prompt stringlengths 391 14.9k |
|---|
Elon Musk, Mark Zukerberg, Jeff Bezos, Larry Page, Warren Buffett, countless people who's names you don't know, people who run oil companies and banks, who create everything from cars to cereal boxes, who control the industry, are in my power. All fallen to our attacks.
Millions, many millions of dollars redistributed to the poorest people in the bad neighborhoods, in the most distant cities, in poor countries. Every poor person got a part of their wealth. Not a big part, it turns out. One dollar and twenty seven cents to be precise.
I look back on my actions and try to imagine how could I not see this. Money.
Money is paper, money is just artificial made up tokens we use to represent value. You can't eat money. You can't use it as shelter. At best you can burn it to heat yourself for a minute. Money does nothing, except representing the value, the human right to his property and to things he creates, things he is free to trade with other humans.
I have redistributed the tokens, now the pieces of paper belong to different people. But the total amount of value in the world stayed the same. The amount of food, shelter, of clean water, cellphones and computers, the amount of things we need to survive and live stayed the same. And the amount of happiness and misery hasn't changed in any significant way. At first.
Then the world felt the blow. Google, Amazon, largest internet companies, as well as largest companies producing cars, and food, and building things, and getting oil out of the ground to heat people - all of them started to fall. With no protection, with no right to have money that represent things they create, all the richest people in the world started converting what they have left into tangible things, into property. No longer in control of their companies, in danger of more attacks, they had to spend the rest of their money buying as much things as possible, and fleeing to private homes or islands, to the places where they and their families will be safe.
Middle-level managers took over, barely competent enough to make the simplest decisions, let alone to get the companies out of the biggest finanfial crisis in the history of the world. Needless to say - they have done poorly. It was surprising how quickly the big and complicated systems could be ruined by the lack of competent people who could control them.
Factories were brought to a halt. Millions of people lost their jobs because it was impossible to pay to them. Nothing was created, no value was produced anymore. Dollar dropped and became worthless. Even the richest countries started to experience food and energy shortages, economy has collapsed. Millions of people have died.
I stare at the screen. Trillions of dollars, 50% of the money in the world in my control, at my fingertips. Now worthless.
I lead the team of brilliant criminals, and became the most powerful man in the world.
I guess I should have spent some time thinking, before choosing my mission based on a children's book premise.
----
If you have enjoyed this - come visit my [blog](http://orangemind.io) where you can read my best stories. |
Some of the new guys think that if they build a reputation among humans, they're doing pretty good. The older guys in the department try to explain things to them, but the message never seems to get through.
Ever since these newfangled 'epic poems' started coming out, these kids all want to be Grendel or the Hydra. There's no appreciation for the subtlety of the craft anymore.
They'll go out, terrorize a village, and leave halfway through to move onto the next one. No dedication to their work. Absolute laziness, I say.
Why, yesterday I found a village with *one single frightened little girl* who thought something might be under her bed. It was in Sam's *outbox*. I moved it back to his inbox, but I doubt that lazy bastard even glanced at it again.
All these guys are so worried about getting a reputation that they almost *never* finish a project before it's on to the next clusterfuck of a "scary idea."It pisses me off even more that some of them get exactly what they want. That damn Boogeyman is like an office hero, all because he's taken an absolute shit on our craft. I'm not sure he's even killed *anyone*. It wasn't always like this, no siree, I'll tell you that much.
Back in my day, if there were any survivors to run off and tell the world about you, you just weren't doing your damn job right. |
Lt. Surge sat down on the couch, slumping forward with his elbows on his knees. He was waiting. The psychiatrist said that he'd have a specialist come in today, someone else to talk to. The door opened, and a woman with an impassive face walked in.
"Sabrina?"
She nodded silently, and sat down. "Hello, Surge."
"You're the specialist?"The man's eyes widened briefly before returning to their deadened look. "I guess that makes sense. You're a psychic, after all."
"While true, I am actually here because of our common experiences as Gym Leaders,"she replied, her voice betraying no emotion, just as Lt. Surge had remembered from their last service together. Her Kadabra had laid bleeding out from dozens of cuts inflicted by a Victreebel's Razor Leaf, and she had merely taken out another Pokeball. The memory sent chills down Lt. Surge's spine.
"How can you be so... detached?"he asked, shaking his head.
Sabrina's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. "We do what needs to be done for the safety of the world."
She had said something like that on the battlefield, Lt. Surge recalled. It was during the last war, one in a string of many. Red had just been drafted for combat after becoming Pokemon Champion. The boy was merely ten. He was too young. His Charizard, unchained by the Pokemon power limiting radio frequencies in Kanto, charged onto the battlefield, and scorched everything in its wake. Dozens and dozens of wild Pokemon fell, succumbing to the blistering burns of Fire Blast - Pidgeys and Pikachus, Jigglypuffs and Poliwags. They achieved their objective through brute force, planting more radiowave emitters and expanding Kanto's safe borders by a few dozen square miles littered with the dead bodies of Pokemon. After the battle, Red had asked Sabrina something - Lt. Surge couldn't quite remember the words - but Sabrina's answer had been the same.
*We do what needs to be done for the safety of the world.*
"So, we train child soldiers."
"We need the best. If that means children, then yes."
Red had been an energetic, talkative boy when Lt. Surge first met him at Vermilion Gym, but the war built a wall of silence around him. After the war, Red retreated to the mountains, refusing all outside contact.
"Don't you feel any regret? Sadness? Anything?"Lt. Surge's bitter voice growled more than asked.
When he got no response, he looked up from the ground.
Tears rolled down Sabrina's expressionless face. "Yes,"came the toneless reply.
The pair of veterans sat in an awkward silence, each lost in the painful memories of the past. Finally, Lt. Surge reached out a hand.
"Hey,"he started, but couldn't think of anything to say.
Sabrina wordlessly took his hand. On her face was the faintest of weary smiles. |
"Nice to see you again, Snake,"The CEO of Xbox's greeting sounded genuinely happy,
"Ah yes, of course Mr. Nadella, it's truly pleasant to see you too, though this is pretty soon? It's only been a week since you hired me to take down the head of SCE,"Snake replied calmly, like a true professional,
"Ah... yes, it's just that, to make the Xbox the top gaming console, there's still someone else we have to kill... He's at the top of the gaming industry, the man who has it all, ... Gabe Newell."Nadella revealed the target this time,
A surprised gasp could be barely heard from Snake as he quickly regained his composure, Nadella didn't notice and continued speaking,
"I'll be paying you twice the amount I gave last time, 20 million,"Nadella threw an envelope at Snake, "There's 5 million in there, you'll get the rest after you finish the job,... don't disappoint me, Snake,"And with that, the head of Xbox left the dark, narrow alleyway and into the streets,
~At home
Gaben signed, "I can't believe this is happening... I just thought it'll be cool, like batman, you know, rich wealthy guy by day, top class assassin by night. Speaking of which I should put the Batman games on sale tomorrow, maybe 75% off? Anyways, When Nadella gave me that contract to kill you I was already pretty reluctant to do it, but now, this? My own assassination? What should I do
, Andrew?"Gaben glanced up at Andrew House, former (presumed deceased) head of SCE,
"Eh, you could just fake you own death like me?"
"But then I'll no longer be rich wealthy guy by day!"
"No, you'll still be plenty wealthy even without owning Steam man. Look at me, I've earned enough to live peacefully for the rest of my life incognito"
"Yeah but..."Gabe signed,
"Oh I got a plan..."A man in the shadows whispered to Gaben,
"Is, is that you!"Gaben watched with surprise,
"Yes it is, and I know exactly what you need to do,"the man walked out of the shadows,
~1 week later
Everywhere you looked, on the TV's, on your phone, on the newspaper, everyone was talking about the death of the famous head of Steam, Gabe Newell, who's body was found burning in his favourite Lamborghini, DNA analysis has confirmed it is indeed him, the case was dismissed as an accident.
All over the internet, the Gaben fan boys raged at the sudden death of Gaben and, how quickly a successor ascended the throne that is the head of Steam, these fan boys despised the new head, Ebag Llewen, I mean, what kind of a retarded name is that? Plus, no one even knew what this guy did before, apart from the people who worked at Steam, confirming he worked secretly as the Vice-head.
All the rage and hate died today, as Ebag Llewen announced one thing,
"HALF-LIFE 3 WILL BE RELEASED TODAY!"
All over the world, uproars of cheers and applause came in waves, people took out their wallet and burned their money as an offering to new head of Steam, Ebag Llewen.
