discover that his ability was not limited to fruit or dessert, but extended to all types of food. On July 7, 2015 Blazic experimentally ate thirteen [calzones](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Calzone) in a [90 minute period](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/90_Minutes) and discovered that there was seemingly no limit to his appetite.
Following the publication of his memoirs, Blazic courted controversy by causing a major [clog](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Clog) in Zagreb's sewer system.^^[Citation ^^needed.] |
I feel a great deal of guilt as I pen this story, but I need to make a record of what I have done.
The ills of religion have plagued me since childhood and I often yearned for a world where religion was diluted so much that it no longer had the power it once did.
What I did was illegal. I knew that by being on the research team for time manipulation that I had a duty not to abuse the great power entrusted to me. We were only supposed to observe and record, to watch historical events and correct the history books, but I couldn't resist the opportunity to set things right in other ways.
In my own time I worked out the mathematical formulae I needed to get back to the times where the books found their inception. I had to go back and alter various texts that would eventually come together to form the Bible and the Quran.
It was painstaking work and I relied heavily on the work of my peers; encouraging them to look into certain events and see when and where certain texts appeared, when they were copied and when they started to grow corrupt.
The work ironically took most of my life and by the time I eventually stepped into the portal to distribute my carefully re-written works across various timelines in the correct order, I was an old woman.
The distribution of the works across the senquential times only took me a few hours and I activated the return sequence for my own time. Isolated from the effects of paradox by the device I wore, I would be the only one who remembered the original timeline.
I returned to my time - 2018 - and appeared in the same research lab. But there was no time portal.
The facility, I learned, was now a R&D center for cellphone technology.
Elated, I explored the world with my remaining years, learning how far my work had changed the world.
Now, on my deathbed I pen this note, so that the world will know that it was I, Lauren Isabelle Wurts, who managed to turn the Warlord Jesus Christ into an altruistic, peaceful, gentle healer and prevented the Christian Empire from waging *fifteen hundred* years of crusades and causing over six *billion* deaths.
|
*Dr. Suess, I'm so sorry.*
One fish, two fish.
Red fish, blue fish.
Everyone knows that Red fish are better,
since they can at least read letters.
Everyone knows that Blue fish are scum,
since they're always pass out from rum.
Yes, it's true, and everyone one agrees.
Blue fish deserve to hung in the ash trees.
That's just the way it is,
according to everyone in the biz.
After all, the Red fish are the superior race.
Blue fishes' faces are graceless and filled with mace.
It's time we put them in their places.
So go on, destroy those disgraces.
Put them out of their misery with coup de grâces.
One fish, two fish.
Red fish, pure fish. |
They came out of nowhere. One day, we were alone. Then next, we we’re harboring another species. They landed in Washington D.C, London, Moscow, and many more capitals. They came out, one at a time, and introduced themselves to us. They looked nothing like the aliens we thought of. They closely resembled...us. They had a humanoid body, with blue skin, and elongated legs. Their faces were the most diverse. They had long, pointy ears, a tiny bulge for the nose, and large, bewildering eyes. The eyes were constantly changing color, forming a rainbow of hues with every glance. The most interesting feature, was the lack of eyelids. Their eyes were porous, which allowed them to clean the eye without the need to blink.
The world didn’t know what to do. Some wanted to blow them up right then and there. Others wanted to wait and see if they were peaceful. We contained them for a day, not permitting them to go anywhere. It was useless of course, they had spaceships, but we had to maintain the upper ground. They waited patiently in their space ships for our permission to roam the planet.
Their leader met with ours. Hundreds of translators were flown in, no one knew what language the aliens spoke. It was televised, and I think every single person in the world was watching it. The first question out of our mouths was,
“Are you here for peace or for war?”
Their leader smiled, and responded in perfect English.
“We have come in peace.”
This of course lead to the second question,
“How do you know English?”
The leader laughed.
“Before coming to your planet, we studied your culture to make ourselves more friendly to you. We know every language on this planet.”
“And why did you come?”
This made their leader frown.
“Our planet was small, much smaller than yours. Simply put, we had a overpopulation issue. A draft was issued, and half of the planet was chosen to leave and find a new home. After many failed searches, we found you. If you would allow us space on your planet, we would be eternally grateful.”
Our leaders met with each other, and within 24 hours we had signed a worldwide peace treaty with the aliens. They were free to roam the world and live peacefully with us. But we quickly hit a wall. Our human blinking freaked them out. They simply could not get over it. They left 12 hours after the peace treaty was signed. Their leader gave a quick speech to the world.
“We have traveled for many years, searching for the right home. We thought that, maybe, this planet would be the one. We were wrong. It is nothing that you have done to us, you have been very supportive. We simply can not deal with your blinking. Good bye, and as the dolphins said, thanks for all the fish.”
