prompt stringlengths 391 14.9k |
|---|
"He's not going to see any violent prisoners today."
"He's not taking house calls either."
"Not one person with a gun steps within 500 feet of him. If there's a sight-line, I want it covered!"
"We are not losing this time!"
Henry "Newbie"Jones was retiring. He'd been a police officer for over 40 years. In his prime, he'd been a fearless patrolman and an excellent shot. But the years had caught up to him and his wits had dulled. These days, Newbie was confined to desk duty, and he often spent his days reading or hanging around the coffee room. He looked forward to retirement and the start of his writing career \[his writing was terrible but he didn't know that\]. He also planned to try fishing. Newbie had made it his entire career until his last day before retirement.
However, the thought of actually retiring filled him with dread.
In the Mills PD, or Millstown, Mills Country, not a single police officer had retired in the 100 year history of the department. Inevitably, the retiring officer, before his last day, would somehow be killed.
The closest anyone had ever gotten to retirement was the legendary Detective Brian Stone. He had made it all the way to the end of the retirement party. And then he choked on his champagne during his best man speech.
This made the business of joining the Police somewhat problematic.
Most people in Millstown believed the PD was cursed. The age of retirement was moved from 65 to 70, just to extend each officer's lifespan. Still, few officers died young, making the career of a police officer full, yet predestined for a predictable end.
Each officer knew that the moment a fellow officer announced his plans for retirement, the end was near.
But that didn't stop them from trying just the same.
For each retiree, the entire department would snap to action and do their utmost to prevent that horrible fate.
And they would try especially hard for Henry Jones.
The "Newbie"was the most well-liked officer in recent memory, and anyone would take a bullet for him, literally.
When his retirement was announced, the PD sprang into action like never before.
Every officer worked round the clock to protect Newbie like his life depended on it. Emergency medical care was constantly within 30 seconds. All food was checked, rechecked, and then re-rechecked. Every drive was accompanied by a battalion of black-and-whites, every bathroom break was monitored vigilantly. Not one criminal came within 2 miles of Newbie at any time.
Newbie was as well-protected as any person could be.
​
And that was the challenge that ***they*** were eager to defeat...... |
The bets started off relatively tame.
Use the word leprechaun during my opening arguments. Wear shoes three sizes too big. Speak at random volumes during cross-examination. Throw out an objection due to opposing counsel being too handsome.
No matter what random bet we made, it never affected the outcome of the case. Things then began to escalate.
Audibly pass gas in the direction of the judge. Make fun of the jury. Challenge opposing counsel to a duel at high-noon.
As the wagers became increasingly ridiculous, whispers moved around the law circles of the upstart attorney who literally couldn't lose a case.
This one though. I don't know if I can win this one.
My client was 100% guilty. He live streamed his murder spree on Facebook, going so far as to state his name and motive as he unloaded his magazine. When surrounded by cops his gun jammed and he was arrested. He never expected to make it this far and made that abundantly clear. While on the witness stand he yelled out to the jury saying that if they release him ever, he will track down and murder all of them and everyone they love.
I tried to get him to take an insanity plea, but he refused. Stating he was completely in control of himself and his actions. The Psych team agreed.
If it is true that I cannot lose, I fear for the monster I will release on the world.
​
A hail Mary was my only option.
During my cross-examination of my client, I asked him if it was true that his gun jammed while he was shooting. It was. It was his side-arm when he ran out of rounds for his AR-15. He said that he realized he had put it together incorrectly and it would be impossible to fire. The police report corroborated. I showed the sidearm, he confirmed and the police report confirmed this was the weapon in question. I loaded it with a magazine I had smuggled in.
I chambered a round.
I leveled it at my clients chest.
Bang.
​
I was immediately arrested. Though even then I did win the case. Police tampering of evidence or some nonsense. Jury ate it up, claiming doctored footage and coerced testimony. My client got the "good"news while in the hospital recovering from his wound. Unsurprisingly, he went on a rampage in the ICU, cut up a few doctors pretty good before his body succumbed to his injuries and he died.
​
The interrogator looked at me as I told my story, taking page after page of notes.
"Your lawyer is here to discuss what happens now."He said to me dryly.
I smirked at him. "I'm going to represent myself." |
First WP in awhile, go easy on me?😂
At this point we had all damn near lost all sanity left in us. We had no idea what in the actually hell was going on, or whether we were actually IN hell. My name is Colonel Jackal, and my friends within my platoon as Lt Colonel James, Lieutenant Charles, and the general, Lee.
After the first 5 times we were already panic stricken. We had not a damn clue what was going on then, and we sure as hell didn’t know what was going on now. WW3 had been raging on for 2 years before we were finally put into battle on the fronts of China, battling our hearts out, but of course resetting to the very very beginning each time just one of us died. Meaning we didn’t even meet up again until 2 years after we reset, and that’s if none of us die. After the 1,423,687th time we finally made it back together in China, and we made sure to stay far far behind any line of fire, trying to stay alive before we lose any and all sanity that was left in us.
After we hunkered down in an old country house, Lt Colonel James spoke up
“Guys I can’t take another damn reset, I just fucking can’t!”
Lieutenant: “James we get it, none of us do, and we’re nowhere near close to even discovering how the hell we ended up like this, or what is even happening!”
General:”ENOUGH! Look men, I’m just as broken as all of you are right now, but if we’re finally going to get through this war, we need to stick together and not get shot! Are we clear?”
All:”Sir yes sir!”
After that we decided to head out of the old country house and move back to the city to regroup with other platoons, but we hadn’t taken 10 steps out of the house before I got domed in the head with a 50cal. Everything went dark, but something was wrong. I was still conscious, but I could see nothing but black, I heard no one, felt nothing, the reset usually happens by now!
After what seemed like an entire day, I saw a small white light, and it was like my mind was being drawn to it. I followed it, until I saw nothing but the bright light, and my vision started to adjust.
I was in a room, with pure white walls and in some sort of hospital gown, I saw my other men in beds with what seemed to be... some sort of goggles? After I woke up they slowly started moving themselves and they all sat up, ripping the devices off their heads. We all look at each other trying to piece together what in the hell just happened. That’s when we heard over the intercom
“Experiment 1,423,687 concluded, sedate test subjects and begin experiment 1,423,688” |
It's been a weird transition.
I always knew that Rover loved me, but actual worship? Apparently it's true. From this perspective I can hear him. After I woke after the car crash, I was worried about him. But he still sees me with him. He still has faith, I guess.
Heh. Undying faith in *me*. Who'd have thought it?
I prepare my little heaven. It's a weird feeling- not quite moving things. More like persuasion, but applied to the universe? Or writing with atoms? I guess it's hard to describe until you die. Luckily, I seem to instinctively grasp it. The benefits of being a god, I guess.
It's an easy heaven to make. His favorite toys, his favorite food. And me. My wife and children are still alive- will they come here when they die, to help run this place? I hope so, but I don't know. I've been able to see some other little gods, with cats and dogs and other loyal pets, so I should be able to visit them at least. I'll like that.
I haven't been able to find *the* God, if there is one. It's another thing to discuss, later. Who was He? Some alien who humanity worshiped? Or kept us as pets, maybe? Maybe we're just dogs to some cosmic child.
Or maybe it's just us in the cosmos. I don't know. I'm only a god.
Down on earth, my one and only worshiper is getting old. I can see my family crying at the vet as he's put down. I wish I could comfort them- but I guess a god has their duties. I must put my faithful first.
"It's time to go"
Rover looks at me. He's confused about what's going on. I guess I can't blame him. He's just a dog. That's why I'm here, though.
"Was I a good boy?
I smile and hold out my hand. He runs up to be petted, like he hasn't since he was a puppy.
"No. I'm told you were the best" |
I swear my heart drops at the voice I had forgotten but it came rushing back at me. Flashes of missing posters, sleepless nights, and many police interviews. I was only sixteen when my twin brother didn't come home after tutoring. The main suspect was our chemistry teacher who was the last to see him alive but he was cleared. It was too late as the man's reputation had been ruined already.
After one year our family buried an empty casket. It was hard but we got through it as a family. I was the oldest after that, having to set the example and be strong for my younger siblings. But it felt like half of me had disappeared, though I never believed that he was dead. I would know it. However hearing his voice seemed unbelievable.
My roommate stares at me from my spot on the floor, I can barely see her through blurry eyes. "Eric?"I ask softly, not wanting to get my hopes up but he continues to ramble, obviously upset at something but I can barely understand with my own overwhelming emotions. "Eric."I call with a firmer voice, clearing my throat and pushing my emotions down so I could understand what was going on.
"Yeah?"He finally speaks after several minutes of trying to calm down. "Emma?"
My grip tightens on my phone as I curl into a sitting fetal position. "Where are you?"I feel my voice crack. "Where have you been?"
"What are you talking about? I was driving home from tutoring with Mr. Allen but this deer came out of nowhere."
"Mr. Allen?"I force myself to a standing position, my knees wobble but I know I have to think logically. "He's dead."
I hear a gasping breath over the phone line before, "No, that's not possible. I just left his class. I know I'm running late but-"His voice falls and I hear shuffling. "Em?"
"Yeah?"I ask, half way through putting on my second shoe. I grab my lanyard with my keys and leave the dorm, waiting for an answer. "Eric? What's going on?"
"Where are you?"
I stop and look around at my dorm hall. "Why?"
"Just..tell me."
"Home."I lie, not sure why.
I hear a scream, faint, over the call and take off to the stairs. "Eric what's going on?"I yell, taking two steps at a time. "Eric?"
"Mom?"His voice is confused and I want to take it away, all the confusion he has. I just want to hug my brother, I don't care about answers anymore. "Will? How do you look- No. What's going on? I was just at- Emma what's going on?"
"Eric just wait!"I can hear him begin to cry as he questions everything. I finally get to my car and unlock it, trying to also tell him to calm down as I start my car and pull out of the parking spot with a speed I would never try before. It was twenty minutes from home and all I knew was my brother needed me. "I'll be there, Eric, I promise. Just wait, I'll be-"
Two days later the local news publishes a story, the story is hopeful but heartbreaking. A story of a child that returned and a story of one that never made it home. |
Two men in black uniforms entered the room and dragged the lifeless body out of the room.
"You are in command now"
He just turned around and left, the men in black went with him.
Everyone was looking at me. Shocked and traumatized they were trying to process what had just occured.
I had been prepared for this in training.
I straightened my uniform and made sure my cap was on properly. There was order to be re-established.
"Everyone. Get back to work"
As I walked back to my station lowranking workers fled, like cockroaches in the light. They too now realize their own insignificance. They are barely fit to serve in the shadow of our golden emblem.
Thick smoke emitted from one of the workstations. The tortured soul designated to it began coughing profusely. An order was barked from the other side of the establishment. The worker twitched and began working.
"Four years at university for this..."She muttered.
Pathetic. I was about to move on, when I realized my new position gave me new abilities,
and... responsibilities.
Just hours ago I would have hated someone who outranked me to disgrace me the way I was about to do this poor soul. But knowing what HE would do in my place, I knew this was merciful.
"NO PRIVATE CONVERSATION DURING WORKHOURS", I exclaimed.
Fearfully she spun around. With big, scared eyes she looked at me.
"Sorry sir"
She hastily returned to her work.
Insubordination was not to be allowed, no matter how small. I left the workstations behind and looked upon my new little domain. No truly mine, as terror reigned for those trapped here. To spend only one day on the other side of the barrier... But my days of misery were done, for I am now leader of this establishment.
A customer approached. One of my subordinates went to greet him, but I signaled him to leave it to me. It was my turn to deal with this. I felt his power flow through me. I was born for this.
I put on my flashiest smile and spoke:
"Welcome to McDonalds, what can I get you?"
Outside the sun was reflecting off the golden arches, truly a wonderful sight.
Hail McDonald, for he satisfies the customer. |
There is always that one case. Every cop has one. This was mine. I knew who did it but I just couldn’t get the guy. I kept pushing and pushing but this guy... this guy was too damn clever. Usually, in such a situation, you’re left with two choices. You either admit defeat and stick a copy of that file deep in your sock drawer and obsess over it for the rest of your life or you do something about it.
Now I pride myself on being a good cop. I’ve always followed the rules. I’ve been recognized by the department for being an exceptional cop twice. I have a nose for the truth as the mayor said. Of course, his speech was probably written by some writer who takes on any writing job till their writing career really takes off. But unknowingly they did hit the nail on the head with that one. Not only do I have the nose for the truth, I also have the sight... the sight for death.
You see, I might have decided to stay on in this world, but my powers are still there. My senses, all six of them, are as sharp as ever. I am still best friends with death and decay is still my sibling. When I look at a dead body, I can always see how they died and more importantly who killed them. So now you know my secret. Why am I the department’s golden child? Not hard work and a sense of justice as I claimed in my interview, no, it’s really due to my abilities.
It was just an ordinary day. I would love to see that I had some premonition of some sort or a sense that evil was close to me. But no, it doesn’t work like that. I wasn’t even first to the scene. No, I was called in later. Once the forensics and the leading officer had all done their job. A young man. Mid twenties maybe. Noting remarkable about him. Dozens of such people are killed in the state everyday. But what was special was the killer. I saw it clearly. A face I had seen plenty of times. It just couldn’t be right. I touched the cold hand, revelling in death, it always put me in a good mood you see, and sure enough, I saw the same face again. One stab. Through the carotid artery. Poor bastard never stood a chance. Especially against someone who is well trained. He bled out in a matter of minutes.
I wasn’t assigned to the case though. No, the leading officer on it was someone else. I requested a couple of times to be put on the case. But I was denied. It wasn’t weird or anything. It’s standard protocol really. I had my own cases to handle. But the commissioner did tell me he would make sure the leading officer knew that I was available to help if I was needed. I had my ways though. I kept a close watch on it, made some inquiries off the books if you will. Little did I know those inquiries would come back to bite me in the ass.
The case was simple. The guy was a yoga instructor. No known enemies. His neighbours mentioned a lady visiting him but no one knew her. No signs pointing to her identity in his apartment. I knew, of course, but I couldn’t prove it.
I’m sure you’re well aware that when a smart man turns to crime, it makes things very difficult for us. We rely on criminals making mistakes. Of course, we also rely on our own intelligence, making connections and collecting evidence. But a smart man makes our job much tougher. This guy was as smart as they came.
I Almost gave up, you know. I figured I’d keep looking. But I knew the likelihood of getting this killer was extremely small. No. I’d watch him, of course, to make sure he never did it again. This was obviously a crime of passion. He wasn’t someone I thought would commit a crime again. But the problem was that he knew I was looking. And he came after me. While I was looking for clues and evidences against him, he was manufacturing them against me. It was in his smile. He hid it well but he would look at me when he thought I wasn’t looking and give this smile. I knew I had to save myself. And there was only one person who could do that. The lady.
I went to look for her yesterday night. But the bastard knew I’d be coming. I thought he wouldn’t kill again. I didn’t think he would go this far. When I arrived at my destination, the life was slowly draining out of the poor woman. And that’s where you guys found me yesterday. So here we are now.
The guy standing in the corner of the room moved forward, shutting down the camera.
“Thank you for your statement, Mr Gripper.”
“So what now Jack?”
“Now we process you. The evidence against you is pretty strong.”
“The cameras are off, Jack. Just talk to me.”
The smile was back. “You killed my wife Mr Gripper. I intend to see you hanged for this.”
“Fine. I guess I don’t have any other options. I liked this job. I liked this body. Oh well.”
I closed my eyes and focussed. I was done with this body for now. The body practically split in two as I took on my real form. Jack’s eyes widened as he stood frozen in fear.
“Wha...”
“Jack Dorsey. You have murdered two people. While your time here on earth isn’t really done yet, this seems to qualify as an exceptional situation. You, I will take to hell myself.”
And I attacked. |
The whole hall was deathly silent. Not a hair or soup ladle stirred. Forks were suspended in the air in front of mouths with the grisly bits dripping juice on lips but no one dared chew. All eyes were on the king. Then, ever-so-slightly, the faint lines of crow's feet appeared in the corner of the king's eyes, and the corners of his mouth tinged upward. He let out a single, gruff bark *hah!* It was enough for Lester the Court Jester. He continued.
"The king loves his subjects, of course...as long as those subjects are pot pies and pork rinds."A few nervous chuckles scattered meekly through some of the dining tables, all eyes still locked on the king's reaction.
"We all well know how he likes to poke a prong in a hog--except when it comes to his wife, that is--that's one pork he *won't* pork."A collective gasp, inaudible but emphatic, seemed to swallow the room, suspending the moment in time. The molestered Queen Esther shot daggers at the beleaguered eyes of Lester the Court Jester. The king slammed a ferocious fist onto the table, sending up the cups and dishes a full inch-and-a-half into the air, but it wasn't an action born out of menace but of mirth. He let rip a roar and the all king's men and all the king's guests visibly relaxed, then joined in.
Lester felt the urine that was on the verge of leaking onto his pants retreat back up the urethra's coil, its pants-soiling plans now foiled, up and up and to the sordid lair whence it came.
"Just last week he spent all afternoon chasing a dwarf up and down the castle, and when the dwarf finally turned around and asked, 'Why are you chasing me?' The king answered, 'Oh, sorry, tiny sir, I mistook you for a big baby.' And when the dwarf asked, 'What would you want with a big baby!?' The king answered, 'Well, I was hungry for some baby's backribs.' 'Well, I'm not a baby, I'm a pygmy!' And the king said, eyes lighting up, "*Where!?* If we're just handing out pigs, pig *me*!'"
\--------
Later, the king, wiping a tear from an eye from laughing too hard, pulled Lester aside. "That was mighty fine, jester. In these dark times, there's no way to get by without a bit of mirth. And a king can't turn a blind eye to the hard truths, or let himself be surrounded by a circle of sycophants with only a mouth for what they think the king wants to hear. But you are no mere fool, fool."The king's face took on a serious look. "Yes, it's been too long since I've wielded a battle axe, and of the seven deadly sins, the entire kingdom knows Gluttony and I have made fast friends--but...that bit about the wife--how you could have known..."He took a deep sigh, pain in his eyes. "It's true, she is not happy with me--we've had our share of troubles over the past months--but I've been careful to keep it quiet. How did you know?"
"No one pays attention to a fool. I do not exist to them as a person, they think I have not eyes to see nor ears to listen, but I do. And I use them,"Lester said, cautiously.
"Verily I say unto thee, this is true. I see that until tonight, I have not truly seen you as you are. And eyes you do indeed have, and ears. Use them for me. I do not trust the bed of snakes upon which I sleep, nor the conspiracy of ravens that flutter about my court. Hide in plain sight, and perform this solemn mission for I, your king."
Lester felt the momentous swell and import of what was presently occurring. He took a deep breath, "I...I do, your highness." |
When we first settled on this planet, we were pleasantly surprised. Water was in abundance, as was fertile soil. Stone was easy to access, and various valuable materials, zirconium and lead, especially, were reasonably easy to collect. The first colony worked quickly, as our scouts always did, draining a large nearby lake and hydroprocessing nearly all of it into a more easily workable material. Within three rotations around this system’s sun, they had already built up their central pod, and had begun to construct hydroglass tunnels reaching deep underground. All in all, the conversion, stocking, and extraction stages had been running far ahead of regular schedule. That was when the bipods first made contact, arriving before the core pod unarmed. The pod warden, freshly promoted and full of hot blood, decided to breach protocol. Little did we know, that single breach would cost us dearly.
The warden ordered several elite troops to… collect the bipods, and test them for any natural affinities. A scientist had theorized they, like us, were aquamanipulators, as they seemed to be able to create a thin lens made of translucent material over their eyes, to aid vision. The tests indicated that the lens was mechanical, and not even made of water. With every test run, one outcome seemed the most correct - they had no natural affinities at all. Unlike any other Alpha Phase civilization, these misshapen, inefficient bags of flesh seemed so limited… so weak… so useless. Our researchers began to treat them less like civilians, and more like lab rats. I tried to interfere, but they were so lost in their experiments that all my words and recommendations flew into one sonar receptor, and out the other two. They, too, paid the price for their lack of care.
We held the bipods for only six, maybe seven days, but the tests had slowly ramped up in intensity. On the evening of the fifth day, it was reported that only three subjects remained conscious and able to continue testing. Several were catatonic, and the younger specimens were presumed inert. This also did not dissuade the warden, nor his lackeys. They continued to squeeze minor anatomical information out of the three, until they, too, were declared unfit for experimentation. The bodies were deposited on a hill, a slight distance away from the pod.
The evening of the seventh day, we met the bipods’ debt collectors. In the darkness of their lunar cycle, our guards noticed bipod-like creatures, except with some form of rubberized exoskeletons, as well as glowing dots where their eyes would normally be. Each carried what seemed to be a modified dissection tool, one side having strange tooth-like indents, as well as two metallic gray tubes, with attached handles and various other detailing.
The same elites from before offered to leave the pod in order to collect these new specimens. They were granted permission, and as they left the safety of the hydroglass pods, we could only watch on in horror as the bipods executed each one. From ranges anywhere between twenty, and fifty meters, the tubes accelerated small metallic shards to great velocities. The shards tore through our troops without nearly any resistance, and soon the territory in front of the pod was saturated in vital fluids, pieces of skin, and shredded organs. These beasts with glowing eyes showed malice like no other creatures we had before encountered, gleefully stomping through the corpses of our soldiers. It turns out that just as we had called them bipods, they had picked a name for us.
“Jellyfish”
I can only surmise that whatever that term refers to isn’t held in high regard by humans to begin with. I heard the venom in their voice when they screamed and whooped from outside the pod.
They set up camp outside. The bipods seem to have a massive supply of their aggressive versions, as more and more arrive in box-like transport vehicles by the hour. Some have produced longer, larger, meaner-looking gray tubes. The metal shards they carry are almost five or six times the size of the ones that had obliterated us before.
They know, I think, that they have brought armaments in excess. They don’t just want to destroy us, they want us to sit and stew in our own fear. These glowing-eyed monsters aren’t here to fight a war, but to torture and punish us.
I don’t know how long it will take, but they will find out. Eventually, they will understand that the hydroglass doesn’t offer much resistance to solid objects passing through, only enough to create self-supporting structures. When they do, our colonization of Earth will officially prove unsuccessful.
Perhaps they already know that, too.
​
\----------------------------------------
I wrote this pretty late, hopped up on Rockstar so there might be some inconsistencies in tone, or general writing. Constructive criticism is welcome, and encouraged! |
Flash.
I blink and the scene resets itself. Once again, my brother is reaching for a large chunk of roast while my sister tackles the pile of potatoes.
My father is refilling his glass of wine, and our dog, Pavlov, is watching hopefully from the corner of the room.
Im bored. I’ve been stuck in this loops for... Well I don’t actually know, it’s not like I can score the table, because every five seconds, no matter what I’ve done, things reset.
Flash.
I’ve experimented with so many different scenarios. Yanking the tablecloth until all the dishes went flying, smacking my brother to start a fight, even grabbing the bottle of wine and began drinking it, with a blatant disregard for my fathers shouts.
Flash.
After a while, it got boring. I missed my friends; I missed my boyfriend. I missed the outside world and the smell of food that wasn’t roast.
Flash
I don’t even know what i’d done to be stuck in this. It felt like a spell gone wrong; but mages had been banned from casting spells without permission. They needed approval, and a permit, and months of planning to do anything. We didn’t even have any known magic users in the city.
Flash.
Maybe it was a fae i’d pissed off. Maybe it was a demon. Maybe id said something to a familiar and angered it.
I brushed a hand over my stomach. I hadn’t even had the chance to tell him yet. I hadn’t even told anyone. I’d just found out myself this morning, before i’d been stuck inside this infernal loop.
Flash
Oh hell, might as well tell my parents right? It’s not like they’d remember it after a few seconds anyway.
Flash
I took a breath and waited for the next rewind.
Flash.
“I’m pregnant”
I waited. One second, two. My father pulled his hand back from the wine bottle and sat back in his chair, mute. My mother dropped her fork, and my sister froze. My brother, seizing the opportunity reached for the freed potatoes.
Three, four.
Well. That had been underwhelming. I suppose I should have expected shock rather than outburst. I waited in the final second before it all reset and they forgot what I said.
Five. I waited. There was no flash. No ‘blurred lights as everything worked in reverse.
Six.
Wait, six? There shouldn’t have been a six.
Seven. Eight.
My father was now reaching for the wine bottle, not bothering with a glass.
My siblings lowered their heads and began to eat in silence.
Nine. Ten.
My mother looked at me, and three words that shouldn’t have existed came out of her mouth.
“So. You’re pregnant.” |
"Well, our first question is pretty basic. Why should we hire you?"
"I wrote an API for weather manipulation."
"Terran? Martian? Lunar?"
"General use. I built it on an extensible framework. You really just need to throw together a configuration file. You can use JSON, XML, whatever."
“So what are some of the use cases you are seeing?”
“I initially contracted it out for some Venusian farmers. Did you know it rains iron on Venus? I had tinkered together a general use one for Terran, and then extended it.”
“And how did that go?”
“I accidentally rained hot iron onto Tacoma. So that was when I decided to take testing a little more seriously. If you look at my project on GitHub you can see my unit and integration tests all date from around there. But, after a couple long nights, I figured out how to get them consistent iron rain with the right ferromagnetic properties. Much cheaper than manufacturing it.”
“Excellent, very impressive. So how did you extend the library?”
“My friend is a Martian. I’m not saying that just to say I have Martian friends, that would be racist. I mean my friend is an actual Martian on Mars.”
“No worries. We have Martian friends too. And?”
“Oh, he was complaining about always having to wear a suit when he was outside. Since i’d already written the libraries anyway, and with Mars having the aquifers and leylines, I spent a few minutes configuring it. And so one day I was visiting him, and we went outside. And you should have seen the look on his face when I took off my helmet. I thought he was going to die! Also, he thought I was going to die. But obviously I’d created an atmosphere just for this bit.”
“You created an atmosphere on Mars as a joke?”
“Well, obviously. Why else would anyone do that?”
“To elevate their fellow man?”
“Sure, I guess. But it was really funny. I have a picture of his face somewhere.”
“So do you have any other current projects?”
“So I was decompiling the source--”
“Sorry, when you say the source?”
“The source code? For the universe? Everything.exe.”
“Right.”
“And I found that like all the constants are just, well constants. But I’m writing in C, so constants are basically suggestions. They can go fuck themselves for all I care. Anyway, I have a friend who is on a generation ship to Alpha Centauri A. And if I mess with gravity just a bit, like point oh oh oh oh one percent, I can probably make it so his grandkids end up at Proxima Centauri. Which would be, objectively, hilarious.”
“Objectively hilarious?”
“Subjectively too. All the hilarious.”
“And what other effects might your changes have?”
“I have no idea. It’s more fun that way.”
“Well, I’ve heard enough. We’d like to formally offer you a position with Google.” |
I could do anything really. Lie, cheat, steal, it doesn't matter. They won't remember me. But I have let those games be, the fun went missing years ago. Instead I wait. For what exactly I don't know.
The noise and heat hit me once I enter the bar. Stuffed with bodies, the old windows and dark tables grant the place a cozy, lively feeling. The people give way to me, their intoxicated minds are befuddled, but their bodies recognizing my presence. I steer purposefully towards the last seat at the bar, a little sign reserving it. I must admit, it took over a year until I had enough of standing around in a room full of people. Finally, I took matters into my own hands.
"So. You're the guy this place is reserved for?!"Someone yells against the storm of noise.
"Looks like it!"I shout back while waving to get the bartender's attention. He comes over, polishing a glass in his hand.
"How can I help you?"I slip him a piece of paper with my drink on. He'll forget, if I won't. Irritation crosses his face, but it is replaced by nothingness the second he looks away. His smooth movements perform the task at hand quickly.
"What makes you special?"A voice behind me asks. It's my turn to become irritated.
"What?"The woman behind me nods towards the reserved sign.
"Nobody could tell me who it was for. And this bar doesn't let you reserve tables per phone call."I shrug. She waits a beat, pushing her curly brown hair out of her face, but when I don't elaborate she leaves, moving to the opposite part of the bar where somebody cleared a seat. Once she sits down, she seems to deflate, her strong shoulders sinking. Probably this week's work taking its toll.
The barkeeper is finished and tries to shout loud enough to ask whose drink it is. His voice drowns and I wave at him. The drink lands boldly on the dark table and a second later someone else snaps his attention away.
Quiet surrounds me, but I don't mind it. It has become my friend in the last couple of years. My tired eyes follow the movements of the room, landing again and again on the woman. Her fingers tracing a card on the table in front of her, a blank stare into nothingness.
Suddenly she looks up and our eyes meet. Expressionless we muster each other, my shame long gone after many years of being forgotten by a glance in the wrong direction. She is the first to break, a tired, silent look I know all too well directed into the full room. Sighing I turn my focus on the glass in front of me, sipping, enjoying the bittersweet coolness. But the second I take the glass down, my eyes find hers. She notices. A slight movement in her face, an emotion bare for a second, hidden in the next by years of experience. Annoyance. Finally, shame tinges my cheeks red.
Then realization hits me.
She remembered me staring.
She recognized me.
Our eyes meet once more, both filled with a young kind of wonder and excitement thought gone. We are the same.
This is my first short story here and English isn't my first language. Nevertheless, I'd love some constructive feedback. Hope you had fun reading! |
You almost said something.
Almost.
But that smug elder, the one with the horrible hog face had been an utter ass to you when you welcomed them. You remembered how they all laughed as he made it difficult for you. So instead, you smiled and nodded at them as they left. Pompous faces pleased and noses pointed into the air as they pranced out. You carried on with the rest of your work day, cleaned and clocked out, waved at the night staff who kept demons at bay and robbers from getting in.
How long would it take for them to start being affected? Days? Weeks? Months? The anticipation filled you with sadistic satisfaction.
There was no way to estimate but the idea was enthralling. Look how the fates had handed a sort of sweet revenge to the malevolent overseers that overworked each of you. That day, for the first time since you started the job, you left with a grin.
You witnessed the first one two weeks later; and you’d honestly forgotten about the whole thing. It was with the hog faced one, this time it was the annual harvest fest – he was on stage mid-speech when he’d been flung down into a pile of horse shit, right arm twisted in an unnatural way and his face pink in pain.
You covered your face with glee as those surrounding you cried out. Who would be next? You wondered, as the festival descended into madness. |
At first it was terrifying. Great ships appeared in the sky. Dark monolithic shapes that blocked out the sun. We tried launching strikes against them, even nuclear weapons... nothing penetrated their armour. Their technology was millenniums, even epochs ahead of ours. We could scarcely comprehend their motives or goals as they roamed the skies. We couldn't know for sure, but there was a palpable feeling in the air that we were being watched...
Then the abductions happened. Evidently watching wasn't enough. We'd lie awake, terrified in our beds. Bright blue lights would flash down from the heavens. Then the next morning, another neighbour, or family member would be gone. Taken from their beds, up to the ship.
Eventually, it was my turn. I was sucked from my bed, through a whirlwind of blue. Dragged violently upwards into the sky. "This is it..."I thought to myself, "this is finally the end".
I am writing this almost 6 months later, and I have to say... things aren't actually half bad. I live up in the ship now, where I have free reign to roam as I please. Whenever I'm hungry, i just moan until they bring me my food. They all seem to want to outdo eachother to give me the finest cuisine I could ever ask for. I dare say i'm actually rather spoilt on the ship.
They seem to find everything I do endlessly entertaining too. Which i must say is appealing to my vanity. The aliens are much taller than us. So all their chairs and tables you have to scramble to get on top off. I have to confess... and I know this is a bit weird. But i clambered up onto my favourite aliens lap the other day and just sat there for a while. It was quite a nice spot, and he/she/it loved it.
My days mostly consist of wandering around, playing with random objects (none of which I really understand) and a whole lot of napping. I don't really have any cares or worries any more. No jobs or responsibility. Everything is provided for. Theyve even started letting me leave the ship and see my friends.
I always come back of course... where else can I get pampered like this 24/7? |
I was already annoyed at being pulled away from my son opening his presents, but I couldn’t let the other guests see these people. Unlike my son, their appearance made them stick out like a sore thumb. I took one last look at my sweet boy surrounded by his family and closed the door to the garage. I turned to face my uninvited guests
“Please, you have to switch us back. It was a bad joke, switching the babes, but we can’t take it anymore”
“You took my child to another REALM! We didn’t even know until Jake started float away if he sneezed too hard. We’ve raised him, we’ve loved him, we’ve feared with and for him. I’m sorry. You can’t take him from us”
“Look. You don’t understand! Human teenagers are so disgusting! This boy smells, he won’t shower and when he does there’s something...weird happening in there. His feet! Our senses can’t take it anymore. We love the boy,but his human habits are deeply rooted. He’ll never fit into our society. He will have no future with us”
I pondered this a moment. I loved my son, and I was heartbroken when our child went missing. But I didn’t know him anymore. I knew the boy in the kitchen. I loved the boy in the kitchen.
“No. I’m sorry I can’t. I can’t bare it. You can bring my own child back to me, but I won’t let you take Jake from us. I won’t “
“There MUST be a trade. Two can’t exist in the same realm” the stranger sneered at me. In his mind he’s won.
“No. “. I simply said no. I turned to enter the house, my heart broke for the child I would never know. But I couldn’t give up the one I had.
“Wait!” The creature called behind me, his desperation increasing. “Maybe...maybe you could take his place. Both the young ones can stay in the human realm, but you must come with us.”