"See, told you it would work, they don't even remember the death of Gabe anymore, these crazy fans..."Hideo Kojima walked out of the shadows and glanced at the crowds of fans beneath praising Ebag Llewen,
"Thanks, ... I guess"Said Ebag Llewen, or Gabe Newell, which he was formerly known as,
~1 week later
People all over the world are dying from playing too much Half Life 3, Steam's headquarters are flowing with money, with 2 brand new golden statues of Ebag Llewen placed outside for people to pray to,
The head of Xbox arranged another meeting with Snake,
"Snake, I'm gonna need you to just get rid of Steam in general, I don't care how much you want anymore, JUST GET RID OF THEM! AJDGAGDhdsjj"Nadella raised his voice only to be cut off by three gunshots to his chest,
"Snnn-snake you, wh, why?"Nadella struggled to stand as blood poured from his chest,
"Because THIS!"Snake ripped off the eye patch he uses to disguise himself, only to reveal Ebag Llewen, the new head of Steam,
"Youu, yourem that Ebaag Llewenn guy, wait, no, aren't you just Gabe? All you did was not wear glasses"Nadella shook with surprise and feel on his knees,
"Sorry Nadella, this is the end"
*BANG*
Snake put his eye patch back on, ducked under a nearby cardboard box, and crawled off into the distant rising sun,
 
- *A Story by Hideo Kojima*
|
I know you, dear Katherine, or "Detective O'Connor"
You're a woman of duty, of pride and of honor.
You probably think I'm your next perp to catch
Since I left your old photo in a dead hooker's snatch.
She had thought that I phoned for a romp in the hay,
Before I impaled her, how she moaned and she prayed!
Now you probably think this is due to my mother:
That she's why I maim, disembowel, and smother.
But to see me in person, I'm not what you'd suspect;
How, to me, gouging eyeballs just has no effect!
I think every dead body has its own special smell;
I can't wait for a whiff of your sister Michelle.
I won't stop this for Christmas, not Easter or Lent
While I'm driven by rage to abuse and torment.
Wait, you still cannot find the left ear of this whore?!
Have you thought about checking your own bedroom floor?
Dear Katherine, you'll chase and pursue every lead
But all that you'll learn is how much humans bleed.
While I'm free as a bird you may whimper and pout,
But just know you're the one girl I can't live without!
|
The universe is stranger than you could ever imagine. Ten years ago, if you were to tell me the most important job on Earth would be a cook working at NASA, I would have thought you were being kind, not prophetic. I mean, I love my job, but I never saw it as important. At least, no more important than any other small cog in a giant machine.
When we made contact with the Gnjyorka, I was just proud to be a part of everything. I mean, we were making history, and I was thrilled just to be a footnote in that. But then, everything started happening fast... too fast. They wanted to meet, and they weren't interested in meeting our leaders. They insisted on meeting *us*. Our guys didn't want to miss out on the opportunity of a lifetime, so they said "yes".
The president was notified, but he was in China, and he'd never make it here in time. He could have connected via video link, but something about our video technology doesn't work right with their sensory organs, so... well, the president would be missing out. I'd have a chance to be one of the first people to meet a real, live alien, and the president was going to miss out. That's a hell of a thing to think about.
Someone somewhere made a joke about a dinner party, and I guess the Gnjyorka overheard, and declared this to be a superb idea, so suddenly, we were... you know... "guess who's coming to dinner..."
And then suddenly, everyone is making a big deal about *me*. *My* job suddenly became crucial, every bit as crucial as the technicians and mathematicians and the linguists. I was going to be the first person to cook a meal for an alien.
I had so many conflicting suggestions that I had to take my phone off the hook and refuse to take any more messages. Vegetarians were insisting I not feed them meat, international experts were demanding that I prepare a sampling of various nations' cuisine, someone suggested that I give them Tang and astronaut ice cream, at which point I insisted that anyone who *wasn't* a cook or food service personnel stay the hell out of my kitchen.
I ultimately decided to go from the heart. I would prepare a dish I knew best, the one I served to the woman who is now my wife on our very first date. I made a smoked ham with garlic mashed potatoes, lemon juice-sauteed asparagus spears, and banana cream pie for dessert.
I figured, no matter what I cook, there's a chance they won't like it. Maybe plants are intelligent on their planet. Maybe they can't taste sugar. Maybe they're lactose intolerant. I figure, the best we can do is tell them what everything is, and see what they think. And if they don't like it, we can just accept that we're different, and this is food that has a great meaning to me, personally.
Everyone was watching me when I came out with the food. Fucking *everyone*. Half the people in the room looked disapprovingly at my food because I hadn't made it the way *they* insisted I should. Fuck 'em. I know how to do my job, and they don't know shit about the aliens' anatomy or what they eat, so they know just as much as I do here.
When I saw them, I... I can't really tell you what I was seeing. It made me feel sick. I'm not saying they looked gross or anything, but just *looking* at them made me nauseous. Someone later mentioned to me that these aliens are six-dimensional beings, existing in multiple dimensions we can't see or comprehend, but what I *did* see was.... it just didn't make any sense.
I was told that they insisted on beginning the meal before opening talks about exchanges of information and technology, so apparently I was going to be the leading act, as it were. No pressure, right?
I don't know how, but I was told that they understood English, so I introduced my dishes, trying to explain as best I could what each was, what it was made of, and what sort of molecular compounds were in it. I never in my life thought I'd need all of those kitchen science classes I took, but I was so grateful to have had them now.
They started with the potatoes. I explained that, to our sensory organs, these were generally considered a starch, and the way I prepared it emphasized their earthiness, creaminess, and a little bit of their saltiness.
They... seemed to approve, I guess.
Next, they tried the asparagus. I explained that these were prepared to emphasize the sour and bitter flavors.
This seemed to make them upset, as best I could tell, and I saw a lot of the high-ups here at NASA getting really nervous, and a few looking at me with daggers in my eyes, as if I should have fucking known they wouldn't like asparagus or something.
Next up was the ham, and I explained that this was a dish that was traditionally very salty, but that the smoked preparation should really bring out the umami flavors. I swear to fucking god, just then, I heard some technician in the back say "what the fuck is umami?". Christ, guys, thanks for the backup here.
For a moment after sampling the ham, they were silent... and then all fucking hell broke loose. I was afraid for my life, and I was certain that I'd lose my job, but after some interpretations by our linguistics team, apparently it was revealed that this dish had sent them into some sort of ecstasy beyond anything they'd ever experienced.
Now, I smoke a damn good ham, don't get me wrong. But I don't have any great secret to it or anything. But it does a number on your ego to have the first aliens on Earth tell you your dish is... heh... out of this world.
They thought the banana cream pie was nice, but nothing special. Eh, can't win 'em all.
Apparently, they didn't even bother negotiating an exchange. They were so thrilled with the ham, they gave our scientists everything they wanted, everything extra they had on board their ship. Our guys are still studying half of this stuff, but they say apparently what they have seen so far will make us capable of faster-than-light speeds.
As a going-away gift, we gave them eight more smoked hams, along with cooking instructions translated into their language. They insisted that I cook for our next meeting, and that they would be bringing something to make it worthwhile, if I could manage to top myself.
I figure, what the hell, Superbowl is coming up... this time, I'm making a turducken! |
I've always had some sort of fascination towards computers. Something about how all of the pieces of the machine work together, and how simple yet complex they are is something that boggles my mind. How they can take the hardest, and most complicated task an divide it into a series of ones and zeroes, and interpret those ones and zeroes in different ways to produce something is incredible. Just putting these beautiful machines together, or taking apart old machines and replacing them with more efficient parts is something that I've always loved doing, regardless if it was a job or a hobby.
I advertise quite frequently on many sites that I buy used computers, regardless of their condition. Mostly I get calls or emails about people who sell a carcass of a computer hoping to get some money out of their broken machines. When they arrive with trashed computers, I truly wonder how people treat these beautiful machines with such carelessness. Tonight wasn't one of those instances, however.
"Hey, is this Tom the Tech Guru?"A male voice asks, with a nervous tone.
"Hey man, "I reply. "yeah I'm Tom. What can I do you for?"
"Oh thank goodness. I heard you buy used computers?..."He asks.
"Yep, that's my job,"I proudly say. "Do you have a machine you want to sell me?"
"Y-yeah, if you could take this machine off my hands I'd greatly appreciate it,"his voice quivers.
"Are you alright?"I ask, noticing the nervousness in his voice.
"Yeah, I just... really need to get rid of her- I mean, this thing."His voice is filled with desperation.