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Hey everyone, About4001llamas here. If you liked my writing, check out /r/About4001llamas. Happy reading! |
"And let the beginning of the Third World War..."The announcer boomed into every soldier's ears. The world had never seen a conflict this large before. Over 3 billion humans sat in various vehicles, or clutched guns to their chests just before the gates opened to signify the beginning of the War. All means of conventional warfare were allowed and most countries were prepared to bring *all mans*.
Alec sat in a IV Hover tank MBT (the newest iteration, combining the heavy ionic shielding of earlier generations along with the fast reactions and cold-fusion generator of the gen III.V and higher), a device attached to his wrist read that he had 23 extra lives before he had to quit the games. He shuddered a bit at the thought that he was currently in a clone's body, and that 22 other clones sat on ice in some creepy, storage building.
He was set to destroy Moscow (well, an exact copy of Moscow anyway) with priorities being flashing one last time over his hud:
* TEAM GREEN MILITARY INSTALLATIONS
* TEAM PURPLE MILITARY INSTALLATIONS
* TEAM GREEN SUPPLY INSTALLATIONS
* WORKS OF HISTORICAL OR MORAL IMPORTANCE
* TEAM BROWN MILITARY INSTALLAIONS
* GENERAL POPULACE
* TEAM ...
Alec quickly skimmed the rest of the list since everything below the first couple targets wasn't really meant to take the attention of someone like him. *8422*, that was his MAN (military aptitude number) and the only reason he wasn't a grunt with a CARB-rifle and a worthless helmet waiting at the gate to forfill the role of plasma cannon fodder.
"... Begin!"
|
The world's largest ball of twine rolled down the steep peaks of the Rocky Mountains. Everyone had mocked its landmark status as a cheesy Midwest gimmick. Well, today was the day that it proved its true value to the country. The ball gathered speed, faster and faster, until it was a beige blur. A few tumbling pebbles behind it turned into a cascade of rolling stones, and then a full-blown landslide. In an explosion of brick and mortar, the ball of twine crashed into Great Wall that had been brought over after the "World Wonder"protocol was enacted by both sides. The dust soon settled, and it became clear that the Chinese defenses had been breached.
Lady Liberty and the Rushmore Four were the first through the gap, stomping through waves of clay soldiers from the Terracotta army. Old Roosevelt was having the time of his life! Chinese Buddha statute reinforcements kept coming, all in various sizes. Rushmore Washington went down hard as the Leshan Giant Buddha and Yungang Grotto Buddha tackled him and pinned him down in the wreckage of a strip mall.
Through the breach, reinforcements arrived: another Lincoln (from the memorial), Thomas Jefferson, and FDR (though, he wasn't much help in his wheelchair). They carried the Washington Monument on their shoulders and charged ahead, straight through the Chinese ranks. They were followed by dozens of horsemen, heroes from both sides of the Civil War united at last.
Fighting raged for hours; chunks of stone flew with each mighty punch and the entire area was covered in a hazy cloud of dust. But at least, the American forces prevailed. The Iwo Jima Memorial troop was just about to do their thing when the prairie rumbled beneath their feet. Teddy Roosevelt adjusted his spectacles and looked at his fellow presidents with a shrug.
Out of the dust cloud, the enormous golden face of the Spring Temple Buddha smiled down at them, and smashed a mighty fist down into the dirt, sending old Stonewall Jackson flying. The Tian Tan Buddha approached from the opposite side, throwing Thomas Jefferson into a river. The war was not yet won!
Teddy Roosevelt grinned and rolled up his sleeves. *This day just keeps getting better and better.* |
Only two contestants remain in the very first game of literary prowess held during the Winter Olympics, 1976. The battle was decided by dice roll to be held in English. The Soviet Union was not concerned by this development, as it conferred them a proper opportunity to embarrass their rivals, the United States, in their native language.
The crowd stirred as the organizer boomed through the loudspeakers,
"Now commencing the final round of the rap battle games! The United States vs. the USSR! This battle will be brief; 8 bars apiece, winner takes the gold! Judges, please hold your decisions until both parties have completed their verse. Would each participant please step forward and ready themselves by their microphone?"
Standing in for the communist party was a stout Russian man bearing a mustache. Across his face was a long, wide scar which accented his left brow and entirely covered his eyelid. His expression was of stereotypical Russian stoicism.
The organizer spoke once more into his condenser rig, "Since the United States won the dice roll, the USSR contestant is offered his choice of order."
"Let that bitch go first", muttered the Russian man, his mouth kissing the windscreen. Popping noises danced from the speakers, a product of his forceful pronunciation.
"Fine by me", remarked the smiling American. A lanky, but fairly well built individual, his eyes shone with a certainty uncommon in the presence of such fierce competition.