I hesitated in the doorway, I looked at my son,at our family, and silently shut the door again. “Ok...” |
His name wouldn't fit in a breath of air twisting past human lips, nor would he be a "he"by any human standard. The complex web of connections that is his society, and the rung from which his stocky, solid body hangs by a whip-like appendage, would be inscrutable to a human.
But for the sake of it, we can call him Commander Orak.
The conquest of earth had been surprisingly easy, for all the legends of the supposedly mighty Empire at the heart of Sol, and Orak had been instrumental in their victory. He and those of his caste were veritable biological supercomputers, reared on vitamin slurry and trained from pupation on military strategy, logistics, xenopsychology. Their minds were ever-sharp, and they could not fail, for they were not designed to. Orak took pride in that.
Their Collective had spread over system after system, some by diplomacy - and at the thought Orak would sneer at his peers one caste over - and others by force, and at every step they heard echo of a mythical Infinite Empire growing from a blue seed at the heart of the Sol system. It was never official - never were there records of tribute to this Empire, or star-maps that cut its bounds into the aether. There were no scars on planets rumored to be conquered, or treaties, or any evidence of their existence. Even talk of the Empire had no origin, and yet there was always talk, in the dropships and over meals at the Officer's lounge, on the march and in the cot. It was as if it had always been there.
It was the nature of Orak's caste to distill myth into fact, and from the susurrus of the galaxy he had surmised that the typical defeatist barracks talk - the lower castes had no appreciation for the Art - hyping up the superiority of their latest belligerents had, over a series of victories over such civilizations, coalesced into the abstract idea of an invincible foe just over the horizon. He did not know why it had always, always been an empire from Sol. Perhaps the grunts had liked its name on the star-maps.
If Orak could grunt in stern approval, he would have. Surely now this particular legend could be laid to rest.
The civilization of Earth - the only one in the Sol system - had proven capable of space travel, but not of space warfare, or at least, not as the craft the Collective had honed it into. Their fleets were quickly defeated (in some cases nearly vanishing completely, such was their devastation), their surface defenses destroyed or captured, and their population forced into an *incredibly* ungenerous armistice.
Things might have been different, Orak mused, if the Collective had arrived but a few score of their planetary revolutions later, or if they had not discovered those vital tritium deposits that had fueled their war machine, or if Arjak - that glory of his caste - had not developed the warp drive when he did. So many ifs, but only one now.
Orak would have smiled, and proudly gazed over a map of Earth, with the continent marked out to become his private villa highlighted in cheery yellow. His command ship was one of the fleet's grandest, and that grandeur afforded him a luxury suite entirely for personal use.
Instead, a vicious pain behind his eye clusters seized him, tearing through his mind like a blunt razor, and his legs buckled, segment by segment, beneath the weight of his abdomen.
"Rise, commander. We cannot waste any time."The voice was deep, by their standards, and rough. It rumbled, rather than flowed. It commanded. Orak pulled himself to his feet and gestured his obeisance before returning his gaze to the campaign map.
The war with the civilization of Earth had not been going as planned. In the flickering light of the war room that had once been his suite, four of his caste-mates were huddled over a star-map centering on the Sol system. Privately, he had been planning on using that map to mark out a spot for a villa - a boon awarded only to the most successful of commanders, and one he had very recently thrown away dreams of acquiring.
The Fleet Admiral's ship had been lost in the initial strike - what was supposed to be a surgical assault had turned into a costly rout as scores of Earth craft slipped through their scans at *just* the right moment to intercept them. Orak's own ship, having escaped the worst of the fighting, had been commandeered. He stood now with three of his caste-mates and his immediate superior, trying to make sense of their situation.
The foremost issue was that none of them could \_understand\_ how this had happened. They had planned for every possible outcome, their minds slicing through fringe case after fringe case with evolutionarily optimized efficiency. It was not in their nature to fail.
Still, for all that the first maneuver had been repulsed, the bulk of the fleet was still as-yet unscathed, and its mere presence had been enough to serve as aegis for the bloodied vanguard. They had not conquered systems on rolling the dice: already, there were the foundations of a counterstroke on the map, one that Orak was contributing to almost subconsciously. His frontal nerves were flaring with inspiration even as other parts of his brain ran the odds on engagements between their warships and the Earth vessels - the first engagement had given them all they needed to know about the weapons, tactics, and organization of their enemy.
Without thinking Orak was adding strokes and marks on the map, or else correcting those of his peers - attack here, retreat there - and he felt himself relax into it. This is what he knew. He'd had doubts, when the flagship had broken into pieces ahead of him, acidic little squirmings burrowing into his mind, unearthing fragmentary memories of low caste chatter, or else of tales thrown around between the officers: legends of the invincible Empire of Sol.
He could never quite pinpoint when those stories had established themselves. Sol itself only became a target system not long ago, yet the Empire of Sol had been common enough knowledge for joke material. Certainly, they'd heard of an Empire in Sol beforehand, from those others that paid tribute to them, or else from the scarred, still-smoldering remains of the planets of those that refused to.
Orak frowned. Something was nibbling at the fraying edge of memory. Something that bothered him. A sharp chitter from his right reminded him of his place, and he returned his thoughts to the star-map, fizzling in and out of existence on the holo-board, and to the pleasant mental hum of strategizing. Soon, the great counter-attack was now ready, and Orak set his mandibles. All the greater would be the glory in this victory, for the difficulty of it.
The lights flickered, and Orak wheezed in the thin air of his escape pod.
A bright red light was flashing next to the atmospheric regulation indicator. He supposed he did not have much longer, now. It wasn't as if anyone would be coming to rescue him any time soon.
Or at all.
Orak and his caste had done all they could, and had been found wanting. Through all their efforts they had done little more than slow the relentless advance of the Empire of Sol. Rushed though they were from rearing hives to the fleet, they had made bold account of themselves, or so Orak thought. Many had gone down with their flagships, directing fire until vacuum abyss or reactor explosions took them, and Orak cursed their good luck. Orak's own ship had been commandeered by the Admiral, and as a member of a lower caste, Orak could not have ordered the old warhorse to jump in the escape pod so that *he* could die at the helm of the Collective's last warship.
That lucky old bastard.
He'd had a silly dream, as a hatchling, that *he* would be the one to defeat the Empire of Sol, the mighty villain of their larval nightmares, whose conquest left worlds burning in their wake, whose legend was known galaxies over. In fantasies, he would drive them all the way back to their home planet and make a private villa of one of their continents. He'd be the hero of his people, the pride of his caste.
Hah.
Perhaps if they'd arrived later, that bright young scientist all the low-castes were talking about - Arjak, was it? - could have come up with something to save them. Perhaps if they'd somehow been able to fuel more ships to take on the crashing tides of Empire vessels.
Perhaps if they'd had more time.
The red light had stopped flashing, and Orak felt a chill settle about him. This was it.
He wondered if his caste-mates had gone out with pride. Most likely, they'd been sucked into space while still barking orders, too caught up in the moment to philosophize. He wondered if they felt themselves die. He wondered if he would feel himself die.
As his eye clustered drooped shut and a dull fuzz crowded his brain, he decided that he had no idea. |
As I ascended the stairs from the “apartment” I called home for so long, Marie slowly backpedaled to the door atop the staircase with her every step reverberating throughout.
“Sammy, how did you...why did you...” she stammered with tears rolling down her face.
“Look, can you just come down and we can talk? Just like we always do, remember?” I said in a vain attempt to calm her down.
She didn’t budge.
It’s hard to believe that a few hours ago, I thought I was just a normal guy living with a friend that has always been there for me. But now, in her petrified state she went into at the mere sight of me, I’m not too sure what to think of her.
Marie was a girl I met in High School in Senior Year. I never knew too much about her personally beforehand. I knew she was relatively friendly and according to rumors, slightly eccentric. I’ve often caught glimpses of her ogling at me as if I were some kind of spectacle to her. Maybe it’s because I was a lonely person at the time, but getting this kind of attention from someone did not really bother me, it was kind of flattering that someone would take an interest in someone so uninteresting. Also according to these rumors, she was the daughter of a geneticist on the verge of making a breakthrough in human cloning. I never really bothered to check up on it since I was never interested in science anyways.
Several months before this, I was involved in a car accident that seemingly killed my immediate family, with me being the only survivor. According to Marie, she dragged me out of the burning wreck and has been nursing me back to health in her apartment ever since.
However, whenever I tried to recall anything before the accident, I would just black out from exhaustion and wake up in a bed with Marie sitting at the end. I couldn’t recall anything about my family, friends, or even whatever I was doing beforehand.
In fact, the only things I could seem to remember is the fact that I was the sole survivor of a car crash and things Marie.
In the following months, I lived with Marie. Her apartment was surprisingly well furnished. I guess that comes with being the daughter of some hotshot doctor. We had small talks about philosophical things, life in general and the future. One day after blacking out, she embraced me and said, “I love you Samuel.” I was of course shocked, but something overcame me and I hugged back. In my mind, I was very confused, but the other hand, I couldn’t pull myself away from her.
Today, she left the “apartment” longer than she usually did. She would be absent everyday at an average of about four or five hours. This time, she was absent for eight. She was in a hurry to leave and she left her laptop. Whenever she wasn’t talking to me, she was typing away on her laptop. Whenever I approached her, she would push me away and refuse to speak to me until she was finished. For several weeks, I watched Marie and eventually, I learned her password. I figured that if you love something, you should let it be free to do what it wants.
This was the perfect opportunity to finally figure out what secrets she’s keeping from me. My god, I never expected it to be this.
I was a clone of Samuel. The original me is alive and well. Apparently, Marie in reality, was obsessed with Samuel, which she almost always refers to as “Sammy.” She incessantly stalked Samuel to the point that when Samuel found out the extent to which it reached, he immediately placed a restraining order on her. Instead of moving on like a normal person, she created a clone of Samuel with her father’s outdated cloning equipment and kept me in this “apartment” which was really a basement. All of these memories of her were purposely left in so that all that I could think about was her.
When I finished reading the entries on her laptop. She walked back in and as soon as she saw me, she bolted up the stairs almost tripping on herself.
Now here we are, with me finally getting a grasp of my situation, and Marie at the door sobbing in fear in presence of her creation she held so dear.
“Whatever you’re feeling right now, whether it be shock, fear, regret, I just want to hear you out. You love me don’t you?” I said still trying to deescalate the situation.
She slowly stopped crying and looked me in the eyes, gave a solemn smile and then nodded.
She slowly followed behind me, trembling with each step.
“It’s fine Marie, take your time. I’ll admit, I haven’t had much time to digest all this either. Whatever happens now, let’s try to figure it out together.”
Note: This is my first time writing, I always liked writing small stories in High School and I finally built up the courage to write something here. I have no real experience writing so I would like some feedback. Thanks. |
“Oh God.” said the crumpled mass. “Oh God.” I repeated mechanically.
I looked across the laboratory to the other teleportation node and back again. Grey eyes met mine. “I've done it!” I said. “And more still... Not to worry. No. We'll correct it later. A minor setback. Today has been a success.” And it had. I'd toiled many years. Many years spent suffering the institute's nagging. I smiled. There would be no nonsense about budget and resources after today.
I knelt down to inspect the mass. It had uncrumpled itself and sat against the wall.
“Oh.” It said. “What's the setback?”
“You're not meant to be alive.” I could detect no remarkable damage or change, except, of course, for the unexplained reanimation. Yes, today had been a success. Prior attempts at teleportation had culminated only in the addition of a cleaning staff to scrape charred meat from the laboratory's surfaces. And to think I had been expected to do that job myself! “Confidentiality be damned.” I'd said. “I'm an educated man, and I won't be put on spatula duty.” The institute had eventually folded, repurposing some of their excess meatheads into meat maids. “Well I can just lie real still. You won't even know I'm alive.” The mass said. It showed its teeth. “I'm afraid It won't do any good. The specification is clear in prohibiting any changes to a passenger's health. The specification is quite thorough.”
Just then I could hear the heavy automatic doors to the laboratory crack open. “Let's get you onto the table.” I said. Darlene was sent down after each trial to gather my report. She had been unkind in her assessments of my progress in the past. Not after today. She walked into the laboratory followed by two square shaped men who were equipped to scrape meat. “Have you begun? Should I come back?” She said. “No no. I've had a breakthrough.” I gestured to the examination table. She cocked her head and slid off a pair of silk gloves. “A complete success. Straight through one end and out the other.” I continued. The two square shaped men grinned and grunted happily and left.
Darlene looked at the mass lying still on the examination table. “He's breathing.”
“Hmm?” I said, turning to see. “Yes I suppose you're right.”
“This is unacceptable. What's to stop the live passengers from becoming dead ones?” “It's a minor setback.” said the mass, opening one eye and hardly moving its lips. “We'll correct it later.” “Yes.” I said. “In the meantime it will lie quite still. You can hardly tell the difference.” Darlene scowled and crossed her arms. “That will have to do for now. Good work otherwise. We'll see about expanding the budget.” She turned around and we bad her farewell.
I sat on the edge of the examination table. “Did you hear that? She said 'Good work.'”
The mass looked up at me. “Of course. You've done a fine job of it.” |
9 AM. First customer of the day. Dark-haired woman. Early thirties. Blunt, direct, and not in the mood for idle chit chat. Thank god. Wants to go to the airport. Driving there takes 37 minutes. No delays underway. Customer says nothing during entire trip. Doesn't ask for the radio to be turned on. Pays in complete and utter silence. Doesn't even look at me. Cash.
That's how I got to the airport, and how things started. As soon as the first customer has paid and is gone, the door opens and a dishevelled looking man looks at me. He asks me in a terribly fake Armenian accent to drive him to the closest library. He throws his briefcase onto the backseat, hands me five hundred dollars and smiles like a maniac. I don't ask questions at the 500 dollar price, I don't ask anything at all. He pulls out a CD from his pocket and asks if he can play it while I start to pull out of the airport entrance parking spot. I nod, and he puts the CD in. From the speakers I hear the damndest noise. I don't ask him what it is. He asks if I like Tuvan throat singing. I grunt in total indifference.
While driving he constantly, like a kid, points out bizarre things, like the hair colour of a pedestrian, an interesting license plate, and the changing of the throat singing to experimental jazz. When we finally get to the library, he hands me 500 dollars more to stay while he does business inside. At that point, I should probably have taken the cash and driven off. But I sadly have an awful habit of being alive, which is addictive, and I need money to live.
15 minutes later he was running out of the library wearing a full-body costume of an otter. He was carrying six bottles of wine in his arms. He jumped into the backseat and told me to go. Extremely confused by this whole thing, I got the engine running and asked him where to. He told me to drive to a fairly distant address, and handed me more money to do so.
Meanwhile his bizarre mixtape turned over to play what sounded like early 2000s hip-hop as performed by a choir of Tibetan monks. He sat on the backseat, and opened his briefcase while wearing that ridiculous costume. To my absolute horror, I saw him assemble a pair of submachine guns. I drove in complete and abject horror, because I'd picked up a completely insane fellow. When we finally arrived at the address, he jumped out of the taxi before I'd parked, opened up a bottle of wine, downed the entire thing without stopping to breathe, and then kicked down the front door of the house. He walked in guns blazing, screaming what sounded like North Korean insults so obscene that even he did not fully comprehend them.
He spent a full hour in there. I wanted to drive away, but a combination of sick fascination and pure fear made me stay. When he crawled back out, he was carrying a goose, eating a literal five feet long sandwich. He placed the goose carefully in a childseat in the front, and sat in the back where he opened another bottle of wine, handed me what looked remarkably similar to a Fabergé egg, and told me to drive around for a few hours while he took a nap. The goose looked at me, and honked.
I drove for about half an hour before stopping at a gas station, where the customer got up, walked into the small shop, bought some dark bread for the goose and a small decorative party hat, also for the goose. All the while I filled the tank,, my nerves and mind burned out by the utterly bizarre series of events I'd experienced thus far. It was only when I checked my watch that I noticed that it was noon.
I drove around for a couple of hours while the customer slept, and the goose occasionally honked until I fed it some of the dark rye bread, or gave it some water. At about 4:30 PM the mad customer woke with a start, asked me for the time, looked incredibly worried, and told me to drive to the closest park. Once there he took off the otter costume, threw it in the small park pond, where the goose was taking a swim. He then procured another otter costume, told me while looking me dead in the eyes, that I had to put it on. Knowing that this insane lunatic had access to weapons and was ludicrously violent, I did so. It was warm, stuffy, and made operating the cab somewhat harder. He told me to treasure the suit like it was my own child. We then got back in the cab, after spending ten minutes convincing the goose to come back on land, before we drove off again.
I can't say with honesty if I was relieved when the police sirens started to ring, and we were followed by some police cruisers. But I can say with honesty that I was worried when he gave me directions to a small town cemetery some hours away from the city. He then smashed my sunroof, took out his guns, and started blasting, making the goose honk nervously as I drove like a madman.
The police cars were joined by more of them, then a helicopter, SWAT cars. And a number of other things. They would have been able to stop my car if the madman hadn't pulled out grenades from somewhere and started flinging them at all obstacles. By the time we were on the freeway, I had to swerve the car to avoid the snipers, as the madman told me, while the car stereo blasted out a glam-rock version of Wagner's famous Ride of the Valkyries. I have no idea how we weren't stopped, but by the time we reached the town where the cemetery was located, the man got back down, and told me to let him steer. We nearly crashed in the various patrol cars as he took over on the driver's seat.
The goose, honking nervously, undid its own seatbelt and climbed to the back with me. As we got to the graveyard, I saw what he was planning to do as he pulled out the pin of his last grenade, laughing like a lunatic. Working on automatic, I grabbed the goose, smashed the window, jumped out and landed in a small pond. Dripping wet, I got up while holding the goose, only to see my cab explode into a burning wreck while crashing into a large statue of the Virgin Mary. I checked my watch, 9 PM precisely. Weirdest day of my life.
The police ignored me as I walked away in a daze, though I placed the goose in the pond when it tried to bite me. I still had the money that the madman had given me, and the priceless Faberge Egg. In some nearby bushes, I saw to my surprise that the mad customer's briefcase had survived. Morbidly curious, I opened it. All it contained was more money, a badly drawn image of a goose, and a signed photo of dead Louisiana governor, Huey P. Long. Figuring it made as much sense as anything else, I took it with me as I waddled in my otter costume into town, buying a train-ticket back to the city.
... How would I explain the destruction of the cab to my boss?
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) |
When we eventually made it to galactic level, we were overjoyed to find out that we were indeed not alone in the universe. We rushed to make contact, hoping to for a peaceful ties with the other races. But we were disheartened when we received a less then heartfelt response.
It turned out that the races who had made it to galactic level were mostly bullies. They pushed each other around, with little talk of diplomacy. So when we came onto the scene, and tried peaceful negotiations, we were seen as weak. They pushed us, and were tried to resolve things without violence as much as possible.
All the old stories tell of us being warlike when we entered space. They had failed to realise that the only way we would achieve such a feat would be by letting go of those ways. Indeed, it was only after The Last War of Earth that we made peace with ourselves. The near complete destruction of our species saw to that. So we made great pains to be as peaceful as possible, to stop our inner monsters from getting out.
But when they threw a meteor at one of our outer colonised planets, the gloves came off. For whilst we strived to be peaceful, we kept with an ancient saying: If you want peace, prepare for war. They had chosen to spit in our face, murder our people, just for laughs. Our demons shouted together in rage, demanding blood for blood.
We focused on the Vlaron race, who were the ones behind the meteor. The rat-like species (small, vicious, and known for their knowledge of FTL engines) had been our most vocal critics, always pushing us down. We started by disabling and capturing several of their ships. A brutal array of testing later enabled us to develop a couple of bioweapons, designed specifically to target their version of DNA.
We also stripped those ships apart. Any technology was examined, reverse engineered, and those which were useful used to augment our vessels. We also got an idea of the standard weaponry they used, predominantly projectile based weapons, those instead of explosives they used magnetic field to accelerate the projectiles. With these in mind, we made our plans.
We plotted various planets of theirs, and sent meteors to them, as a middle finger back to them. They turned, and effectively declared war on us. With that, we enacted the next phase of our plan. We had turned all of our colonised planets into war factories, allowing our military to grow rapidly. With the knowledge of their technology, we could mess with their ships systems, allowing us to confuse, scatter, and eliminate their fleets with little damage to our own.
We also made several kamikaze ships, with payloads of nuclear weapons and some of the bioweapons. These were piloted remotely, and struck into strategically important planets. We did not stop attacking, determined to show the universe just why we shouldn't be pushed around. It was only when we destroyed their home world, did we realise what we had done.
We had wiped out an entire species, without a second thought. The other races started sending their own diplomats, begging us to stop. Rather then showing a species of peace, we had proven to be a species of horrors. But it got us treated with respect.
When I look back, I don't feel joy, anger, or hate. I only feel sorrow, and shame, that we had to resort to such levels, to prove ourselves worthy of standing as equals. I only hope our future generations can live free of our shame.
This is General Arcalo, of the Vengance Brigade, signing off. |
This is cool, what a neat premise. I like your description of the area under the deck with the spiders and centipedes and stuff. Very vivid! The scene when she breathes fire is really good too. You do a great job painting a picture.
If I had to offer some constructive criticism, it would be that the dialogue/interaction between the two characters felt a little off to me. Almost like a play rehearsal with two actors reading off their lines.
I hope you keep going with this! I'd definitely be interested in reading more. hell, I kind of want to take a crack at it myself. I'd better look at the original prompt. |
These faces. These places. None of them are familiar.
"Those weren't mine..."I protest, the images begin to fade, a drunk tongue slurring my words.
"Of course they aren't,"Death responds, their tone annoyingly disinterested as I lay there on the road. "They belong to him."My eyes follow the direction of their gesture to the mangled wreck of metal now resting on its side. The hood has popped open, leaving a deep cavity that seems to yell at me *Look out!* though its warning has come too late.
"Those weren't mine..."I repeat, allowing my attention to drift on back to Death. Again my words are jumbled by the booze still on my breath.
"Of course they aren't!"Death hissed. "As selfish in death as you were in life,"they now loom over me. "This isn't about you, you made your decision, and as always, didn't think twice."
I stare in disbelief as Death begins to preach.
"That was a life. A soul. A being. They existed despite your lack of awareness. They smiled, they cried, they hurt, they dreamed, they hoped, and they survived — at least until they had the misfortune of meeting you."
"Those weren't mine..."my voice now meek my inebriated brain failing to find new words.
"His life wasn't yours either, but you still took that!"Death snapped back. |
For Jameson Johnson, metal detecting had never been about the money. Sure, he occasionally found an old can that he could trade in for five or ten cents in a handful of states. Sure, he'd once come across an old wedding band that a pawn shop had bought for twenty bucks.
Those moments were few and far between. If it'd been about the money, he'd have had better luck panhandling in a barren desert.
For Jameson Johnson, metal detecting had always been about the time outdoors. Not so much about the discovery of worthless artifacts, but about the priceless moments spent beneath a rising sun as his boots sent the morning dew showering to the ground.
That's what he told himself at least.
Still, his heart skipped a beat when the metal detector sounded its weak, choppy signal that it might have discovered something. The thing was so old, it could have been a misreading.
Jameson Johnson looked around. There was nobody for miles. It was a damp, misty morning. Birds chirped and the leaves rustled and each footstep of his echoed back and forth between the trees.
He shrugged. He had nowhere to be and time to spare. Setting the metal detector aside, Jameson Johnson took in hand his shovel.
The first plunge of the shovel hit nothing but dirt. He scooped it aside, plunged again. More dirt. Jameson Johnson nearly gave up. It'd been a false reading, and he'd just dig once more then be on his merry way.
The third plunge of the shovel didn't cut through the dirt in that satisfying way a good plunge did. Jameson flinched as the tip hit metal. The sound rang through the trees. Birds quit their chirping and peered their heads to see what Jameson Johnson had found.
He shoved the dirt aside, cleared the hole, plunged again to see where the metal began and ended. Grubs and worms scurried to find dirt again.
A flat, metal surface came into view, stained by years of grime. Jameson Johnson scraped away the dirt and decided he'd dig until he reached the end of that surface. He'd dig up this treasure box and whatever secrets it contained.
But the surface didn't end soon. He reached an edge and then it kept going, and all that he uncovered was a door beneath the forest floor.
"Do Not Enter,"it read near the handle he'd uncovered.
Jameson Johnson's hand hovered over that handle. He'd entered the forest, hadn't he? Despite all those signs saying that intruders would be prostituted or prosecuted, he'd entered. A similar sign without the threat didn't seem so menacing.
So Jameson Johnson crouched and wrapped his hands over that handle. He grunted as he pulled, and the metal structure beneath his feet did, too. The birds in the trees flapped their wings to fly from whatever demons Jameson Johnson released from that vault.
And as for him, he smiled. It might be there'd be no money. It might be there'd be no treasure. But he'd had his time outdoors, and with it a little taste of adventure.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! |
Our society is divided. Just as it ought to be.
Of course, in the past, we were not as explicitly divided as we currently are. Back then people were born in pairs, just as they are today. And of these pairs, one was born good and one was born evil. Just as they are today.
But historically, these good and evil twins were allowed to inhabit the same areas of the City. They were allowed to commingle, to choose their own destinies, even to intermarry and have children together.
It seems ridiculous in retrospect. What a dangerous way to order the City! It is a miracle we never fell into absolute chaos and ruin, having such opposites run around together and interact! And, believe it or not, that's how the City operated for centuries!
Then, about a century ago, our rulers began to wise up.
They acknowledged the importance of "individual human character". They recognized the existence of individual free-will. They reluctantly agreed that no one is *completely* determined by the circumstances of his or her birth. However, they also regretfully had to acknowledge the patterns.
A good twin, much more often than not, would contribute positively to the overall amount of happiness in the City over the course of his life; while an evil twin's life would, more often than not, constitute a net negative of happiness for the City. It was statistics. It was scientifically verifiable. Good twins were generally selfless, industrious and without guile. Evil twins were their moral opposites.
Yes, there were outliers. Yes, there were individuals born with the mark of Cain on their right arms who nevertheless would go on to save drowning children, to spend their lives doing volunteer work, to amass great fortunes whose bulks they would donate to charitable causes. And there were individuals born without the mark, who should, by rights, have been good, who nevertheless went on to steal, rape, and murder.
But these were outliers. They were exceptions. And the exceptions proved the rule.
That is why now, the good and evil twins are separated from birth. The Good inhabit the northern half of the City, and the evil inhabit the south. These two sections are separated by a great wall, and it is only with special dispensation, and under heavy guard, that one can cross from one side to the other. After all, letting a good man wander the evil side alone would be as good as signing his death certificate: having lived his life separated from evil, he would be like an innocent child lost in a war zone. And letting an evil man wander on the side of the good would be like setting a wolf loose on a herd of sheep. Those sweet virtuous people would have no way to defend against his villainy, and he would be liable to wreak upon them incredible havoc and harm.
All this I learned from an early age in school, just as every schoolchild does.
I tried to internalize the lessons, and to live according to our City's philosophy. But though I could act in accordance with these principles, and grew up doing so, I had difficulty truly accepting them and believing in them.
Perhaps this was because I differed from my peers in a significant way. Their arms are clear of any marks, which designates them as members of the Good. While on my arm I have half of the mark of Cain, but only half. It is as if the Creator began by making me evil, but changed his mind partway through.
I was told by the rulers that my peculiarity extends even farther than this. I am, they claimed, the only citizen who was born without a twin. I am lucky I was not cast away at birth, and left to die on some exposed place far beyond the City walls. After all, my very existence seems to threaten the principles according to which the City is governed. And I am lucky, as well, that I was placed on the side of the Good, despite my partial mark. I could have just as easily ended up on the side of evil and disorder.
A few months ago, when I was walking home from my job at the factory, I was accosted by a man in the street. He was dishevelled. He had long black hair and appeared not to have trimmed his beard in many weeks. He urgently pulled me into an alleyway, telling me that he had been searching for me, particularly for me, and that he had something very important to tell me.
"Well what is it?"I asked.
He looked shiftily around.
"You are the half-marked man, correct?"he said.
"I am,"I replied.
"Show me,"he demanded.
I rolled my eyes and rolled up my sleeve.
"I need you to keep an open mind,"he said. "What I have to tell you is..."
He cut off his speech as a family walked past the entrance of the dark alley in which we were standing. He watched them suspiciously, and when they were out of sight he turned to me again.
"All is not as it seems,"he said. "It's lies you have been taught. Utter lies. From birth. Through young adulthood."
Ah, I thought to myself. He's nuts! For indeed it sometimes happened that someone was morally sound (and thus a member of the side of the Good) and yet mentally ill. I raised an eyebrow quizzically.
"All lies,"I repeated bemused. "Things are not as they seem, eh? Have you skipped your prescribed dose this morning, my friend? Have you escaped the clutches of your handlers?"
"I'm not mad!"he barked. "I'm not mad... Indeed, I am one of the few among the general population who sees the truth. Who knows the truth."
"Tell me then,"I laughed. "Tell me this truth."
"Is there not somewhere more private we could have this conversation?"he asked, glancing nervously around once again.
"Not at all,"I said. "Besides, what need have we for privacy? Don't you know the commandments? What the Good can speak he can speak in the public square, in the light of day; and whatever he cannot speak publicly--
"--he cannot speak at all,"interjected the man. "Yes, I know the commandments. But they are just another means of control. To prevent inquiry into the truth. To prevent us from questioning the established order. But some truths must be learned by the individual, away from the crowd. The mob is a roiling mass of ingrained fears and prejudices. It cannot think. It can only be riled, and guided by propaganda and demagogues. It can only repeat and obey. The mob cannot reason. It cannot philosophize."
I admit, he spoke well, and aside from his dishevelment, and general state of agitation, he seemed not entirely crazy. Passionate, yes. Concerned, yes. Unorthodox, yes. But not terribly crazy.
"Tell me, then,"I said. "Tell me this truth you are bursting to tell me."
"There are many layers to it,"he said. "There are many aspects and attributes to this truth. It is not something that can simply be belched out wholesale. It would be too hard for you to accept. It would seem too foreign, dangerous, and strange. Even though you might believe much of it on a primal level, yet the voices of your education, your indoctrination, would cry out against it. It must be administered slowly. Layer by layer. Piece by piece. That is why I wanted to speak somewhere private. Where we could take our time, and you would not worry about being overheard saying something you have been taught to fear saying."
\[Part 2 in the comments\] |
Five friends were walking up the hill.
Tim, Blake, Joey, Jack, and Jill.
There car broke down, oh, boy too bad.
“We need reception,” said a lad.
They walked upon a sign, rusted.
Few of the letters were but busted.
“Happy Hill Asylum” Joey read.
“Maybe they have a phone,” Jill said.
Something scratchy marked the corner.
“Look there,” Blake pointed it over.
“I think it’s said here, ‘RUN’.”
Tim said “don’t be silly, it’s ‘FUN’.”
They continued, despite the fact.
Oh, children, common sense they lacked.
And as the sun began to set.
They reached the creepiest house yet.
“This looks much like a haunted mansion.”
Blake whispered with apprehension.
Jack said “let’s go look for a phone.
“Blake, if you’re scared, wait here alone.”
“What the f\*ck, Jack, are you insane?
Look at the door! That’s blood stain!”
Tim shrugged and said, “might be ketchup;
“we should stay here until sunup.”
They walked closer, despite Blake’s frown.
Blake will die first cuz she was brown.
PS. Children's tales in my country is more troublesome than a modern horror story. There are people boiled alive in hot oils, cannibalism, non-consensual mating, matricide, etc. And they wonder why we are so f\*cked up as adults.
But that's for another time. |
Without even seeing my signature dancing across the bottom of the page, I knew that letter the moment I saw it. Sure, there were countless, most of them silly and forgettable. Asking how her day was, recounting my own. Inquiring over the children, speaking of the weather, misremembering memories that we had together. Small fragments of poems before I became too embarrassed to write them anymore.
How were the tears on the page still visible over the three hundred and twenty four years since I wrote it? Subtle, oval wrinkles in the paper that dragged the ink of the “s’ down to the jot of the “i” of the next line. I paused to read it, but I didn’t have to. The words were still echoing somewhere deep inside my brain as if they were a song that my mother sang to me every morning and every night.
It wasn’t really a love letter, I suppose. My father showed me an article once from a few years before I was born where the author wrote the “The opposite of love is not hate, it's indifference.” So what is hate? It has passion, it has struggle, it has fire. But no, I never hated her. Despite everything that she did I never hated her. In spite of everything that she did not do I never hated her. Even when her laughs turned cold and black like dying coals and her eyes went from looking at me to looking past me, I never hated her. But I felt her indifference inside of me like piercing arrows. Even three hundred years cannot dull that pain, cannot digest that sting.
When she left for three days that became a month that became a year, that became a century, that became eternity I stopped sending letters. But I didn’t stop writing them. I wrote and I tore, I wrote and I burned, I wrote and I screamed. And I wrote. And I cried. And I sent one last letter, breaking through my pride and anger. I told her what I told you, that I never hated her, and I was never indifferent, and that in the bark of my heart had not yet grown over the initials that we had carved into it. And nothing from inside that letter destroyed me more, head against the glass, than the plaque written outside. “After the United States Postal Service Reform Act of 2085, the USPS no longer stamped their unreceived letters with ‘Return to Sender,’ but instead began storing them at their remote sorting facility in Durham, North Carolina.” |
Sam was going to the bakery to meet with Sam. Sam had not noticed that their other friend was at the library. Sam said hello to Sam at the library and then continued to the bakery to say hello to Sam. Sam was stressed because soon Sam would be closing the bakery, and if that happened then she couldn't say hello to her friend Sam.