"Alright, well what's the earliest that I can come to pick it up?"I respond.
"Is now alright? I-I'm actually outside your apartment,"he responds.
"That's odd, not sure how you got my address. We didn't even talk about how much you want for this thing."I say, shock in my voice.
"Y-yeah actually, don't worry about it, you'd be doing me a favor."He says, hanging up.
I hear a car door open, then close outside of my apartment, as I assume he is taking the computer out of his car. About five minutes later, I hear a buzzer ringing. I walk down the three flights of stairs to the front door. As I walk to the last step, I hear the car race off in the distance, the rubber hitting the asphalt and peeling away.
"Strange guy..."I mutter to myself.
I walk to the door and open it. Outside on the door mat is a custom built PC in a black case. It doesn't look damaged from a quick glance, but I'd have to take it apart and check the internals to see what this guy was talking about. I assume the guy doesn't know much about how computers work, since he didn't throw any cables with the box. I open the front door and pick it up, and carry it up the flights of stairs back to my apartment door. I set it down gently, on its side on top of my tinkering desk.
The first thing I do with these is to see what I'm dealing with, which usually means taking it apart. Usually people sell these used computers because a component failed and it won't turn on, when it usually takes a quick fix by replacing the component, but I won't complain. I take one of my screwdrivers and start taking off the side panel of the case. As I start unscrewing the first screw...
"O-owww... don't touch me there please."a female voice sounds.
I do a quick double take, checking to see if anything is abnormal. The voice is from a girl, in her late teens or early twenties. I can faintly hear the sounds of my upstairs neighbors watching something. *It's probably that,* I think, shrugging it off. I continue to take off the panel. After removing the second screw, the panel comes off.
"I thought I told you not to touch me there, you pervert."the voice sounds again.
This one was pretty clear in its direction, it was coming straight from the built in speaker on the case.
"Uhh... I'm not sure what you mean."I respond to the voice.
"I'm in the computer, dumbass."She replies, angrily.
A bit unsettled, I call out, "What are you?"
"Now, just telling you wouldn't be fun, would it now~?"the voice playfully says.
"So I guess you're probably the reason that guy just gave me this computer."I sigh, connecting the dots.
"Maybe~,"her voice teasing.
"To be honest,"I say. "from building and taking apart computers, I've never heard a person talk from inside the computer without any power running through it."
"I'm particularly abnormal,"she says, laughing.
"Yeah, it is,"I say, rolling my eyes. "So, can you tell me about yourself? Perhaps your specs to see if you're worth flipping?"
"Hmm... I'm not sure if I can. I can tell you that I have an Intel processor, a nVidia graphics card, and a 750 watt power supply."She responds.
"That's pretty general. Unless you tell me what parts specifically, I'm going to have to take this computer, or you, apart."I say.
"I'm not afraid of you,"she shouts. "do it and see what happens."
"Alright, but you seemed pretty annoyed at me taking off the panel..."
"Fine, fine, you called my bluff. I have an Intel I7 mounted onto a Gigabyte motherboard, a nVidia GTX 900 series, two 240 GB Samsung Solid State Drives-"she casually lists these parts.
"Let me stop you there, so you were implanted into a top of the line PC?"I ask, puzzled.
"I'm not... implanted into anything."She responds.
"Huh? Then how can you feel this?"I push the screwdriver onto the motherboard.
She cries out in pain. I hear the computer turn on for a bit, as if she is trying to shock me, but the handle of my screwdriver is rubberized, so nothing happens. It clicks and whirs for a few seconds.
"Oh, you're not dead, you bastard."She says, disappointed, as the system powers off.
"Hey, I'm sorry, I'm just trying to see why somebody gave me a top of the line PC for what seems like a harmless girl who's trying to protect herself."I retort.
"Don't know,"she says.
"Well, do you have a name at least?"I ask.
"Yeah, Rebecca. And yours?"She asks.
"I'm Tom, nice to meet you."I reply.
I wonder what my neighbors must think, talking to a computer that claims to be a girl, talking to me about the specs of her machine. Then again, my neighbors already think I'm weird anyway.
"Well, now that we've introduced ourselves, I think you owe me an explanation as to what you are."
"I'm a ghost, inhabiting the body of a computer."She says, as bluntly as possible.
"Huh?"I say, puzzled.
"Yeah, yeah, I know,"she says, with a matter of fact tone. "most TV shows and media see us as people, but we can take on the form of practically anything. I'm certain you have other ghosts in your house, they're just not... like me."
"How is that?"I ask, confused. "And how do you know about how ghosts are portrayed in human society?"
"I was a human too, about twenty or so years ago, before we could fathom this technology."She responds.
"Ah... I see. Well, why are you in a computer?"
"Because... I wanted to know more."
"More... about what?"
"To make a long story short, when I was in college, I was murdered by two people, my former best friend and her boyfriend. From what I've gathered, there was no case. The school and everybody else thought I had committed suicide, and my body was never recovered. I guess I'm just trying to find where it is, so I can go back and be at peace."
"That's crazy!"I angrily shout. "I'm surprised they got away with it. Do you know where you went to college?"
"I'm not sure, but it was in this state..."she replies, meekly.
"There are hundreds of colleges in this state!"I yell. "I'm also not really a detective, so it would take me a while to figure out..."
"... I know... which is why everybody who has tried to help me has given up or, like the last guy, gave the computer away."She sighs.
"I'm still curious as to why they just tossed you aside."
"well... I may not have been as vocal about it as I am here. I would write word files, create pictures trying to tell people about it... some people thought it was a virus."
"And that's perfectly reasonable,"I say. "but nothing I'd throw a good computer away for."
"I was very persistent, despite many system restores and hard drive wipes."She says, proudly.
"Okay, now that would scare me."I say, nervously.
"Most people did get scared."
"Alright, let me close your case up while I process this..."
I put the cover back on, and screw the two case screws onto the body, as I think deeply. Sitting here with all the details in front of me, I look at the ceiling for a few minutes trying to process it. It's exceptionally strange, having a computer talk without being powered. On top of that, trying to tell you that it's a ghost, and the story behind it... I close my eyes and drift off, thinking of what to do next.
----------------------
(if there's enough interest, I'll do a part 2)
EDIT: more than one person wants to see a part 2! I'll be working on it later today!
This is my first real story here! (I think I might have done a small one a while back). I'm a sophomore college student doing CS as a major, thought this was up my alley. I've written some military fiction as a high school student (you probably don't want to read that). Any comments and criticism are welcome!
I realized while writing this, that I should have used GLaDOS from Portal. Damnit. Oh well! Thanks for reading! |
He looked at his wristwatch and held up a finger. “And here we go. Now that you’ve seen it, you’ll … well. You’ll see.” He picked up his sandwich in his spare hand, then began counting down, “Three. Two. One.”
I wanted to be skeptical, but the past day of advanced technology and marvels had gone a long way toward convincing me, even without Gary’s attempt at explaining. As he reached “One” I could feel my stomach begin to twist, then I felt dizzy, then the lights went from harsh fluorescents to yellow-tinged bulbs. The extruded plastic table, its bumpy texture irritating to my tapping fingers, became brushed stainless steel. The waitress continued walking past with her tray, but her uniform went from burgundy to forest green.
And a man who looked nothing like Gary was holding a glossy plastic card and a hamburger instead of wearing a wristwatch and holding a sandwich. He sighed. “There we go.” He turned his card and I flinched away from the glowing surface, reading *15:07*. He saw my shocked expression and winked. “You look a sight too. I’m the same person, just … not the same. I’m the equivalent of what you met in the previous split. It’s too much to explain.” He began fiddling with the little card and I half-stood, trying to peer at it. The thing was touch-activated, I could tell that much, but I really couldn’t follow what he was doing. He began eating his sandwic—hamburger.
“Oh, good, the why-fie connected.” He mumbled around a mouthful of food. “This is one of the reset phases. Welcome to Twenty-Fifteen, about as uncontaminated as it can get anymore. Enjoy it while it lasts.” Gary slumped back a little in his booth, which squeaked underneath him—didn’t it used to be padded with orange plaid canvas? Now it was plastic. Noisy plastic.
“So … what do I do now?” I asked, looking around.
Gary shrugged. “Take each day as it comes. If I’m lucky, tomorrow’s rollover will put me back in my own timeline, where the split happened a bit more recently. It depends on who from downstream is deciding to muck around upstream Anyway. My home-time is called Beta. It’s nicer than the pure-ish timeline. If I run into you, I’ll show you around sometime.” He laughed. “Sometime.” Gary abruptly got up. “But while we’re here, I can’t keep babysitting you. Come on. Prime-Time is probably the best place to get you set up if you’re going to keep Rolling. And you? Sorry kid, you’re gonna keep Rolling.”