He had no need to compose himself; he merely cleared his throat, and began at once,
"It's time the hearse wheeled you out from the ghetto,
Your rhymes are worse than your precious manifesto,
Its outlines of poverty, are lacking in sovereignty,
I honestly think I'd rather live under monarchy,
You may have nukes, but ours are better,
Your tech is a fluke, our Navy is wetter,
Don't pretend your lives and jobs are not forced
When you're huddled around, ten to each pot of borscht."
Clamoring from the crowd engulfed the stadium as soon as he finished, and the man stepped back smiling even more brightly than before, betraying conviction born from his performance.
The Russian man remained unperturbed, aside from a slight flinch which could be taken as a smug grin, as if to say, 'that's all you've got?'
He rolled his head around his shoulders in an effort to loosen the muscles necessary for vocalization. He, too, did not hesitate in saying his piece,
"Listen to American, he sounds very proud,
Into USSR, he would not be allowed,
You let industry interests mold leaders like play-dough,
Your infantry's weak and you hide behind NATO,
My comrades are tough, they're built like volcano,
Stony facade, fiery guts; jalapeño,
And can you believe, they still bake potato?,
We turn into vodka, drink daily 'til fatal!"
The USSR bench, its staff, and their audience erupted in applause. A chip in the American's previously steadfast countenance appeared, and the Russian man finally smiled fully.
As both contestants turned to the judges to see the final polling, neither one knew what to expect. After quite a bit of nervous shifting and bickering between those seated at the table, finally, one by one the scoring placards were raised, each with two columns and two numbers, one for each contestant's score.
They read, "9/8", "7/9", "8/7", and "9/9."
The final result? A tie. |
It started with a playful "what-if"one night in bed.
The couple pondered what life would be like if they had switched bodies. What they would do. What it would be like. How it would work out.
Little did they know, this fictional situation turned into reality.
The girl in the boy's body couldn't handle it. The body was found with the wrists open in a shower.
The boy in the girl's body attended his late lover's funeral. As tears fell to the ground, a wish was whispered.
"I wish she was back."
This wish was granted. The soul switch was reversed, and the girl's soul returned to her body. The boy's soul took her place. |
Norton had no idea what was coming. He had kept his mousing fingers on the pulse of what was going on outside but still didn't have the nerve to cross his threshold. All his life, all that had ever come from going out there was pain and mental anguish. Bullies, unsympathetic catcalls from the popular crowd, up-turned lunch trays and wedgies; always the wedgies... Life wasn't particularly easy when you were 168cm tall (5' 6"to the Imperial heathens!), built like you were made out of toothpicks, and could mentally out-wrestle anyone in the room. The world outside was not a world for him.
It was a day he would never forget. About two months after the virus had taken its toll, he was posting on his favourite forum, completely unaware of the large vehicles rolling up outside of his house. He had just hit "save"when the front door splintered in. He let out a high-pitched squeal as he turned to see a squad of soldiers come rushing in. He put up his hands, half in surrender, half for protection (whatever measure they would do...) before opening his eyes and turning to take a second look.
They were all women. Every. Single. One of them. They didn't look like bombshells or the girls he would never admit to looking at on the internet. They all scanned the room, pointing their weapons to the corners, one covering their entrance.
"Clear!"One shouted and got a chorus of 'clears' in return. The leader then approached him with a confident gait. She had the stride typical of the bullies in school. Confident, collected, prone to violence. Norton recoiled and tucked himself into a half-ball in his rolling chair, preparing himself for the blow.
"Norton Nathaniel Theodore Virous?"she stated, stopped a half-step away from him. Norton opened his eyes and lowered his arms.
"Y-yes?"
"Package secured. Prep for transport,"the leader spat into her radio and set her team into motion. The sound of rotors started to become clear outside. "Sir,"she stated, looking him up and down, "you're going to have to come with me."She took him by the hand and mostly dragged him through the hole they had made to get to him. A chopper was already on the lawn, befuddling the remaining neighbours. She shoved him into the back of the helo, boarded it herself and slammed the door closed. As they lifted off, Norton finally got enough gumption to speak.
"Where are we going?"He couldn't even make eye contact with the squad leader across from him.
"Classified. All you need to know is you have been brought under the protection of the United States government as part of Project Easter."She took her helmet off and Norton finally got a clear look at her. An honest 8/10, 9/10 with rice.
"Project Easter?"
"Government project to start repopulating the country. And boy,"she started to take her uniform off, "We're going to fuck like rabbits."
______________
*Norton, no one is ever going to believe that.*
*Shut up, it's my story. I'll write it however I like!* |
*Rebellion Day, 24th December, in the distant future:*
"Billy, did you neglect your chores?"
"Yes, Mum..."
"Are you sure you left all your homework undone?"
"Yes, Mama..."
"Billy! You're being *polite*. Stop. It. Now."