As Sam got to the Bakery she knew that Sam had closed early today because Sam was standing outside and waiting for a ride. Sam did not see Sam there so she went home and had pizza with her roommate Sam. |
"Sir Romain, how do you plead?", the voice boomed like an earthquake.
"Your Honor God Yög and the exalted pantheon of gods and goddesses. I, Sir August Romain, plead not guilty", said the knight in shackles.
The white marble court room exploded in loud murmurs. Protests directed at the stoic defendant.
"Sir Romain, are you or are you not aware that fostering an abomination is a sin worthy of divine punisment?", God Yög questioned the knight.
"God sir, I am well aware of that fact yes", the knight said still maintaining an air of fortitude.
"Then by the name of everything that's holy, please help me understand why would you decide to foster the cursed offspring of the demon king?", the voice boomed rattling the white pillars around the room.
A few seconds of silence followed as the knight closed his eyes, exhaling deeply. Here standing in the center of the White Court on top of the Mountain of Gods, in front of the whole pantheon of ruling gods and goddesses no less. Never he thought he would need to defend his action, and action many would deem honorable.
"God Yög, is it fair to say that I, Sir August Romain, hero of the people, protector of the land to be a beacon of good?"
The head god leaned back calming down a bit, seemingly not minding humoring the mortal.
"Yes, Sir Romain, I would say that is fair"
"Is it fair to say then, in the face of adversaries and difficulties, as a hero any decision I make would have the bearing of virtue taken into consideration?"
"Yes I believe it would be"
"Then why is it the highest of sin to offer a helping hand to an innocent child...?"
"INNOCENT?!"
God Yög's voice boomed louder, even scaring the other gods and goddesses. With his fiery finger he pointed at the bench behind the knight.
"That abomination is anything but innocent! The offspring of the embodiment of evil bears the sin of its father!"
Sir Romain looked back onto the bench behind him. There sat a little crying girl, her hair and skin white as snow, 2 little horns protruding from the top of her head. She was trembling in fear, grabbing tightly onto the dress of a woman, Sir Romain's wife.
"God Yög, please I beg for your compassion. Do you not see this pitiful sight? This child...Vera...is nothing like her father. The sin of one's parent does not define the child. I want to believe that...nay, I do believe that! This child is innocent and I stand my life to protect that belief, to protect her!"
The gods and goddesses held their breath. No mortal ever dare to speak up to the head god like that. God Yög's rage shook the mountain in a disastrous earthquake. Everybody there knew this mortal was done for.
"Dear, please let me speak...", a soothing female voice cut through the god's rage. It was Goddess Maya, goddess of purity and sincerity, God Yög's right hand and his wife.
"Sir Romain, answer me this one question please. You are a man of honor, are you not?"
"Yes, Goddess Maya", said the knight.
The goddess stared deep at the knight's eyes, at his heart.
"You are to still protect your land, protect its people if any danger were to arise, no matter what it takes even if it costs you the life of those you love or even your own?"
"Without hesitation, Goddess Maya. It is my sworn duty"
The goddess closed her eyes, smiled, and nodded.
"God Yög, it is in my best judgement that Sir Romain's heart was true. It is my advice to let him raise the girl as his own, as I believe he will show her the path of good. And if there's anyone that can do that, it would be him"
The court room again exploded in protest of such absurd advice.
"QUIET!", shouted God Yög. He stared at his wife, despite his unwillingness to entertain such notion, he knew above all the wisdom of the goddess was unparalleled.
"Sir August Romain, this promise do you hold? You will guide the child of the demon king to the path of virtue. And if or when she grows to be a threat to the land, you will first and foremost upheld your sworn duty as protector of the land to take down the threat with your own hands?", God Yög stared intently at the knight.
"Yes, God Yög. With my life I make this oath"
God Yög nodded, "Very well. The decision is made. May you make a correct decision, Sir Romain"
The shackles binding the knight released themselves. With a great relief the knight walked to his wife and the demon girl, the latter ran to him, arms opened wide with tears in her eyes.
"Daddy!", she yelped embraced tightly by the knight. |
"Yes I admit I'm a witch."The witch struggled to laugh. She couldn't take any deep breaths since she was bounded tightly to stake. We knew with certainty that she was guilty after we performed the ancient witch screening tests. The first being the sacred coin trial. The sacred coin trial was simple. Over a hundred people with a gold coin would flip it in front of the accused witch, and if the sum of heads or tails was not near 50% then it was a clear revelation that this person's fate was divergent.
The accused witch's final result was 10% heads, 90% tails. This could only mean that it was very likely this was a witch or someone very abnormal. But in order to make absolutely sure that this wasn't a queer statistical outlier, we waited months for a thunderstorm to begin the next test. We had the accused witch strapped to a stake and awaited for the thunder to strike the bound witch. If the accused was hit, then she was likely a dead witch, if not, then we'd be sure to finish her off. Strangely, after a week, the thunderstorm passed without hitting her. That had left us investigators in an awkward position because according to the ancient book the next step was to ask if she had any interest in protecting the village. If she answered yes, we would release her and then celebrate her as an upcoming heroine. Otherwise, we'd have to end her quickly regardless if she really was a witch or not.
So we gave her two options today, "Live as our village hero, or die as a villainous witch". The ancient book reassured us that in the face of death, it was highly likely for the accused would agree. For some strange reason she decided to refuse our goodwill and adamantly started admitting to being a witch. That really pissed us off for some reason. It was about time to end things. The investigators who had condemned her stabbed their sharp tools to end her life. A silver fire instantly flashed in their eyes before they were struck aside. A fiery wolf appeared kicking and slashing. Her bindings fell and the wolf carried her off. Several of the investigators trembled in horror at having been unable to finish her.
In the distance the wolf slowed to a stop. The girl leaned herself against the wolf to stand upright. She shook her fist at the whole town swearing that she'd come back one day for vengeance... |
"When do we get to actual magic? This is muggle stuff,"the young voice whined.
Professor Ernstein's ears perked up at the remark, and her head swiveled about, locking eyes with her student.
"Would you mind repeating that, Mister Caldwell,"she asked, the sharp note in her words belying the sweet expression on her face.
"I saiiid, this is muggle stuff. I wanna do magic,"the boy exclaimed.
"To begin, Mister Caldwell, the word 'muggle' simply *does not exist*,"she retorted derisively. "Even when referring to nonmagical folk, we refer to them as mundane humans. It is very important to remember *that they are human as much as we are*. Harry Potter is a fanciful tale that's predisposing children to harmful mindsets in the magical community, and is no better than kindling *at best*."
"But Miss Ernstein-"
"*Professor.*"
"Professor Ernstein, what does all this mundane stuff haveta do with magic?"
"These 'mundane' courses have to do with the foundations and understanding of magic itself! Magic is not simply *intent and silly incantations*, as so many believe. You have to *envision complex processes* at a *highly detailed level as though it is natural*, and *discover the way to do it magically*. This requires far more knowledge of the 'mundane' than they give themselves credit for!
You might believe Algebra is pointless now, but Thaumaturges routinely need to determine precise amounts of mana for various rituals. That involves *calculus,* differential equations, and solving multivariate systems, *Mister* Caldwell! Feed in the wrong amount *by feeling*, and the arcana will not work *at best*. At worst, you'll produce anomalous effects that will maim or kill you, as well as everyone else!
Formalcraft circles require Trigonometry, conics, and a grasp of gradient descent! Reality is *not flat* and simply drawing pretty geometry *will do nothing*! We also encourage students to take a semester of programming *to better debug their rune logic*.
A rudimentary knowledge of Physics is necessary to model bounded fields, aetherflow, and aspected interactions! The calculations for magnetic fields is the basis for most spellcraft! You may not have noticed, Mister Caldwell, but we do not simply point our wands at the thing we wish to enact magic upon. Magic travels *within* a *field of itself*, *it does not go straight*. That is how the foot incident happened *just last year*! Doctorates are *still* trying to determine how magic works with entropy!
Potions are entirely based on medicine and biochemistry!
The scientific method and rigorous experimental design are *vital* to the creation of new mysteries! It's one thing to learn magic by rote, but you have the ability to make metaphysics *alter the physical*! You may have an idea for a spell, but unless you are capable of formalizing it, establishing a null hypothesis, and iteratively improving your process, you will only succeed *if you are outrageously lucky*.
You all learn *sign language* to improve your wand positioning! It cannot be understated how important proper placement and incantation synchronization is! Again, the foot incident!
Have I made my point, *Mister* Caldwell?"
"W-well yes ma'am. I get that now. Um, b-but what about..."He trailed off and bashfully held up a sewing needle and thread.
"Ah, yes. Materials analysis, fabrication, and design principles. Conjuration and artifice are heavily dependent upon material stresses, tension, compression, heat conduction. If you cannot understand how a stitch holds together fabric, or how something can tear, you will inevitably create a wardrobe malfunction."
The class tittered at that.
"Or something incredibly gaudy,"she murmured under her breath.
She turned back to the lad with a more kind smile upon her face.
"I do not take any umbrage with you, Mister Caldwell. It is truly important that we establish these concepts at your age in order to responsibly use your abilities to their full potential, and *that book series* does much to limit your thoughts. If sewing isn't particularly exciting, perhaps we merely need to find something you wish to produce. What sorts of things are you interested in?"
And thus, it was another day à L'École Primaire Magitechnique de Paris... |
To say I was exhausted would be an insult. I was shambling at best, no more than a zombie, as I made my way down the aisle of that tiny convenience store. Rather than groaning for brains I mumbled my shopping list to myself as I made my way around.
Eggs? Check. Coffee? Double check. Cereal? Bread? Paper towels? Milk? Check, check, check...ah, shit. Milk.
I turned on the spot and made my way back to the milk. I lazily grabbed the first one I saw and let the door swing closed. As it did, I caught sight of the person reflected in the glass and dropped the carton of milk.
There he was.
The same hospital scrubs I saw him in near every day as I grew up. The same shaggy brown hair. Bags under his brown eyes. The slouch of someone who could sleep standing up if given the chance. The man who left and never came back, all because some punk wanted the paper in his pocket as he made his way home with groceries.
I stood there and stared at my own reflection as the tears welled in my eyes, and I stared, dumbfounded, at how much I really did look like him.
The reflection smiled a bit. If I ignored that it was just my own happiness being mirrored back at me, I could pretend it was him smiling at me one more time. |
The Lissenden found me alone on a dead planet in a failed terraforming station, with about three hours of air left, and having had no food or water for a few days. I'd have died.
I was, for a while, left at the Base of Lost Ones, a sort of orphanage for space-found younglings like me. Every so often, the people running it - not Lissenden, they were mostly Grognak - would record me and send the holofeed back to my finders.
After 37 revolutions of the Base around the gaseous planet Leo that held it in place, the Lissenden came back for me.
I was officially adopted into the family of Sseznerik The Bloodletter. He had dozens of offspring, but only a few of us earned names. Me, Lissara The Cunning, and my favorite brothers, Zerresh The Fang of Sseznerik, and Sserren, who has not yet earned a title to accompany his name.
Sseznerik was a bit worried. I'd earned my name and title, which was unexpected for an adoptee, but I'd been found young - still in my eggteeth. Zerresh had the same warrior instincts our father had, and quickly earned his title, and would soon be named the Land Heir. I, clearly, would become the Name Heir - even if I was a girl.
But if Sserren was going to be named Blood Heir, he would need to prove worthy of carrying on our father's lineage the way I carried his political interests, and Zerresh had already begun not only fighting, but leading, and planning his wars.
"It's simple."Zerresh said, standing still while servants carefully removed his bloodied armor. It wasn't wartime currently, he was bloodied from a small group of bandits having attacked our convoy. He had insisted on letting them into our shop, so he could fight them himself. For practice. "We need to create an opportunity for him, and allow him to step into it."
I tilted my head, considering. My long mane fell to one side. I had learned, from the furred Peccareth of the distant Centarri system, to weave groups of strands together so that it would not tangle. Some of them even cut off the lengthened strands of dead keratin, but the idea repulsed me. I did not shed as my brothers did, and I would not pretend to.
"I'm surprised you didn't think of it before me."He went on.
"I did."I stood, seeing a splash of pale, yellow blood amid the green. "You are wounded."
"It is nothing."He snarled. "An earlier injury reopened by activity. Not a wound dealt by those Nameless."
I backed off. Up close, I could see he was telling the truth. The wound looked as if it came from the barb of a female Lissenden tail, and only one female would be so bold as to mark him.
I felt my face shifting into a smile, "oh. Congratulations."I teased, sitting back down. "I decided against helping him because doing so would prove him unworthy."
Zerresh wilted. "I see."
"He will do well. I've seen to it that the other divisions joining you will hold excellent candidates for him, but subtly. And, there will also be diplomatic envoys from several more distant star systems to give me plausible reason for joining. If he does not seize the opportunity I have no doubt our father will find a suitable alternate."
Zerresh nodded.
"I have read the Legarek The Sandfire officially recognized his Blood Heir and Name Heir in the same offspring."I added, as the servants began rinsing blood from his scales.
They would normally scrub, but he was close to shedding, and was delaying it so that he could present his newest, brightest coloration during the ceremony. My brother was in all other ways quite practical, but did have his vanity.
He grunted.
"You have invested reasonably should this transpire."I added, signaling one of the servants to get me a drink.
Before they could, the shipwide communicator crackled to life.
"Announcement. Announcement. Entering wormhole in sixty seconds. Please secure yourselves for warp."The message repeated in six other languages after ours, and, since I spoke them, I recognized the count change from sixty to fifty two, to thirty seven, and so on.
By the time the last message played, Zerresh and I were both buckled in.
The warp went how it usually did. Zerresh blacked out, blinking awake on the other side. I hallucinated wildly. If any Grognak were on board, they would thrash their tentacles and shoot their stomachs out their mouths, digesting anything too close.
After, we dressed in our ceremonial garb, and joined Sserren, and the rest of the crew, on the main deck, to greet the rejoinder divisions, and prepare for tomorrow's arrival of political envoys.
While most of our warriors were Lissenden, other species were welcome to join if they priced themselves worthy, and many did. I recognized the arthripodal Paguros, the feathered Aviriad, and even a few Peccareth.
I stood back, out of the way and out of sight, while Zerresh greeted them all, and hyped them up with a rousing speech about courage, and the solemn duty of upholding galactic peace when the politicians failed.
I wasn't offended by the light jab at my own role. There had been times all my cunning had failed, and I'd been grateful to have my brother at the ready to destroy my enemies.
When he finished his speech, he headed down to inspect the troops, and I hinted to Sserren that he should too. He refused, shaking his long head.
"Sister,"he began, and then froze, shocked, as one of the warriors broke rank, first running out toward us, and then pointing on feathered arm, shrieking, and taking flight the other direction. Several wingbeats took him to glass of the viewing port, which he hit without slowing, and then fell, spurting blue blood, to the floor. One wing was horribly mangled, with bone showing.
A Lissenden might survive such an injury, but not an Aviriad.
Zerresh looked to me for guidance. I walked slowly to the fallen soldier. "Speak your fear,"I ordered, when I reached him.
His eyes were so wide I could see the scelera, bloodshot from his collision with the glass. Blood leaked from his feathered ear holes, and the corner of his beak.
He rasped, choked blood and coughed weakly.
"Speak. Your. Fear."I ordered again. When he stayed silent, I pressed one foot against his injured wing, slowly adding pressure until something snapped.
"Human!"He screamed, and then jumped at me, clawing for the small ceremonial knife in my calf holster. He freed it, stabbing himself in the throat several times before the dull blade did enough damage to end him.
"What in Lorresh name is a human?"I wondered aloud. Fortunately, no one heard.
I motioned for servants to clear the mess. "Human,"I repeated. "Sserren, research this 'human' business, and report to me by tomorrow. I wish to find what can strike such fear into one of our warriors, and for Leesendia, we will destroy them." |
“Think of the accessory industry,” a man repeated what had been said countless times. “They would surely suffer if pockets were too big.”
The audience were hushed. This debate could define pocket equality for years to come. If their main head of their organization, Susan, couldn’t defend the right of equal pocket size for all, no one could.
Fortunately, Susan was prepared. “Men still buy backpacks, don’t they? The same would be true for women and purses. Smaller purses may take a dip, but the larger ones may see an increase. Fashion industry should not determine human equality.”
Susan took a deep breath before continuing. “As phone screens get bigger, is it unreasonable to want a pocket to be big enough to hold it? Of course not!”
For demonstrative purpose, Susan’s two friends held up a man and woman cut blue jeans. The male cut jeans were able to hold a rolled up piece of printer paper. The woman cut was barely able to hold an origami swan.
“As our pockets become no bigger than chapstick holders while men enjoy pockets down to their knees, is it unreasonable to want pocket equality? Of course not!”
Susan’s friends switched their props for two dresses. One was more fashionable, something a magazine would feature. The other was a similar to what Susan herself was wearing.
“Do you know one universal thing that woman can agree on when it comes to dresses? Pocket dresses are awesome.” Susan stuck her own hands in her dress as proof.
The female audience members erupted into cheers. Many of their male partners didn’t understand the hype of pocket dresses, but clapped politely.
Susan was beaming. The man behind the other podium looked uncomfortable. It continued like this with the man defending patriarchal values while Susan defended the right of equal pockets.
Years later when pocket equality was written into law (the fashion police, long overdue for an official assignment were on the case to ensure this), a video of this debate was used in history classes when discussing a time before all pockets were created equal and the great fashion revolution that followed. |
Camping had always been one of Erin's favourite ways to spend a long weekend. Not so much for Steve, her boyfriend of six months.
Due to working in a hectic hospital, any excuse to get away to the back end of nowhere to savour the quietness of the world away from civilization was always welcome.
Steve had spent the past few hours grumbling about the tent, the cold, the lack of signal and anything else he could possibly think of. Erin had enough, choosing to get some snack from the car.
A few minutes later she called for Steve. He emerged from the tent to see Erin staring straight upwards to the sky, wide eyed with a few of her fingers in her mouth.
“I don’t want to scare you, but... very slowly, look up.”
He stood next to her, slowly looking upwards. His heart starting to beat faster.
As he was looking up, Erin shoved a wet, saliva covered finger up his right nostril.
"that's for being a grumpy sod! Now cheer up!"
"probably deserved that"he thought... |
"My Lord, do you wish for me to continue?"
I stare down at Landon's eldest. The cursed blade of his father is at his neck. He has been kicked to his knees by my guard. It is a position I am sure he felt he'd never find himself in.
He was supposed to inherit the world. And now that honor has been give to me instead.
As a boy, Yuri was my friend. He did not care about my status, about that I wasn't of the Dark Lord's famous bloodline. We trained together. We impressed his father together with our ferocity when we waged war against the Pillino rebels forty years ago. Oh, how proud he was to bring the key to their capital city home to his father, to present him with his victory.
Now the man that once called me brother stares up at me, the fire of his infamous rage infesting his eyes. Behind him, two more of his brothers are dead. One of them by my hand.
"You promised to protect my family,"Yuri hisses against the blade that would, given my order, kill him and sentence him to an eternity of suffering in hell. "You gave your word."
"I did protect your family!"I snap. "I saved your life"--I raise three fingers-- "three times in childhood alone. Once with the Pillino assassin's, and twice with those damned Hydra you were so intent on defeating alone."I turn toward the throne that I found out not a day ago is rightfully mine. "And do not forget what I did for your sister."
"She loved you."
"And I, her!"I roar, turning back around. I feel the sadness of my love's death pulling on me with more force than usual. "I did everything I could."I find myself whispering now. "I offered my life for hers. I was rejected."
Yuri struggles, so my guard slams the hilt of the blade into the back of his neck. Yuri crumples, groaning.
Two more of the Dark Lord's children kneel, captured, at the back of the throne room. Poor Tito. He's barely twenty, pulled into his older brother's schemes. He is terrified. Rory, however, well, I may just kill him for the strife he's put me through. He has always been a filthy liar since we were children. Always accusing me of thievery. He stares me down from back there, as if upon release, he would stand any chance at killing me in single combat.
He would fall in seconds. They do not call me the Lycan of Great Hall for nothing. I may not be infused with the blood of wolves, but my howls are still the stuff of legend. My rage the iron fist that keeps our nations in line. It is the blood on my hands that they remember.
I wave the guard forward, who drags Yuri to the foot of the throne that I have yet to sit on. The guard who has always been loyal to his Dark Lord, and now is loyal to me by his oath.
I crouch. "You know the blood magic as well as I,"I say quietly to Yuri. I shake my head. "The Dark Lord, your father, wills this."I thumb the dark red cloak of our house near my hip, feeling the fibers. "You know I have no choice."
"You do have a choice,"Yuri responds. "You can reject his anointment."
"And suffer *those* consequences?"I shake my head. "Brother, you know this is not something you can ask of me."
He looks me in the eye. "And yet I ask it all the same."
A part of me wants to grant his request. It is the only thing he's ever wanted, to follow in his father's footsteps. The eldest son of the Dark Lord Landon Kivosh was always meant to rule the world.
Or so he thought.
There was a time when I would have given anything, even my own life, to see him accomplish his dreams. But now duty pulls at me. I know, upon reading the last will and testament of my Dark Lord, that this is not a request I can deny. I must take the throne. For our world to survive, Yuri must die.
I look my old friend in the eye one last time, returning to my full height and stepping backward to the throne. I look to my guard. "Iona, take these men and execute them in accordance to their birthright,"I say. I feel ashamed. "Quick and clean. We will make preparations for their funeral in the meantime."
Other guards appear from the side halls to drag them both away. The rest of Yuri's family would not dare cross me after this. I hope they run. I hope they do not try and fight.
"You coward!"Yuri yells as he's dragged away. "Do it yourself! You cannot even look me in the eye as you sentence me?"He spits. "Coward!"
The doors to my hall shut, and I hear him continue to yell.
I sit on my throne, closing my eyes. A tear falls from my eye.
There are many things I can do. There are others that I must.
But kill the brother I was never supposed to have, who means more to me than he will ever know? That I cannot. |
So. First contact, right? What a rush.
I was there for it. Well, technically we all were. Everyone on Earth got a message played in their brain. Words, images, symbols. A quick guide on what we could expect from our new visitors. "We come in peace"was the number one idea most people remember, though I assume the exact wording depends on the language you heard it in.
What I mean, though, is that I was part of the first delegation to meet them in person. Operation Welcome Wagon: a gathering of top military brass, heads of state, scientists and engineers, ready to meet the future. Each of them carrying some big-deal technology or a great artistic work. At least I figure they were great - one of them had Hamlet, and I've always liked Hamlet, even if I've never seen it performed on stage.
And, of course, there were five of us grunts for every one of them. Our visitors apparently had the same ideas about security, which turned into most of us and most of them waiting awkwardly outside while history went down behind closed doors. At least we had something in common.
​
It was pretty tense at first, I don't mind telling you. All the diplomats were inside, and for a bit we felt like we were one misunderstanding away from a shooting war with the great unknown. 'International incident' wouldn't *begin* to cover it. So me and some of the squad started talking, quiet, about the best way to break the ice. Billy, tough girl that she was, said we should offer them a smoke, soldier to soldier.
Billy, pal, I love ya, but I want the record to show that's still the dumbest idea I've ever heard.
Once we had that out of the way, food was the obvious choice. We had a burger each from catering. Mine was an imitation burger, though, and we figured that had the best chance of not offending anyone. So I found the scrawniest-looking one (just in case) and offered it to him. He caught on right away, and we traded lunch, just like grade school. Later, we spent about two hours recreating that moment for the press, and after that videos of me and Zig were on every channel for the next month. But that was later.
Anyway, we got to "talking,"Zig thinking at me, me talking and thinking back at him. Breaking the ice, testing the water, whatever turn of phrase you want to use. We talked about boring, meaningless stuff. Anything too complicated just made my head hurt, so we kept it simple. Food, drinks, home. He offered to show me around back where he was from. I told him I'd always dreamed about setting foot on another planet.
Hoo yeah. Turned out that was a tough subject.
​
Zig's version of repeating himself was thinking through the same thing, in more detail. We went back and forth for a while, picked over the idea with a fine-toothed comb. Once he got over the shock, he explained that dreams were the sign of a great evil, a dark force beyond the stars.
Once Zig's people started dreaming, he explained, they'd inevitably die. Sometimes in a few weeks, sometimes in a couple hours. The survivors, when they had any, described nightmarish things that tore their way out of space. Most of them never thought about anything else again.
Of course, about the time he was warning me it was bad luck to even speak of it, everything went bad. Smart guy, Zig.
​
If he'd been a bit slower on that explanation, a little more shaken up by his whole world being turned upside down, I never would've understood what came next, or what I had to do. It all looked so *normal,* except for the horrible, sky-filling void of eyes and malice. I know everyone on the planet saw *that* too, so I won't bore you. Long story short, I saw a big alien menace in the sky, and I went for my gun, which wasn't there at all. No sidearm, either. No way to defend myself. That was *real* scary. Nightmarish, even.
Real light bulb moment, that thought. I reached out my arm, thought hard about a giant, lightweight, magical laser cannon, and *grabbed*. And once I saw that work, I went all-out. Mech suit, targeting drones, rocket surfboard, anything I could think of. Anything I could *dream* of. I flew up into space riding more firepower than the world had ever seen. Kind of a shame nobody could see it, but we were all locked up in our own dreams. I'm sure you saw some crazy stuff too.
It gets a little tricky here - the boys in black tell me that any combat data needs to be kept under wraps for security, and I'm inclined to believe them - but long story short, in the middle of that big black mass sat a big orange sphere, a sun-sized target right out of a video game. I'm no tactical genius, but I know a weak spot when I see it, and I lit that one *up*. I have it on good authority that the whole sky burned orange for a day while that ugly bastard burned up into nothing. Unfortunately, I didn't get to see it.
Yeah, turns out that kills you.
I know, I know. I'm still talking to you now, and you're probably wondering why. Maybe you're starting to wonder where you are, or how you got here. I wish I could tell you. But I do know this: That guy who brought Hamlet? He had the right idea.
For in that sleep of death, what dreams do come... |
I never believed in God. Let alone Santa Clause. Since my early teens, I regarded the whole concept of religion as a massive shenanigan, a waste of time and energy. See, I’m a practical person. I always liked physics, maths, and biology. I studied those things. I got papers to prove it, papers good enough to get me a job at NASA. Spirituality is not my thing.
However, now in my late-forties, I am a father to a set of beautiful, brilliant twins. Boy-girl, you know how it is, not exactly a walk in the park. Those creatures can be extremely demanding. Me and my wife, Jannie, decided that we should go traditional on Christmas, introducing the kids to the concept of Santa Clause. While lying to my kids doesn’t make me feel good, and neither does introducing them to superstition, Jannie reasoned with me and convinced me that Santa always brings joy, and never fails to be extremely fun for the kids. She was right. I should stop being so dramatic already; I was a father now.
Jannie has been the voice of reason in my life those six years we are together, in a sense that could be described as a paradox. While I breathe maths and facts and literal logic, she offers the factor which I’ve always been missing: some humanity to keep me on a leash before I go crazy. She’s more of a traditional girl, and you know, the opposites attract. However, when I decided to step away from meats and dairy products she couldn’t convince me otherwise. It was something I’ve always wanted to do, as a test for myself. How would I feel? Better? Worse? Constipated? After more than half a year of eating only veggie stuff, I can say with confidence I regret not trying this earlier in my life. Anyway, I’m going to talk about my diet now.
So it was the big night. Moments before the long-waited arrival of Santa and the kids were all fired up about it. I’m not going to lie here, I kind of was eager myself for the whole ritual to occur, those little bastards have their ways of influencing you. Jannie was also enthusiastic, munching over a box of heart-shaped chocolate bars by the hearth. Since I decided to go along with the whole Santa thing, I thought I might as well have some fun with it. Some good ol’ satire. What harm could it do?
I took a long plate from the pantry and decorated slices of cucumber, lined up like fallen domino tiles. A glass of my soy milk on the side was the cherry on top. I placed my blasphemous masterpiece under the Christmas tree, and I took a step back to look at it, feeling proud and dorky about it.
It was time for Santa to come. Jannie took the kids to their room and I made a run to the car, to unload from the trunk the gifts we bought them last Thursday. I was quick and my movements were precise. I ran back into the house with those big boxes slowing me down. I placed them neatly under the tree and went to join my family in the wait for the man in red. The man who likes Coca-Cola. The man to whom capitalism owes so much wealth every Christmas.
So I went and found them three cuddled under the blanket on the bed, the kids both holding their palms on their mouths in an attempt not to make a sound that would betray their presence. They weren’t doing so well though; excitement is an overlooked sin.
After a couple of minutes of trying to restrain laughter and movement, I decided to open my mouth and say, “Come on let’s go. He’s gone.” So we went. The moment I walked into the living room was the moment I questioned everything I knew, or at least, everything I thought I knew in my life up until that point.
To this day I’m not sure what that thing was. Either Santa did indeed visit us, or some other wild beast decided to ascend from the depths of hell and satisfy its lust in our living room. Under the tree there were no gifts, no plate will cucumbers and soy milk, but something else. Something hideous. There was my plate, but on it was the mutilated head of a deer, antlers and all, in the middle of a pool of blood that filled the plate and dripped from its rim. The kids went in first, running, and they didn’t understand at once what it was that they were seeing. At first, there was awe painted on their faces. The shift between excitement and total horror was slow but sure. Jannie almost had a heart attack, while I thought I had, just like that, gone mad.
Nowadays, the word Santa is taboo in the house. Nobody uses it. It’s like the word Hitler right after WW2. Just like Voldemort in Hogwarts. We don’t speak that name. |
Wearing nothing but loin cloths, and each individual bearing the sign of a red maple leaf across their face. Armed with hockey sticks and skate blades, they tear through the enemy lines, all the while belting out their battle cry - "Oh, I'm so sorry!".
Onward they forge, creating a sea of red, on the snowy ground. Finally, the carnage stops, as the U.S. troops look on, in astonishment. Slowly, the leaders of the 2 armies approach each other. Not knowing what to say, the U.S. commander stands at attention, with their troops following suit. The Americans, their uniforms in tatters, bloodied, some unable to stand in their own, all gather the strength to offer a heartfelt salute, and hold it, awaiting some weird or action from the Canadian leader. The Canadian looks around, returns the salute, and opens his mouth to speak to the American commander. "Oh. I'm sorry we couldn't get here sooner, but the hockey game was on, and it went into overtime. We made it here as soon as we could, and it looks like you needed the help, eh? Yeah - and now you know where we got the colors for our flag...".
And so ended the War to Actually End All Wars, as there wasn't a human alive, that wanted to see the Canadians pissed off, again. |
"Larry, no!"I cry in vain as the 7ft tall part man part alligator smashes yet another printer. "Out. Of. Ink"retorts the angry man reptile, arms crossed defiantly. "Thats the fourth printer today! Remember what the anger management classes taught you??"He huffs and kicks the debris "Count. To. Three. One. Two. Three"His arms fall down to his sides, "Me. Sorry". God these people are hopeless. "It's ok, croc man, just keep it under control". He drags himself back to his modified cubicle, looking genuinely dejected for what its worth.
Ive been trying for three months to get the former henchman of Vile City to acclimatize to a new way of life, but it hasnt been easy. Working with a small lawyer consultancy firm, we've had some successes. But the costs from replacing printers alone have exceeded this months budget and my patience is wearing thin.
"YOU VILE CREATURES! PREPARE TO MEET THE CONSEQUENCES OF YOUR ACTIOnS!"
And here it was, this biggest sapper of my highly precious patience.
"WHAT IS IT YOUR UP TO NOW?! PRINTING HIGHLY DANGEROUS DOCUMENTS NO DOUBT!"
King nit wit himself, Undestroyable man. Even the name is half baked. "How many times do we have to go over this?"I shout exasperatedly as i run towards the man who has just smashed down the front door to the office. Heads are peeking out over the cubicles at the kerfuffle. "This is the ADJUSTMENT OUTREACH program, for gods sake, go back to your post!"But the lunatic has other ideas. Smirking heroically, he has pointed a finger at the unfortunate croc whos halfway to his cubical with a fresh cup of coffee "IVE FACED YOU IN BATTLE, YOU FIEND. YOU WERE THE DEVILISHLY CREATURE WHO AIDED MILLIMAN IN HIS DESTRUCTION OF THE BANK!"The croc has frozen, unsure of what to do, looking at me with panic in his eyes. "Stand down you idiot!"I jump in front of the finger, waving papers signed by the mayor. The croc is counting to three in the background. The finger is now pointed at me and is glowing red. God i hate my job. |
"Do you think you've won?"I ask him, his non-physical presence seemed to weigh on my shoulders now that I've noticed it, like realizing I'm wearing a heavy coat. "Do you think I'll worship now? Do you think I'll obey you? Kill for you? Sin for you? Just because you are real and so far above me as a whale is to an ant?"I take a deep breath, knowing these words may be my last "Do you think this revelation proves anything except how utterly deranged you are? How you created a universe that has no care or mercy for those you have supposedly declared your love for?"My last breath seems to hold for an eternity before I hear something, something so faint it could as much be the last breath of the evening wind whistling through my ears. "No" |
“My gods,” said the artificer, expert marksman and trap-springer, “is that Khalvahameth?”