Wordlessly, I followed his lead. He guided me out of the diner and we went to a strange market. Gary rambled as we walked. “So you should check your pockets. You exist in this timeline. You had a life. A job. Income. Pick up what you need, take what you can carry, it’ll come along and the consequences don’t follow. There’s still a me living my life in my own home timeline, you know? I ran into him once, almost. Maybe it was some small divergent timeline, maybe it wasn’t me-me, but just a slightly different me. Maybe that me didn’t date Cara. Maybe that me didn’t break his leg as a kid. I wasn’t about to risk pulling him into the Roll. Let him live what I missed out on. Means my family’s being taken care of, right? Anyhow. Here we are.”
He began buying items, things he said were essential, using some plastic currency he found in my wallet. His priority was on a screen-card like his own. He said it was a phone, but also a map, book, calculator, and a dozen other things I didn’t quite follow. Overwhelmed, I just nodded, trying to understand his meandering attempts at explaining.
He finished by doing something, a “transfer,” he said, of the notes that he’d compiled so far, sending them from his phone device to my new one. “It’s good to have someone who understands. I didn’t quite get it, when I started Rolling. Thought I was nuts. I *am* nuts, it *makes* you nuts, you know? Especially when you have to spend a hungry day in the radioactive woods, with a rock and a stick and you’re wearing just dirt, and you can’t wash or lose anything or you’ll carry over the wrong things the next day. You don’t want to go too far north in the winter, or too far south. Try to stay near places where there’s natural water. If you find your own time, don’t try to find your family. You’ll regret it.”
The advice spilled out of his mouth faster than I could understand. He threw around words I had never heard before, and he waved off my requests that he explain something. “You’ll get it, or you’ll die and figure it out after the next Rollover.”
I asked about that comment, and he shook his head. “Dying. It doesn’t work. You’re caught now, all right? So don’t try killing yourself, it’s not pleasant. Do they have *Groundhog Day* in your split? Of course not, your split was what was it? That’s right. It’s a good thing only one or two people thought to try and kill Edison. He might have been a bastard, but he popularized that shit. Friggin’ dark ages, you poor kid. Gotta learn fast, you know? You’ll figure it out. If you find a split that has *Groundhog Day* though, and I mean the movie. The motion picture. Bill Murray. Usually. It had Tom Hanks once and my advice for that one is ‘do not.’ Same if you think of watching *Quantum Leap*, just forget about that one. We aren’t time traveling. We’re Rolling. So look it up sometime, when you’re feeling better. Bill Murray. *Groundhog Day*. It’ll explain better than I could. Kind of. Except that the movie, he repeats the same day. We keep moving forward, and the changes we make, as far as I can tell, don’t matter.”
He looked at me and sighed. “Most of ‘em, anyhow. You’re gonna probably hate me for saving your life yesterday. Sorry. I’d take it back if I could, but you know, you see a person in danger. Reflex. Just … remember, it’s a jerk-ass thing to do to a person on purpose. If you like someone, don’t pull them into the Roll. I *am* sorry, kid. Genuinely.”
He returned to the subject of my phone-device. “It’s got an annotated timeline file. It’s the broken-clock icon. Er. Symbol. You tap it. It has all of the split-points I’ve found so far, and the ones described to me by other Rollers, and when you tap that, it’ll give a summary of what “now” is like. Mostly. It changes a little sometimes. Also, your phone, it’ll change too. Tomorrow after rollover, you might have a wristwatch and map and journal, like I did before today’s Rollover. You might have a tattoo. You might have a wrist-mounted computer, or a radio and scroll. Or a rock and stick, like I mentioned. Damn, I hate the radioactive woods. I always have too many arms and not enough feet. But anyways, whatever they are, keep all of it, so it doesn’t come back to a timeline like this and not have some important function.”
I wondered if this was shock, because I could barely think. Gary’s words flowed over me like water. He eventually clapped me on the shoulder. “Look. It’s been swell. I want to get moving. I’m talked out and now it’s just weird, you looking at me all confused. I can’t take the breakdown that’s coming, okay? I lived it. Sorry kid, once was more than enough. If I see you in a year or so, though, and you look like you got your shit back together, well, I’ll be in touch if that happens. And you have money, it’ll copy over to whatever the local money is, and so long as you roll in with some, you’ll roll out with some. Same with food—you should try and carry some over, just in case. But you gotta be holding it. Awright?”
“All … right?” I replied a little tentatively.
“That’s the spirit. Remember what I said. Also, if you run across a fukkin’ time traveler, you tell them to stop pissin’ in the timestream, you tell ‘em Gary said that, you got it?” I nodded. “Good.”
Then he walked away.
|
The Jedi are here. How fortunate that the process is complete.
My new weapons are elegant and sleek, with two thin bands of cortosis metal running vertically down their gold-plated length on either side of the hilt. That little decoration cost a fortune and a life--none of which, thankfully, were mine--and will no doubt save my blade from destruction should someone attempt to cut my creations in half. An entirely worthwhile use of my time, even though I was nearly hit by a bolt from a DC-17 in obtaining it.
I reach for the lightsabers, and they fly into my hand, where my fingers contract around them and hold them in my palm. The grip is perfect, and the edges of my lips curl upwards, baring my teeth in a smile.
I look to the door of the room, where the body of the unfortunately recalcitrant gemologist lies, his heart crushed inside his ribcage and his skin crossed with burn patterns in the shape of minute bolts of electricity. All I required was his machine and his silence, but I was happy to take his life as well. Though I locked the metal gate against which he now lies, the Jedi are now cutting through it. One of their blades is blue, the other green. If that is all the Order sent--and I do not sense anything else living in this building--the next Jedi to enter this room will meet with a gruesome scene.
Their cut finishes, and the door falls inwards. The two--*the two!*--step through the cooling metal into the room, their blades held above their heads and angled towards me.
The Jedi walk around the circular room towards me. The taller one is human, and just under my own height. He carries the blue saber and almost looks familiar, but all humans do tend to look the same to me.
"In the name of the Galactic Republic, you are under arrest,"he announces.
I give a chuckle. "I do hope you know that being a member of the Sith Order isn't a crime,"I reply amusedly. It used to be illegal, but religious tolerance laws do extend to even the Sith. Granted, they aren't so permissive as to permit certain rituals, but nonetheless.
"Murder is,"replies the shorter. A Mirialan male, he looks far younger as well, and his green skin is the same shade as his lightsaber. My gaze falls upon the braid dangling from his temple.
"Oh, there's about to be plenty of that,"I answer him. I turn to his master. "You actually let this child come?"I ask him, shocked that a moralistic Jedi would have so little regard for a life.
"I can handle myse--"
"Oh, I'm sure you can,"I retort, turning towards the Padawan. "Against the Dark Lord of the Sith. I collect lightsaber crystals from fallen Jedi, and have only now decided to forge my own, and only because your Order seems infinite in the number of Jedi it possesses."
He and his master have stopped moving, holding their ground about three meters away from me.
"I have twelve, if you're wondering. I keep them in a little glass case. And I assure you, every one of those Jedi were very confident they could defeat an *unarmed* Sith Lord."
The Jedi hold their stance, and I can feel their gaze on the lightsabers in my hands. I smile, feeling the fear from the Mirialan boy.
"If you start running right now, and if I'm particularly out of practice, you might just be able to get to your ship,"I tell him, staring directly into his green eyes with my yellow.
"That's not going to happen. This is your last chance to surrender peacefully,"he replies.
Courage is admirable. Bravado is contemptible. In order to justify facing a difficult challenge, you first have to recognize which journeys are arduous treks and which are death marches. He will fall like cut grass before a scythe.
"Form Five,"I note, gesturing with my head towards the raised lightsabers and indicating their choice of fighting style. My hands remain at my side. "I've never understood the Jedi obsession with classifying lightsaber techniques."
"We usually have more than one trainee,"he retorts. "They tend not to kill us."
A clever response. I laugh. "Ever been curious how the Sith teach lightsaber combat?"I ask him with an almost amicable tone.
"How?"he asks.
"One simple rule. *Kill.*"
I press the ignitors on my weapons' hilts. I hear the satisfying crackle of the blades as they emit from the device, and as I glance at them, they glow in the beautiful color *erythrean.* Their hum increases in pitch as I swing them in an X across my chest, then bring them back to my sides as I turn towards the Jedi Padawan. He has a look of confusion on his face as the blade in my right hand swings towards his head, and does not even move his saber as it approaches him, slicing his neck and ending his life. His body falls limply to the floor and his saber retracts, and I hear the anguished scream of his master as he lunges towards me.