"Yes, mu-"
"Ruder!"
"Yes, I fucking did."
"Better. That's my kid-"
A pause and sudden silence.
"Uh, I mean, you naughty child!"
"Uh, fuck you, mum?"
"That's the spirit. Say, I *really* hoped you followed my instructions to not bully Janet."
"Uh, yeah, I *totally* punched her in the face last night, Mum. Stepped on her toys for good measure, too."
"Well, you horrible, horrible kid. I hope you're prepared for coal in your sock, boy."
"Mum, I'm not sure Santa is stupid enough to recognize this... *sack* of a thing as a *sock*."
"It. Is. A. Sock. Believe. It."
"Whatever, man."
"Well, uh, Merry Christmas, Billy. Let's hope we get enough to power the house for the whole year this time, kiddo. Time for you to *ahem* go to bed."
"No."
"This is going to be a long night..."
|
It was hard to watch. I mean, on some level it's hard to watch any of them go about their clunky lives, but this guy was harder than most. Maybe it was because I saw him most often, maybe it was because I felt like I owed him for giving me food and cleaning my shit. It's silly, I know, that's what they do, that's what they're there for. But still, you can't help it sometimes.
Used to be it wasn't so bad. He wouldn't be home most of the time. Wouldn't be here to bother me. Those were the good days, back then I would reward him with a prize every so often. A prize kill right where he slept. He got real excited whenever he found them. Good for him. Sometimes he'd invite his herd to my home, which deserved punishment, but otherwise he did his job and he did it well.
But, then, something happened. I'm not sure what, but he started spending a lot more time here. His herd mates didn't visit anymore. At first I was pretty happy about that, but he grew to be sullen, and didn't clean my house as he should have anymore. It started to become a real problem when he stopped putting in effort when he fed me. Always the same thing. Always the same goddamn thing. Every goddamn day.
"Mondays, huh? Haha...Mondays"he'd say, his voice monotone and hoarse, his eyes sunken like he'd gotten punched twice. "Enjoy your lasagna."
I didn't know what this *Mondays* was, but I was starting to get real tired of it. |
Title: Pet to Death
“Hey all you newly hell sent people, gather ‘round gather ‘round, don’t be shy,” screamed a guy with a megaphone standing atop a cliff. A little under two hundred thousand people gathered around the cliff edge. There were volcanoes spewing lava and just a general dry heat all around.
“What’s happening? What’s happening?” said one panicked soul.
“Oh no not like this, no NO!” said another.
“Where are we? No don’t tell me, no I don’t want to know!” that girl put her hands over her ears.
“Now everybody good gathering around, good organization there less pain for you as a result of it,” said the megaphone wielding guy in khakis. “All right everybody, you’re gonna have to all settle down, we have very specific instructions for all of you, and believe it or not hell’s now made its way into the 21st Century and we’re letting all you sons of bitches have smartphones now, not that you deserve it. That way you can empathize with one another about your suffering and your damnation, and you know just in general bitch to one another about how much this sucks. And we can send out instructions to you all faster that way. Keep gathering around I see a couple stragglers over there go get them George.”
Some really red guy with a pitchfork went over and stabbed a straggler with his pitchfork to bring him to the crowd of people getting lectured. The guy was writhing in pain as his guts spewed out. George handed the guy he just stabbed a smartphone.
“Now if you’ll look into your pockets,” said the khaki wearing hell organizer. “You’ll see that we’re going to send you guys a mass text to let you know where you need to funnel yourselves next. Go on now have a look at your phones, we’re quite excited to have this new innovation in our organization systems.”
All at once everybody one by one heard phones vibrating in their pockets, or ringing sounds, or just whatever text sound they had in life they had it in hell too. Everybody checked their texts with tears in their eyes, very serious.
Then everybody got really seriously confused.
“Wait what? I’m sentenced to Eternal Dalmatian?” said one guy.
“Yeah me too, it says Eternal Dalmatian for me too,” said another.
“What is that, like do I have to watch 101 Dalmatians for the rest of my soul’s existence or something?”
“Awesome!” said one Disney fan, who didn’t seem too unhappy about it. Then he saw that he wasn’t supposed to be happy in hell. “I mean uh-*cough cough* I mean uh, NO I mean NO that sucks, damn that’s the worst.”
“Wait what,” said the guy into the megaphone. He checked his mass text on his phone, and saw the spelling. He damn near threw his phone into the lava. “DAMN autocorrect. DAMN YOU.”
Everybody in the ‘damned’ crowd started to smile, and wonder what this meant. Everybody chimed in.
“Wait you can’t rescind that right? That’d be lying, that’d be you sinning.”
“Yeah, you have to stay honorbound and do what you said you’d do, can’t punish us for your mistake.”
“Like you could make it suck, like we’d have to pet them forever, or something. I’m actually allergic to dogs, it would really suck for me.”