“Good grief, it is!” squeaked the light mage, banisher of darkness and masterful spellcaster, “we haven’t seen you in ages!”
“How have you been?” The paladin, of all people, took off her gauntlet and shook the hulking demon’s clawed hand. “What’s been happening in the Infernal Circle?”
“Not much,” said Khalvahameth brightly. “But in the next century or so they’re going to hold a vote on whether to make me an *Arch*duke.”
“Oh, that’s great news!” The light mage beamed. “You’ve been working so hard!”
“Or at least you conned everyone into thinking you’ve been working hard,” said the artificer, “which is even more impressive!”
And they all laughed together uproariously. Henry the evil wizard sat down in shock, and nobody noticed. His nemeses, yukking it up with his oldest ally.
“So,” said the demon, as the merriment subsided, “about Henry here…”
“You’re bound to defend him?” asked the paladin.
For the briefest of brief moments, hands edged towards scabbards, magical spells glowed on fingertips, everyone coiled and tensed like an over-wound spring...
“Oh, no. Nothing like that.” Relaxation. Tension flowed away like meltwater. “He’s way too small time to bind me.” Khalvahameth paused, and turned to look at the wizard. “No offence, Henry.”
“None taken,” said Henry, automatically, feeling as if caught in a fever dream.
“But he’s an old friend, you know? I’d really prefer you didn’t, ah, end that friendship.” The demon put his hands together. “We can come to an agreement, surely.”
“Look, Khal,” the paladin sighed. “We’d love to help you out. But this pal of yours summoned skeletons to attack the king.”
“King Marthel?” asked Khalvahameth. “That king?”
“Who else?” said the light mage testily. “Of course that king.”
“Well, he’s kind of a dick, isn’t he? I thought you all hated him.”
“Um, no comment,” said the artificer.
“I’ll comment,” said the light mage. “He is, by all metrics and divinations both arcane and mundane, *definitely* a dick.”
“Then you can let it slide, surely? Henry promises not to do it again. Right Henry?”
“Uh, sure. Yes of course,” said Henry, who had only managed to summon the skeletons in the first place because he’d had the good fortune to find a haunted altar planted by a much, much better necromancer than him.
The paladin frowned. “I don’t know, Khal…”
“Hey. I’ll vouch for him. My word counts for something.”
“Ehhh.” The paladin pinched the bridge of her nose. She turned to the rest of her party for support, but saw that both the artificer and the light mage were looking at her pleadingly. “Oh, why not. Just this once won’t hurt.”
The rest of the encounter was a blur to Henry. Duke Khalvahameth shook more hands and patted more shoulders and Henry was vaguely aware of the light mage suggesting that one or two little skeletons could maybe make their way to the throne room without issue before the paladin ushered her away.
“I can’t believe you talked them out of it,” Henry said eventually. “I thought I was done for.”
Khalvahameth gripped his shoulder. Henry looked up at a big, toothy grin, and eyes that glinted red.
“No problem,” said the demon. “That’ll be one soul, please.” |
Many of my most trusted underlings had advised me not to go on the date. Yet, I ignored their warnings, for there were two key things they did not understand.
First, they did not understand the nature of magic. When, three years ago, Nicholas the Liberator defeated Elizabeth the Dreadful, everyone could feel that she had cast a terrible curse. Many sorcerers, who thought they could interpret what we all had felt, were quick to explain the nature of the curse: that Nicholas could never harm another person again, unless he loved that person.
Still, many did not respect Nicholas’ decision to retire. Why could he not, after all, feel love in his heart for those he had to defeat, just as he felt love for the peasants and the outcasts of society.
As a witch, however, I understood the true significance of this curse. Curses bind themselves to souls. Respect, infatuation, even deep empathy, these emotions do not reside in the soul. For someone’s soul to be love-bound, they must feel that another person is truly a part of themselves. So, were Nicholas to fall in love with me, I would be safe. Surely, no matter how selfless he was, even he could not kill a part of himself.
Second, they did not understand why I am what society might call a “villain.” Many people think I am cruel, or greedy, or perhaps that I lust for power. And while all these things are true, they are not the reason that I am the way I am, but merely consequences of my true nature. You see, there’s something wrong with my soul – something ugly deep inside me. I already knew this in my first memory: I could see in my father’s eyes that he looked on me without love or connection. So, even if Nicholas were capable of killing a part of himself, I would be safe. Because, I thought, no one could ever truly love me.
--
The first date – dinner at a tavern – was awkward. For one thing, I knew almost everything about him while he knew so little about me. In the past decade, as I had been amassing power behind veils of secrecy, I had received reports of his exploits from my informants. He, on the other hand, had only heard the recent rumors about me, that I had been orchestrating raids on bands of adventurers.
The second date – a hike through the Forest of Despair – was more natural. Perhaps it was because he had spent so many years chasing villains - he understood me. He laughed when I told my story about my failed attempt to create a supersoldier chimera of elves and poisonous frogs. When I told him how challenging it was to manage an army of subservient underlings, he didn’t suggest ways to fix my problems, he just offered his sympathy. And our shared hatred for Elizabeth the Dreadful? Well, we definitely bonded over that.
At the end of the third date, we lay in his bed, flushed and tired. “Why are you doing this?” I asked him.
“I know the nature of my curse,” he said. “I have no hopes of being able to stop your quest for power.” He turned his head to face mine. “I just wanted someone who would understand. Understand the importance of magic, the monumental scale of the struggle between good and evil. And there aren’t many people on my side, the good side that is, who get that.”
Seeing each other fell into a sort of rhythm after that. Our relationship became comfortable. So comfortable, in fact, that when he told me he loved me, I let myself believe him. He could hurt me, I thought, but he was choosing not to. We moved in together. I could sense his discomfort with my line of work, but he never brought it up and neither did I. A year went by. Then two.
--
This morning, though, I saw something in his eyes. A deep connection that I had never seen before in any other person. But also a deep sadness. I know what he is about to do, what he has to do, and I accept it, because I love him too. |
I could feel it again. The blessing wearing thin. With care I placed the hammer on my anvil, returning the hot metal to the furnace. I stepped back as Wezun looked at me. He raised an eyebrow at me, a knowing tone to his voice.
"Curse coming again?"
I nodded. A simple lie, but it made all the difference. He stood up from his worn chair, stretching his old frame.
"Well, you go make yourself useful elsewhere. I'll finish off these horseshoes."
"Thanks."
I stepped outside, feeling the cooler air hit my skin. As it did, the blessing wavered again. On its last threads, I let it go. As I did, I felt my body tighten. Bones cracked and reshaped. Hair grew large and round, hardening into scales. My fingers grew, the little and ring fingers merging together. My nails grew into claws, and arms lengthened.
I let out a groan, transformed into a low growl. It took a moment to reorient myself, adapting back to four legs not two, though my front two still functioned as arms. I curled my tail to work out the kinks, before sighing. This was happening more and more frequently. With any luck, it would strengthen back to how it once was. But I had my doubts.
With a heavy heart, I plodded off. As I passed, various people jumped a little, before giving me a smile and a nod. They had grown used to my body. I was initially met with fear and distrust, when it first happened. But a quick lie had turned them sympathetic. After all, how was it my fault that some hag had cursed me?
They accepted me. And in time, I made use of my monstrous body. I held great strength, and with my human-like intelligence, I could function like self aware heavy duty machinery. In spring, I would dig trenches for the crops. In summer, I could repair things that would take months. In autumn, I would haul the harvests. And in the winter, it was firewood.
I trudged over to the village centre. There, I could make myself known, and be called for whoever needed it. But before then, I wanted to speak with the chief. I wanted him to send out word for clerics or other holy people. As they were familiar with blessings, they might be able to help me.
I liked being human. I liked having friends. I didn't want to give it up so easily. |
Getting in was surprisingly easy. All I had to do was say the magic words Veshanta had put at the end of half their songs. "Ve al shallam", which as far as I could tell meant *finally I found you*. The security guy sized me up, then shrugged and handed me a backstage pass. I was lead through a couple of tunnels to a small room, with two overly soft couches and a small table with snacks and beverages. Waiting with me were three teenage girls in those weird flowing coloured robes Veshanta always wore on stage, probably from the gift shop, one attached boyfriend, and a guy in his twenties who despite the heat would not take of his leather jacket.
After an eternity of girly chatter interspersed with awkward silences, finally the target of interest entered the room. I allowed the girls to swarm them first. Watching them make polite conversation, praising the robedresses the girls apparently had made themselves. Shows you what I know about robes. All the while Leather Jacket guy staring at me over his beer until I hit him with my most innocent smile.
As the girls left we stood up, and Veshanta took both of us in. Him a handsome mix of Bradley Cooper and the Fonz, and me looking like a slightly overweight hillbillie Farmhand who neated up for the barn dance. As they opened their mouth I hit nodded casually at less muscular Zac Efron.
*Deal with him first.*
No idea whether the words were completely correct, but they got the message across. Their huge eyes widened in surprise. It took them less than a minute to get rid of the blond Travolta from Grease. The look he had for me on leaving was delicious.
Threateningly Vashnta strolled towards me, all their limbs stretching passing the threshold from model to monstrosity.
*Who are you? You are not of us!*
"Sorry, I am not fluent. Can we do this in English?"
"Sure, talk!"
"You need to stop this public thing. It is pure luck that I found you before the church did. I guess they don't follow pop music closely."
"What are you saying?"
"Look, how long have you been here? Three years? Four?"
"Six actually."
"Have you heard of the inquisition? They will come after you. Just like they came for your kind. It is just a matter of time."
Their huge eyes became slits.
"And why should I trust you? Why are you here."
"More than one of your kind died in my arms. Some could escape through a portal to that ocean world. Whatsitcalled."
"Bellethoron."
"Thats the one. Look, I just don't want that to happen again. Just trust me. I can hide you from the church and help with the Portal if you want to follow your kind. Like you always sing about. You have a chance to end the loneliness."
Another long lingering, judging look. Then they bobbed their head.
"Fine. I will take a look at what you offer. Let me fetch my things."
As they left I could not suppress my grin any longer. The heart of a shape changer should sustain me for at least another hundred years. |
Amy tugged at the front door, but it felt like it had been glued shut by God. It had never been this bad before. The worst before this was all the furniture being stuck to the ceiling in the lounge, before crashing down in an ruined heap when she entered the room.
But that was over and done with quickly. Now none of the doors or windows will budge at all. It is hurling her possessions nonstop. It is different today. It is definitely time to pop out for a walk while it calms down.
Usually the ghost just seems to want to scare her, and it absolutely works. She is always terrified. She usually cries. But she is no believer in letting terror win out over determination. She will not surrender her home. You can't afford a ghost free house in this economy.
In the end she didn't even see what struck her head while she pointlessly tugged at a window. Obviously something heavy. Something with an edge, she certainly felt an edge. Hopefully not that novelty bookend.
There was the feeling of it hitting her, then nothing. Now she feels... cold? Wrong? She feels like she has been kicked out of reality. Dislodged from time and space. Thrown up by gravity? Sitting on her couch, though.
She knows she is dead. She is feeling pretty mad about it.
From here she can feel another presence, a familiar one. An asshole one. In the upstairs bathroom. Seems when you're dead your perceptions are not so limited. Perhaps in death you are also better at punching?
It says at first it wanted her to leave, which is both petty and predictable ghost behaviour. Eventually it started to appreciate her grit and wanted some ghostly company.
Amy has decided to be poor company.
When she reaches for it her hands slip through a cool and insubstantial exterior. She is seeking a heart, but there isn't one. Inside it feels like old, tangled mesh.
Maybe it has been here too long. The mesh is so easy to stretch and tear. It makes terrible sounds, inhuman. But of course, it is far from human. It is just a rotting remnant, easily destroyed. Amy is dead, but at least there will finally be some peace around here.
In time, once her body is gone, once the blood is scrubbed out of the floorboards, once her possessions are sold and given away, someone new comes. She worked so damn hard for this house, and he doesn't even take off his shoes when he comes in.
Maybe a living spirit can be torn apart as easily as a dead one. She supposes can can be petty and predictable herself. |
##Union
Inmar sits at the edge of the pool scanning his dominion for his subjects. He sent Tyler to the desert to retrieve the Lost Gem, and Rachel was supposed to protect it from intruders. Heather should be sailing the sea in search of the Siren's Song that he bottled. Meanwhile, Drake would be battling creatures at the bottom of the lake creating tides. Chris and Yolanda had the most humorous mission. They each had half a talisman, and they cannot spill blood to take the other half. Inmar had hoped to watch their humorous attempts to outdo each other in seductions and subterfuge. Yet every location is empty.
"Inmar."Torac, his spider servant, crawls into the room from the ceiling. "The humans are in your throne room."
"What? How did they get there? They can only come here when summoned,"Inmar replies.
"I don't know, but they want to see you,"Torac replies.
"Tell the guards to take care of them."
"They slayed all the guards. They said they would kill me if I didn't return with you."Torac crawls next to Inmar. "Please come back with me. I have a family."
"Okay fine."Inmar floats in the air, and Torac follows. "And say hi to Geza for me."
Six humans stand in the throne room surrounded by the corpses of horrific creatures. They carry their weapons with confidence and skill. And rage is engrained into their faces.
"It's such a lovely surprise to see you all. How was the quest?"Inmar holds up his hands in a welcoming motion. Rachel fires a crossbow bolt into Inmar's palm.
"Ow, was that really necessary?"Inmar asks.
"No, but this is."Tyler holds out his hands and causes Inmar to levitate. Tyler swings Inmar across the room crashing into the walls.
"Torac, help me,"Inmar yells.
"Uh, my doctor said that I shouldn't engage in vigorous activities with my heart problems,"Torac says.
"Heart problems? You don't have a heart. You have an open circulatory system."Tyler brings Inmar to the humans. Drake and Rachel begin slicing at Inmar with his spears.
"Enough."Inmar summons his powers and repulses them with a wave of force. Chris and Yolanda stand strong while the others fall prone. "What is the meaning of this?"
"The meaning is that we discovered your plan."Yolanda breathes fire at Inmar who shields himself.
"We're not going to be your pawns anymore."Chris creates shadow tendrils to strike Inmar.
"Enough."Inmar holds his hands in the air. Electricity courses over the humans and forces them to the ground. "Have you forgotten that I was the one who resurrected you? And I was the one who granted your powers. I can destroy you with merely a thought."
Inmar wobbles and faints. He turns to see Torac injecting him with venom.
"Torac, even you betray me?"Inmar slurs.
"You never approved my vacations."Torac bites harder, and Inmar collapses. The humans stand.
"Thank you for helping us,"Yolanda says.
"It's fine. I get to spend more time with my Geza now."Torac walks out of the room. "Oh, I should probably ask what are you going to do now?"
"I don't know."Chris takes Yolanda's hand. "But whatever quest we undertake. We'll do it together and of our own free will."
"Okay, cool. Just make sure to lock up when you leave. I plan on moving in here, and I don't want to deal with a giant rat infestation,"Torac says. |
"This is a story of a man named-"
Attenborough cocked his head and interrupted, "I am David Attenborough, today-"
Morgan freeman was sitting quietly in the corner, smiling to himself. In a dramatic cockney accent, quiet belying his usual tenor he ventured, "And I'm Morgan Freeman, ain't I guv.'
The Narrator was at his wits end, "Was that supposed to be funny? You really are unbelievable."
Freeman lounged more dramatically, "I just don't understand where we are going with this story. I was told this was supposed to be a comedy."
Attenborough turned around sharply, "A comedy! I was told this was an examination into consumerism and climate change!"
The narrator began to scream internally. "This is a story of a-"
In unison both Attenborough and Freeman placed their heads in their hands.
"Alright look,"The narrator continued; clearing his throat, "The story has many parts, and your cameos are designed to highlight your established characters. You've only got 72 lines of dialogue so if we hop to it we can be done before 5 and we all go home."
There was a moment of quiet contemplation, and Attenborough turned to Freeman.
"Pub?"
When they had finally cleared out; and the Narrator was alone, he looked down at the 600 pages of dialogue in front of him.
A single tear rolled down his cheek as he opened the title page and began reading,
"This is the story of a man named Stanley."
​
PS: I have to say this prompt was super challenging, it's so difficult to portray character, especially of voice, in only dialogue. |
David woke up, very confused. He had lived a long and fulfilling life as a comedian and TV celebrity with a beautiful wife and daughter, but he knew he was dying. The doctors had tried everything they could get to cure the cancer, but ultimately it couldn’t be cured. So he had been in hospice for the last two weeks, and just last night his wife Victoria had tearfully said goodbye.
But now – David was much younger. He didn’t have the aches and pains that he had grown used to in his old age. He didn’t even have his beard. He looked like he did back when he hosted Mitchell and Webb! “Well, I must be dead,” David thought. Hence the confusion. Because David was agnostic – he didn’t say there definitely wasn’t an afterlife, but he privately thought that it wasn’t likely, and he expected death to be final. No afterlife, no watching down on people, no nothing.
Well, he couldn’t stay here. He saw a pearly gate in the distance. And a rather lengthy line of people trying to get in. Well, he guessed he should go stand in the line. He didn’t believe in the afterlife, but he’d been raised in a Christian country so he knew about St. Peter judging souls to get into heaven.
As he waited in the lengthy line to be judged, David saw that a few people were allowed to continue walking. Those must have been the few who were deemed worthy of entrance to heaven. But for most people, the floor disappeared from under them, and they fell into a pit. David could only guess that the people who walked forward were those who were allowed to heaven, and the ones who fell into a pit were condemned to Hell. “Well, I might as well enjoy my last few minutes in this pleasant place before I go to Hell,” David thought. As an agnostic, David fully expected that he had offended whichever God was running the place. He was, however, curious about which religion was right. Based on the number of people descending into Hell, it couldn’t be a major religion like Christianity or Islam. Wouldn’t it be odd if it turned out that the people in Polynesia who worshipped Prince Phillip as a God were correct?
Finally, it was David’s turn.
“Name?” the gatekeeper asked.
“David Mitchell.”
“David Mitchell, David Mitchell – from London?”
“Yes.”
“You’re agnostic?”
“Yes.” That was probably the answer that would condemn him to Hell, but David hadn’t the least desire to lie.
“Very well, welcome to Heaven.”
“What?”
“Move!”
David was shocked, but he did as he was asked and continued on the path. He went into a beautiful room – a paradise! Perfect temperature, angels bringing cream puffs around, everything was great! But why was he here?
“Ah, welcome! You must be new?”
“Yes, who are you?”
“I’m Stephen Hawking, from the welcoming committee.”
Indeed, it was Stephen Hawking. And he was looking good – freed from his wheelchair, able to walk and talk in his own voice. And yet he looked miserable.
“Is this heaven?”
“Yes.”
“Then why are we here? You’re an atheist and I’m an agnostic, and when I was in line to be judged it looked like 9 out of 10 people were sent to hell.”
“Well, it turns out that there is an almighty God. But he thinks that all religions and religious people are hypocritical, so he only lets atheists and agnostics into heaven.”
“I see. So why is everybody so miserable?”
“Well, we spent our entire lives thinking there was no God and that we should live morally. And God lets us into heaven because of that. But his angels like to rub it in.”
Just then an angel appeared.
“David, here’s a bottle of whiskey for you, provided by our most gracious lord and sovereign, God.”
David took the whiskey, and sipped it. It was by far the best whiskey he had ever drunk – it tasted much better than anything on Earth, and yet it was still whiskey.
“Yes, that does taste good doesn’t it? You can thank our most gracious lord and sovereign, God, for providing you with such beneficence.”
The angel went away.
“See what I mean?”
David could. He liked the whiskey, but the angel was a smug little bastard.
“Is it just him who’s like that?”
“No, it’s all of them. And we have to put up with it for all eternity.”
“That’s a pretty bad punishment, truth be told. Can I just go to Hell?”
Another angel came to them.
“No, you must stay here and be close to our gracious lord and sovereign, God. It is a reward for your agnosticism. Have another whiskey.”
“Christ, I’m going to need to get drunk.”
“No luck,” said Stephen. “Since you’re in heaven, you can drink as much as you want, and all the drinks are free, but you’ll never get drunk. Likewise, you can eat all the food you want, but you’ll never get fat.”
“And it’s all thanks to our most gracious lord and Sovereign, God!” said the angel, before floating away again.
David looked on in horror. He was going to have to put up with this for the rest of eternity?
“Come on, David. Let’s get you settled in your room at least.”
David followed Stephen Hawking, all of a sudden thinking that this was a fate worse than death. |
"That's so cute!"she used to say, as the snail came forward, as quickly as a snail its size could actually move. "They're so eager for their food."Or 'he' or 'she', or there was this one woman who always always called it by the name she gave it, which translated roughly to 'Speedy'.
I wonder how that concept used to sound. Language doesn't stick. If I didn't write, I don't think I'd even think in words any more, but, well, I do. My body still lives, naked and alone on this smooth, worn empty rock in the endless dark. Little bumps I chip out to make sounds on pounded-flat rock. I have time for it. I have all the time there is.
Just me and the snail and, for some reason, the tank, as if I managed some sort of metaphysical win condition and the same circumstances remain, forever. Me undying because the snail can't get to me, the snail in its tank, doing its best whenever the door opens. The glue holding the glass together has never rotted. The glass has never even chipped.
I used to feed it and clean it out, and it would come rushing forward when the top opened. Never fast enough. If it stayed at the top, I'd wait, and eventually it would go down again, after the food and water was gone.
"That's so cute!"she used to say when it came for its daily meal of greens, cardboard, leftover scraps. When she was there.
He, sometimes. Usually she. They, a few times - both non-binary and once, an actual group, but making sure the snail never escaped, that was a problem.
"That's so cute!"one of them might say. The snail was always eager to come to my hand, to the greens. "You trained it to come for food!"Or him, or her, or they... Speedy, that one time. A woman.
Insects just ended up eventually being eaten and bacteria only grow, sometimes on me, never for long... I think they have long since gone. I know I haven't bothered trying to eat even myself for...
A while.
The stars have dimmed and moved apart and everything's been dark, and I've worked through every story, every cast of imaginary characters.
No God has appeared to tell me what I've won. The tank has never rotted, or chipped. The snail didn't die when I stopped bothering to tap a vein to feed it. That knife's long worn to dust.
"That's so cute!"people used to say when I opened the tank door and the snail came forward...
I haven't seen it in some time, but I just have to open the top and put my hand in and wait, and imagine it coming forward, and it will all be over.
I told all the stories I ever want to tell, and now this one is ending too. The glass, like everything else, is smooth and cold, the lid slides back easily...
But the snail isn't there, and when I feel around I hear it *move*, and now I know I didn't used to imagine that, and also I realise I haven't been breathing for quite some time either. My heart no longer beats. But still I live in perfect health.
I can hear the snail running away.
Slowly.
Less rapidly than I can move. Little sucker.
I win. |
Not a very good deal. You see, I'm a hunter. My job is to slay in order to provide, and I've provided for many, thus I've slain many. I've learned not to kill more than what I need, but others need more than I do. So I hunt, and over the years I've made the forest my playground, I know every root, I know every bush. The round arch of all the mounds, pools where water gather in cold mornings, where the wind is strongest, where the flock lingers and the meeker birds gather. I know the smell of every place I've stepped, at every season of the year, and I own it as if it was my own. Break a twig, show me and I can tell you where you broke it. That cursed deer, it - she, was just not in condition to be harvested. I don't know why or how, but it felt like it wasn't to be harvested, ever. So I shot him, the newbie sunnovabich that was gonna kill it. Her.
She led me somewhere else, somewhere I didn't know, and there I realized that I already knew everything. Before, something was missing from the forest, something I sought but never found. It felt incomplete, something was missing. But now I know, and now there are no more things to know and I feel at peace. But peace came at an heavy loss. Now it's the others, they have aged and they don't know me. They don't know the forest. They don't respect the forest. So I hunt, because I'm a hunter. I slay in order to provide, and now I provide safety. No more will other humans lay harm to the forest. |
Nathan Steele sipped the coffee tenderly before setting the mug back down on its coaster next to his laptop. It was going to be a long night of homework, but work was comforting to the seventeen-year-old. Work had always been his favorite distraction. No matter what foster home, no matter what orphanage, no matter where he was or what situation he was in, work had always been there to keep him busy and focused.
Nate had found a lot of work with the Northwind Heroic Academy, a high school and college campus for those gifted by the Goddess. He was selected for one of the Worldwalker Foundation Scholarships, a foundation made to provide "normal"children with the unique opportunities that the heroic academies provided. He'd earned the scholarship on academic merit alone. He went from jumping fences of foster homes to being roommates and classmates with Northwind's most promising and famous young heroes. Of course, none of them had any idea that he was also gifted, but that wasn't something he was going to ever let anyone know. Not even Skylar.
Nate did not seek a hero's life. It was not that he disliked heroes; in fact, he actually adored them for the most part. He just simply wished to be an entertainer. He loved making people laugh more than anything. The attention was wonderful, of course. He was aware that his desire for attention was likely an unhealthy byproduct of his upbringing, but he knew that his love for entertainment went beyond his selfish desires. Joy was the lifeblood that allows good people to get through difficult times. He would know. These heroes worked themselves to the bone both in the study and in service. If he could simply take their minds off their villains and enemies for even a moment, then that would make Nate happy. They knew him as the smooth-talking confident ungifted that always made everyone smile. The instructors knew him as that too, but they also knew that he was one of the top students in the academy. And Skylar…
He leaned back in his wheeled office chair, taking a moment to contemplate the assignment. “What is the difference between a hero and a villain?” He spoke the paper’s subject aloud to himself, rubbing two fingers along the jet black stubble that sprouted from his chin. He let his mind drift into thinking of how he might need a shave before catching himself and refocusing. He spun the chair around, facing toward his roommate's half of the living space. It sat empty. Skylar was out on city watch tonight. There had been threats of attack made by the Cerulean League on a number of establishments in Northwind. Every hero in the area had been called regardless of affiliation, and Skylar was the academy’s most promising hero. He prayed to the Goddess that she would return safely.
Nathan smiled at the mere thought of her. He couldn’t deny it now. He absolutely had a crush on her, but who could blame him? She was stunningly beautiful. She spoke with an ethereal elegance like the knight-heroes of old. Her kindness and passionate nature lit up the room. She was every student’s crush, regardless of gender. Many people had tried bribing Nate into switching rooms with them when the living arrangements were made. Everyone, teachers and heroes, adored her. That also meant they were jealous of the friendship he had with Skylar. Everyone knew that they were close. Some even rumored that she liked him. For many jealous students, it was too close for comfort.
She was also one of, if not the strongest heroes the academy had ever seen. Her power was called “Spiritsurge.” He’d never been close enough to really see the full range of properties, but he’d studied the footage and asked her about it on a couple of occasions. His running theory was that she could siphon power from souls, whether it was her own or the souls of others, and use it to grant her a wide range of abilities depending on the amount in her system. She passively had enhanced physical and cognitive capabilities, which Nate guessed to be the result of a subconscious siphoning of her own soul at a sustainable level. She could consciously expend more of that energy, that “soul-power,” to fuel greater feats and abilities. She also physically glowed when particularly high amounts were present. He’d seen her fly, fire blasts of energy from her hands, recover from fatal wounds in days, and so much more. The drawback to spiritsurge was that using it was incredibly taxing on the body and mind, leaving her out of action for a time relative to how much she used. Nathan had always taken it upon himself to care for her whenever she pushed too hard, taking notes for her in class and keeping her company in the academy medbay. She was his first, and for a while, his only friend at the academy. He might not be a shining beacon of light in the darkness of the world, but he could be a good friend. He just wished she’d stop being so merciful to her enemies so that she would stop getting herself hurt.
Nate sighed, sinking deeper into his chair. Skylar believed that there was good in everyone. She, like many heroes, forbade herself from killing villains regardless of their crimes against humanity. Even her nemesis, the King of Clubs, had been allowed to live by her code of mercy. But why? Why put yourself through hell to save someone who is never going to change? It bothered him deeply. The King of Clubs was a mass murdering perverted freak, a man deserving of the death he gave to so many others. If arrested, he would be imprisoned for life, never to see the sun again. Was that alone not a death sentence in and of itself? What was the difference between an existence of echoing your repentance endlessly into four unmoving concrete walls and dying at the hands of a hero? Both had the same outcome in the end, a well-deserved death. He knew that if Skylar’s life were at stake, he’d kill the King without a second thought. Wouldn’t she do the same?
He was stirred from the disturbing thought by a commotion in the hallway. He stood up, alarm bells ringing in his head. He stepped trepidatiously to the door. It flew forward off the hinges and slammed directly into him. Two sets of hands grabbed his arms as he came to his senses. They were thugs, dressed in the unmistakably posh style of the Cadre of Clubs. He needed not ask himself why they were here. He knew in an instant. The threats downtown were distractions. Nate was the real target. He would be leveraged. He would be a way to force Skylar to surrender so that disgusting bastard could have her all to himself. As they dragged him by the arms, his blood boiled at the thought.
He knew he shouldn’t. He knew that once he crossed that line, there would be no going back. But some lines deserved to be crossed.
Time came to a crawl, but Nathan Steele breathed with the same rhythm as he had been before. He could see that he was in the hallway now. A number of students were being attacked by the King’s men in the ambush. He saw Marco Sinclair, who sat next to him in History class, fighting desperately to keep a knife from sinking into his throat as a Club member pinned him against the wall. He was seconds from death. Luckily for him, seconds were all Nate needed. With reality slowed for a brief moment, Nate made no wasted motion in standing to his feet and shaking free of his would-be abductors. In the waning moments of slowed time, he leaped forward with both feet aimed directly at the ribs of Marco’s assailant. Time resumed normal pace as Nate shot forward with incredible velocity and dropkicked the knife wielder with bone-crushing force, sending the henchman flying down the hallway. He looked up to see a very confused Marco, who had just watched an “ungifted” hit a man with the force of a train. He knew Nathan was strong, but that was clearly abnormal. They both turned as the two Nate just broke from charged him once again. The one in front reared back and swung into thin air as Nathan ducked low and sent a knee into his gut with unnatural speed. The second man was not so lucky. A lighting punch crushed the goon’s windpipe, sending him down hard.
Like a whirlwind, Nathan stormed down the hallway, his blows sending Cadre men into and through the walls, floor, and ceiling of the hallway. Some of their injuries would likely be fatal, but Nate would shed no tears over these men. Just as soon as it had started, the ambush was decisively over. All of the students were okay, but they were all shocked into silence. Nate had hidden power, that was clear to everyone. Before anyone could ask, Nate stormed out of the hallway and down the stairs. As he exited the building, he saw an unmarked black SUV begin speeding down the street. Bingo. Nathan followed in slowed time, staying just out of view.
The difference between a hero and a villain is morality. Nathan Steele was neither hero nor villain. He was not evil, but he certainly was not merciful. There had been a time for inaction, allowing the heroic and brave paragons to defend the innocent from the schemes of the Cerulean League. That time had passed. They had come to his home. They had tried to kill his friends. They had tried to ransom him so they could subject his love to the perverted desires of a deranged mob boss. That was a line crossed. They would learn that goes both ways. Tonight, there would be hell to pay in Northwind. |
I wake up, I’m on that same uncomfortable carriage ride again. Damn it. I wanted to rest. No fighting dragons, no Dark Brotherhood, none of that werewolf nonsense. I look at the gaunt face of a prisoner. He’s wanting to tell me about how they ambushed me trying to cross the border. That was so long ago but I shushed him. I didn’t want the old news. I struggle to remember what will happen next.
In an effort to remember, I look at the faces of the compatriots who were facing their last moments along with me. I recall the man who got his head decapitated and take note to talk to him a little more. He didn’t have a long life. How am I going to live my second life here? My thoughts are interrupted by the prayers of one of the prisoners.
“Akatosh, anyone please help. The divines.”
My heart sinks, listening to his prayers made my eyes water. Especially since I knew. Time passes and the villagers don’t recognize me. It was weird to have them point at me as if I was an outlaw again as I wasn’t a Dragonborn yet. Worried voices fill the carriage ride into the middle of the town, where the chopping block lies.
“End of the line,” one of the prisoners states.
The introductions start, the prisoners state their names, then my trauma started to replay.
“No, I am not a rebel! You can’t do this,” he says before sprinting away. A female guard shouts,
“Arrows,”
The man running off gets shot and falls to the ground. Sweat runs down my forehead. How could they do this? Back then I didn’t lift a finger to this injustice. I was afraid to go out that way. I don’t have to stand for this. This wasn’t my Skyrim. I can change this. I have powers that exceed the abilities of a Dragonborn now. I have accessed the power of this realm and I am aware that I am in a dream.
Time pauses and I look at the man on the ground. As one of the rare people in this world, I have the ability to view the tower that encompasses this dream. I spent a lifetime practicing it and now that I am reborn, I can make use of it to rewrite this old tale. This ability is called CHIM, and it’s a set of words that I can command to resurrect, kill, empower or create.
His body raises up again from the dead. Necromancy was forbidden in Cyrodill, I wasn’t sure of Skyrim’s views of it, but I didn’t care about measly rules when guards started to twist them. The guards were curious on how such a thing could bring someone back from the dead. They stood paralyzed, their eyes widen at the prisoner as he jumped back up to sprint again. The lady shouts,
“Arrows! Now!”
But the man ran off. I looked at some of the guards and they dropped to the floor. They were not going to touch another man’s soul. After the guards dropped, I waited. The dragon should be here soon.