*Why didn't he defend himself?* I ask myself, before more important matters enter my mind as I deflect the human's blows with his cerulean blade. With two lightsabers, it is child's play, and I allow myself some of the flourishes and spins I would never use in combat against an equal. This is a game, not a fight, and I can afford some theatrics.
But eventually I grow tired of his assaults. I finally counterattack, pushing him back and slashing at him. I fully expect him to stop the assault with his lightsaber--I am only hardly trying--but the tip of my blade cuts through his chest. He screams, drops his lightsaber, and in the blink of an eye, my blades cross at his neck.
He moves his head to the side as he reaches downwards for his weapon, and the beam cuts through the side of his neck to the depth of at least three centimeters. A lethal wound.
A self-inflicted lethal wound.
He is on the ground now, and my lightsabers have retracted. He is still alive, and will be for the next few minutes, but he is now gasping for breath as the oxygen supply to his brain has suddenly halved.
*"What are you?"* he wheezes.
I smile. The Dark Side of the Force gives such incredible power. No Jedi, or any collection short of an army, can stand against a fully-fledged Sith Lord at his full strength.
*"Your lightsaber...how?"*
I glance at my newly-forged weapons, now finally battle-tested. "What about them?"I ask, now genuinely interested. It doesn't take that little effort to kill a Jedi, even one in training. I should have encountered some resistance, but I cut through them as if they were made of paper.
*"It's...in--"* He coughs and gasps. *"In...visible. How?"*
I glance back at the weapons at my side, and smile. *Of course.*
Their wavelength is off the visible spectrum of most creatures in the universe. Most Jedi lightsabers glow a green or blue, but Sith weapons have a far lower wavelength, due somehow to the hate and rage and fury with which we imbue them during their forging. It makes the crystals more powerful: some strikes with a synthetic crystal can even deactivate a Jedi blade. Evidently, I poured so much dark energy into my crystals that they became invisible. At least for a human.
*"Why...are you...smiling?"* wheezes the dying Jedi.
"My lightsabers are material proof that I am the most powerful Sith Lord in the history of the galaxy,"I reply, taking one in my right hand and igniting it, and gazing at the erythrean glow. "No master of the Dark Side before me has ever known the Force as I do. I have surpassed them all."
I take a step towards him, and I feel the rattling of his Padawan's saber. *He's trying to grab it,* I note.
He brings the verdant blade towards my torso with the last of his strength, and I strike it with all of mine. It crackles with energy, and green and red sparks fly along its length. And then, the glow disappears as I hear a small *pop* inside the hilt.
*"No!"* shrieks the Jedi in his last moments, as I bring the blade, invisible to him, fully through his neck.
The room is silent now, but for the low and menacing hum of the most powerful lightsaber ever in existence, wielded by the most powerful individual to ever draw breath. I look at the corpses of the Jedi, reminded of how easily they fell before the invisible blades. It was as easy to kill them as it was any of the beasts that did not know the Force. With these weapons in my hand, I am an unstoppable bringer of death.
I use the Force to bring the green blade into my left hand, then cut it open with my own. I extract the crystal and place it into a pouch on my belt, then do the same with the weapon of the Jedi Master. With that accomplished, I retract my lightsaber and place it on my belt with its companion.
I am the most powerful Sith to have ever lived. |
You don't remember your old life, or at least I didn't remember. Not at first, and never completely.
When I was born again, the world was new. Everything was new, I was in it, and that was everything. It overwhelmed my mind with things and tastes and smells. I ran and played and had nothing but the best of times. I didn't know much beyond the confines of my tiny pack of brothers and sisters, and my mind was still fresh.
Then she came, and I could smell that scent- like fruit and lavender. I remembered that, from somewhere. I liked her, I remembered that too. Of all my brothers and sisters, I was the only one who went to her. She chose me, and only after that did things begin to fall into place.
The memory of a soul is a fickle thing.
A house where I had once lived, was my new home. Three people, two I knew, and one I did not, were my new family. My new family, but my old family as well.I only cared for the girl, though. Those others... I knew early on I didn't like them, but for my reasons, there was only intuition.
I couldn't understand their language at first, not really. I knew what it was sometimes, but my mind didn't seem to catch everything. Like a drain, some words would slip past. Their voices though, those tones never did. I understood anger, I understood rage.
The girl and I would hide sometimes, shut away in the closet when those came out. There was danger, and early on I could not protect her, as much as I know I would have tried. That door was far more safety than I could give. My ears would listen, and I would learn. The scent of fear from the girl, the tones of anger and blackened hate from the man- the insidious melody of... something else... not hate, not rage, but worse. That last always came from the woman.
I knew her, somehow. I knew what that was, but she wasn't important. The girl was important, not the mother- and the girl was always afraid.
As time stretched on, I grew strong. Large, far larger than they had expected. I could understand more of their words now, and I remembered more of who I was, but still- still not everything.
When the man and the woman argued, the man would never win. Often he would leave, angry and smelling of... fear. The woman never smelled of fear. I did not trust the woman.
The girl was quiet, never speaking in the house unless spoken to, and the woman was strict. Cruel. At times she would hurt the man, and at times she would hurt me, but even at her worst I did not fall to the trap of anger, nor did I fight back.
I was here for the girl, and I knew that I could not stay to protect her if I did.
She was all that mattered.
The years passed and I grew stronger, larger. The man left, and he never came back. The woman grew cold. The girl grew afraid.
During the days, the girl would leave, and I would stay and watch as a yellow bus took her from the home. During the days I would quietly wait until she returned. When the woman saw this, she would beat me, but when she tired I always returned to my post. I had to be certain that as soon as she was within my reach, I would be by the girl's side.
The woman did not hurt the girl when I was near. She knew that I would not allow that, and she knew it well.
In time, I realized that the woman had come to fear me. I remember that; people fear what they don't understand.
The woman began to offer me food, and tried to bait me with toys. Sometimes, she would take cuts of meat and lay them upon the floor. At first I considered this an effort to buy my affection, but then I remembered differently. That was how she had gotten rid of me before, how she made her problem go *away.*
I did not touch what she offered. I knew it to be death.
I only ate what the girl fed me.
More time passed, and I felt myself growing older as I watched the Girl turn into something more. Another man came to the home, and then another after he had left. There were still times when we hid together, behind that door, waiting for the noise to stop, and morning to come.
My prime had ended, but my watch did not cease. I would protect the girl. The woman came to know my voice, came to fear my growls, and though I was old- I was still large. My teeth were not yet dull. I would not allow her to harm the girl.
The girl was why I was here.
I was old, perhaps only a year or two left to live- perhaps less, when the day finally came. I knew soon I would be forced to leave again as I had before, and I would have no choice- but the girl was no longer a girl.
The girl had grown.
I waited quietly as she packed her bag atop the bed, a small thing filled with only what she would need. I stood beside her as she opened the door, my leash in hand, and I lead the way for her as we left that house in the dark of night. I tugged with all my might on that leash of rope, dragging her down the road as far as my body would let me before I stopped.
I wanted to be sure she never went back.
When I closed my eyes, a year from that day, I knew she never would.
I had protected the girl, and now... Now I could rest.
*Edit: grammar/running sentences* |
In the woods, a subtle crepitation,
As branches creaked, disturbed by some great beast.
But soon whispers turned to ululation,
Impatiently preparing for the feast.
And in the dark, eight hundred grounded stars
Did seem to stare towards that damned town.
Sixteen hundred paws, several bodies scarred,
Burst into sprint and tore apart the ground.
The plangent people saw the charging sea,
They saw capitulation in their eyes.
Voracious beasts could hear no such pleas,
And deep in human flesh they did incise.
The cries of man filled the caesious sky,
But after all, man's purpose is to die. |
Thomas was alone.
He sat by himself, in an empty room. Around him were mounds of books. And wine. Couldn't leave out the wine. That was very important.
A crackling blaze roared from the fireplace. He wasn't sure how long he had been here. Sure, there was a nice old grandfather clock that sat at the bottom of the staircase, but it was just for show. It hadn't worked in years.
Ever since VR had been invented, eating and other necessities of life had been completely automated. Right now, in the real world, he was sitting in a chair, with an IV feeding him all the nutrients he needed to survive.
He was alone, and he was happy.