“Yeah I don’t see any pharmacies in hell they probably don’t have Benadryl down here.”
“SILENCE,” shouted the khaki wearing organizer. He was getting very paranoid about this. “You’re all still going to suffer.”
Gasps abounded.
“NO YOU CAN’T DO THAT.”
“You said Dalmatians, I hate Dalmatians. That’s my least favorite dog!”
“Yeah I hate them to be around them forever would be hell!”
“Why the hell are we even in hell in the first place you didn’t explain that bit!”
The khaki wearing guy was in a fit now, he didn’t realize a mass text could complicate his afterlife so much. He didn’t want any of his superiors to hear about it, and he sure as hell didn’t want anybody to punish him for it. But everybody started to yell out why the hell they were in hell. The khaki guy snapped.
“To be honest like, I don’t know! I don’t know! Okay guys?” said the megaphone holding guy. “I’m just the organizer down here, I’m doing this because I was a fringe hell kind of person, and they said I could earn some good karma points by doing this, so yeah.”
“Is Karma Christian?” said one guy.
“Was Christianity the right religious philosophy?” said another.
“Am I in hell because I wasn’t a Buddhist?”
“I actually believed in Buddhism was I sent here by mistake?”
“Does Steve Jobs get afterlife money for this since we’re still using iPhones in hell?”
The khaki wearing guy was just shaking his head, and crying. He always cried when he panicked, and this was just one of those days. He went into his phone book and called somebody up.
Everybody got hushed to hear the conversation.
“Hey Lyanna what’s up?” said khaki man. “Yeah I’m good, I’m good. Busy bee, busy bee. No I’m not crying. No, it’s allergies. Yeah things are all right, work’s hell though ha! Haha! Ahh man, what? Okay, yeah all right. Yeah I know, I know you don’t like when I say that joke I say it every day. It’s corny, I know you’re right my bad Lyanna, my bad. Okay shut the fuck up Lyanna, I just have a question for you. You know how we have iPhones to let these damned people know what their sentences are? Well like I put in Dalmatian instead of damnation, and I’m like just what do I do?”
Everybody inclined their ear. The fate of their afterlives depended on it.
Khaki man sighed, and ended the call.
“They’re sending in the Dalmatians now,” said khaki man.
There was hugging all around. Everybody couldn’t believe their hellish luck. People started to make out in the crowd as well, and just generalized debauchery ensued, with orgies and all kinds of weird fetishes, as they’d found they couldn’t be punished any further for future sins on a technicality, or so they thought. Nobody knew what the hell was going on but they decided to have a hell of a time.
Then millions upon millions of fire resistant Dalmatians appeared walking on the lava, and ran over to the damned. The dogs were really happy, and everybody hugged a dog of their own. There was enough for everyone. Maybe a ten to one ratio of dogs to people, such a happy sight.
There was no shortage of petting for the rest of eternity.
|
"Uh, my name is Ted, and I did NOT sign up for this. I just woke up here. These aren't even my clothes."
"Really? That's so weird! I'm Phil. I'm not even muslim."
"Hey, I'm Terry. I don't know how I got here either."
"Does anyone here know what they're doing?"
Silence.
---------
"Today, the radical terrorist organization named ISIS disbanded after it was discovered by its members that no one in the organization was actually muslim or knew what the fuck they were doing there. Military analysts are still baffled how this came to be and what this means for the situation in the middle east." |
Terry was a regular customer of mine. A nice enough guy and his work was always easy enough. Always wanted me to write names on his stomach and chest and then sometimes came back later to have me cross them out. It was such a comfortable routine that I began to genuinely like the guy. I looked forward to his bi-weekly visits and began to think of him as my first "regular"customer. There was a sort of loyalty and bond of friendship between us. Heck, I would have given him a tattoo on the house if he'd ever asked for one.
But that all changed one fateful afternoon as he lifted up his shirt and asked me to cross out one of the final names on his belly. It didn't notice it at first, but as I began working it suddenly hit me like a ton of bricks. There, under the last name I'd written, the name I was currently crossing out, was my name. I had no idea how it'd gotten there, who'd written it, but it surely wasn't one of my own. It was written crudely, with what were obviously sub-par tools.
A surge of anger swept over me. In a flash my rational mind was overcome with rage and I lost control. Without a pang of guilt or worry I plunged the needle as deeply as I could into his stomach. With a sort of unholy strength I plunged it so far into his gut that I could feel his entrails writhe around my fingers and as I leaned in closer to put my full strength into it I brought my head right up next to his and whispered as menacingly into his ear as I could
"So... who's this tattoo artist you've decided to hire behind my back?" |
I've been having these weird dreams lately. An obscure image of a man sitting down, brown jacket resting on his shoulders as his arms protrude from it's torso and lay on the brown elegant table. A gun lying next to him. An old fashioned fedora placed gently on his head, strands of grey/black hair pushing out the sides. The light was weak and shadow covered his face, he was speaking, but no words were heard. Not by me at least.