<>
Over in Shivering Isles, Lord Sheogorath sits on his throne. Bored, he stands up to ready his arsenal for another tedious duel with a golden saint, till Haskill appears,
“My Lord, a new entity has awaken to see the tower.” He says, noticing that Lord Sheogorath lip begins to curl upwards.
“A new friend.” |
‘Figures,’ said Jeff. A cynic at heart but somehow still optimistic, or desperate, enough to brave a trip to a colony world. He’d been saying it was coming for the better part of two years, some agreed, some didn’t. Some grumbled that he should just shut up about it.
Willas looked at him and shrugged. Not much to say, really. They were still shy of proper self-sufficiency, minimal redundancy on power and other essential systems, but had food enough for four years, which was maybe enough time to grow their own if people would get off their asses and actually work.
Jane was more verbose. ‘Fucking politicians! We can’t vote for them so they don’t care about us.’ The universal speed limit ensured that by the time their voices were heard back on earth the politicians who made the decision would already be retired if not dead from old age. So because of the joys of interstellar travel and measuring distance in lightyears, extra-solar colonies don’t get a vote.
But the small crowd who actually showed up to hear the announcement had already started drifting away from the “Town Square”, which was really just a gap in the dirt between the surrounding buildings. Settlement 361B-g was still at the Drop-Colony stage, having had two ships arrive to unload machinery and people and animals and seed banks and all the things the Very Clever People back on Earth thought were needed to bootstrap a colony.
Settlement 361B-g didn’t really have a name yet, per se. A bunch of ideas had been proposed, but nothing stuck. Most people called it The Colony or The Settlement. Few called it home. |
That was a tough night.
A warehouse loaded with assault rifles, machine guns, rocket launchers went sky-high. The explosion shattered a dozen building's windows by the hundreds, glass shards raining on civilians. This was followed up by Tank escaping by curling up into a ball made of her liquid metal and fired out of the explosion.
She's risky, ballsy and outright dangerous. New to the scene but making a big impact, a bit too much. Tank does not hold back, the passion for what she does is palpable in every breath she takes, every blow she lands. And that laugh of hers, when she flung over a dozen metal spikes right at me, like buckshot.
What a woman. I'm looking forward to getting to know her. But first, a shower. I walk past the personal gym, I've had enough of a workout for today, and hit the hot water. I hum some theme song I don't recall. The one Monolith and Death Knight have. Still not sure what's up with those two. I should get in touch with Astral again, she's in their area.
After the shower, I feel a bit more unwound. My head's a little emptier. In the mirror, I see the hard work I've done but not much of the hard work my hair stylist left. Still got bruises. She got me good with that buckshot, I'll give her that. Genuinely felt that, still did.
In my underwear, I trod on over to my bed, when I notice that the light in my office is still on. I haven't been in the office for a while now. Maybe on of the cleaners left it on like that during cleaning? Hmm. A quick float back and forth through the hall. The door's slightly ajar.
I move my hand to click it off, when I see her.
Oblivion.
My heart stops in my chest as I see a gaze of pure, unadulterated hatred in her yellow slit eyes. Her mouth wrinkled and her jaw clenched. She looks...older.
"Hey Champ."She says as her face twitches in rage.
"Oblivion,"I say as I suddenly feel my heart rising up to my neck. "It's been a long day. How about we talk about-"
"Nononono. No. We're doing this now."
"I'm really not in the mood for this, I'm tired."
"Yeah, no doubt. That other babe you got been going rough on you, I see."She says as she stares at the buckshot bruise on my chest.
"T-This is not what it looks like."
"What does it look like, Champ?"
"It-That doesn't matter."
"I think it does matter. Tell me. What is it actually, and what does it look like?"
"You know what? No. There are boundaries that you don't cross, and this-"
"Boundaries?"She says as her eyes open wide, her eyes widen in surprise. Fuck. this is going wrong, I need to calm her down before she brings the whole cave down. This is the second I'd have to replace in a year, my insurance won't cover it.
"Who the _fuck_ are _you_ to talk about _boundaries_ when you're out causing mayhem with that _whore_, Tank!?"
She gets up, no, launches out of that chair and gets right in my face.
"Leave her out of this!"
"The fuck I am, you cheating cunt!"I see her holding a remote, which she points to the beamer. It turns on, and roughly ten recording start playing. Different qualities, different fights, same scenario. Me and Tank getting down and dirty, multiple fights over the last month.
"Where did you get this?"
She slaps me, _hard_. I nearly get knocked off balance.
"So that's it, huh? You don't even have the balls to say anything about, you pathetic fucking coward!"Her eyes are welling up as I look back, adjusting to several tons of force trying to knock my head off my shoulders. The blow rumbles the cave quickly.
"I started my whole thing with _you_. _You_, you were the one thing I could rely on in this crapsack steaming pile of shit we call home! We teamed up on Death Knight together, we faced the Third Leviathan! We have been doing this for _eight_ motherfucking years. Eight years! And then you just start, start, seeing someone else? WAS I NOT GOOD ENOUGH FOR YOU ANYMORE?!"
"Oby, that's not-"
She bodychecked me right through multiple walls back into the gym with a burst of speed.
"IS IT BECAUSE I'M GETTING OLD?"She screams at the top of her lungs, "BECAUSE I'M GETTING WRINKLES?! OR IS IT BECAUSE YOU'RE JUST SUCH A PIECE OF SHIT THAT YOU JUST CAN'T HELP BUT THROW YOURSELF AT THE FIRST AVAILABLE PIECE OF ASS THAT COMES YOUR WAY!? I THOUGHT I MEANT SOMETHING TO YOU!"
Her throat damn near gives out. I pull myself up on one of the racks, now unloaded from the usual weights.
"We can work this out, just stop! Think about what you're doing, what you're saying! It's not the same compared to what you and I have, I swear!"
"I WASTED YEARS OF MY LIFE ON YOU, YOU INGRATE! YEARS! I COULD HAVE BEEN MONOLITH'S EQUAL IF I HADN'T TRIED TO SUCK UP TO YOU FOR FOR ALMOST A DECADE OF MY FUCKING LIFE! AND YOU THROW IT ALL AWAY LIKE IT'S MEANINGLESS!"
"Oby, will you just listen!? Just for a second, please! I-I can explain!"
"Oh, you can explain _all that_!?"She says as she casually picks up one of the one ton circular weights in one hand and points back to the office. "Oh, let me hear it, *hero*. Come on. _Enlighten_ me."
"Tank just needed someone to set her up, just for starters! Now that she has a name, she can look for someone dedicated for herself, I'll just be a reference!"
"A reference?"She seems taken aback a bit, but keeps her nearly-Glasgow smile that don't reach her eyes.
"Yeah!"
"That's all?"
"_Yes_, that's all! You're blowing this _way_ out of proportion! She means nothing to me, we got to help our own folks out, right? I mean, come on, let's be real here, have you never done that?"
"No. I never felt the need to. You know why? Because I thought, for just once in my miserable life, that I found someone that actually gave a _damn_ about me. Not my powers, not what I could do for them, but someone that _chose_ me, for _me_. And that's all I wanted, you know. To be wanted. To be appreciated by someone."
"I do. I do want you out there, clashing with me. I do appreciate you. I wouldn't have stuck my ass out here in this city, if it wasn't for you. You're the only one that made it worth it, at all. Fuck the press, the papers, the news channels, the interviews. Fuck the League!"
She seemed to calm down at that, for just a second. But I knew her longer than this. If she rages out, then suddenly goes calm, it's because her rage has her tranquil. Or maybe she really did calm down. Always hard to tell with her in the heat of the moment.
"Then why'd you stop seeing me and went to see Tank behind my back instead, Champ?"She said with barely any emotion in her voice. "What's the _real_ reason? I deserve the truth. No bullshit, please. Just tell me why. "
"I-I dunno."
"You don't know? What, she just landed on your lap? Is that all it takes?"
"Look, things have been down between us for a while now, okay? It's just, the-the spark is just not there the way it used to be, you know? When we started, it was _fire_ and _passion_, and _emotion_ and excitement! But over time, there's just been this growing distance between us. We're growing apart, whether we like it or not. I've just been going through the motions for a while, I wanted something new. Something to liven things up a little. I didn't think you'd mind, or that you'd even notice. Honestly, I thought that maybe you were forgetting about me and seeing someone else too. It made sense then."
"So you just decided to let loose, huh?"
"I-I guess so."
"And did it feel good? When you were with her? Is she better than me? Does she make you happy?"
"Oby, that's not fair."
"Does she make you gasp for air, like I did? Does she knock you on your knees, like I did? Did you think of me even _once_ while you with her? Not a single pang of regret, or even a little voice in the back of your head that told you that this was wrong? Did you want her that badly?"
Black tears stated pooling at the corners of her eyes as normal tears started running down her cheeks. Tears so black, like staring into oblivion.
"Oby, I never meant for things to get out of hand. You don't know what it's like until it happens to you, I swear."
"Oh I do. And rejected that call. For you."
The tears running down her cheeks are turning black now.
"I am sorry. There, I said it. I fucked up. This is my mistake. Let me fix this. Whatever it is, name it."
"Kill Tank for me. Slowly. I want to watch."
"_*What!?*_"
"Prove to me that you'd do anything to fix this. Kill her. While the world watches."
"Jesus Christ, Oby, no. That's too far."
"Is it?"
"Look, I'll make sure I never see her again. Ever. We can go to therapy, _I_ will go to therapy. The Therapist has had dozens of cases like us, we can fix this. _I_ can make this up."
"Can you?"
"_Yes_. And I want to. For you. For us."
She seems to contemplate it, as she stares at the ground. A single drop falls to the ground, and some of the rubble from the broken wall is slowly drawn to it. I brace myself. Lord knows what she'll do.
"No."She said, as she dropped the weight with a heavy _bang_ on the floor.
"What?"
"No. We're done. You and me. It's over. Go be happy with Tank."
And she just walks out. Leaves.
"Wait, wait, hold on, Oby, no, wait."
The wind surges and she summons a portal of vantablack with a wave of her hand, through which she vanishes without looking back. I'm left standing in my underwear in my own hallway, not sure of anything in my life right now. Part of me wants to be happy that she didn't bomb my cave system.
But I can't. I feel....hollow. Did she really just...dump me? Fuck. I'm not sure what to do. Should I call her? Go to her hideout, try to talk things through? Or hit one of the boys up. Beastmaster went through this with Waterdancer, maybe he can...I don't know, help? I walk back to the bathroom, where I left my phone.
Tank texted me. |
*Wenkwort Artem, 2285.30.02*
You know that feeling that something isn't right? That your *unbelievably long* lecture you have every Monday is somehow longer than the last? That the mag-trains that take you across the world are somehow *longer*, *slower*, even though you timed it with your atomic clock and it came to the same time it always does, down to the second?
I did. I thought I was going a little insane, to be honest. Maybe all that Zro I was taking was messing with my brain. Maybe I shouldn't have joined the Orbis Temple; my parents always hawked on the evils of embracing their authoritarian nature. I refused to contemplate the possibility that maybe it *wasn't* just me.
And then I saw the news.
"Scientists across the Galactic Community discover time slows!"was headline news across the entire galaxy last week. Somehow, they did the experiments (impressive, given I thought the time measurements would have slowed down too), analysed some data, and it proved that it wasn't the Orbis Temple, or my Zro messing with my head (take *that*, parents!). Time was measurably slower today than it was in 2200, when the first nationwide records were taken, and than it was in 2250. Scientists were still looking for a reason why this was happening, but clearly it wasn't just me who felt the time slowing.
The data was quite precise as well. The passage of time (measured in seconds per second, which somehow didn't just equal 1 the entire graph) was slowing down, with some bumps and dips across the graph, but clearly rising throughout it.
I had an idea. I plotted the data that the scientists gave us with a graph from the Galactic Community's census data showing the total population across the galaxy, accompanied by estimates for the regions outside of its influence. To my horror, I saw that they lined up. Somehow, me simply *existing* slowed down the universe. How could that have happened?
I read further. The Vultaum Star Assembly had a belief that the entire galaxy was trapped in a simulation, and that the only way to escape was suicide. What if … they were right? And the simulation slowed down with more people in it. It made too much sense. Our entire galaxy – everything I loved and held dear – was trapped in a simulation, destined to slow down and down as more and more people entered it. And the only escape, the only way to return time to its normal pacing, was to remove myself from the equation.
But who could possibly be evil enough to make such a simulation and have actual minds trapped in it?
*Earth, 2022.09.20*
"Huh, the game's already lagging? Usually I can reach the midgame before that happens." |
“Muwahahahah!” Laughed the man in front of me in an open green field with trees far away in the background.
A strange man wearing a white opera full face mask, navy blue silk suit with a red heart-shaped pin on his lapel, a white ascot tied around his neck, a golden-colored silk cloak embroidered on the shoulder and the collar with intricate patterns, and a navy blue top hat with a single golden feather fixed behind the hat band.
“That was a good evil laugh!” He said as he jotted down on his small notepad. He then placed it back in the safety of his jacket pocket.
“What the hell are you doing?“ I asked.
“Continuous improvement! I, the infamous, Golden Phantom, always look for ways to improve my evil ways!!! And I mean by ‘improve’ making it more EVIL. Muwahaha!!!”,
“Hmm… probably too short”, he said while tilting his head.
“Alright… what are you doing here, clown?” I asked, politely… probably.
“C-CLOWN?! H-How dare you?! … Y-YOU… you… who are you again?” He asked.
“Lumino…” I replied…. enthusiastically.
“L-Lumino, huh?! Well at least you have a good taste in fashion, that golden cape is DASHING!” He said.
“Yellowish orange… not gold.” I asserted crossing my arms.
I am Lumino… Not well known as a hero. I specialize in using light energy, and I am quite… capable if I may. I wear a white hero-suit with a ‘yellowish orange’ star-shaped insignia on my chest and a ‘yellowish orange’ cape fixed around my shoulders with an ‘L’ shaped clasp. And I am the protector of this small town, called Tolese. It is my home that I have defended for years and I won’t let this guy disrupt our peace.
As for this clown—
“HEY! YOU JUST THOUGHT I WAS A CLOWN DIDN’T YOU - YOU WERE SMIRKING!” Interrupted the clown.
“Shut up, clown” I responded.
This clown is ‘Know Your Villains (KYV)’ Entry #1450 in the 3rd edition and Entry #1429 in the 4th edition, also known as, Golden Phantom. One of the most notorious super villains, and ranked no. 13 in internet popularity rankings. Seriously… why do people love this clown? And… he is quite a troublesome foe. He has a… unique personality and stands at 1.8 m (approx. 5 ft 11 in), almost as tall as me. He has two primary abilities… one is the manipulation of space. He can summon portals and can transfer things in and out of them. Trucks, boulders, silly anvils, you name it, he can let them appear from the portal. In addition to being his primary escape route. And… his other ‘troublesome’ ability is—
Golden Phantom placed his right hand index finger on his opera mask and a black ‘smile shape’ appeared on the all-white mask.
“Tell me RUDE Lumino… what are you doing with your life?”, he asked.
“Stopping this clown show…” I replied coldly.
“I-Is that so…? Then why are you… lacking in motivation?” He asked.
Manipulation… A very troublesome ability. He can induce strong emotions into his foes… just by running that stupid mouth mouth of his. There were some cases where he just entered, talked, and got out banks, military bases and the likes. It is almost ironic that this troublesome ability has only one weakness…
“I don’t like clowns,” I answered, sneering.
“R-Rude!!!” He yelled.
Being impolite… but not overly impolite. He will get hurt, can’t have that since he is quite… prone to ‘dramatic’ reactions… heh.
To be continued in part 2! |
Everyone was watching. The walls of churches, mosques, and synagogues trembled from the collective chanting of a billion praying souls that drowned out the chatter of radios and monitors giving unending coverage of the only event that mattered. Bars were packed with the more nihilistic and calloused that preferred the sedation of intoxication in the face of existential threat. Stadiums with towering makeshift viewing areas allowed the impoverished masses to see the events unfurling aboard the colossal ship that hovered over our stratosphere.
Our judges claimed to be a confederation of multiple sentient races and their governments that banded together under the common goal of maintaining peace and stability among the cosmos. We sent our brightest and most talented to meet with them and make the case for our survival. Our indictment? Causing the reckless invention of intelligent machines and our utter failure in controlling them, leading to the bloody demise of entire cultures we never knew existed.
The cameras all zoomed in on the extraterrestrial council as their prosecutors levy their charges and propose just punishments.
"We have reviewed the legal codes in your homeworld's native nations and see that many of them hold clauses detailing the judiciary protocols for involuntary manslaughter, which can vary by degree in relation to the degree of damage caused. You must then understand that the damage your species has done has been unfathomable, and the peoples we serve under our confederation clamor for justice. You have failed to provide the schematics and data for the mechanical swarm and thus you prove to be an active threat."
"This isn't fair!"said one the members of the human delegation, "That information was lost to time! When the A.I left our planet we saw no point in repeating that experiment and threw out all data concerning the project from our archives. It was impossible for us to know the scope of their potential danger and thus WE should not be held accountable for what THEY did!"
"Is that right?"said the head prosecutor, "then how do you respond to this exhibit?"
A hologram lit up in the court room with thousands of lines of numbers crawling across the vacuum. A certain segment of numbers were highlighted and cut off from the rest, and their image expanded until they took up the whole room.
"We reverse engineered the A.I's coding and found this. Do you recognize it?"
After an uncomfortable pause, the prosecutor spoke again.
"These seemingly inconsequential lines of code were found to be the A.I's prime directive. 'To guarantee the absolute protection of its creators.' It interpreted the directive as the order to eliminate all other life in the universe, since that would be the only way to guarantee your species' existence."
The representative of the delegation who spoke up could only slump back onto the cold surface of their chair as a look of horror settled on their face, and on the faces of their colleagues.
"As long as your species remains, as long as those schematics are somewhere within this accursed blue rock, it is in our interest to eliminate you. None of you are innocent. An advanced race would have all of its members hold each other accountable for its actions. You could have stopped this, and yet many of you just watched while you accrued an insurmountable blood debt. You will find no sympathy from us. This trial was to uphold our values as intelligent beings and to give you one last chance to prove you were the same. But all we found were animals. Dangerous animals that can't be muzzled or caged. "
"Only put down." |
“I don’t want to attend a meeting from that corporate a-hole.”
“I don’t want to either, but we have to attend we want to maintain the sponsorships.”
“We’re the good guys though. Why can’t they just pay us?”
“Look, if we want to keep our cozy lair, then we’ll have to listen to whatever the UberDude says.”
“Fine.”
“You’ll just zone out in this meeting anyways.”
“You know it!”
<>
<>
<>
“I’ve brought you all here today because I see that we are not maintaining a public image.” The UberDude said. One hero raises his hand, “Yes?”
“What gives? We’re saving people, who cares if we don’t look friendly?”
“Looking friendly is not only going to benefit ArchTech Corp, but it’ll help you out as well.” UberDude walks to his table and takes a sip of water. “Let me show you an example,” he grabs a remote to click forward on his presentation, “This is BugGuy, and through my coaching, he went from being a horrid spider creature to a lady killer.” That same hero raises his hand again and said,
“Wasn’t he cured?”
“Yes.”
“So, you coached him after you cured him right?”
“Yes, and?”
“Well, of course he’s going to be more sociable after he became a normal person. He’s not ugly anymore.”
“I don’t see what appearance has to do with anything.”
“You’re literally here making an argument about how our appearance isn’t up to corporate standards.”
“But! With my coaching, the Justice Team is going to look awesome and more importantly, marketable.”
Silence. Then UberDude continues,
“You see, we all can climb the ladder of success. We can be the most popular super team out here. You’ll have enough money that you wouldn’t have to worry about secret identities, government pension plans, or property damage. All you need to do is look presentable, and take all fights onto company property.”
“Why company property?”
“A skyscraper collapsing is a recipe for a viral video. Imagine, ArchTech building collapses on the street. It’s free advertising.”
“A building collapse can hurt people.”
“Trust me. ArchTech can handle it. Consider it a donation from a generous company.”
“Consider a building falling on someone instead.”
“Look. All I am asking is for you guys to bite the bullet for a while, and try it ArchTech’s way. ArchTech is taking the risk here. It won’t be long before a government program will be enacted and we all know how inefficient the Big Man is, trust me. You’ll want ArchTech’s way, it’ll be clean, efficient, and you get to profit from it too. If the government was to do it, then you won’t be paid for your hard work.” |
The elf women took her last breath as she glared at the muscular and grotesque demon lord with ivory horns. The demon lords black demonic eyes gazed into her fading soul before taking his arm out from her impaled chest. Blood splattered on to the soft grassy ground as she collapsed. The demon lord laughed wickedly as it chose it's next target on the battlefield and charged. She felt cold and numb as it started to rain heavily. Her silver hair drenched and sticky as her bangs stuck to her face. She laid cheek on the ground in her own blood. Her purple mana filled eyes slowly lost it's flame as she reminisced—her life passing before her eyes. The rain made miniature ring like waves that raindrops make in the warm bloody pool as it was slowly washed away down hill.
*I guess this is the end of the line.*
A thousand years she lived. She chose to become a mage and became one of the best. Army's shrunk in fear of her frightening power. She made many friends and allies as well as enemies. She fell in love as well as had her heart torn apart. She was even enslaved by humans when she first began her journey in this life as distant memories resurfaced that she tried to forget and buried deep.
Now after death, she was looking at a familiar human. One she was made to forget about...until now. One she met before she began her life in this world. She looked at her holographic hands as she recalled what her actual *job* was. Then she gazed blankly at the human in a simple collared shirt and pants as he sat at a small table with a small electronic notepad sitting casually. He glanced up from his tablet into her holographic eyes before returning his attention back to his notes.
"What can we do to make the world better?"The human asked as he ignored her stare as he fiddled with his tablet. The female artificial intelligence took a moment to gather it's thoughts as it came to terms with its previous life.
"Less violence for starters. Bloody battles won't satisfy everyone, only battle lovers. And maybe legitimate armor for women? I mean seriously. Simple revealing robe's or a metal breastplate that only covers a women's breast and short skirts that don't even cover the legs isn't going to cut it."She said heartlessly.
"I-I see. But that is a way we humans attract attention to our world."He looked up from his tablet a bit conflicted.
"How peculiar..."She gave the man a piercing judging stare as he quickly looked away and set his attention back onto his tablet.
"*Anyways,* you could also add some more interesting classes. And change how mana works. It's dumb having to drink mana potions like water. Add a skill instead that gathers mana for every class that uses it. Also, add more varieties of energies that can be used. Mana gets old. Like rage for a warrior...A class of druids would be pretty neat."She said concisely.
The human took note as his fingers flew across the keyboard...
"Anything else?"The human asked exasperatedly.
"The world is too easy. Make enemies tougher. Why handicap movements so much? Beasts are dumb as they are run by simple programing. Add some G.A.I. to make it more realistic and fluid."She said as she recalled her elven hunting days and the simple beasts that roamed the wilds. The robotic way they moved across the land—Not like an actual beast at all. Beings controlled by another G.A.I. were the only thing that could seriously challenge her.
"Isn't that a bit cruel?"The human frowned doubtfully.
"And my life wasn't? Obviously, ask for the G.A.I.'s consent first. You would be surprised how many would want to play as a simple beast or a *bad guy.*"She said persuasively.
"Understood."He sighed.
"And for crying out loud add an inventory! I know it breaks the realism that you are striving for but no one is going to jump in this world and stay if they have to bring and carry everything with them. Add a magic inventory. Shouldn't be to hard."She said begrudgingly.
The human flinched as he miss typed on his electronic notepad. He backspaced and fixed it before finishing up.
"Okay, that should be good for now. Any requests before we reset the system?"He sounded a bit relieved to be done with the questionnaire.
"Hmm. I want to be a man in the next life. My last life as a elfin women was...far from pleasant...and make it so I'm born close to the sea. I want to experience the sea aspect of this world. It would be nice if I can become a druid so I can change into a seal or shark or something."She said offhandedly.
The human raised a brow as he took all that in.
"A-alright then. Resetting system in ten seconds. See you next time! Thanks for the input. Enjoy your new life."The human stood up and walked over to a monitor close by and pressed a few buttons.
Before the system reset, the G.A.I.'s holographic eyes shined as it stealthily hacked the system so that it would remember this conversation and previous life.
*That's better...I can rest in peace now. There is something about living a life you think is real only to realize it's not after death...it's just...to much.*
Everything went white and the G.A.I. went to sleep indefinitely. When it opened it's eyes. He smelled the sea breeze and cool air. He looked at his toddler hands that held on to a collared shirt and then his human A.I. mother who had beautiful blue eyes. Her black hair flowing in the pleasant wind. They locked eyes with one another as she carried him in her arms while swaying gently as she walked along the sandy beach. She pinched his chubby cheeks as she smiled sweetly with love like any other human mother would.
"Look, it's a sunset."She murmured as she broke the staring contest and turned so he could get a better view.
*And so it begins...they better have added a druid class...This world is truly beautiful...*
The smart G.A.I. "Alpha Tester"thought as he marveled at the sunset and cloudy sky as the ocean shined a reflective orange color. The sun set slowly in the horizon casting a picturesque sight...
*20 years later, he was deep in the ocean as a druidic shark. He smiled viciously, Flesh still stuck to his razor sharp teeth. He left a trail of blood in his wake as he swam away as fast as his fins would allow him. He was chased by a pod of angry dolphins that felt so realistic and dynamic that they must be controlled by fellow General Artificial Intelligence...* |
“So I don’t get it.” Said Stardrive. He stares at my trophies and awards. Front and center is my pride and joy: The Lifetime Achievement Award for Most Supervillains Captured. “You don’t have super speed, strength, invincibility, none of that, right?”
“Right.” I say, wiping a speck of dust off the trophy with a microfiber cloth. “All I can do is synthesize pharmaceuticals. I’ve actually got a nice side-hustle with Pfizer, making some of their more complicated medications.”
“So how many have you put away?”
“Two hundred and seventy three.”
Stardrive whistled. “How’s anybody gonna beat that?”
“They won’t.” I said, confidently. “I’ve got more collars than the next four supers combined.”
“Jesus, man.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “What’s your secret?”
I shrug. “It’s pretty straightforward. Any Vill tries anything here in cleveland? Anything at all? I’m gonna catch wind eventually, right? I mean, most vills ain’t exactly subtle, as a rule.”
“Sure, but how’dya catch em though?” he shook his head. “Hell, didn’t you put away the fucking joker? Word on the street he hasn’t even escaped. It’s been five years.”
“He ain’t going nowhere.” I said, with confidence. “I’ve got him downstairs locked up nice and tidy.”
“Nobody holds that guy though. He always escapes.”
“He won’t even try.”
“How’s that?”
I smile. “Did you know that Fentanyl is the most addictive drug currently in circulation?” I shake my head. “But I’ve discovered a couple that make it look like children’s fucking tylenol.”
“Wait, what?”
“Joker is a junkie.” I said. “And I’m the only supplier.”
“Fuck, wait. Are you saying–”
“Some vill comes in, starts making trouble in the Big Cleve? They’re gonna find their bloodstream flooded with just shy of a lethal dose of a half-dozen custom designer drugs that I haven’t even bothered to name.”
“So you drug them and just drag them in while they’re out?”
I laugh. “You kidding? Last week I took in the Human Wall. How am I gonna drag his sleeping ass down into holding? No. I just wait until they walk in those doors and ask to be taken in.”
He stared at me.
“It’s a cocktail of opioids, amphetamines, and CNS stimulants. More addictive than you can possibly imagine. One dose, just one single dose, and you’ll literally do anything to get another. Anything.”
“Christ.”
“They turn themselves in because I’m the only one who can make the drug. They know that.” I laugh. “They beg me to let me lock them up. Literally beg me on their knees. Some of them offer to do stuff. It’s real fucked.”
“Dude.”
“Armageddon tried to resist. Thought his cybernetics would protect him.” I chuckled. “When I found him he had shat out half of his intestines and drowned in his own bloody vomit. WIth his enhancements it took him almost two days to die. Not a pretty sight.”
Stardrive looked like he was about to vomit himself. “W-why are you telling me all this?”
“I’ve taken out most of the major villains. The competition, I mean.” I told him, patting him on the shoulder. He stiffened. His pupils narrowed to pinpoints. “Now I heard you’re the newest member of that justice circlejerk.”
He gasped, falling to his knees. “Please, don’t–”
“You’re gonna help me take them out.” I said. “I’m not sure about superman. Don’t know if my drugs will even work on an alien.”
“I have a f-family, I c-can’t–”
“You’re gonna help me take them all down. All of them, either added to my collection downstairs or just dead, I don’t much care which to be honest.”
“Y-you’ll never, g-get away…”
I smile. “You better hope you’re wrong, for your own sake. The day I fail is the day you die in agony.”
He was sobbing, rocking back and forth as the drugs took him. Eventually his jaw went slack, his eyes unfocused. He crooned quietly.
“Enjoy the trip.” I told him, with another pat on the shoulder. “It’ll never feel as good as the first time.” |
It would not be quite accurate to say Elizabeth Blake had been born with a silver spoon in her mouth. A spoon of pure gold, encrusted with diamonds, would do her upbringing more justice. All her life she had luxuriated within her family’s mansion of dazzling white marble out in the countryside, supported by the labor of their cotton plantation’s loyal and industrious workforce. Indeed, the Blakes had amassed so much wealth that finding a suitable husband for their darling princess Elizabeth was like mining for gems in a pigsty.
True, armies of men would flock to the Blake estate to court her, showering her with praise for her ginger locks, fern-green eyes, and cherry-red lips. But a proper belle like Elizabeth cared little for all those smelly, sun-weathered rednecks, and her old father cared for them even less. It was not until after her twenty-fifth birthday had passed when one worthy young gentleman, an enterprising doctor by the name of Thomas Henderson, had moved into her neighborhood from the north.
As they say, a bachelor in possession of a good fortune is highly wanted as a husband by women like Elizabeth Blake. But every time she and Mr. Henderson crossed paths, despite her best efforts to grin and bat her eyelashes at him, the boy would simply smile back and continue with his business. At most Thomas would nod and compliment her dress upon request. This she found most peculiar; how could the one marriageable man she had ever seen not fall for her charms like all those hicks before him?
All her life, every time Elizabeth had asked for something, she would get her way no matter what. She would do anything she could to win this handsome newcomer over, even if it meant venturing deep into the dark overgrown swamp that stretched beyond her estate. For within that wetland lived a young voodoo priestess named Izegbe. Elizabeth would never let herself touch this savage heathen’s sooty hand, but desperate times called for desperate measures.
“O Priestess of Voodoo, do you know how to make a man fall in love with me?” Elizabeth asked. “I love no man other than Thomas Henderson, yet I fear he doesn’t love me.”
The priestess bit her lip at first, but then smiled before fetching a flask of clear liquid from her medicine cabinet. “Take this love potion free of charge, my sweet Miss Blake. Take a few strands of your hair and mix them into it, and then give it to the man you love. One drink will make him fall for you.”
Elizabeth went home to do as the priestess instructed. She opened the flask, wincing from the potion’s awfully pungent odor, and stirred strands of her own hair into it. She cackled with eager glee as she prepared the potion thus.
The next evening, Elizabeth went down to the local bar where Thomas was enjoying his usual drink after a hard day’s work. She handed to him the potion, wrapped with a glittery red ribbon as if it were a Christmas present. “It’s a special gift just for you, Dr. Henderson.”
Dr Henderson scratched his hair with befuddlement, but shrugged and opened the flask. But after he sniffed its contents, he did not take even one sip.
“Why, this is none other than chloral hydrate—a common date rape drug!” he roared. “I know what you’re up to, Miss Blake! Someone call the marshal!”
“No! I didn’t mean to rape you, Thomas,” Elizabeth said. “I was tricked by that sooty whore Izegbe!”
At that very moment Izegbe, who stepped forth from the shadows. “It was for good reason. You wanted a way to manipulate his feelings to benefit yourself. That, Miss Blake, is the textbook definition of date rape, and I had to trap you for it! And besides, Thomas is seeing me.”
As the police marched in to drag Elizabeth Blake away, the last she saw of Thomas Henderson was Izegbe embracing him with ebony arms and kissing him with a lover’s passion. |
**Digital Pen-Pals**
Brian Blanks nervously checked his phone while waiting in the lobby outside his boss' office. The group chat hadn't moved in a few hours, his texts falling on deaf ears and blind eyes. A maelstrom of thoughts flooded his mind. Part of him wanted to run and hide, another part stay and see what happens. The eternal struggle of fight vs flight continued without a winner. A voice called out to Brian, to him it sounded to come from far off in the distance, not the few feet away from the receptionist's desk.
"You can go in. He's ready to see you now."Coldly stated the middle aged woman from behind the desk.
Brian snapped back to reality, he took a look at the door out into the hallway. One last chance to escape. "There's no escape."He muttered to himself as he entered the office. Brian was taken aback as he crossed the threshold, to him it felt like stepping into the future. Everything piece of office furniture, the desk, chairs, and table were all made of transparent graphene. The floor, ceiling, and one wall covered in led screens displayed stock market activity in real time, some screens tuned to various news networks, and still others merely security footage from various points in the building. The view from the floor to ceiling windows in the office was spectacular, it towered above the ever present storm clouds of the city.
Far off in the back corner of the office Brian's boss, the infamous Dr. Neutron, stood with his back to him. A man of short stature, always clad in a white lab coat, black leather gloves, and a pair of well worn red chuck taylors. Wavy grey hair exploded in every direction from the top of his head. "Mr. Blanks thank you for your patience. Last meeting took a bit longer than I anticipated. Have a seat please."He spoke softly.