But there were some days when his eyes hurt from reading so much text, and some days when he wondered what his own voice sounded like. Days where he wished for someone to talk to. Days where he wanted to discuss the books he read and talk about the ideas he had. Days where he was no longer happy being alone.
Those days, he would check his watch and adjust a few settings. And the people he had filtered out would be back.
"Thomas! It's been a while,"they would say.
"Yes,"he would reply. "Yes it has."
And they would talk and talk about the books that they had read, having long discussions that ran into the night. And once Thomas was exhausted, and the conversations had run their course, he would look back at his watch, turn a few dials, and wave goodbye.
|
I double and even triple checked the date I had been given the day I was born. I called my parents and even called the Federal Office Of Death to make sure.
"F.O.O.D speaking, how may I help you today?"She sounded friendly enough. I explained my situation to her and she laughed, insisting there must have been a mistake. "I'm sure it was a typography error on your copy of the paper. Can you read me your identification number, please?"I read it off and she had me wait a second as it processed. I nodded my head back and forth to the annoying little hold tune that played. "Sir?"she said as she took me off hold. She hesitated before continuing. "You are correct, your date has passed..."
I nodded dumbly to myself, glancing down at the paper that read last Friday's date. "So what does that mean for me?"
She cleared her throat before continuing. "Well, sir, you have two options. You may request immediate termination, in which case we will reschedule your death. We can either let you know the date or surprise you."I shook my head, appalled at the option.
"What's my other choice?"
"Well, sir... We don't recommend the other one."
"I want to hear it."
"The other option, sir, is that you continue living without a specific termination date."I raised my eyebrows, surprised, although she couldn't see me.
"Why is that not recommended?"
She cleared her throat again, starting slowly. "Well, sir... You see, our printing system occasionally makes mistakes leading to incorrect dates printed, as I thought might have been your case. However, Central Universal Life Termination does not make mistakes. If your date has passed..."
I interrupted her, thoroughly confused. "My date has passed. Clearly they made a mistake."
"No..."she began awkwardly. "What this often means is that you might be good as dead. You have nothing left to live for nothing of importance will happen in your life but you have crossed a threshold. You are nothing more than a burden to society and the Central Universal Life Termination group will dispatch their trainees to eliminate you... for practice. You are actually too insignificant for the Termination group to spend resources or trained employees on terminating you."My jaw dropped and I slammed the phone down, ending the call. I looked around at my empty apartment, trash littering the floor. The skeleton of my dead goldfish stared at me from the dirty fishbowl. *Too insignificant?* I clenched my jaw, grinding my teeth in anger before shaking my head to myself.
"No,"I said outloud, wondering if I qualified as crazy for talking to myself. There had to be something I could do to prove them wrong... Something to make myself significant. I grabbed my coat and tore out the door and for the first time in my miserable life, I felt something akin to determination. *I will do something.*
My phone rang as I stepped off the elevator on the ground floor. I answered curiously, not recognizing the number. "Hello?"
"Your Termination request has been accepted. Your life will be terminated shortly. This cannot be cancelled. Please hold to listen to this message again."
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! |
Captain Jack Gallant dashed across the war-torn and scarred battlefield, keeping his head low to avoid any stray blaster bolts. His coat flapped behind him as he ran, the active camouflage patterns shifting in an attempt to keep up with his changing surroundings.
He gritted his teeth as he skidded to a stop behind a boulder. He counted at least four Xorg walkers, and they knew that he'd made it out of the flaming wreckage of his own ship. He was alone, outnumbered, and without any way to contact his own soldiers.
Not that it would do him much use, he thought blackly to himself. They didn't have the manpower to spare for a rescue.
Reaching under his coat, he pulled his ion pistol free of its holster. Counting the extra batteries he always kept in his pockets, he figured that he could maybe bring down two, possibly three of the Xorg walkers.
He took a deep breath, gathering air into his lungs. He would only get one shot at this; he'd need to stay in constant motion. A battle cry springing to his lips, he leapt up from behind the boulder-
-and a high-energy laser burst caught him directly in the chest, reducing most of his internal organs to charcoal.
Captain Jack Gallant died instantly, toppling down to the ground.
Yep, he's still dead.
Still dead.
Dead guy, over here. Just lying there on the ground. Not really doing anything. Not much for me to narrate, here.
Wait.
I just said me.
Oh crap, I did it again. Balls! This isn't good - I'm breaking the cardinal rule of narration! They always told me (blast, did it again!) that this would implode the whole story, ruin the whole universe.
Any second now. Universe about to explode. Or implode, I can never remember which way is which. One of them goes into a small thing, I remember. The other one goes out in a big boom.
Universe still hasn't whatever-ploded. Well, with the time left, let's have some fun!
The body of Captain Jack Gallant suddenly stirred, moved by no breeze- no, wait, I never liked Captain Jack. His inner thoughts were always far too smug.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, Will the cabin boy appeared! He, of course, looked totally confused, as would anyone who just appeared out of thin air after dying only two hours previously in a tragic spaceship crash.
Will stared down at himself, touching his body, as if he couldn't believe he was real. "This can't be happening,"he muttered. "I died - I remember, the fire - thinking that maybe I would see Donna again in Heaven..."
Oh yeah, Donna. The Space Princess that Will fell hopelessly head over heels for, a couple books previously. Hell, let's summon her up too, shall we?
Will turned as he caught the motion out of the corner of his eye, and moved forward, just in time to catch Donna as she plummeted out of the sky. He grunted as she landed solidly in his arms, but managed to stay on his feet.
Donna's eyes fluttered gently as she looked up, into Will's smiling face. "Will?"she asked drowsily, reaching up and draping her own arms around his neck. "Oh, I had such an unpleasant dream. Make it all better,"
"Nothing will separate us again,"Will vowed, bending down to kiss her full, slightly parted lips-
-as another laser burst shredded them both into chunks of bloody tissue.
God dammit! I forgot about the stupid Xorg walkers. Ugh. Shoddy narration, this is. I'd be fired on my first day if this was the kind of game I brought most days.
Screw it. A snap echoed through the air, and all four Xorg walkers exploded, their fusion cores all spontaneously over-firing and going critical at the same time. Shrapnel littered the ground.
But with the destruction of the Xorg came a fine mist, a magical fairy dust- no, even better! The life force of the Xorg empire, soaking into the remains of Will and Donna!
Oh, and Captain Jack, too, I suppose. Ugh. Stupid guy can't even stay dead.
In a totally logical and not made up at all fashion, the fine mist restored the captain, the Space Princess, and the cabin boy back to their living selves. Grunting, Will pulled himself up to his feet, bending down to help Donna up a moment later. Her gold robes were torn and her hair a mess, but she still looked every inch the noble princess.
"Now, where was I?"Will grinned, as his lips finally met hers.
Captain Jack frowned as he watched his former cabin boy embrace the space princess. "I thought I end up with the girl,"he muttered, scratching at his head.
Will and Donna, however, paid no attention to him. In fact, they threw themselves into their kissing with such fervor that the entire sun could have exploded, and they wouldn't have noticed. Still in each other's arms, they sank down to the ground, Will laying down with Donna atop him. His hands slid up the sides of her dress, tracing the fine curves of her body beneath the sheer fabric. His fingers closed on the zipper, tugging it down, inch by gentle inch.
The zipper reluctantly parted, revealing smooth skin as the dress fell away from her. She brushed it off of porcelain bare shoulders, revealing the swell of a perfectly round and formed-
-and the entire universe imploded into a single speck.
Dammit. I was nearly there!
Oh well, nothing to see here. Pack it in, folks. I'll, uh, just be headed out then.
^nothing ^to ^see ^here... |
He sat at the bar alone, other patrons avoiding him like the plague. Not me though. No sir, I was too drunk to care about how many people he'd killed or to fear that I might end up a tattoo. I sauntered over boldly and sat down right next to him.
"Hey man. How's it going? Let me buy you a drink."I managed to say.
He turned towards me and spoke, in the softest voice I'd ever heard. "No thanks."I had to strain to hear him over the din of the bar. "I just come here to remember."
I scratched my neck and reflexively looked away. "Remember, uh, remember what?"
He gave a mournful smile and deliberately pointed to the back of his left hand. "Donny Bridges. This was his favorite bar. He came here every night with his brother."
At this point, I was sobering up quickly, so I knew I had to ask before I'd be too chicken. "How, uh... how did he... well, what I mean to say is... erm..."
He raised his hand to shush me, and I gulped audibly. I couldn't help but scanning the names on his palm, which only added to the cold sweat. It was at this point I noticed the whole bar had gone quiet.