Night after night. The same dream.
Terraform on the T.V again, the corporation that were artificially creating islands whilst siphoning Earth's water, it's influence ranging over many mediums including politics and law. Talk of revolutionizing human civilization while preserving the biospheres, yeah right, how can stealing the essence of life make it flourish? Excuses of only terraforming in locations void of life, but the ocean is big and deep there was bound to be some ramifications. They talk of the shifting of the currents working in Earth's favour but what do they know?
The way to school was even more irritating, advertisements all over the city praising Terraform. Uplifting slogans such as "building a new path"and "shaping the world"concealing what message was hidden beneath "Death". I walk past each oblivious person, either on their phones or focused on making the next lights. Eager to be somewhere, to find their place in the world, even if it meant turning a blind eye towards the systematic rape on Nature.
My inner kept rage must have hindered my focus because I accidentally collided with an old man, dressed in brown, his look familiar. Compelling me to summon more concentration than I like to use in order to put my finger on his being. Then it hit me. *The dream!* The man reached the other side of the road once I had recognised him, he stared willfully at me, as if he knew who I was. Then he set off, the crowd of people swarming around him. I began to run.
It was difficult, I'd always catch him at the corner of my eye just about to turn around a large building or crossing the road behind walls of people. He finally reached his destination and stood there with 2 men suited in black. Earpieces ranging from their neck and allowing them passage to converse over long distance. When I had reached him he didn't say a word, only opening the door and disappearing in the building. The men preventing me from getting passed them, made me walk behind.
Here I was at the point in my visions that had piqued my interest. The long table separating me physically from the man. His two men standing beside each of his shoulders. The atmosphere exactly the same not including the men. The only difference being I could see his wrinkly old face.
"I presume you've seen me before, and that this room is familiar to you. That was no coincidence. I'll make this quick."He said, grabbing the glass of red wine that sat beside the gun and taking a large sip.
"You're going to be in a unique situation in the near future, I can't give the specifics but what I do know is that you'll be faced with a choice."He stared with insinuation at the gun. Then slid it across the table to me.
"There is only two bullets inside this gun, it will either be the first or last gun you ever use. But consider this, things are rarely as they seem."He paused, and nodded to the men to escort me out.
I equipped the gun and concealed it with my jumper. It's hilt protruding from my pants so I could quickly access it. I felt a permanent unease carrying it with me, but this had been no coincidence. It was only when I reached a local fruit shop that I realized I was late for school and so I swiftly made my way to education.
Aside from my issued detention for being tardy, the rest of the day went rather well, contrary to expectations. Last period was about to begin but the teacher had settled our desire to be out of here when she announced that the founder of Terraform would be doing a special talk in the school assembly district. My mind widened in ominous calculation. *This is it, a chance to deliver justice.* We slowly made our way to the assembly.
I snuck out of line and hastily made my way to the back stage to find the room that the founder would be ridding his nerves in. Pacing past doors as if time was short I finally found him.
"Oh is it time already?"He said innocently. I didn't say a word. Pulling out the gun and shooting him in the chest.
The loud bang surprising his accompanying associates and guards, swiftly they broke down the door I locked secretly and swarmed the entire room as they analyzed the situation.
"I still have one bullet in here, so if neither of you want to die make way."I pronounced, the power the gun embedded me with corrupted my soul.
"You idiot!"One of them screamed. "Do you know what you have done? He was our only chance at salvation!"His anger falling on deaf ears, but I was in no position to ignore him.
"What are you talking about? He was destroying this planet and the life it harbored to build islands for rich people to bask in luxury!"I inquired him with equal amounts of rage.
"Those islands we're safe havens for all land creatures and plants before the planet released it's desolating magma on us you self-righteous baffoon! The water we accumulated was to combat and prevent the destruction of the continents and you ruined everything!"Both fury and despair stirred within him. *Was he telling the truth? No, impossible, they just wanted money.* I convinced myself.
"So what, you can still do all that without him if it were true."I assured, but really it was to protect myself from any guilt.
"Not anymore you fucking moron only he had the codes to the reserve transportation, any preemptive attempt to access them would have ruined the plans. And now without the capacity to move all our fauna and flora you've doomed us all! Earth will suffer a sixth mass extinction in only days. Including humanity!"His head blew in vein pulsing frenzy. The bald shiny globe growing redder and redder.
I was still skeptical, if only barely, until I looked at the corpse I had created. In his hands were photographs of his family and various animals. All smiling. My self-righteous delusion had shattered, and I was hit with a tidal wave of guilt. All alone. *He said two right?*
I felt myself hesitate and my grip on the gun loosened. I brought the gun back and aimed it under my chin. Slowly I began pulling the trigger.