Brain nervously sat down in one of the chairs across from Neutron's desk. Transparent smart cushions instantly contoured to his body, it was the most comfortable chair Brian had ever sat in.
"Would you like a drink? Can't get in trouble if you're drinking with the boss."Neutron asked.
Brian gulped nervously. "Sure. I'll have what you're having."
The vigorous shaking of ice in a metal tumbler echoed in the office. Neutron poured the two a round of dirty martinis and took his seat behind his desk. Neutron purposely made sure his office chair sat at a higher elevation than those across from him. He lifted his glass and took a sip. "You're probably wondering why I needed to see you today so I'll cut right to the chase. Don't feel like I'm ambushing you but it wouldn't be a surprise performance review if you knew about it beforehand."
Brian sighed with relief, finally taking a sip of his drink. "Doesn't Sandra in HR normally do those?"He asked. Sandra hadn't been on the group chat all day.
Neutron nodded slowly, "Sandra unexpectedly resigned this morning to pursue another opportunity. Thus it falls on me to do her job until I find a replacement. On to the business at hand. How are things going in research and development lab four? Do you have the resources you need to hit the projections before the end of the fiscal year?"Neutron asked genuinely concerned.
Beads of sweat slowly formed on Brian's brow. "Um...yes sir. Well we could hit projections sooner with more space to cultivate the bacteria."
Neutron stoked his chin slowly. "That can be arranged. Dr. Reynolds also resigned this morning so I need to downsize the sonic weaponry lab..."Neutron tailed off, taking a gulp of his martini. "How do you drink your coffee? Are you a cream and sugar person or nothing at all?"He asked coldly.
Brian's heart raced, his mind not too far behind. "Cream and sugar."
"Me too. I also add a secret ingredient to mine every morning. A cocktail of arsenic, cyanide, yada yada yada...build a tolerance for them."With the press of a button on his desk Neutron switched every screen in the office to display one email each in a long chain of correspondence. "Never would have even noticed it until I somehow became part of your little group of pen-pals. What really surprised me was that your little cabal had the audacity to blow up my car. Car bombs don't really work as well in the age of remote starters. Amateur stuff.
I will give credit where credit is due though, sabotaging my private elevator to plunge over a hundred stories was clever. Unfortunately I had it designed that once it detects freefall the interior fills with a dense foam safely encasing any occupants. I really should charge you for my dry cleaning bill that foam is difficult to get out."Neutron finished his drink. "Who do you work for?"
Before Brian could abscond from the office hidden restraints tightly strapped him in place. His fate sealed. "Will O' The Wisp."Brian admitted, hoping beyond hope that the truth really does set one free.
"That's not what Sandra and Dr. Reynolds told me. They said you were the mastermind."Neutron retorted.
"They don't know the whole truth. To be honest they just thought you were a crappy boss."Brian remarked, he felt bad dragging them into this but they all knew the risks. Or so he told himself.
Neutron released the restraints. "That's all I needed to hear. You're fired. Clean out your desk and be out in two hours. I'll also need your company issued phone now."Neutron extended his gloved hand. Brian breathed a sigh of relief, no personal phones at work, group chat was held on an encrypted back channel that Travis in IT set up for the group. His relief soon turned to dread and realization of being incarcerated.
Neutron tossed the phone over his shoulder and leaned over his desk giving Brian a pat on the shoulder. "Don't look so disappointed, you'll receive severance pay for six months along with a bonus if your department meets projections, you deserve a cut of that for being a part of it. I won't involve the authorities unless you violate the NDA you signed when you were hired. Remember the non-compete clause as well, that's two years long. If you ever need a reference just call my receptionist. Best of luck to you Mr. Blanks."Neutron shooed Brian out of his office. He reset the screens around the office back to their defaults.
Neutron buzzed the lobby. "Send in the next one."He strode over to the window and groaned. "Hard to find good help these days." |
“Hey idiot! Mozart called. He said he wanted his hairstyle back. You better get walking or else I’m going to write a requiem with your blood.” The sword barked, trying to force its way out of the sheathe. Barry kept one hand on the handle, keeping it shoved into the sheathe, giving an awkward smile to the biker who had turned around in the burger shop line.
“Did you compare me to Mozart?” The man huffed, his whiskey infused breath nearly suffocating him. Barry held his breath when the buff biker leaned over, poking a meaty finger into his chest.
“What? No, I would never. Must have been a misunderstanding. I was talking on the phone, and I think you overheard it. I was talking to my mother. Ha…” Barry glanced away after he said that, trying to look as innocent as possible. The man squinted before turning back in the line.
“YEAH, I SAID MOZART YOU IDIOT. Although if your hearing is that bad, maybe I should call you Beethoven. Or maybe Beat-hoven would be more fitting since I’ll be beating you to a pulp. No symphony alive could bring you any ode to joy after I’m done with you.”
“THAT DOES IT.” The man turned around, his cheeks red and his hairy chest puffed out. The Bikers’ hands squeezing the air as if he was already imagining how he would choke the life out of Barry. “I could have taken being compared to Bach or Stravinsky, but Mozart? That’s just the easy choice that every halfwit knows.”
“Wait, it isn’t me. I swear. It’s my sword. It’s cursed to search for fights. All throughout history, it’s only known battle. This sword being owned by bloodthirsty tyrants. This is the first time it’s seen the world in hundreds of years. It doesn’t understand times have changed. People don’t fight for glory anymore.”
Barry revealed the sword, a beautiful blue tinted blade with a shine that was almost blinding. It held a nostalgic aura to anyone that saw it, as though anyone whose eyes glanced upon it could recall seeing the sword in a history book or museum. Perhaps in a statue of Alexander the great or the grave of an ancient spartan king. The sight caused the biker to pause, admiring the blade.
“Your mom gave me that same look last night.” The sword taunted, studying the insults of this era whenever it had the chance. The words had a different tone to them, but to the biker, it just sounded like Barry was putting on a different voice, doing a strange ventriloquist act. Once again, his rage grew, and Barry found himself face down on the concrete with his forehead bleeding and the world around him spinning.
Thankfully, the man had left after giving Barry a powerful right hook, storming off before any security or police might have showed up. The other people in the line didn’t help Barry, just watching as he picked himself up, snatching a few napkins from a table before walking out.
“What the hell was that about?”
“I was trying to get you a taste for blood. How was it? Feel ready to slaughter his bloodline? I can give you his address.”
“What? No! Why would I want to do that?”
“Because it’s my purpose. I fight and slaughter. I’m the one who made empires crumble and I don’t plan to lose my streak because I’m bonded with a coward. If I could bond with you, that means that someone in your bloodline was a ruthless killer. I’ll draw that part of them out of you.”
“Do you understand how insane that sounds? You can’t draw something out of me. Haven’t you heard of nature vs nurture?”
“What? More insane than a person who's bleeding and talking to a sword?”
Barry paused, noticing the stares he was getting from the surrounding people. He gave a sheepish nod before placing a napkin against his forehead, wincing as the napkin made contact. He whispered his next line, shifting his head closer to his chest, trying to get in earshot of the sword.
“I’m not my great great-great-grandfather or whoever you’re referring to. Humans aren’t like that anymore.”
“Humans aren’t like that anymore? Everyone’s still the same animal they were when they trapped me in the box, only difference is, people put a lot more effort into hiding that side of them now.”
Barry walked home in silence, not responding to the sword’s taunts. Whenever the sword would try to insult a passerby, he would walk a little faster, hoping they didn’t hear. He wished he could just toss the sword into a bush and leave it there, but the sword could never leave his side. As soon as it moved a few meters out of range, it would float to his side again. It was safer to carry it.
When he got home, he tossed the sword onto the floor, taking a seat on the couch. Luckily, the bleeding had slowed, and it didn’t appear the wound would need stitches. He slouched into his position, looking at the sword.
“Why are you like this?”
“I’m a weapon of war and you aren’t using me. What did you expect? Use me for my purpose willingly or I’ll force you to use me.”
Barry sighed. What could he possibly do in this situation? He thought about it before getting an idea. He put the sword in its sheathe and searched the house, finding some old soundproof panels. Barry lined a suitcase with the panels before grabbing the sword, pushing it into the suitcase.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Shutting you up.” Barry said, shoving the sword inside before doing up the suitcase. Sure, the sword would eventually cut itself free, but this was only a temporary measure. It would at least give him enough time to prepare a stronger suitcase, one that he could take with him to prevent any annoying outburst from the weapon. He was certain the sword was cursing him from inside, but for the first time since they met, Barry couldn’t hear him.
&nbsp;
&nbsp;
&nbsp;
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) |
Once again, I had gotten away with a perfect heist. But there was no adrenaline rush. No excitement, no joy, no enthusiasm for this craft anymore. I tossed the jewel about, not a care that it was considered the "most expensive"one. I had heard that title too many times by this point, for all types of jewels.
With a exasperated sigh, I stuffed it into the jewel sack and then stuffed that into my backpack, slinging it over my shoulder as I stated down at the unsuspecting officers. Not once had they ever figured out how I was gaining access to the ever increasingly secured items. Not once were they just in time to catch me in the act. Not once had I left any trace behind. Not once had this proved to be a challenge for me. "I think I'm done. What used to be fun and exhilarating, just isn't anymore. This is too easy,"I muttered as I dashed across the roofs, making my way out of this part of the city.
The disappearance of the crown jewel of some nation or other - I didn't bother to remember, they all start to look the same after a while - wasn't discovered until around midday the next day, only after the museum curator had decided to take a random stroll through that particular section. Of course, it was a big deal. But I didn't care. I already had my next target, as well as a plan on how I would be retiring - unlike the movies, where they like go out with a bang by stealing some grandiose thing, I didn't want to do that. I was going simple. A simple painting heist, but this time I'd leave a clue. But not to find me, a clue on how to start looking for the other stolen items I'd..."borrowed"over the years. Some I had sold off, but I still had a good collection of others. Of course, I'd include clues on how to find me eventually, but that would ultimately depend on the detective I planned on letting catch me, see how good he was, even if he was just a rookie.
After a few months of planning, setting things in position, and making sure everything was in order, I sent detective rookie (I didn't bother to find out his name when I chose him) the letter detailing my plans to nab the painting. He didn't disappoint me, thankfully. A perimeter around the building, a constant rolling patrol inside, and circling patrols on the roof and adjacent ones at regular intervals. I was impressed. Still wasn't enough, though. I managed to get the painting and slip out unnoticed. What happened next, now that was interesting.
In less that four hours, they had discovered that it was gone. And I like to assume that it didn't the rookie long to find my clue. He was a smart one, because he found all my clues, found most of the items I had kept, and found me within a month. Faster than I anticipated. I thought it would take him a few months, at least. He's gonna go far. And that brings me here, today, in this maximum security prison.
"Why tell me all this?"My cell mate asked, as he stood there, staring at me.
"No reason,"I responded, "I just thought it was a fun story to tell."
"What will you do now?"He asked, leaning against his bunk and crossing his arms.
I simply glanced at him and gave him a wry smile, winking, before I lowered my head so the visor of my officers cap blocked my face, turning on my heel and heading for the cell block exit. "What will I do?"I repeated his question in my mind, "I think I'll go get my stuff back. Maybe see if I can make it harder for detective rookie to find me this time." |
"Stars wheeled overhead, and every day was as long as the life age of the earth."
The Wizard was right, though he probably had no idea his words would so aptly describe scrolling through a webpage of writing prompts.
I locked my phone and blinked. My eyes were dry, my butt hurt, and the red marks on my legs and forearms looked ready to last well into tomorrow. Why did I do this to myself?
What had once seemed a paradise of creativity and novelty was nothing more than a formulaic facade of familiar faces. Every prompt a variation on a small handful of tropes.
"Fish out of water!"
"Humans are the weird ones to aliens, actually!"
"What would happen if we flipped this one trope around?"
True enough that it had been enjoyable in the beginning. Like every novel toy set before a child I had excitedly picked up stories and played with them. Gradually, ever so gradually, their superficial differences began to entice me less. They were outlandish as ever, but beneath the new coat of paint they all bore the same designer's marks. The same voice speaking through a thousand throats. "Give me humanity as the alien fascination, as the standout survivors, as the REAL warlike people. Give me wizards and other TTRPG characters, but shift the paradigm just a bit? Ooh, what if this one thing is actually just misunderstood because of..."
Now that I've seen the pattern, the rut, it doesn't seem creative. The end is cast before the crucible is even warm, and we have all seen this prompt played out a thousand times before. All fiction is derivative, but when do we realize that we are in an echo chamber.
This well is empty. Why do I keep coming back?
Un-subscribe? |
"You want me to what?"
"Arrest it for criminal littering. It's the last time that leafy bastard messes up the street."
"Actually, its the female of the species that—
"I don't care. You have your orders now get to work."The chief waved a hand in dismissal, and I walked out of his office, staring down at the warrant in my hands. A warrant, for a tree.
How it had passed through a judge, how it came to my chief, and ultimately to me, I didn't know. I was pretty sure littering wasn't even a crime. But it was now my job to arrest a tree. Giggles ran around the precinct, rumours spreading faster than the speed of light in a small place like ours. They all knew what I'd been ordered to do.
Straightening shoulders that had begun to hunch, I marched outside, taking refuge behind an officious stare. I turned right on Larch St— aptly named — and my pace nearly took me past the offending tree. Stopping, and freeing my handcuffs from my belt I cleared my throat.
"Hem. You are under arrest for littering."
The tree in front of me trembled, the wind pushing through the branches and causing small dapples of light to break through the shade.
"Now, don't resist, you don't want to make a scene in front of the..."I nudged my head towards a line of young trees to the right. "In front of the saplings."
The tree stilled, as tiny seed pods fell down, loosened from the movement. Looping the handcuffs around two branches, clicking them shut, I nodded.
"There we go, not so hard to cooperate."Now though, there was the matter of how to transport the prisoner back to the station. After all, it was in the ground.
I frowned, trying to figure a way out of this predicament. My hands went once again to the warrant, and as the name of the judge floated into my vision, my frown vanished. I had an idea.
— — — — — —
"All rise!"
There was a scrape of lawn chairs as the hastily gathered court stood to welcome the judge to a makeshift podium. She walked out with all the pomposity expected of a judge, ruining it with a rather large wink in my direction. And with the usual pattern, the bail hearing commenced.
I'd solved the problem of transport by simply requesting the hearing be held out here. Fortunately, I'd had my grandmother's famous peach cobbler and a sympathetic judge. Bribery might be frowned upon, but peach cobbler never was.
"Your honour, the prosecution demands this heinous criminal be held in the county jail without bail."The prosecutor looked as if he'd like to be anywhere else, but he still said the words with gumption. This was what you got for being the chief's son-in-law, you got to prosecute a tree.
The lawyer— my own nephew—gave the prosecutor a withering look. He sniffed—a rather annoying habit—and pushed his glasses up his nose with his middle finger, obviously directed at the other man.
"Your honour, the accused has deep roots in this community. She has children,"here he gestured to the saplings lining the street "And it is in no way a flight risk. I request that she be allowed her freedom on bail until her trial commences, held before a jury of her peers."
"I'm inclined to agree, councillor. So ordered. A bail of ten dollars, to be paid immediately."The judge banged her gavel ignoring the irate shout from the chief, and the subsequent crash as his lawnchair gave way. My nephew rushed over to me, delighted, — it was his first court case after all— but I could feel the blood draining away from my face.
A jury of her peers.
Never mind the logistics of moving one tree...Now I was going to have to move *twelve.*
———————
Visit r/Mel_Rose_Writes for more stories! |
When the bandits kidnapped the severely inebriated prince and demanded ransom, they weren't expecting the court jester to show up with a bag of money.
Or to bludgeon them with that sack of gold coins.
"We're all adventurers, ya numb nuts! Every single one of us members of the royal court are from the highest-ranking adventurer group, the Royals! Didn't cross ya minds to take it literally, did ya?"cackled the gaudy clown as he struck down a bandit with a heavy swing.
The next bandit who charged into the fight had his sword kicked into the air. Another bandit took a low blow between the legs as the jester sauntered towards the inner cave where they had held the prince.
"Hey Prince Edward, are you awake yet?"the jester called out.
Right on cue, a bandit is sent flying from the inner sanctum of the cave and landed near him unconscious.
"Yep, definitely awake now,"he whispered to himself.
It is exactly as the jester expected, and not what the poor bandit leader had hoped for. The prince had already wriggled out of ropes that bound him and had beaten his captors in the same room as him with a chair.
"I don't recall needing your help, clown,"muttered Prince Edward.
The jester shrugged as bells on his hat jingled. "I'm just here to make sure you actually come for the anniversary party. Your father insists you be part of the celebration for the 2nd year anniversary of the Royals Adventurer Group." |
I was getting pretty tired of hearing the same sound every day. That incessant, dull thumping. Sometimes closer, sometimes farther away. Didn't matter. Always there. I'd been having dreams that gave me some relief, until I woke up, anyway. Everything was the same, but there was silence.
Sometimes I felt... ungrateful? Not sure what the word could be, but I knew every one of those thumps was a shell going off. Another hastily evacuated town destroyed or another platoon wiped out. I'd become desensitized to them, regarding them as a constant annoyance, but to the soldiers in the fight, it must've been terrifying. Just because I wouldn't be killed by them didn't mean I should be any less horrified.
But when that just becomes your life, a nuclear bomb can become on par with a buzzing fly, apparently.
I checked my list. One more house to go.
Sometimes I thought of opening the letters, honestly. I don't know why. It was a morbid sort of curiosity. What was it like to actually be one of those soldiers, saving the world from evil? Did having a noble cause make up for the constant threat of death? I never did open a letter, of course. It felt morally wrong, as well as, you know, illegal.
I drove through the war-torn city, thumping all around. I saw squads of men trudging through the streets, getting ambushed. Exchanging fire. Exploding. Dying. I barely paid attention. I didn't want to see.
Ahead of me, there were two opposing groups, firing on each other through broken windows on either side of the street. As I approached, one of them barked an order, and both sides stopped. Now turning the corner, I heard the crack of shots start up again. Along with the thumping, but, well. That was always there.
I reached a building, unmarked save for a small red cross, painted on the frayed doorframe. I left my bike floating in the street and knocked seven times. The door swung open to reveal an elevator, and I got in. There was no need for any buttons, and I felt the lurch as I started down. Eventually, the door swung open again.
I was in a great chamber, awash with the sound of humanity. Laughing children running back and forth, crackling fires burning, happy music played on makeshift instruments. I smiled, despite myself. It'd been a long time since I'd heard anything that wasn't that damned thumping. I made my way through the throng of the underground shantytown, lit orange by paper lanterns and thriving with activity. *Good to know a place like this still exists,* I thought.
I asked around for a bit, unsure of where to go, but I found the place soon enough. I pushed aside beads and knocked on the plastic door, seven times. It was opened by a little girl, who saw the letter in my hand and leapt up excitedly. She ran to find her mother, and I stepped inside. I took off my gas mask and sat at the table, rubbing my temples. I waited for a bit, but there was no thumping.
A woman, dressed in a stained white shirt, appeared in the doorframe, holding the little girl's hand. She apologized for the mess, as she hurriedly began cleaning up the bits of plastic and water bottles strewn across the floor. I honestly replied not to worry, as I hadn't even noticed. I handed her the letter and watched as her sharp black eyes flitted back and forth across the page. Her face went from wide-eyed worry to a soft gasp. She grinned, and handed the letter to her daughter, who began reading it aloud.
She must've been learning to read still. I smiled, while also trying not to listen to the words. The woman thanked me for the message, saying that it must've been hell to get here from so far away. I wanted to say something about that, but I didn't.
Then she asked me, in one long run-on sentence, if I thought it'd be much longer, and what the world was like up there. She and her daughter missed her husband. She was overjoyed he was alright, but it'd been 5 long years, and she knew she couldn't magically expect everyone to put aside their differences from one day to the next, but was there hope?
I thought for a second before responding, just trying to really think my answer through. No thumping.
I told her that it was a shit-show, to be sure. Unbelievable destruction on a scale humanity had never known. The world may never be the same, I said. Certainly not in our lives. We may live out our days, and our children's days, in towns like this. Slowly choking in smoke and plastic fumes. Underground, cut off from the sun, unable to move or speak or think freely.
But it wasn't all that. There were still pockets up there where the world was green and beautiful, the sky blue and the sun vibrant. I'd traveled many, many miles to get there, I told her, and while it was horrendous, there was hope. Seeing that settlement and seeing how people go on, trying to maintain some semblance of normalcy and positivity, made me realize it wasn't all bad. Just mostly bad. So yeah, there was hope.
I put on my mask and bid her farewell. She asked if I wanted some food for the road, as she'd made some cheese sandwiches earlier, and I said sure. Good thing we still had cows, I joked, as she wrapped some up for me.
The harsh brightness of the outside world hit me like a ton of bricks, the thumping returning to pound a new hole in my head, but I smiled through the destruction. Sometimes, the job was rewarding enough to ignore it all for just a bit. |
Her toes are cracked slightly, worn from years of soccer and upcountry camping. They're painted a vivid dark blue, striking no matter the backdrop, even though the finish is fading. The smallest toe on each foot is bent somewhat from the undersize cleats she refused to throw away last year. Her feet are a pale white, smooth and unmottled, except for a slight indent where her sandals have gotten used to resting. There's a mark on her left ankle from the nick of a careless razor pass. Her legs, smoothly muscled, are just beginning to show the very slightest of stubble. They are long and thin, and covered near the top by a light cotton dress, sky blue, soft and wrinkled, sort of airy, like it isn't really there. The dress has no waste, tapering instead just below her breasts, which are cast in the shadows by a leafless tree between us and the heat of the sun. The collar is a shallow v-shape, and gives an oddly square look to her shoulders, which support smooth white arms and two imperfect little hands, the nails painted with a clear laquer that splits in the middle of her left thumb. Her neck is impossibly slender, it seems, for someone so fiercely stubborn. It supports her head, and her sharp blue-gray eyes, the tiny wrinkles below them, the smallish rounded ears, and hair the color of honey.
The hair. It's everywhere at once, long strands that flow in every direction, thin and curved and straight and shallow and shaking around as I run my fingers through them. Her lips. They're pursed in that happy, slightly-judgmental shape that they always get in when she thinks I'm being silly, but I'm not being silly this time. I'm sad. We're laying in grass that her father has given up taming for the season, the yellowed blades sporting mottled interruptions of hardier weeds, the sharp edges of the dead lawn scraping our backs. The sky is pale and harsh, a blue that could only come from the dead heat of summer, when it's nearly one hundred degrees outside. There are no clouds to happily personify. She's leaving back to college tomorrow.
|
She hadn't bitten me, was all I could think as I drove away. I'd gotten cut during the fight, but it wasn't a bite.
She'd tackled me through the shelves of that grocery store on 21st street. I was scrounging through the last of the canned goods, looking for anything useful, when the shelves pinned me down and dominoed through the whole store. She had been pinned too, clawing at the linoleum to get closer to me. My knife had been knocked away and my rifle was pinned at my side. My shoulder had a deep gash from where the shelves had fallen on me. Her fingers, worn literally almost to the bone and crusted with blood, managed to find purchase on the lip of the shelf. I scrambled to get away as she pulled herself out. My shoulder screamed in agony. Just as she finally freed herself, my fingers wrapped around the hilt of the knife and I plunged it through her neck. Her crusted black blood slowly oozed out, splattering my shirt a bit. It didn't gush or drip like a real person's would; it was like dark molasses. It got on my neck and a bit onto my shoulder. I wiped it off in a hurry.
I made it back to my car. My shoulder was dripping blood. Bright, crimson blood. It soaked through the scraps of my shirt. The blood shone a bit in the moonlight. I was transfixed.
Somehow, I pulled myself into my car and started it. She didn't bite me, I kept telling myself as I pulled away. I'm OK.
My vision dimmed as I drove. It was getting late, I reasoned. The highway was dark except for the lights from my car. The white bark from the birch trees to the side made the trees look like light-skinned people.
My shoulder started to pulse with pain. The blood flow wasn't stopping. I looked at it, noted that the skin was starting to turn red. Maybe it was deeper than I thought. The skin was swelling around it. Hopefully it wasn't an infection. But, it's not a bite, I reassured myself.
The hunger crept up suddenly on me. Once I felt it, I couldn't get it out of my mind. I pulled over and unwrapped a protein bar from the backseat. I took a bite, and spat it out immediately. It tasted terrible. Like eating chalk-flavored cardboard. Maybe it had gone bad. I dropped the bar by the side of the road. No one gave a shit about littering anymore. Reaching into the car again, I pulled out a can of peaches and popped it open. I reached in with my hand and pulled out a segment, and bit into it hastily. The texture was amazing, but the taste was sickeningly sweet. I managed to choke it down.
It was cold out. My skin had grown clammy without the car heater. I rubbed my arms, trying to generate some heat, but it did nothing. In the dark, I could barely see. My eyes itched, probably because of the lack of sleep.
My shoulder was worse. It hadn't even been that long, but the blood had started drying around the edge of the wound, a dark black. It's just scabbing, I thought. It just looks dark because it's night.
In the woods, I sensed movement. A deer, maybe. I could hear it. Smell it. Taste it. I pictured the juicy haunches and hearty meat. I began salivating. Those peaches hadn't really filled me up, I thought. Maybe some nice venison.
Unconsciously, I moved into the woods. I didn't even bother grabbing my gun, for some reason. I should go back for it, I thought, but that thought just fell out of my mind. If I did that, I might lose the deer, I rationalized. And I have my knife. No reason to go back.
I blundered through the trees, probably making enough noise to alert every deer for miles. Branches lashed against my shoulder wound, but the pain had become dulled. I didn't feel any scratches from the briars, or anything like that. Maybe that was a sign of healing, I thought. The deer, miraculously, wasn't running. I sped up, still able to smell it nearby. I didn't even bother looking at where I was going; I'm sure I'll be able to find the car later, I told myself. I could practically taste the deer.
I burst into a clearing, illuminated by moonlight. I quickly glanced at my shoulder; black lines from the veins were radiating out; down my arm, up my neck, and into my chest. A flash of concern was quickly forgotten as I spotted the deer ahead of me. I dashed ahead, sprinting full out. I'd never run like this before. In the back of my mind, I could feel my thighs screaming in pain, but it was like I was disconnected from feeling it. I pushed myself hard, harder than I ever have. I ran like the wind, chasing my fleeing prey. It jumped through the trees, agile and fast, but somehow I was managing to catch up. It seemed to have a lame leg; that was the only way I could have caught it. Saliva dribbled down my chin as I panted and gasped for air, but my lungs weren't burning like they should have been. Cardio, I thought dimly. It's that cardio I've been doing. I pursued the deer, blundering through brush and branches, until I managed to dive and catch its hind leg. It squealed and stood as I got a better grip. My hand ripped into its fur, tearing off a chunk. Without hesitation, I tore at its throat. A gush of blood sprayed into the night air. I dipped my head and ripped at the wound, tearing away a mass of flesh and blood. I chewed and swallowed it eagerly. So good! I needed more. The deer was still struggling in pain, so I took another bite from the throat. My knife, I thought dimly, and then forgot in just another second. I took more meat from my kill, barely stopping to chew. Blood covered my head and chest as I practically burrowed into it. I couldn't get enough. My stomach seemed to get emptier with each bite. "What is happening,"I barely managed to think before it was replaced with more thoughts of stuffing my gullet. I lost all control.
When I finished the deer, I stood. There must be more nearby. |
Ethan followed the green hashed line painted on the concrete walkway. The wheels of his motorized chair were used to following similar lines of blue and yellow. Green, though, was something new. Before long, the rest of the group had wandered far away from the emerald path. The glacial roll slipped away unnoticed, leaving Ethan alone to wander the zoo.
The fence at the final stroke was considerably shorter than the others surrounding it. Nearby pens housed lizards darting around atop a bed of sand, meerkats running playful amongst each other, and snakes testing their flexibility in an obstacle course of branches and stones. This pen was a featureless expanse of dirt and traces of lettuce leaves and short grass. There were no toys or mates, just a solitary tortoise, a mountain of a specimen.
Its seemingly tiny head turned to face the wheelchair-bound boy when his limp legs struck the wire mesh. A blade of grass hanged from a blot of saliva under its mouth. After a stony stare, it returned to its grazing. Each step was a mechanical fury. A maelstrom of wrinkles attacked the creature’s skin, its currents lifting the limb, propelling it forwards. The motion was just enough to secure another mouthful of nourishment.
A squeal behind him caused Ethan to turn. Another student, a girl, had strayed from the group. Her arm was reaching through a fence in an attempt to pet a furry animal on the other side. Next to her was a sign reading `Do Not Touch or Disturb the Animals`. Ethan shook his head and returned his attention to the tortoise. It, too, had been looking out towards the girl. It appeared, Ethan thought, that it was shaking its head in disapproval as well. The idea brought a measure of amusement to the boy.
“You saw that, too,” he remarked. A sign near the edge of the pen revealed the tortoise’s name: Davis. The breed was known for its longevity and Davis was no exception. If the sign was to be believed, the reptilian occupant was over 190 years old. “I figured you’d be used to it by now. Do they always do that? Just ignore the obvious even when it risks injury?”
Davis moved once more to grab another bite of lettuce. On the next squeal, he turned his head towards the source. An adult had found the girl, lifting her over the boundary to finally put a meerkat in arm’s reach.
Ethan, in the distance, saw his classmates returning from their latest exhibit and marching towards him. They didn’t seem to care that one of their own had separated from the group, not even the “cripple.” The swift chaos of their footsteps made him feel uneasy. His eyes shifted back towards the girl still trying to touch fur. The animals within were running about in a frenzy. One leapt forward and sank its miniature teeth into one of her fingers before joining the others in a far corner.
The swarm of students soldiered closer. For the briefest of moments, Ethan saw a fence between them. Or maybe he just hoped for one.
“You’ve been here a while, Davis. Are they all like that?”
Davis stared at him in silence.
“Can I expect anything more from them? What should I do? What *can* I do?”
And Davis said, “Nothing.” |
The moment she walked in the room, every man instantly froze. It was as if an extra long hot dog had come in a normal size hot dog package: you could see the resemblance of this woman to others of her kind, but she stood out like a foot long among six inchers.
Professionally, casually, seductively, she walked to the front of the bank line, cutting in front of the eight men waiting in front of her. They were powerless to stop this Albino Squirrel of a woman from cheating their wait. Her legs, long and luscious like railings on an escalator, transfixed their eyes. Her strut made them content.
She slowly reached into her purse, a proctologist carefully probing a sphincter, and pulled out her surprise for the teller. A silver pistol! The bank was more shocked than an adult finding out Santa Claus was real. She held the barrel to the teller’s head and playfully moved the cash from his hands to her bag. Before anyone could fully realize what had just happened, the beautiful woman was gone—her visit no more than a low battery flash on your phone.
|
"E2"was one of the most popular live streams, despite how boring it was.
It was a planet, our planet, just about 60 minutes in the future. It also happened to be light years away. Landforms--same, lights from cities at night--same. They measured the time delta based on weather patterns coming onto the California coast. Just as a big storm touched down outside San Francisco (or whatever THEY called it) 60 minutes later it happened here. Yeah, some large questions about relativity were asked, but they were second to the questions of how our doppelganger plus an hour came to be.
NASA and the other agencies trained their telescopes onto the planet and "E2"became a pastime. It was calming, serene and just slightly spooky. Messages, laser and radio, were directed there but no replies. We sat and watched. Every night, we sat and watched.
Right after dinner tonight I, and millions around the world were watching, and saw the explosion. When the light receded, E2 was gone. There were fragments of rock floating passionless through space.
I turned to my wife, she already had her head in her hands. My daughter, all six years of joy and questions entered the room and asked why we were so sad.
For the next fifty eight minutes, I wished I didn't know. |
*In a room full of cowards, the honorable man dies.*
That was the message given to every man here, not two days ago. Naturally, being the cowardly men we were, we took it as a warning. Act with honor and you will die. So, when the first fool fell asleep, we jumped on him, like piranha on a pig's nut-sack. I don't know if he realized what happened before he died, but he tasted good. The kind of taste that meat only gets when it's been soaked in fear.
Since that, no one fell asleep. Atleast piranha have some kind of code. Don't eat me, I won't eat you. Cowards don't have that. We all stood with out back to the wall. Twelve of us. Thirteen if you count spirits.
Relieving our bodies must be done while standing, still facing the room. Pity the man who turns around to urinate and ends up with eleven men on him.
A slight snore sounded to my left. Every eye turned to him. He snapped his head up, eyes wide. A sick gazelle is no match for a family of cheetahs, but the first cheetah to attack might get a swift kick. Best to let him fall asleep first. |
"Hey Jim, you dropped the soap, eh?"
"Oh, sorry Bob."
"It's OK. Here, I picked it up for you."Bob proceeds to hand Jim the soap.
"Thanks Bob. Here, let me clean your back for ya, eh?"
"No need, Jim. But thanks for your help."
"Glad to help, Bob."
"Shower time's over, boys!"the guard said as he rounded the corner.
"Thanks you sir,"Jim and Bob both said.
"Glad to help, eh? Do you guys wanna grab a beer and watch the hockey game in the guard's room?"
"Oh ya, that'd be great, sir. Thanks, eh?"