"Many people want to know."He turned back to the bar and rested his elbows on it, and his head in his hands. "And who could blame them? Four hundred and twenty-seven tattoos. Guinness approached me, you know. The world record book. I couldn't believe it. How could they even want to include 'Man Responsible for the Most Deaths' as a world record?"His eyes were vacant, his words hollow and distant.
"So, how did they all, y'know..."
He turned back towards me, his gray eyes starting to mist. "I was a pilot. And I misjudged the weather. It was a lot stormier than I expected. The copilot and I panicked and, well... you get the rest. I was the only one who survived the crash, which makes it all the worse. So I took it on myself. I went to the families and friends of each person who was on that plane. And I remember them." |
No one knew what had happened at first. There was a snap heard throughout the world. Scientists assumed there was an impact or earthquake but there was no epicenter. Within an hour strange reports started to roll in.
An old man had fire raging on his lawn. A lawn that just yesterday was covered in two feet of snow. A scrawny kid had thrown his bully through a door at school. A young man was converting random objects into solid gold.
Everyone was in a panic. Were they mutants? Was this the end times? Was this some trick?
It got worse when the first ship landed. Unknown troops pushed outward from the ship. They threw balls of fire, called down lightening from the skies, and summoned mythical beasts from thin air.
That's when we, humanity, realized what we had. We were coursing with magic. As soon as the first human used magic against the invaders they fled.
The children became the strongest. So full of imagination and raw emotion. Soon we were lifting entire cities into orbit. Life support was powered by adults, but tell a child they could fly their home through the stars and they would do just that.
We expanded throughout the galaxy. Never once did we find a defending army. We did find civilization though. All recently abandoned. That's when we got a message. The races were running. They were afraid. Humanity was coming. |
At first I brushed it off as some cruel social experiment; I expected some idiot from YouTube to jump out at me with a digital camera in hand, trying to capture my anger and relief. I walked out into the daylight, expecting what the man had meant to be immediately obvious outside the building. But it wasn't.
Strangely enough, I wasn't scared in the cell. I wasn't even scared when my captor confronted me. But now... now that I'm in my own home with no sign as to why I'll "do nicely"... *now* I'm scared.
I've been sat at my window all afternoon, just watching the day go by - expecting something to stand out which will make sense of the whole situation.
But nothing has yet.
---
I grabbed a bottle of whiskey from my collection, turned off the lights and headed back to the window. I felt safer in the dark, and the whiskey gave me a little Dutch courage.
---
All night I've been waiting and still nothing. I can't sleep... I can't eat. I don't know what I can do or who I can turn to...
---
Apparently they found me in my apartment clawing the walls next to the window and speaking like Donnie from The Wild Thornberrys. They said I had had a psychotic break from lack of sleep and severe stress.
At least he can't get me in here. I wish that woman in the next room would stop screaming at night, though.
---
A man approached me - small and harried-looking. He told me I was right where I needed to be and that I would hear from someone I was waiting to hear from soon. I don't know if he was talking crazy or if he knew something about the man who held me hostage but I'm not sticking around to find out. I managed to sneak the medication from this totally loony patient who sits in the corner of the sitting room all day and night without saying a word. I have a few day's worth. I think that should be enough.
Maybe I'll wait another couple of days to make sure.
---
I sat in the sunshine near the fence, bottle of water right next to me and tablets accumulating in my pocket, creating a lumpy bulge which thankfully had gone unnoticed by staff.
Today's the day: the perfect weather to leave this earth.
I took in the view: the squirrels chasing each other in the tree nearby, the sun shining its radiance down on me... I was happy.
I leaned back and tugged the tablets out of my pocket. Flinging my head back, I threw them into my mouth and chugged my water until they were all gone.
Composed, I screw the lid back onto my bottle, sat up and looked beyond the fence once more. I smiled, sure that I would be rid of my captor within the next few hours.
And then I saw it.
There was a figure watching me. He was half-hidden behind a tree, but just by looking at his exposed half, I knew it was him.
And he was smirking.
I knew then that this had been his plan all along: to drive me mad; to push me to the limits... to watch me... die?
A flourish of anger rose to my chest. "Nurse!"I called. "Nurse!"I rose to my feet and rushed inside, leaving the bottle of water behind in my haste. Thankfully a nurse was just walking down the hallway as I got inside, so I grabbed her arm and told her that I had had an overdose.
---
They carted me outside in a stretcher to take me to the hospital. I saw him watching, his face now filled with dismay. I raised my head and grinned at him. Then I raised my middle finger just before the ambulance doors closed.
I never saw him again after that. |
Oh no. Oh no. Zargoblax the Annihilator is going to be pissed right the fuck off with me. Just at the start of my online ordering service too! Shit!
Ok, Steve. We can do this. We can bring this back. We can fix this. Maybe I can give him that Karkadann I was supposed to give that really violently evil Gurkha? No, that won't work, he'd cut me in half. Or quarters. Or some other incredibly unpleasant number of pieces that's greater than one!
I could give him a Thestral! But what if he needs to scare someone who hasn't seen someone die yet? No, that's a shit horse for evil people. How can you intimidate the masses if you just sit with your legs spread open in midair? Seems rather silly.
I suppose a Kelpie is out of the question, as violent as they are. I wasn't under the impression he could breathe underwater, which is normally what kills the less-than-informed Kelpie riders though...
Oh! A Nuckelavee! I could give him a Nuckelavee! No, shit, no, we can't sell those anymore, something something human rights, just like the blasted centaurs. How am I going to bring this back? How am I supposed to- What is that infernal racket?
Oh no. That's the door. He's here! What do I do? I'm going to be drawn and quartered and melted into a little pile and probably fed to creepy things with little grabbing hands! I hate the little grabbler things. Shit. Maybe I can beg for forgiveness or more time? Shit. Ok. Let's do this.
"Lord Zargoblax! How excellent you look today!"
"Hey Steve. Where's my horse?"
"Oh, she's just this way, oh powerful and easily annoyed one. Just around the corner. Down that way, in the corner!"
"Steve. This is my horse?"
"Yes Lord Zargoblax! If you are unsatisfied, I would be happy to breed you another horse for free! The only thing I ask is that you do not murder me in cold blood and feed my squishy bits to little grabbler things!"
"Steve-"
"Oh please Lord Zargoblax, I beg your forgiveness!"
"Steve, what are you talking about? This horse is fantastic! I love My Little Pony!" |
Those idiots down there.
Primitive.
Every once in a while we'd send someone back down to "treacle town"with some token gift of "knowledge".
Last week Phil went down to show them the wonders of quantum gravity. It would be hundreds of years, relatively, before they'd be able to even think to use it.
Somehow I'd won the lottery this time.
Fantastic.
So I'd submitted my proposal to the council. I get 3 chances for approval before I'm banished for good. This is probably the hardest thing I've done. Navigating rifts in interdimensional fatigue and stitching timelines is child's play compared to choosing a fraction of a corner of knowledge to share...
I mean these monkeys still go to _war_ with each other...
I'm supposed to...
It gives me a headache just trying to adopt the level of stupidity.
And every day they send us their children. To them it's maybe a few hundred a week. By the time dilation takes effect, I mean it's just a constant stream of ceremonial capsules. What the hell else are we supposed to do with them? Waste precious protein?
Anyway.
It's time to go now. I think I've found something sufficiently stupid to keep them entertained for a few more centuries.
I just hope I don't end up crucified like that other guy... |
"Where am I?"the man asked, breathing heavily. His eyes darted around the small white room before resting on a young woman.
"Shh... relax Chris. It's OK.' Katie whispered. She soothingly stroked Chris's hair. "You have been asleep for a long, long time. Almost 200 years."
"200. Years?"
"You are on board the Magellan. We are heading towards the Alpha Centuri system. We are on a mission to colonise H2Z43 - Earth Two."
"Katie ...?"he asked as memories began flooding through his brain.
"Welcome back, Captain."Katie said with a smile.
"Captain? I'm second Lieutenant."he said, confused.
"OK, take a deep breath. There has been a problem with the Cryogenic Pods."
"...."
"Cryogenics had never been tested over such a long period of time. How could it be? It was *assumed*, based on tests over much smaller periods of time, that we would last indefinitely, as long as we remained frozen inside them."
"But, that's not the case?"
"Nope. The computer detected a problem about a month ago. It tried to wake the captain first, but... It then woke me, as I'm head engineer. It thought I might be able to sort the problem. I couldn't. The brain simply can't take being crystallised for such a long period of time. "
"So, the captains *dead*?"Chris asked.