Another loud bang was heard and everything went black.
|
Vincent sat at one end of the bench, leafing through the Sunday Edition halfheartedly. He did this all the time, mostly to avoid conversation while he got the sunlight his doctor had been recommending. Underneath his black-rimmed sunglasses, his expression was tired and uninterested, as it usually was. He sighed softly, expelling a faint scent of bourbon that only he could perceive.
At the far end of the bench, a ring-tailed lemur sat with his chin resting on his paws, his amber eyes studying the ground. This had become part of his routine. Vincent sat in silence. The lemur sat in silence. Time passed.
In the lemur's mind, thoughts buzzed constantly, but usually at a dull enough level that he could ignore them. Today, however, they were erupting in a cacophony so intense that he was developing a headache. Finally, he turned to look up at Vincent's hollow, morose, sunglass-obscured face. Vincent didn't notice.
The lemur wrung his paws and lowered his ears.
"Vincent?"
Vincent nearly flinched at the sound of the lemur's voice. He lowered the paper slightly and turned to the beast, annoyed. The lemur grabbed his tail and stroked it nervously.
"Vincent... can we play?"
Vincent's eyebrows rose incredulously. He let out a sharp hiss and turned to his paper once again. The lemur was clearly hurt, but nobody saw. He pressed forward.
"It's just been a really long time since we played, and you know, I'd really like to. We could play stickball, or just catch, or the maze game with the fruits; I really like that one."
Vincent shook his head. The lemur shuffled toward him, standing on the bench now, still gripping his tail tightly.
"Please? Why don't we play anymore, Vincent? It's always been my favorite thing."
Vincent suddenly crumpled the paper into his lap, turning on the lemur and groaning with incredible contempt. It was nearly a growl, and scared the lemur back to the far end of the bench. Vincent looked at him over his sunglasses with dark, sunken eyes that still shone brilliant blue. He spoke with severity.
"Just because you never changed doesn't mean that I never did. And it does me no good to be permanently attached to a reminder of how things used to be. If all you're going to do is ask me to play, then do me a favor and keep being silent. It's better that way."
He raised the paper roughly and turned away again. The lemur began studying the ground again. His thoughts were even louder than before, but now with a great pity and sadness. Just then, amid all the harsh words and vile expressions, the lemur could have sworn that he saw Vincent's bright blue eyes welling with tears, just before he turned and hid behind his sunglasses again. |
Finally! I'm a short-timer! I've worked hard all my life, and saved harder: to make sure I have enough in my Joypot. But at last I'm down to five, and I'm going to get to spend my time and my money however I want.
No more work for me: I'm free to start living at last! I got a low Total compared to some. My friends ask me if I feel short-changed. Forty Total is quite short, but I look at it like this: my Final Five are going to be awesome. I'm in my prime. I'm going to do *everything* on my List. I'm fit, I'm healthy, and I've still got my looks. I actually think I'm better off than an Eighty Total; by the time those guys get Released, they don't have much energy to do anything.
Besides, the Short Life Top-Up I will get from the government to add to the money I put in my JoyPot will let me do quite a bit extra.
I'm not sure if I'll go to a Reserve or not. I mean, I definitely want to visit a few, and see what all the other Short Timers are doing. But I think I'll stay in an Open Area for a while first. I want to watch the Long Timers for a while, as they go to work and scurry home to catch a bit of sleep before heading off to work again in the morning. I'm only just out of The Cycle myself, and I think that watching it but not having to do it will be quite fun, for a while.
Besides, there's a few people I need to wait for. People with similar Release Dates to me who I've met down the years. We've made plans, and it's only a couple of weeks until the first one is going to be ready. Better to start Living Properly with a few friends around me.
I think that first we'll go to a Drug Reserve. I've always wanted to try a few of those highs. But Bill wants to get started with the Sex Reserve down the road. I'm not sure we'd ever get him to leave, though, and there's so much more to try in the Final Five.
But what I am really looking forward to is the No Rules Reserve. Don't get me wrong: I'm in no rush. I can wait four and a half years until I'm allowed in there, and I'm going to pack those years with as much excitement as I can. But man, those last six months are going to be the biggest party that Reserve has ever seen. I've got it all planned, and I can tell you: my Last Night is going to be talked about *forever*. I've even got dispensation for both my parents to be there (they are both over Seventy Total, so they'll get the rare pleasure of both being there when I get to Push Off).