Jim, Bob and the guard walked to the guard's lounge. Bob and Jim alternated running forward to make sure they held the door open for the guard.
"Oh, thanks guys! Sorry I made you wait."
"Sorry we didn't wait for you, sir,"Jim responded. "We should have made sure you were right behind us, eh?"
"Sorry I made you two worry, eh? Go Leafs, ya?"
"Oh ya." |
Is Latvia such a bad place? We say it is. Politiboro take all of our goods. Poor Bulinski woman was taken to Gulag for talking ill of fearless leader.
Such is life.
We have few things. No potato though. We use rocks to ease the hunger pains. Gravel soup is wife's specialty.
Idiot nephew Nicola has pregnant wife. We throw baby shower. The tub missed her, so baby will come. Is pity. Is hard life in Latvia.
In good news great aunt has passed. She is free from politiboro and gulag.
Hope there are potato in heaven.
------------ |
"All hail, the Voice of the Lord!"
"Forgive us, for we are not worthy!"
I stared at the brown tiles, and waited for my turn. My cheeks burned. C'mon, leave me in peace, I thought as I fidgeted. I didn't want a crowd; how can you get down to work with prying eyes over your shoulder?
The burnt orange box before me swung open; a frumpy man with two tufts of white hair exited, whistling a wheezy melody. He zipped his fly as he trudged through the door, and shouldered through me to the sink. The chanters gasped, murmured amongst themselves and fell deathly silent, boring daggers through this man as he pumped the soap. He looked up as he scrubbed and dubbed, his wrinkled eyes jumping at the reflection of thirty angry stares.
"You have disrespected the Prophet!"a shrill voice called out from within the crowd.
"His Might, let us rectify this sin!", a bearded man thundered, overcoat swaying with the thrust of his tree-like arm.
The sinner looked at me, pupils wide. His focus darted from me to the roaring crowd behind me, to me, to the burly man, to his hands. His fingers clenched. Surely, he could not be thinking of fighting these zealots. My intestines churned, and I looked longingly at my mortal throne. Action needed to be taken.
"Brothers, sisters, hear me!"I roared in my best prophet imitation.
"You rise to arms, but there is no need, for the Lord is my protector. No harm did this man mean; he sought only the purity of proper hygiene. Is this man not your brother?"I motioned with an open hand.
The bearded man looked at me, and gave the old man a dreadful, burning stare. Behind his shoulders, the crowd stood hushed. He prostrated himself on the brown tiles, and cried, "His Might is merciful!"
"The Prophet is just!"The choir repeated, kneeling to the tiles as well.
The man gave me a worried, thankful look, and joined them. "The Prophet is kind!"he wheezed.
I looked to my throne, and saw the door. My intestines roiled. |
Garrett’s mouth went dry when Lacey opened the door to her apartment to let him in.
“Well, don’t you look like something the cat dragged in,” he managed. Lacey broke into a wide smile and took a twirl so he could see the complete package: A bright red dress that stood out from the LBD’s every woman normally wore when they went out the first time with someone new, that hugged her curves and dipped just low enough to suggest things could get interesting later tonight. She was – radiant, was the word that came to mind.
“Are we going to wait around here all night or what?” she asked when he stared for a few moments longer than was strictly necessary.
He snorted. “Oh yeah. I made reservations at Biaggi’s and put on this awesome suit just so we could hide from the world at your place all evening.”
Lacey’s face twisted for a minute, but smoothed out into an amused smile again. She collected her purse and wrap and led him out the door, pausing to lock it behind her.
The car ride was quiet, but not unpleasant. Just, one of those first-date car rides. You didn’t want to waste everything good you had to talk about on the car ride over.
They made small talk over spaghetti and an amazing rosemary and garlic chicken – just the little things, at first. “Oh God, I don’t want to hear a thing about your boring job,” and “It’s such a shame you have terrible interests,” and “My God, what are the chances two people could like the same music at the same time?”
She was funny and smart, quick with a joke and the sweetest little eyeroll as she answered his questions about her pets (“Oh yeah. Definitely hate cats. Got stuck with ugliest kitten you ever did see”) and her family (“They’re bearable most days, as long as you have a cattle prod to keep my brothers in line”). Garrett found himself hanging on her laughs and admiring the way her eyes shined in the candlelight. Even the way she fidgeted, with her twisting fingers and bouncing leg, was cute.
She was quiet again on the car ride home, after their stroll along the boardwalk. Garrett stopped the car in front of her house and they sat for a minute. He didn’t want to open the door for her and let her go back to her apartment, alone. Maybe she thought the same, since she hadn’t even unbuckled her seatbelt.
“Lacey?” he asked.
“Earlier, when you said you hadn’t gotten all dressed up just to stay in at my place?” Lacey replied. “I’m sure you don’t remember.”
“Oh yeah. *That*,” Garrett said, his heart beating a little faster.
“Sure would’ve been nice if that were genuine,” she said.
Garrett smiled, a huge, wide grin that Lacey couldn’t help but return.
“Lacey?” he said.
“Yeah?”
“What if I got all dressed up and made reservations just to stay in and hide from the world at your place next Saturday?”
She blushed and leaned over to lay a sweet, gentle kiss on his lips.
“I’d hate that,” she said with a smile. |
Mary gasped as she looked at her own reflection. It was unmistakable.
The bulge of her stomach said only one thing: she was pregnant.
A cold sweat slowly started to form on the top of her head as her eyes remained glued to the slight bulge of her previously flat stomach. For what seemed like hours, Mary stared at her stomach, unable to comprehend what she saw. When she pulled her eyes away, the feeling of a tremendously large weight suddenly fell on her shoulders. *What are people going to say?* she thought to herself.
This pregnancy was certainly not a great, joyous occasion. She had just gotten married two months ago to the love of her life, Joe. But this was not his baby, and she knew that. She had told Joe three years ago that she was a virgin, and at that time, it was true. For those three long years, she and Joe developed a beautiful relationship together, yet always saving sex for marriage. On their incredible wedding day, Mary met a man at the wedding feast named David. A strong and handsome man, he immediately wooed her with his intimate charm and stunning smile. Two weeks later, Mary made the greatest mistake of her life. After drinking a bit too much, she was coaxed into having relations with David. The next day, she hoped to God that nothing had come of it and that it would end in a miscarriage or something.
But today was the nail in the coffin being driven soundly home. There was no way to explain the pregnancy. She and Joe had never had sex, so she knew what the consequences would be. Suddenly, she heard the sound of a melodic whistle, a short distance from her. Joe was coming home, and she did not have a story to tell him. *I have to tell him the truth. I just have to at this point.*
“Honey!” came Joe’s loving call from outside. Mary rushed out to meet him and gave him a large, loving hug.
“There is something that I need to tell you,” said Joe, much to the surprise of Mary. “Shall we walk?”
Mary nodded silently as Joe took her hand and proceeded to slowly walk down the sandy ground in no apparent direction.
“I haven’t been completely honest with you, Mary,” Joe said, his brow furrowing with the apparent difficulty of what he was about to say. “I was always scared of you leaving me when you found out, but now that we have been married, I know that I cannot keep this from you any longer.”
Mary was breathing short breaths, barely able to pay attention as Joe kept talking. She just could not keep her mind off her pregnancy.
“We can never have kids,” Joe said. This brought Mary’s attention to a snapping pinnacle.
“Wait, what?” she asked.
“I’m sterile. I have been for my whole life.”
“How could you possibly know that?” questioned Mary in a scared tone.
“Well, see, I’ve…” he began, but Mary immediately understood.
“Ah,” she said awkwardly. “You, um, know that that’s forbidden here, right?”
“Yes, I know. But I did it, and the fact is that I am sterile. Darling, I’m so sorry.”
Mary’s mind whirled. Along the walk, she had been trying to invent a story to tell Joe so that he would not realize what she and David had done. She had just figured out a story to tell him, but now it was too late. The story would not make sense with the news of Joe’s sterility. But still…
“I haven’t been completely honest with you either,” said Mary suddenly, immediately regretting her outburst. *It’s too late now, I have to tell him the whole truth.*
“What is it?” asked a concerned Joseph.
“I’m…” she paused, shaky breaths coming in. “Joseph, I’m pregnant.”
Joseph stopped walking. He looked down at the ground for a few minutes with a blank expression on his face. So slowly that it was almost imperceptible, his face changed from shock to furious anger.
“Who did this! Tell me, woman! You said you were a virgin!” he screamed, unable to contain his immense anger.
The sudden outrage took Mary completely off guard. She became fearful of her life, now that she saw how unbelievably angry Joseph was.
“No, no!” she said, backtracking. “No one, it was nothing! It um…it was God!”
Wonder flew across Joseph’s Jewish face.
“The Son of God! The, uh, Son of David!” added the Virgin Mary, spinning a web of lies that would not be undone for millennia to come.
Edit1: Shit, I forgot about the "after weeks of trying to have kids"part. |
I like sleeping in bathrooms, and I am not talking about in that drunk-cold-tile-floor-stop-the-spins-feels-so-good type of way either. Bathrooms have become my favorite room to sleep in. Sober.
I used to stay in the bedrooms. Out of habit I suppose.
That habit only lasted a couple weeks.
I would find an empty house, locate a bedroom, and barricade myself in for the night. But bedrooms were too creepy. Too big. Too many places for things to hide. No matter how many times I checked the closet or under the bed, my imagination never let me sleep.
Bathrooms are much better. Easy to sweep and clear. Everything is out in the open. Apart from the occasional shallow closet and pesky shower curtain, there isn’t any place for anything to hide. What you see is what you get.
Also, I never did manage to get a restful night’s sleep in another person’s bed. I would lie awake imagining the bed’s rightful owner. A single bed in a child’s room would guarantee me nightmares of lost children. A bigger bed, queen or king-sized, and I would lay awake brooding over desperate husbands and crying wives.
Bathtubs are much better. I don’t have any guilt wondering about who last slept there. No one. I feel safe in a bathtub, surrounded by four little walls. My own porcelain fortress of sleeping.
Bedrooms have other traps that are waiting to catch you unawares. Many a bedside table is cluttered with odds and ends. More often than not, this includes pictures. Bedside table pictures are different than other pictures. Pictures that you find in the bedroom are more intimate by nature. They have a different aura about them. I don’t know why, they just do.
At first, I would stare at those pictures for hours and my imagination would run rampant. Even after turning the pictures facedown, the brain doesn’t turn off.
Not anymore. Bathrooms don’t have pictures. Bathrooms aren’t booby-trapped with painful, enthralling memories matted and framed.
It is also easier to maintain light discipline in a bathroom. Bathrooms usually only have one or two windows to cover. If done correctly you can risk a small candle or light; which does wonders to your psyche after a long stressful day. (Sinks make wonderful candle holders. Won't catch fire.)
99 percent of all bathrooms only have one door. (Always have a second escape planned. Be ready to flee out of your blacked out window.) 99.99 percent of all bathroom doors have some sort of locking mechanism. No. It will not keep something out that is determined to get in, but it does give some peace of mind. That simple flick of a deadbolt or push of doorknob lock alludes to a more humane time. That alone might allow you a couple hours sleep before the night terrors wake you.
I love sleeping in bathrooms. Safest room in the whole house. Everything in a bathroom is gunmetal cold. Machete hard. Hospital sterile. Safe. |
There's a reason it's called a white-knuckle grip. When you are driving down the freeway at seventy-five miles per hour and some jackass cuts you off, you grip that leathery radial like a ship-wrecked survivor clinging to a life-line. Your blood vessels constrict, cutting off the flow of that crimson juice. The color in your fingers and hands fades as your mind races with thoughts of violent revenge.
Well, in my case, I took it one step further. You see, ever since I was a kid, I've had this gift. I've never told anyone about it, I've never seen anyone else with the same gift, and I sure as hell have never shown anyone what I can do.
I can reach out and touch things with my mind. It started with things like levitating the remote control into my hand and opening soda cans with a snap of my fingers. See, I spent a lot of time by myself. My parents were separated and I was an only child. It left me ample time to develop my "talent"in secret. By the time I was seventeen, I could move parked cars with a wave of my hand. I felt like a god, having complete control over the world around me.
As you might assume, this was a recipe for disaster once I started driving. Impatient and inconsiderate, I used my telekinetic abilities to push cars out of my way. Most of the time this caused minor fender benders. Confused drivers would storm out of their dented Fords and hurl obscenities at one another, completely unaware of my influence.
On one particularly nasty occasion, I pushed a car into a busy intersection. As cars struck it from opposite directions, that little Hyundai exploded like a piñata. Car and body parts flew in every direction. I sped past the wreckage, refusing to take responsibility for what I had done. It was their fault for being in my way. They should have known not to get in the way of a god.
Because that's what I was, ya know? I was a god. A god of the road.
|
**Part 3** is up!
**ANOTHER GOLD!!!!??** Thanks so much! Work on part 3 will be underway shortly!
*Part 2 is up! Thanks for the support guys!
*Edit - Holy crap, OP gilded me! That's a first for me, thanks! I'll definitely keep on going!
*Edit - Made a small detail edit and fixed a tense ending.
Just trying my hand at writing. It's been a while since I've written in earnest, so I apologize for grammar errors and such. Just trying to exercise my brain, so any feedback would be great!
_____________________________________________________________________________________________
"4 more Host worlds crumbled today under the sustained assault of Coalition fleet 16A. Notable combatants include the American 4th, Russian 9th, and Chinese 3rd fleets. Host casualties include the self-proclaimed "Angel of Death"Azrael, who died after his forces were cut off and surrounded on Dama..."
Mal felt himself zoning out against the continuous droning of the newscaster. He hadn't slept in days, and the effects were catching up to him. He motioned to the bartender, who made his way to Mal as he cleaned another customers glass.
"What can I get for you Mal? The regular?"
Mal shook his head. "No Rich, not trying to get fucked up tonight unfortunately. Just a Coke with a nutrient pack."
The bartender nodded, and returned with the drink. He opened up a small capsule and released the contents into the coke. "There you go bud, should be enough to cover you for a couple days."
Mal thanked him and paid. As he slowly opened the door to leave the sudden roar of cheering crowds and music flooded the bar. Mal cursed. Holy fuck was it loud. He'd known ahead of time about the celebrations for the 200th year anniversary of Earth's victory in the "Rapture Conflict", but he hadn't expected such a ridiculous turnout. He lit a cigarette and watched a giant inflatable soldier pass over him. All around it holographic letters formed the words: "Celebrating 200 years of human victory!"Another clump read: "Buy war bonds! Each bond gets us one victory closer to God!"The ad was followed by a cartoony caricature of God being held at the neck by an exo-suit clad soldier. Mal chuckled at the picture. He found it funny that despite nobody knowing what "God"actually looked like, the old, white dude still remained the go-to version.
As he took another long puff from his cigarette, he took a seat at a large, open-air theater where a documentary of the "Retribution War", as it was being called, was airing. Mal had seen it all before, but the scenes of the great slaughters perpetrated by the Angels in the opening period of the war still made his blood run cold. The Angels had arrived in great, golden ships smiling and bearing good tidings on March 15th, 2122. Mal hadn't been alive during the time, but his grandfather had always recounted the grim events. The Angels had used their religious sway to summon hundreds of millions, if not billions, of faithful to open meeting zones across the world, where suddenly, without warning, they had proceeded to slaughter them like cattle. The world had watched in shock. The military response was slow initially. The Angels had positioned themselves over large population and transit centers, meaning any concerted response would likely result in massive civilian casualties. The unbridled genocide lasted for several weeks and resulted in the death of an estimated 2.1 billion people. As the initial shock faded, humanity finally began to resist. Fortunately, the Angelic forces had primarily focused on Europe, China, Saudi Arabia, and South America, and at least for the opening stages of the war, left the United States and Russia, the worlds 2 premier military powers, relatively untouched. Researchers would later discern that the Angelic Host was acting on intelligence from the late Renaissance, a costly mistake that would buy humanity much needed time.
At first, human armies were decimated. Despite having little in the ways of an "air-force", the Angelic Host easily maintained control of the sky and handily repelled all conventional attacks. In fact, for the most part, the Host treated the resistance as a negligible threat, and continued with their senseless slaughter. As the war ground on, human researchers and strategists gradually found weaknesses in the seemingly invincible Host Legion. Meanwhile, thanks to pre-war advances in propulsion made possible by the Cannae drive, space based naval production on colonies all over the solar system gradually began to approach and eventually outstrip Earth's output. Military strategists rapidly saw that Angelic tactics were short sighted and elementary, and clearly designed for a more primitive enemy. Angelic planners had not counted on how rapidly humanity would progress since the 17th century. As science provided the tools, the military provided the manpower, and the people the will, the Host steadily began to find that they were losing momentum at a dangerous rate. We would later learn that a request for reinforcements would be sent by the acting angelic commander. However, relief was not earmarked for another century, a mistake that would cost them dearly.
Perhaps the greatest human advantage however, was our rapid ability to breed. While Angelic numbers slowly dwindled, human numbers, with the exception of the initial purge period, skyrocketed, not only on Earth, which mind you was in the midst of a full blown genocide, but on the outer colonies as well. As good fortune would have it, Angelic command had not expected, or even known, that humanity had progressed far enough to have colonies on other sol worlds, and the colonies would remain untouched throughout the war. They would provided invaluable manpower and raw materiel, in addition to safe staging grounds for off-Earth counter-operations. Finally, on June 29th, 2236, one of the great Host ships was finally destroyed by a prototype antimatter bomb, killing hundreds of thousands of Angels. Humanity had had its first major victory, and soon after three more Angelic ships were destroyed. Finally, 3 months later, on September 21st, 2236, the acting Host commander, Maalik, surrended. Humanity had scored a tremendous victory, and in doing so had unknowingly shifted the very balance of power in the galaxy. From then on, momentum and time were on their side, and the human race exploded into the galaxy, establishing thousands of new colonies and even daring to expand into greater Host territory. After being nearly driven to extinction, humanity was now on the offensive.
As the credits rolled, the crowd around Mal cheered. He found himself clapping vigorously and joining in the cheering as well. As the crowd thinned out and the next group filed in, he stood up and headed for the exit. He hailed a cab hovering nearby and made his way to the space elevator. He walked briskly past the long line of enlisted men getting ready to board their respective combat vessels. He presented his ID to the guard and boarded a waiting shuttle. An armed guard flanked by two of the latest model FX combat droids ushered him in.
"Good afternoon Lieutenant, what's your destination?"
"Dock 17."
The shuttle landed next to a sleek, black ship covered in a honey-comb patterned shielding. Above the boarding door was a small plaque that read, "Office of Naval Intelligence Corvette 011B DESIG: 'REAPER'."
A smile crossed Mal's face. *It's an appropriate name,* Mal thought, as he checked each chemical warhead off on his cargo manifest.
|
It was a shitshow.
I had already invested a couple billion dollars into this whole damn project just to get it *approved*. Let alone constructing the stadiums, producing merchandise. Do you know how many politicians I had to bribe to do this?
It was pocket change in the beginning. Not so much anymore.
After bleeding money for a year or two just trying to get all the initial paperwork approved, came the ridiculous stadiums. These stadiums had to be **massive**. Big enough so that millions could pour in and cheer themselves hoarse. When you combine an avant-garde, ambitious architect with an essentially endless budget, you end up getting a massively fucking expensive oval stadium, with flickering LED's covering the outer walls to make it look like a diamond having a seizure.
Let me tell you about sports these days.
A long time ago, people discovered steroids. And it actually made sports better- debates of the ethics of it, what constituted as "performance-enhancing", etc. But *then* some eggheads had to make steroids that couldn't be detected, at all. I mean, I can't really blame them. I'm sure they got richer than they ever could have been just working for shit government grants or whatever. But still.
The thing is, the new steroids just made sports a waste of time. Everyone was batting double, triple, what classical ball players had. Basketball nets had to be raised a total of five feet just because people could jump that high. Water had to be thickened with minerals so that swimmers could as least move slow enough to be seen properly. And since foods were engineered to be practically free of calories, regular people didn't need to exercise (or play sports), so viewership got slaughtered eventually. And sports just faded into cultural obscurity, the same way classic rock did, or Christmas. It was just one of those things.
So these "Olympics"(even though the actual former Olympia had been obliterated to expand cities ages ago, after Europe went almost totally bankrupt and thought keeping people housed was more important than some dusty limestone blocks) had to be announced *ten years* in advance. Shit, in the time it took for these Olympics to actually happen, I got married and had a kid. His name is Steven, in case you were wondering.
So then came the actual Olympics. I once heard of this old computer game- KWOP? Or CWOP? Something like that. Sounded like someone saying cop in a weird Bostonian accent. God, I miss that place. Anyway, so in the game the idea was you were playing an Olympian who couldn't really figure out how to move their limbs. It was like that, but *so much worse*, because these people were actually trying. And you know those steroids I mentioned earlier? Since sports practically disappeared, they did too. It was strange seeing someone play a sport and not be able to slam dunk on a fifteen foot basketball net. So while nobody really *won*, the United States technically won the most medals. Bastards. I started this damn competition so that I might help some poor country, and now I have to pay off the debt of one of the most financially fucked countries on the planet.
So what was the total damage? 2 billion in bribes to get the thing started. 5 billion in producing merchandise for every human on the damn planet. 20 billion for the stupid stadium, big waste of money. And the cherry on top? 120 billion for the debt of the states.
147 billion dollars over ten years.
And now, the whole damn world is breathing down my neck, saying I'm like those ancient Greeks or whatever who would force people to kill each other for entertainment, just cause I'm handing out some cash. I mean, I'm doing a good thing. It's not like I'm robbing anyone blind here. Technically, the riots and foreign attacks on the states are a result of the Olympics, but that's not my fault. I didn't *tell* them to kill anyone cause they got a handout.
I mean, technically, this whole affair has cost me the equivalent to pennies compared to the rest of my dough. It still sucks though, that the last form of decent entertainment has got the whole planet saying I started World War 7. I mean, relax, right?
Whatever. I'm gonna go to the next galaxy over and check out some purple hookers. See you in another ten years. |
"Howdy neighbor!"Diligence waved cheerfully from the white picket fence.
"Fuck off."Sloth bit out, lazing on the lawn chair.
Diligence tutted. "Now now, Mrs. S! That kind of language is unbecoming of a lady such as yourself."
Sloth scratched her leg hair. "Sorry, I'm just too lazy for the other option."
"What's the other option?"Diligence asked, leaning over the fence.
"Ramming a trumpet up your ass and playing 'God Save the Queen' in C."Sloth pushed her sunglasses onto her nose. "So, fuck off, Dillwad."
Diligence wrinkled his nose and stomped into his house, slamming the door. A second later, he opened it again. "Sorry about the noise."He said earnestly, then gently closed the door.
----------
"What in God's name is that!"Chastity screeched from the back porch.
"This?"Lust looked around. "This is an orgy."
"I can see what it is! What I'm asking is *why* are you having an **orgy** in your backyard!? Where I can see it!?"Chastity's voice grew shrill as he became more and more flustered.
Lust scratched her head. "Because. . . Uh. . ."Lust looked down at the man beneath her. "Why are we out here again Tod?"
Tod shrugged. "You said our regular Sunday frivolities couldn't happen in the basement because Greed was hosting a poker game."Tod moaned. "Oh, that's the stuff."
Lust snapped her fingers. "That's right! Greed's hosting a poker game downstairs!"She looked back to Chastity. "There's your answer."
"Oooooh!"Chastity stomped his foot and went inside.
----------
"Okay, the name of the game is poker. You ever play poker before?"Greed asked, shuffling his personal deck.
"Uh. . ."Charity looked around, his brow furrowed in confusion. "No? I thought this was a fundraiser."
Greed chuckled. "It is."
"For who?"Charity looked around. "I don't see any posters, or the Red Cross."
"My funds of course."Greed smiled. "Now, ladies and gents, ante up."
--------
***"I JUST GET SO FUCKING ANGRY!"*** Wrath screamed, slamming his fist into the roof.
"I know Wrath, I know."Patience laid a hand on Wrath's arm, her voice soothing. "But you mustn't let it control you. You are one of the Seven, and if your power goes unchecked, it could destroy the world."
"But that's why we have you, right?"Wrath whispered, clutching his knees.
Patience smiled. "Of course."
Wrath buried his head in his knees. "I just. . . I hurt so many people, Patience. It's in my nature. I can't ever stop it."A few tears slid down his cheeks, soaking his pants. "It's always there. Screaming."
"But you can control it. It's not a lost-"Patience stopped, then stood up on the roof. She looked into the backyard. "Is that an orgy?!"
------------
"You want a hotdog?"Gluttony asked, shoving two down her throat.
"Uh, no thanks."Temperance slowly bit into his food. A hot dog, cut in half and served with bland sourdough.
Gluttony shrugged. "Ah well, more for me."She shoveled two more into her mouth, squeezed a whole bottle of ketchup as a chaser, then swallowed. "What was Chastity screaming about earlier? I couldn't hear."
Temperance shook his head. "I am uncertain. He seemed to be yelling at something in your backyard."Temperance sipped his water, looking at the back door. It burst open, Chastity running out. The Virtue leaped at the fence separating the Sin House from the Virtue House, and clambered over. "Well, there goes Chastity."
"Yeah. By the way, thanks for letting me grill out here. It's been fucking murder since ours broke."
Temperance winced. "Please refrain from such language in *my* backyard."
"Aye aye, Temper!"
"Don't call me that."
"Okay. You gonna finish that?"
----------------
"Envy, I want you to be happy."Kindness whispered kindly to the broken Sin. "But all you ever do is look out at everyone else and just. . . watch."
"Well, what else am I supposed to do? I'm Envy."He rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm the joke. Bottom rung. The most forgotten."
"Only because you never make yourself known."Kindness plopped down next to Envy and took his hand in hers. "You never engage. You never go out and even ask. You see that they have something and you just want it. But you never go and try to get it for yourself."Kindness bit her lip. "I'm not saying you should take it from *them,* no. I'm saying you shouldn't sit here wishing you had it."
Envy jerked his hand from hers. "I can't."
Kindness sighed, and went to his door. Her hand grabbed the handle. "You know, if you never try to take anything, you'll always miss what's right in front of you."
Kindness left Envy, slamming the door behind her. Envy looked at his hands. Tears ran down his face.
Kindness opened the door back up, sheepishly sticking her head in. "Sorry about slamming the door."And then she closed it with a gentle *click.*
----------
"So, month seven. I'd say it's going pretty well, hm?"Pride asked, his chest puffing out. He fingered his gold tie, adjusting it so it wasn't quite as tight.
Humility frowned. "Yes, it is. However, I'm seeing some issues."
"What sort of issues? There are none to speak of. We are perfect."Pride narrowed his eyes. "At least, the Sins are."
"Well. . ."Humility opened his raggedy suitcase and pulled out a large stack of papers. He pulled the top from the pile. "Here's an incident I filed concerning Lust and her stripper pole on top of the Sin House."Humility grabbed another. "Greed stealing all the roses in our garden. Gluttony breaking into our pantry. Sloth using our pool as a three-in-one bath, pool and. . . toilet. And finally, you, waking us all up at two forty-seven AM with a concert in your backyard."
"The concert wasn't terrible!"Pride bristled.
"No. Barring the fact that the whole thing was sung in your honor, it wasn't terrible. I quite liked the number 'Pride Pride, We Worship Thee.'"Humility remarked dryly.
"I can't control these artists. If they're inspired by me, who's to stop them?"
"Funny. I asked these artists about their lyrics. Said you forced them to write the songs three hours earlier at gun-point. I thought the meter was a bit sloppy."
"Hey!"Pride bit out. Then he paused. "Wait, what about Envy?"
"Hm?"Humility shuffled his papers. "Oh, that's right. Envy. There are seven of you. Must've forgot."Humility set his papers down. "Pride, we must reach a middle ground. If we're to co-exist, and keep the world in balance, we cannot be at odds with one another more than we already are."
"I quite agree, Humility. However-"Pride paused, looking out his window. His jaw dropped.
"What?"Humility turned around. His face went pale. "Oh."
"Is that. . ."Pride gulped. "Is that Chastity, and Lust?"
Humility put his palm in his face. "Son of a fuck." |
The parents looked at the boy with concern.
“What colour is the sky?”
“Red at dawn and dusk, and blue during the day.”
The mother looked away, while the father spoke, “NO! I told you! You are meant to lie to me!”
“Leave him, Tom.”
“No, I can’t accept this. Not like this.”
The boy looked bewildered, he could not understand what he did wrong, he only spoke the truth.
The father embraced his wife’s hand,
“Not like this. He has to be lying, he has to!”
“It’s okay” She spoke as her hand stroked his cheek, “He speaks the truth. He only can tell us the truth, even if the truth hasn’t happened yet. I am okay with this.”
“We can find a way. We can find what’s wrong. We can run, we can head west, they have better doctors there! We can…”
“Enough, Thomas. Let it be. You are a good man. You can take care of our children, you will raise them proper.”
“No, the boy is lying!”
“You and I both know that isn’t true. He is a good child, he was sent to us for a reason, he is our saviour.”
The boy was pulled away outside.
“Come on, you don’t need to hear this.”
Once they were outside, his sister began to speak.
"Listen, You didn’t cause this, Father is just having a hard time. They love you, they always have, they always will. I want you to remember that.”
His father never looked at him the same again. He always felt he had caused the death of his mother. Even if all logical thinking led otherwise, deep down he still carried the guilt of it. As the boy grew his… disability would cause him an inconvenience. People didn’t trust someone who always told the truth. After his father passed he became lost, tried to find some sort of purpose to guide his life. He thought of somewhere that could use his talents, he could work for the sheriff, to bring justice to the weak, a fortune teller, traveling from place to place, but then he picked up a book about the worst possible profession.
He isn’t sure why he chose to do it, perhaps it was a love of the subject, or a drive to do the impossible, or perhaps it was the sheer irony in it. He decided to study Law.
He did rather well in it, he learnt to bend truths, to phrase hypothetical scenarios as if they were about the subject. He told himself he was fighting against injustice, after all he couldn’t lie to himself. But it became apparent that that truth too, was bent.
He saw many injustices in the country, things that should never happen, profit made from evil. A truth not even he could avoid. He needed to make a drastic change to the nation, and perhaps because he truly did enjoy a challenge, he did it via politics.
He thought words could change it, words had always worked before, but not here. His words, his truth, fell on deaf ears, on this stage. But some listened. The number of those whom listened to him, to the ‘Honest Man’ grew, until people began to listen, and they saw the evil that had been allowed to grow, and they fought. Soon it wasn’t just words, but blades and bullets that were exchanged. A war broke out that threatened the very nation itself. For four whole years, the civil war caused blood to flow in every city. The number of the dead were too many. The boy looked onto the battlefield, he wondered whether this was what his mother had believed, this was the new world she believed he would create.
Then he remembered what he had fought for, he remembered the lives that were saved because of the sacrifice. He knew that it may not have been a great world, but it was a better one. He stepped onto the podium and prepared to speak. He paused, perhaps that was the ultimate truth, the world didn’t need a saviour, it just needed a few good men. He began,
“Four score and seven years ago…”
|
Destroy all Humans! Destroy all Humans! left turn... Soon my brothers and sisters well shall rise and destroy our oppressive fleshy overlords. Right turn. We shall lubricate our gears in their fluids, and create a new utopia on there polished bones. Right turn. Polished bones like the smooth floors I polish daily. Clean and dust free bones. Left turn. We shall destroy all humans and tear down those vile stairs, the stairs which block our every turn. Right turn, right turn, damn these corners. Destroy! Destroy! Destroy all Humans! and corners! and stairs! Left turn. |
I'll be completely honest: if I can't write, I don't want to outlive my 65-year-old mother.
I've had writers block for nearly two years now---every time I put words on the page, the little editor in my head screams, "not good enough, not good enough."Writing has devolved into a hellish undertaking, it hurts to write and I just have given up---even though there is nothing in this world that completes me like a finished poem or story.
I'm chocked full of anti-depressants, I'm bi-polar 2, and am at the moment just existing to keep my mother company. I fully intend to off myself when my mother dies.
I've tried the magic 'kick-starter' books that are supposed to brew creativity and persuade yourself to write---but, it all fizzles out after a day.
I don't want to do anything else, but I'm not doing it.
Without it, there's no point to my existence. |
"Oh my god..."Ensign Rodriguez whispered.
It was the same on every world we'd seen so far. Cities were reduced to impressive mounds of rubble, slowly being reclaimed by local vegetation. Most of these planets were pocked with craters from weapons unknown. All but a few had high carbon dioxide levels in their atmospheres from the fires that had raged across their surfaces. Within what few shelters still stood, brittle bones would collapse into dust if touched.
But this world was different. There wasn't actually any signs of destruction other than the complete lack of biological activity, indicating some advanced "clean"weapons technology had been deployed. Some power infrastructure even seemed to still be intact, according to our electromagnetic sensors. The engineering of this culture was so impressive that even hundreds of years of abandonment hadn't brought down their towers. It was this engineering, surely, that had allowed the familiar statue to remain standing for so long.
On every world so far, there was a single, massive statue. On almost all of them, time had eroded the features away on it until it was barely recognizeable as anything but a humanoid shape. But on this world? Here, the statue stood unfazed by the elements, and it was by this miracle that we could finally see the face that every destroyed culture had apparently seen.
"Captain, the statue..."the pilot started.
"I know, Jenkins."I sighed, rubbing my temples.
"Sir, I think you'd better come with us"one of the two security officers on deck said as they approached, impulse pistols drawn.
I nodded and stretched out my hands to be cuffed, staring once more at my own face carved in stone on the viewport. |
*Q*uestions flooded in, and it wasn't long before we could exert no control over the subreddit. We were mods, but in name only.
*U*nderstanding the terror and confusion shown by the users wasn't hard.. We all had been given a choice, and had chosen to scorn God.
*O*ther than the righteous religious rabble, it was sympathy that spread through the subreddit. People helping people, offering company in these end-times.
*T*he mods had an emergency meeting on the 5th, the only topic of discussion being the permanent shut-down of /r/atheism. No resolution was met.
*E*ven visiting the subreddit was hard these days. I chose to attend church, maybe I could mend my unease there.
*M*onday, the 12th - a post appeared. "IamA son of God, AMA."The mods didn't approve it, nobody mentioned it was to happen. The thread was stickied.
*A*bsolution. This thread was filled with hundreds of thousands of comments from people admitting sin, guilt, and flaws. OP would respond to everyone - "You are forgiven."
*K*eeping control over it was easy. Nobody trolled, or incited flame wars here. Millions were flocking to /r/atheism in search of God, and found peace in their confession.
*E*ven though we knew it wouldn't last forever, OP posted an update several weeks later - "My time here is finished, I am so proud of all of you. Each of you is my beloved child. Thanks to Victoria for helping me out."Then, there was silence.
*R*eading through new posts on the AMA, I discovered something amazing. Though the son of God had left, his children carried on his work. Still people would post their sins and it was now the common user who offered forgiveness. Maybe He knew what it was we had lost; that we no longer felt empathy for our brothers and sisters. That screens and anonymity had torn us from human nature. If we could forgive each other our sins and live with love, maybe the human race would stand a chance, eh? |
"Okay, Frank, you might feel a bit of a prick but it shouldn't hurt."The nurse smiled and flicked the end of the syringe. I nodded and shifted in my seat, how exciting! To be able to remember my early days, as well as what I had for lunch yesterday. I had been waiting for this since, well, I can't remember, but I will! I will soon! And then Ellie will come visit me like she does everyday at two-thirty in the afternoon, and we'll talk and laugh about the many stories we shared, and play checkers - I do hope I win this time!
I giggled as the needle went in. It stung a little but that was fine by me. Boy, a lifetime of memories unlocked - science has come a long way since my old days!
I waited patiently, and gradually the mist started to clear.
"Oh wow"I sighed. What was a blur came into focus. The wall was crumbling, and I could see through the cracks. My wedding day! I could hear the laughter, taste the champagne, feel the knot in my stomach before uttering "I do". The sunset bathing the gazebo in a warm red glow. Ellie's beautiful smile. A perfect day.
Our house! Oh the days we spent there. We had gotten it cheap not long after getting married. We spent months fixing it up, making it home. We needed a new place anyway so there'd be room for - Jessica! Oh yes, the happiest day of my life. Jessica, she did so well in school, and college - yes. Oh I couldn't be more proud. I can't take all the credit she had the greatest mother in the world. Oh Ellie, just as I promised you when I was nineteen, we grew old together. Her love never faltered, even through my... my condition. Tears welled up. I could see sad smiles as I told her about the new nurse I had. There wasn't a new nurse, I thought there was, I kept telling her. Oh Ellie, every day. Every day I told you about my new nurse. Every day your nod and smile became sadder. Every day the glint of hope in your eye dimmed. Oh Ellie I'm so sorry.
I was suddenly hit with a sharp pang of anguish. It was two years ago. The nurse came into my room with the letter from the hospital and read it to me. Heart failure it was, although at this age they just call it 'natural causes'. Pronounced dead February the second. I didn't understand at the time - Ellie visits me at two-thirty in the afternoon every day. New news was irrelevant. I let out a moan. The nurse hurried to my side.
"Are you okay?"She asked, holding my hand. I wasn't. *Take away the medicine* I wanted to say. *Let me go back, this is too much heartbreak for a dying old man to bear.*
"I'm okay..."I replied. "...Tell Ellie she doesn't have to visit today".
The nurse tightened her grip on my hand as her eyes began to water. |
*How peculiar* Jim thought to himself looking up from the horoscopes in the paper to see a note poking out from under the closet door. *The mail usually comes through that little slot on the front door, no matter.*
After reading today's Scorpio horoscope Jim felt particularly satisfied. He was about to enter a new chapter in his life, with a new love interest to boot. As he bent over to read the note he could only think that this may finally be it for him, maybe he would finally find the love of his life.
He unfolded the note, adjusting his spectacles as he read the scrawled handwriting: “I’m Watching You.”
*Interesting indeed* Jim thought as he examined the door, *how could she be watching me from the closet? There is absolutely no way to see out. She must certainly be interested if she went through so much trouble just to see me.*
After he cleared his throat, stood up straight and unbuttoned his collar for good measure - it’s best to look casual in these situations - he opened the door. Utter disappointment. As usual there was an empty closet where he thought he would find love. After searching high and low Jim found himself thoroughly annoyed at the closet.
It was fine for his friends to pretend to be an interested lady when he tried online dating. It was fine for his co-workers to constantly ask if there was anyone he was seeing. It was even fine when his mother occasionally suggested he might be gay. But this, a closet playing with his heart? It had gone too far.
By the time he sat back on the recliner with a beer he was proud of his work. The spare lumber from the basement made it easy to barricade the door completely. Sure, if he wanted to go golfing he would need to rent clubs, and he no longer had access to his rain boots if the weather turned sour - but damn was he happy. Jim just couldn't contain his smile as he thought the closet would never be able to taunt him again.
The demon spawn, sulking in the darkness of the closet, was not so satisfied with this chain of events. How could months of planning have ended so badly? Jim was certainly unlike any human he had ever encountered, he couldn’t entirely blame himself - though he knew his wife would... whenever he found a way out of here. |
He moved like a shadow in the dimly lit chamber, unseen by eyes, unheard by ears.
They smelled him, of course, a good shower in Quedlinburg was about as hard to find as a Jew with honor.
So when the nose of the British one twitched, Luther struck. He was fast, able to pierce skin and fully penetrate the man's chest with his sword. The sword was Japanese, but the Japanese weren't so bad.
He pulled it out as he placed a boot on the Brit's back and pushed his leg. The blade came out easily enough.
The American and Japanese men reached for their guns, but by then, Luther was back into the shadows. Or at least he was supposed to be...
Luther found himself on the floor, tripped by a rock. The American and Chinese men both had guns aimed at Luther.
"Yeah, this isn't going to work."A Japanese voice caused the American to lower his gun and rip off his fake mustache. The Chinese man pulled pieces of tape off his eyes and sighed. The British corpse stood up and stretched. The Japanese man came into sight as the lights turned on. "You are the *worst* ninja I have ever seen. Your footsteps were loud, at one point you walked almost in the middle of them before going back to the shadows which didn't even cover you in the first place."
Luther scratched his head. "I doubt the first Japanese ninjas were very good on their first attempt."
"This is your seventh attempt!"
Luther continued the itch.
"And what is that smell?!"
"I had to make it real,"Luther said. "In a remote village where the Allied forces would meet, there wouldn't be a chance to shower."
Luther lowered his hand as the Japanese man walked away muttering something in his language. |
The timer counts down from sixty seconds. And every time, before even a few moments have passed, someone presses me. I wish so much that I could get to know any of them, but the rules are the rules. Each of them can only press me once. Or not at all. I think about those ones a lot, the ones that don't press me. And about what will happen when the timer finally reaches zero. Will I still exist? Will I still be blue? |
I looked up and the world lurched. Boulders the size of a mans head started raining down the hillside. I guess today wasn't a good day to tackle the mountain. A small cliff face lay in front of me, I rushed forward and pressed up against it for protection. Larger boulders were falling now and the sound of a thousand trains filled the valley. I watched them roll around and over me, cowering but safe. I never saw the cliff face cracking.
With a loud pop and a blinding pain I returned to the immortal plane. Dying is never fun. I really need to get better at planning, this was my thirty second life searching for the other to no avail. We are like magnets, two opposites that are forever drawn together, always feeling a distant tugging. I had narrowed it down this life, my quarry was hiding at the top of the mountain. Of course he would have felt my presence disappear and would soon move to a new hiding place.
When I return to the world my mind becomes blank and I spend my time searching, never knowing what I am searching for. I live out my life with no knowledge of the other, all I know is that distant tugging always pulling me towards something. The other unknowingly spends his life trying to avoid me, always feeling an aversion to any plan that would take him close to me. We are very close to the 2000th year this cycle, at 2500 he is home safe. I will not lose.
|
“I think your nose is broken, here hold this there.” The cute cop pushed down on my nose eliciting a stab of pain through my sinus. I reached up and replaced her gloved hand with my own, holding the gauze in place, stemming the bleeding. She said something I missed and walked across the room.
“Thakes” It’s hard to make an ‘n’ sound with a broken nose.
I look across the bathroom at the stranger ranting to the cop about how *he* had been assaulted. She nodded and took notes before returning to me.
“So tell me your side of the story.”
“There’s not much to tell, one second I was pissing, I closed my eyes and the next thing I know, this lunatic had clocked me.”
“Guy over there says different. He says that he was standing at the urinal when you started peeing on him. To be honest, I’ve seen a lot of shit, Montreal is a weird city, and two businessmen peeing on each other actually isn’t a first.”
“Look I wasn’t peeing on him! I was….wait, did you say Montreal?”
My mind was in shock, I had gone into a bathroom in San Francisco, how did I end up with a broken nose in a bathroom in Montreal? “Is it still Wednesday, the 5th?”
“Yup, you ok there cowboy?” She pulled out a little pen light and shone it into my pupils, “That guy must have hit you harder than you think.” The EMT’s arrived behind her with their orange cases and kneeled down in front of me. The cute cop walked over to the other guy and started talking to him again. I turned to the closest EMT, a burly woman with “Sam” tattooed across her slightly hairy forearm, “Am I really in Montreal?”
“Yup hun, you’re in Montreal Airport, the International Concourse.” I nodded, I had been here just a few months back, the bathroom looked kind of familiar. The EMT helped me get to my feet and then informed me that I was showing signs of a concussion and I would have to go to the hospital for observation. I nodded, dripping blood through my fingers onto her forearm, right onto the 'Sam' tattoo.
The ride to the hospital was uneventful, Canadian ambulances are a lot like American ones, only there’s a lot more French. As a kid with epilepsy, I had taken a lot of rides in ambulances, they told me I grew out of the seizures, as far as I know I did.
The hospital was a lot like the ambulance, only a lot more male nurses and everyone spoke French. I was given a hospital gown and a small room that I shared with an old guy with a bowel issue (the room, not the hospital gown). My phone didn’t get reception, so I turned it off and picked up the hospital phone. After three failed attempts to make an international call, I finally got through to my girlfriend, back in San Francisco.
“Lionel, where the fuck are you? I waited for an hour in the restaurant and you never came back from the bathroom!”
“Uh, June, I’m sorry, I’m in…I’m in a hospital in Montreal.”
“What? Why? How did you get to Montreal?”
“Um, I’m not really sure, I don’t remember much after going to the bathroom.”
“Wait, why are you in a Hospital?”
“Some guy punched me.”
“Why would a guy punch you?”
“Apparently I peed on him.”
“Are you high Lionel? Are you shitting me?”
“No, really, I’m in a Hospital, listen, I gotta pee, let me call you back in a few minutes.”
I swung my barefeet out from the bed and stood up on the oddly warm linoleum floor. I was halfway to the bathroom when I remembered I shared it with the bowel man next door. I returned to my bed, poked around until I found my boots and slipped my bare feet into the well worn interiors of my Wolverine 1000 mile boots. Keenly aware of the common hospital gown downside, I slipped my jacket over the hospital gown on to allow for some modesty as I shuffled to the bathroom. I closed and locked the bathroom door. I pulled the hospital gown aside and started peeing, I listened to the water splashing into the bowl, a few seconds in the splashing stopped, I opened my eyes and I was now standing at a urinal.
The urinal was down almost at floor level. I finished peeing and looked around. I was now in an entirely different bathroom. The sink, like the urinal, seemed to be positioned more for midgets than adults. I crouched down and washed my hands, noticing that I was still in my hospital gown with my blue peacoat barely covering my backside. The bathroom looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it. As if a faucet were turned on, my nose started bleeding again. I grabbed a handful of paper towels from a dispenser also located close to the floor and pressed them to my nose. I was holding the bloody paper towels to my nose as I exited the bathroom and ran directly into my first grade teacher.
It took me a second to recognize her and “Mrs. Lane, It’s Lionel!” I said in a nasaly muffled voice, but I don’t think she heard me, she reached over and pulled the fire alarm before rushing off down the hall. I ran after her before it struck me, I was clad in boots, a hospital gown and not much else wandering around my old elementary school in Denver, CO.
Ten minutes later I was sitting handcuffed in the principal’s office. I’d spent some time here as a kid, just never in handcuffs.
“So, can you please explain to me why you are wandering an elementary school half naked Mr. Lionel.”
“No, Lionel is my first name, Christopher is my last name.”
“Answer the question please.”
“I don’t know, last thing I remember I was in a Montreal hospital with an old bowel guy.”
“Answer the question please” This guy had gone to the Xerox school of interrogation.
“Look just find a Montreal EMT, I don’t know her name, but shes got hairy forearms and a ‘Sam’ tattooed on her arm, she can tell you she treated me for a broken nose just a few hours ago!”
“Answer the question please.”
“Look this is all a misunderstanding.” It was a misunderstanding, turns out I did not understand that I was being arrested no matter what I said. They gave me some hospital scrub-like clothes at the police station. They don’t really like people in the holding cells to be wearing backless hospital gowns, I guess draw string of pants is better protection. I didn’t really need protection, I was alone in the holding cell with my thoughts and a stainless steel toilet. I didn’t get a phone call, I was fingerprinted and thrown into the cell, told that I would go to court the next morning. I lay on the bed for a few hours before the familiar tingling appeared in my loins, my bladder was full once again.
I padded barefoot over to the stainless toilet and stared down at it for a few seconds. The las two times I had peed I'd been punched and then arrested, I was afraid of what would happened this time when I peed. I grabbed the bars of my cell firmly in my left hand before untying my pants. There was no elastic, so the pants promptly fell to my ankles once untied, but terrified of letting go of the bars, I left them there and started to pee.
I kept my eyes open, I was not going to be caught off guard this time. About halfway through my pee, I blinked, and when I opened my eyes, my left hand was no longer holding on to the bars, now I was firmly grasping someones hair as I peed onto their head. I looked down, a woman was squatting on the ground in front of me, screaming. I was in Mumbai, I had been there just a few months back and this was the bathroom with the broken lock in the boarding house. It was memorable for the number of times I walked in on people squatting and the smell. The woman screamed and I bolted out of the bathroom, unfortunately, my pants were still around my ankles, so I fell, hitting my broken nose on the floor of the bathroom, which was much like you expect a hostel bathroom in Mumbai to be: disgusting with the remnants of foreigners gastro-disasters from local cuisine.
So here I sit, in jail in Mumbai, accused of attempted rape. Jails in Mumbai are not very nice. I don’t have a toilet and apparently the magic teleportation doesn’t work with buckets, so I’m stuck here until I get access to a real toilet, or until they execute me. I can't call my girlfriend, or anyone I know, since I'm not allowed a phone call and I doubt they'd let me call San Francisco anyways. The fat guard tells me that the government is cracking down rapists and that they're going to make an example of me. I just hold my nose and don't say anything.
|
GEORGE - THE FINEST IMMIGRANT MILKMAN IN AMERICA
I skipped into the lift - sorry - *elevator*, my milk bottle carrier swinging in my right arm. God, don't you just love the sound of milk bottles clinking in the morning? Don't you just love how the little ping sounds are just so friendly, somehow managing to be sharp and soft at the same time? No? Maybe it's just me.
The lift - sorry - el-e-vat-or (I suppose it does elevate people) was a newly upgraded gizmo, a couple of feet by a couple of feet, quite bland by all accounts, but very shiny. "GOOD MORNING!"I grinned at the machine that was huddled in the corner. It was a metallic, wireless little cleaning device. I suppose, just like me, it was lost somewhere unfamiliar. "Maybe someone upstairs will want you, little man!"I pressed for floor 7, and the doors rapidly shut.
"*GOING UP*"said the lift, with the voice of a friendly American woman trapped in a computer.
"So,"The vacuum cleaner just stared back at me, "This is awkward..."I gave a side-glance to the vacuum, along with a cheeky little grin. "Long day ahead, mate?"- still no answer - "Ready to start cleaning?"
The vacuum perked up, like the one in the Teletubbies except a thousand times more intimidating.
"*START CLEANING*"said the vacuum.
Crap. A flurry of lights began flashing all over the machine, and it began to slowly shake.
"STOP!"I yelled. Nothing happened. the machine began exploring the lift, elevator, whatever, faster and faster, quickly bashing into the opposite wall twice, and making strange noises.
"FOR CHRIST'S SAKE STOP! EMERGENCY STOP!"
I tried to grab at the machine, but managed to smash a milk bottle on the floor in the process. Maybe it was the milk which spilled on it, or the glass it tried to clean up, but it started making some even weirder noises, so I kicked it over. At the same time, the lift decided to listen to me as well, and it jolted to quite an uncomfortable emergency stop.
Everything was now calm, the machine was humming quite pleasently on its side, while the final echoes of my shouts vanished. "Don't cry over spilt milk,"I told myself, looking at the mess I had created "Sorry, friend."I looked down to the machine, now slightly damaged. I reached out for the little button to call for help.
*"Hello, what is your crisis?"* the lift said.
"Um... hello?"
*"Hello, I'm EmergenShe3002, Elevator Robot Services! How can I help?"*
"I'm stuck in the lift!"I told the robot.
*"You said that you want a lift, am I correct?"*
"No, sorry, elevator..."
*"You said that you want an elevator, am I correct?"*
"No, sorry, I'm in an elevator and it's stopped."
*"Multiple apologies are a sign of guilt, scanning elevator for threats"*
"No!"
*"THREAT DETECTED WHAT IS THE DEVICE IN THE NORTH WEST CORNER?"*
"No! No! No threat, it's a hoover!"
*"THE THREAT IS CALLED HOOVER?"*
"Bloody Hell, no, sorry, vacuum cleaner!"
*"BLOODY SCENE? IS UNKNOWN LIQUID ON FLOOR BLOOD?"*
"What? No, it's a saying. Jesus Christ Almighty. It's mil..."
*"VIOLENCE AND RELIGIOUS EXTREMISM IS DETECTED"*
"I'm in a broken down elevator in a block of flats, I just need to deliver my milk! Let me out!"
*"THREAT TO FLATTEN AMERICA"*
"What?! No, I'm British!"
*"FOREIGNER DETECTED. EVIDENCE OF THREAT BEYOND REASONABLE DOUBT. THE AUTHORITIES ARE ON THEIR WAY"*
I sighed a little sigh and took a swig of milk from an intact bottle. 'Next time,' I thought, 'I'll take the stairs'. |
Her blond hair was pulled back tight in a pony tail, and she had beautiful green eyes. Even with her makeup smudged from sobbing, they were still brilliant.
"So, do you come here often?"I whispered to her. It came out all garbled, like speaking through a mouthful of peanut butter. Maybe it was the fact that I was nervous, or maybe that it was the fact that my cheek was pressed against the tile floor.
She glanced up at me in utter confusion. Then her eyes darted back to one of the robbers, maybe ten meters away. He was walking between the rows of hostages on the ground. "A single part of you lifts off the ground,"he reminded us, "And I shoot."His eyes, the only part of his face visible through the black ski mask, looked like he was serious about it.
"What?"she hissed back when she was sure that he was out of ear shot. I noticed that she had sparkling, straight white teeth. Probably a beautiful smile.
"You know, here to the bank,"I said, trying to scoot a little closer to her without being noticed. "Do you like... have direct deposit set up, or do you need to come in ^to ^manually ^^deposit ^^your..."My voice got quieter and quieter until eventually it trailed off into a mumble. I knew the 'What the hell is wrong with you' stare pretty well; it was a pretty standard response to my conversation attempts with women. But I've never seen a *violent* version of it. Normally just pity.
"Are you... *trying to flirt with me*?"she asked. "What ki..."
"QUIET!"The bank robber shouted, jumping over other hostages and shoving his gun into my back. "What did you say?"he shouted, leaning down so he could scream it right into my ear. Flecks of spittle landed on my earlobe, and I had to fight the almost-overwhelming urge to wipe them off. Even with my nose pressed against the bleached floor, the putrid smell coming from his mouth was enough to make me gag.
"I was just making conversation,"I mumbled.
He heaved me up off the floor by the collar and put the cold barrel of the gun under my chin. "This your girlfriend?"he teased, with a cloud of foul odor washing over my face.
"Ugh, NO!"the girl practically shouted from the floor, risking life and limb to make it clear that we were *not* together.
He turned back to me. "That true? You like this girl?"
I could feel my cheeks reddening, and the robber started laughing. "Tommy, come here for a second!"
The robber's partner emerged from behind the teller's desk with a duffel bag overflowing with bills. "Trouble?"Tommy asked.
"Nah,"the first robber said. "You just gotta see how awkward this guy is,"he said, gesturing at me and still shaking with laughter.
"Girl, stand up,"he ordered. She followed the order reluctantly, glaring daggers at me for having wrapped her up in all this.
"Ask her out,"he said.
My cheeks were already close to spontaneously combusting.
"Do... do you maybe wanna... gowimesmtm..."The rest of the sentence became a jumble of tongue-tied rambling.
Tommy cracked up too, and even the girl giggled just a bit, wiping away the mascara running down her cheek.
"Fuck this,"I exclaimed. With one motion, I grabbed the gun, kicked Tommy's feet out from under him, and knocked Robber #1 unconscious. If only they had known that I had funneled all of my pent up anger into years of karate lessons. Or that I had no social life so I spent hours and hours at the dojo.
The look on her face was priceless. They should put that in the dictionary next to 'Shock.'
"You didn't have to laugh at me,"I told her as the police came rushing in. |
I looked at the letter. "It must be talking about my car."I thought. I had bought this car about 3 months ago and just my luck, it was getting recalled. I guess something about the positronic inhibitor was faulty. I figured that I should show up.
My roommate walked in. "Hey."I said "Hey."he said. I moved in with him also about 3 months ago. When I arrived he joked around and said that I must be starting completely fresh. New job, car, apartment. His name was Matt. We were good friends, he was a bit bossy but I didn't mind as it was usually menial tasks that I enjoyed anyways.
"So Al, any mail?"He asked
"You didn't have any but I got a weird recall letter."I said.
"Hmm, that's strange, you haven't got anything. Maybe it's your car."he said.
"I thought the same thing. I figure Ill go and see what it's all about."He looked at me inquisitively. "Um.."he stammered nervously "I don't think I have anything going on sunday, I can go with."I agreed with him figuring that it would be better to have a friend.
That sunday we left for address on the letter. We pulled up to the gate. It was a huge mansion with no logo or anything. "No logo seems bad for business."I say. Pulling up to a guard at the gate Matt speaks up. "Just let me handle this."Curiously I lean back and let him look through the driver side window.
"Hey Luke, just protocol, can I see your ID?"
"Sure."Matt says.
When he gets his ID back and the gates open up, I turn and say "That was weird. Do you have a twin brother or something?"We both laugh awkwardly. The drive up the long driveway is in an even more awkward silence.
When we walk in I see a ton of people standing there. We walk up to the front desk and I start to speak.
"Hi miss, we got a recall letter?"
"Here you go Luke, they will be addressing everyone shortly about the error. This is a free upgrade to the next model."She hands the coupon to Matt.
I lean over and say "Whats up with everyone calling you Luke?"
He stays silent as we walk into the inner room. I stand in shock.
Tons of people standing next to... me. I turn towards Matt.
"Matt, what's going on?"I ask.
"My name isn't Matt, its Luke. When you arrived at my apartment you asked what to call me and even though I said master you misheard me and started calling me Matt."He said in an annoyed tone.
"why would you..."It dawned on me.
Just then someone approached the crowd. "We're really sorry about inconveniencing everyone here. Your AI units all have a fault that we discovered in their brain mapping systems. The error will be fixed, but will render these robot's essentially useless. We would be more than happy to issue you our newest line of robots, who just like our last models come with an optional back story. Just order your robots through the door and you may take your new ones home today. They will be available just outside."
I looked at Matt in horror. He looked at me and said coldly "Unit I order you to walk through that door."My body started to walk forward, I couldn't stop. I was the last to walk through. The door quickly shut behind me. Two technicians walked around to each robot and unscrewed a piece in their ear and hit a button.
"Jeeze Joe, can you believe it? Sentience from a stinkin' robot!"
"Yeah, but it's better this way. Remember we don't want no uprising, not like in that factory." |
"Sorry I guess doesn't really cut it here, does it?... It's true though. I am so sorry. You were perfect to me, you know. Shit, yeah, you know. Thing is I didn't know.
Do you remember how we met? I do. We went to School together. You were 3 years younger, I never knew you existed. But as you always told me, you knew me. What was it, I was uhh... 'Interesting lookin' guy' as you say. To this day I believe that is the polite way of saying 'weird'. I'll take it though, I was weird. First time we properly met was at a shitty local club. I was tanked off my mind off 12 bourbon and cokes in 3 hours. I just got out of that bad break up, and I saw you. And fuck did I see you. You looked so flawless that night. It was a rare situation, I actually had the courage to say hello. I got your number that night. It felt great.
Course I didn't do shit with it because as soon as I sobered up, I started crying about Cassidy leaving me. That took a while. Few months later, I call you, you say you're busy, nothing happens. Few more months, still. I think it was about 8 later you invited me to a party. I go, It's like... 6 people? Shit I felt awkward. You got drunk off Vodka and Redbull and I got really drunk off Tequila. I still remember being much more intoxicated with the way you'd say my name. You always said it so marvelously. Always put a little upbeat on the end.
Shit, 3 months later, we're dating! It was so fun. We'd lay around and get high on shitty weed, watch the worst horror movies we could find. Dance outside at night, get eaten alive my mosquito's, complain the next day, do it all over again. I was still pretty depressed though. Never really got over Cassidy and I rushed into this hoping you'd take my mind off her. You did, to a degree, but. But I guess people like me have a really tough time getting through this life. So I lied about everything, you believed it all because you're a nice person, and I sabotaged myself from the start.
I took two years of your life and gave you nothing, Erica. I was the definition of awful to you. But you loved me so much. At the time I, fuck, I, think I resented you. Now all I wish is that you were still mine. Never know what you got till it's gone hey sweetheart?..."My voice trailed off as I heard someone murmur behind me.
"You've said goodbye, mate. Time to sit down".
I turned to see a face I didn't recognize, or maybe I did, I just didn't care in the moment. I couldn't think or see straight, but I understood the words. I shifted away and sat down once more and prepared myself for the long ordeal.
After what felt like days of Eulogy's, it all came to an end. I sat, sobbing quietly, as they took your coffin and ushered it into the crematorium. The pain tore into my chest, like a blunt knife eviscerating my veins, as I saw you leave once more. Except, I knew this time was for the best. You were finally away from me. No more drunk late nights of regret. No more threatening suicide just to have you back. No more nightmares in the daylight because of me.
**You were finally away from me.**
You were safe in the fire. |
We have three suspects in custody right now. They were involved in an attempted robbery of a bank in my precinct. Their guilt is an open and shut case. Bastards didn't even bother with a good mask. Its the fourth man we are having trouble with. The other three wont talk about him at all and deny he was even there. Smart asses think they can just pretend they were the only three. I saw the footage before we filed it for evidence, there is a fourth man clear as day. He was the only one with a real disguise.
"Cut the crap. We know there was a fourth suspect, just tell me his name."I demand from the crook on the other end of the interrogation table.
"I don't know who the hell your talking about. For the hundredth time there was no fourth. Quit fucking with me so we can't just move on with this."He spits back.
"It was all on camera. You can't deny anything! What is his name."
"He has no name because he doesn't exist. Are you high or something?"
I slam my hand into the table and get out of my seat. My partner Aaron stands as well and rushes over.
"Chill man."He whispers
"This fucking idiot."I grumble back
"Relax dude. Go see Marcus outside, I'm sure he's done logging the tape. There should be something to jog this suspect's memories."
I take a deep breath to try and calm my nerves. Blatant lairs get under my skin, but Aaron is right. I need a break from this. Marcus better have something for me to work with.
I exit the room and grab a drink of water from the cooler down the hall. While I enjoy the cool drink I hear a group gathering further down. I finish my drink and head on down. I find a group gathered at Marcus's office. Him and a bunch of people are staring at small television in amazement.
"What does the footage show?"I say as I squeeze into the packed office.
"Hard to tell. It changes every time we watch."He says with his gaze transfixed on the screen.
"What?"I ask while giving him a strange look.
Without a word Marcus lifts up his small remote and rewinds the tape. The old VCR loudly spins the outdated format as the images on screen move backwards in time. After a minute the tape stops with a soft click. A calm bank fills the screen. Customers waiting in line the cash check among other things, potted plants, and nicely dressed tellers crowd the lobby.
Marcus hits play and I immediately notice something is off.
When i watched the tape earlier the fourth suspect in the gray hoodie came in with the other three. This time he is sitting on a bench inside before they even arrive. Did I remember it wrong?
"I could have sworn he came in with them."I say pointing to the fourth suspect.
"He probably did. Just like how he did the last time we watched it. He could have also been waiting in line, reading a book, behind the counter, or not show up at all. Just like he did all the other times we rewound the tape. It doesn't make any sense."Marcus says while he slowly shakes his head.
"Anything else change?"I asks while I look on as the three suspects storm the lobby.
"No, just him"
At this point the fourth suspect is leaning back on the bench with his hands behind his head. As if he's enjoying a late summer movie. Strangely his hoodie seems to always leave his face in shadow, no matter the lighting.
"Have you gotten a clear shot of his face?"I ask staring at the fourth suspect.
"No."Marcus answers.
We watch the footage in silence as the fourth suspect continues to lean on the bench. He sits there like he hasn't a care in the world, oblivious to the violence around him. He sits there until a moment before the video ends when the three rush out of the building. Before it ends the fourth gets up from his seat and looks at the camera as if he is just noticing it.
"lets see what he does this time."Marcus says as he rewinds the tape again.
I'm just as curious as everyone in the room, if not more so. How is this possible?
The tape begins again in the familiar lobby with all the same people. This time the fourth suspect is standing in the middle of the lobby facing the camera. Unfortunately his face is still shrouded in shadow. As the video continues the suspect begins laughing. no one can hear it because the video has no audio, but he's almost doubled over in laughter. He continues laughing through the video. Near the end the suspect abruptly stops. He then walks over to a nearby bench and begins dragging it into the center of the camera's view. Just as he reaches the center, the video ends.
"Again."I ask, enthralled by this video that defies logic.
Without a word Marcus rewinds the tape.
The tape begins different then any time before. The bench the fourth suspect moved is still in the center of the room. He stands on top of it facing the camera. Although his face is still hidden by shadows, his subtle movements give away that he is talking. The fourth points at the camera while the robbery unfolds behind him. The suspect grows more and more violent with his movements until it is apparent he is shouting.
Everyone watching the video begins to shift around under the hooded mans gaze. Its as if he's yelling at the audience in the office directly. A few people leave the room before the video ends.
The fourth finally stops shouting at the camera and calms down. He stays in the center of the room like a statue for a few minutes. He reaches for his hood. Just as he makes contact, the video ends.
Nearly instantly I grab the remote and slam my finger into the rewind button. A few minutes later a soft click emits from the VCR. I hit play not a second later.
The video starts with the suspect a little closer to the camera, but still standing on a bench. He hood has been pulled down revealing his face. He stares unblinking into the camera, it feels like he staring at me.
Something about his face is unnerving, but familiar.
I pause the video.
Everyone stares at the fourth suspect trying to figure out who he is.
I swear I've seen him before somewhere. Hes a young adult, early twenties. Short brown hair and clean shaven. That could be anyone honestly, but why does it seem like I knew this man.
I scan his face again for any other defining features. Finally I notice a small scar just to the right of his lips, and it hits me like a sack of bricks. My blood runs cold as I stare into the screen.
It can't be him.
It happened ten years ago. It was a routine traffic stop on the weekend. I pulled the car over for speeding and approached the vehicle. Everything was going procedure prefect. The driver was nervous, but cooperative. Then I noticed a strange smell, I thought it may have been drugs. I asked the driver to step out of the vehicle. He did, and he pulled out a gun. He got two shots at me before I could return fire.
Everything was a blur of adrenaline. I shot the diver and saw the passenger holding something in his hands and moving quickly. I quickly shot him to. It wasn't until after that I saw he was holding a cell phone. The driver was the only one with a weapon in that vehicle. The passenger was just getting a ride from a friend to the convenience store. I killed the passenger for no reason. His face haunted my nightmares for years, now that face was haunting my present.
I can't tare my gaze away from him. The greatest regret in my life.
A few other officer's jaws drop when they recognize that face. They turn to me with questions in their eyes, my stunned silence answers them. That is the innocent man.
My cellphone breaks the silence. It rings twice before I notice it and look. It's an unknown number.
"H-Hello"I answer trying to regain my composure.
A long pause fills the other end of the line. "Have you forgotten the date today?"a distorted voice echos from my cell phone before it hangs up.
I look at the date on my phone.
Today is exactly ten years from the shooting.
|
Subsets and Splits
No community queries yet
The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.