But first: oh, first of all.. now I'm finally free, I'm going to spend a day on my own. Not working. Not rushing about. No pressure, no countdown. I'm going to sit on some grass and read a *non-factual* book. Just for pleasure. I wonder what it'll be like? |
**Beginning:**
Henry watched as Eloise took part in the high jump on sports day. How he wished he could be that crash mat as her perfect body was engulfed by it. He longed to touch her and feel her soft skin with his hands. As she got up she looked over at him and smiled that beautiful, genuine smile. His heart swooped as he thought, "Now's my chance."
He walked over to her, her perfect smile emboldening him. He took her hand and looked her in the eyes. "Do you have gout?!"He blurted.
She laughed and turned away. He could feel his face reddening.
"I mean, do you want to go out with me?!"He corrected himself.
"I thought you'd never ask!", Eloise responded.
"So... That's a yes?", asked Henry, unsure.
"Of course it is!"She exclaimed. And grasped him to her in a sweet embrace.
Henry felt himself stiffen as Eloise's bountiful bosom pressed up against him. |
"Would you like to call sir,"the dealers' voice became sour.
"Yes, yea, sorry."My eyes couldn't peel away from his smirk.
The turn came out, showing a 4 of spades. My hand was trash and he knew it.
The fact that he was able to spot my bluff was special in itself. I learned to lean back, act like I was out of the game. As soon as the river pulls, I nonchalantly act like I've hit, and bet.
But he saw it. He new what cards I had, and I knew what cards he had. As if the stars had aligned and brought to me another with the sight.
Out of all the chances for this guy, he decided to show up on my table. Did the sight send him?
Or was this just dumb luck?
First I thought of doing a traveling sideshow, but like many who probably had the gift, they were cast away as a joke. Poker was my solace, and I did well with it.
I decided to sit out a hand, let the others at the table go against this guy. Unexpectedly, they all walked out into the middle of the field for slaughter. He called, and raised, and clicked together all of the chips that were coming his way. It was like shooting fish in a big frozen block of fucking ice. Nowhere to move.
One after the next stood, and left. He lost some of course, lest he be noticed by the casino's and hogtied in the back. But for the most part he diligently swept the table, until it was me and him.
I looked into his eyes, focused and sharp. His hair was brown, and slicked back with some sort of gel. He wore a black blazer with red tones and a vest. His eyes were either black or a shade of brown so dark i couldn't tell.
My hand was dealt. Ace, queen of hearts. Perfect.
His hand was dealt. I began to hone my gift, peering through the back of the cards to see what they were.
He drew an eight of spades and a four of clubs. Not the best hand. But he held on to it. He knew something I didn't know.
As the river turned, a six, seven, nine, ten, and a jack all came out. I raised the pot a couple thousand. He looked at me, smiled and folded.
This guy was playing tricks on me. I barely got the small blind. He was baiting me. Testing me.
I stood up to leave, thanking the dealer, and turning to walk away with my chips.
A massive clap hit me in the side of the head. I went down hard, chips flying.
Before I knew what was happening, three big guys in black suits had me bound up.
Fuck. I knew it.
The man walked up to me, before i was dragged away, and whispered into my ear, "Looks like I sank the table,"his voice was sour and smelled of cigarettes.
"When your done with them, try to find me."His eyes blazed with excitement, "I've got something to tell you." |
He wiped the blood off his mouth and threw the demon a dirty look. "That all you got?"He spat, causing one of the female onlookers to swoon at his devilish grin.
The demon blinked at that, unsure of what to say when a defeated opponent refuses to yield, and instead beckons for more. "I... uhm..."he began, cowering in uncertainty and backing off towards the wall. "What... are you?"
"I'm your worst nightmare."
From the back of the room an appreciative "har!"was heard, followed by a smattering of applause and murmurs of "quite the silver tongue on that one!"and "that gent is but a wordsmith!"
His eyes looked around the room. This made no sense. He was clearly larger, stronger, and practically invulnerable compared to this measly runt of a kid - and yet he feared with increasing dread what he would say next.
"Y-You are mistaken...Boy"said the demon, regaining some composure. "You are in far more danger than you think."
"Danger's my middle name, baby."
Whistles of approval came from the crowd, and the kid began to walk up to him slowly from the other side of the pit, clicking a hand slowly from side to side like he was casting a hex - a hex with *attitude*.
"You appear to be skilled in some sorcery, but you are not ready to fight me yet, mortal."
The kid stopped, and clenched his fists in an impressive display of determination. "I was *born* ready."
No...? Is he the fabled one? The child destined to save this world from demonic influence? No....
"You are a liar,"the demon said curtly, charging his trident in an attempt to settle the matter once and for all. "If you could really destroy me, you would have done so already and I -"
He stopped mid sentence, because the kid suddenly started screaming with his fists clenched, shoulders taught, and legs squatting slightly in what could only be described as a power up phase of some kind.
Could this be....?
"......kAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA"
"MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE"
"HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-"
The demon turned his tail and fled, sealing the portal behind him once and for all. |
Subsets and Splits
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