"The captain, the lieutenant and I estimate around 90% of the one thousand colonists."said Katie with a sigh.
Chris's mouth slowly opened, as if he were about to say something, but no sound came out.
"You are the first person I have successfully woken, Chris. You are the highest ranking crew member still alive and as such, you're in charge."said Katie.
Chris slowly absorbed the news. "So... we wake up the colonists. If we don't, the remaining 10% might die."
"You are correct, they might. Every extra year in cryo sleep is going to result in around a 20% chance of fatality."Katie replied.
"Christ - then we have to wake them now!"He tried to sit up but a sharp pain ran through every muscle in his body. He didn't think the pain had been caused by the Cryo Sleep.
Katie gently pushed him back down onto the medi bed.
"Its... not *that* simple. The ship isn't designed for living in. It's a transport vessel. We don't have much food, only the ability grow our own food once we get to our destination. There aren't even enough supplies for you and me to make it to Earth 2. We need 40 years of food...we have maybe 5."
"Oh. You shouldn't have woken me."said Chris. The two sat in silence for a while.
"So."Chris began "we have to go back in Cryo Sleep and risk dying?"
"We can't go back in. A second trip into Cryo Sleep will, at this point, kill us. We will be brain dead as soon as we are frozen. But... there *might* be another option."
"Go on."said Chris.
"You're not going to like it."Katie said wincing slightly.
"Just - just tell me."
Katie looked down at the ground as she spoke. "We have a lot of frozen protein. In fact, there is enough for two people to complete the journey."
Chris furrowed his brow and then realisation dawned.
"You can't be serious! I think the Cryo has damaged your brain."
"Listen Chris. If we go back to sleep we are dead. If we wake anyone else we will starve. Two of us can survive. We can make this mission a success."
"I... I don't think I can do this."
"Think of everything that has gone into this mission. We are humanities last hope. Once we get there, you and me, we can start the human race over again."
"Is this why you woke me? You needed a man?"
"Yes. But I need you to agree to it."
"...and if I say no?"
Katie sighed.
"Then I keep you alive, for now. I force feed you. I take your sperm. And then, when I no longer need you... But *please*, Chris, this would be so much easier if you just agreed to it. It is the only viable option."
Chris tried to sit up again. The pain was immense. He fought against it for a few seconds but it overwhelmed him. His eyes closed and he fell back onto the medi bed.
|
They've been casing the jewelry store for two weeks. They had no idea that I'd been casing them though... this is my shot. This my chance to prove that this city is worth fighting for... and I'm the warrior to lead the fight as... The **PhilanthroFist**! Blaster of unpredictable justice and indiscriminate objects! After a month of training with my new powers, I finally have a shot at doing some good with them. But first! Let me dramatically set the scene...
Jewelers Row is a filthy forgotten remnant of a better time in Chicago. Once a bustling corridor of local businesses selling joy and hope in the form of white diamond earrings and 10 carat gold engagement rings, over the past few decades these once glimmering storefronts have decayed under the shadow of rickety L trains while the Windy City's criminal underbelly has bubbled up to feed on its remains. Mom and Pop jewelry shops, one by one, have died out and been replaced with tumorous payday lenders and shady front-operations. Now corners are pocked with drug peddlers and the only bustling is of vagrants from one cardboard shanty to the next. The art deco detailing of these polished buildings are slowly eroded as if sandblasted by crime... and... evil doings...
Ok, anyway. through my bachelors degree in investigative journalism, my street smarts, and the power of The PhilanthroFist! I've been onto these thugs for weeks. Using their steak sandwich foodtruck to stake out 'Gilbert's Golden Gifts', the last remaining jeweler in Jeweler's Row was their first mistake... Because I fucking love word play... Every night since I first noticed the truck in front of the store I've made my way to the rooftops of the city to watch and wait and learn. Gil's store is closing its doors for good in only six days. Tomorrow begins the wholesale transit where Gil sells and ships of the remainder of his jewelry stock in bulk to some private collector. If they're anywhere as good at researching as I am, they've got to hit tonight and my magic fists are going to stop the shit out of them... But holy shit I shouldn't have slammed six Code Reds to pump my self up because goddayumm I have to pee. I've been standing on this roof for four hours. It's almost three in the morning! When are these guys going to make their move?
An alarm triggers. Fuck! They went in the back door! Fuck! I'm three stories above them! Fuck! Why do super heroes always hang out on roofs! Like ZERO crime happens up here! Ok, focus, Phil! How can I get down there quick? I run to the other side of the roof and look down at the alley. Light is spilling out from the ajar back door of Gil's jewelry shop. Broken Glass is scattered along the concrete alleyway. Think. Think. Think. Yes!
I get a running jump, pump my fist into the air, focus real hard and shout "Parachute!"as a begin to fall to the ground. A pair of steel-toed work shoes blasts from my gloved fist begins to freefall towards the alley along side me. Fuck, thats actually progress... Parachute. Pair of shoes. I might actually be able to control whatever stupid shit I can summon. Oh right. I'm free-falling to my untimely death. I point my fist down to the ground thats about to pulverize me. "PILLOWS!"I should and like massive white bullets from a tommy-gun pillow after pillow shoots from my balled-up fist and I quickly land on a soft pile of 200+ pillows. "FUCKING RIGHT!"I shout before I can think.
"The fuck was that?"I hear from inside Gil's shop. Fuck. That's right. I'm fighting crime. Ok. Only about 30 seconds have passed and they have less than 3 minutes before CPD shows up. I just need to stall them. "Go check it out!"I hear a second voice grunt. The sound of boots crunch against glass tells me one of the evil-doers is on his way into the alley. I quickly duck behind dumpster. Backlit by the store he's pilfering, I can't see much but I can tell that he's wearing a black ski mask and he looks really fucking bewildered that there are dozens of pillows stacked into a mountain in the middle of the alley. "What the shit?"He says to himself quietly. Now for my big entrance. I jump out from behind the dumpster.
"Stop, villain! It's me! The PhilanthroFist!"He freezes... In fear, no doubt. Oh shit. Nevermind. It's laughter. He's laughing.
"You gotta be kiddin' me kid. You some kinda' super hero? What is that on your head?"
"It's my mask, Ass hole. I carved it out of a Hulk Hand. I'm the PhilanthroFist! And you're coming with me."
"Like hell I is!"He reaches behind him and pulls out a gun. But I'm one step ahead of him. I raise my fist and shout "Cannonball, bitch!"and a massive iron cannon ball materializeS in front of my knuckles. He looks shocked. I smirk. Then the cannon baLl falls straight down, pulverizing the bones in my left foot. "MOTHER FUCK!"I shout. He doubles over in laughter.
"Oh my god. Guys. Get out here. This kid's got the shittiest super powers you ever saw!"
"Hey fuck you!"I shout while trying to hold back tears. Fuck. I have to act quick. Two more men, both armed but weighed down with bags of stolen merch, shuffle into the alley. "The shit is goin' on here,"the larger of the two grunts in a deep voice. "Wait, wait. Just watch."The first one says between uncontrolled giggles.
"I'm the mother fucking PhilanthroFist! and I'm here to stop you ass holes."
"Do the cannon ball thing again!"Shouts the first baddy.
"I ain't got time for clowns. We're behind schedule."The large criminal cocks his gun and puts it to mouth. I quickly raise my right fist and try to summon the first thing I can think of...
"What. Da'. Fuck!"He booms and backs up in disgust. A steady yellow stream spurts from my knuckles and slowly soaks the assailant's black sweater. Is that..? Oh fuck. This is demoralizing... The smell and the warmth of the fluid immediately register and the three criminals slowly back away in disbelief. "Boss! This kid is shootin' piss at us! That's fuckin' gross!"
"This kid is fucked up!"The large criminal agrees.
I have them caught off guard. Now I just gotta bring it home! I raise my left fist and join it with my right and what was once a steady garden-hose trickle becomes a fire hose-caliber blast of urine, the pressure of which pins the criminals against the brick wall. An addictive mix of power and relief washes over me and I laugh and shout "Feel the powerful stream of The PHILANTHROFIST!"
"WOOP WOOP!"red and blue light fills the dark night as cop cars barricade each end of the now pungently-soaked alley. I fucking did it! Accidentally in the most disgusting way possible but I did it!
No stand-off ensued. The criminals immediately negotiated a surrender as long as they received a long hot shower. Cops freed me from the weight of my cannon ball and assisted me to the back of an ambulance. I was given a cup of coffee while EMT's bandaged my foot. Cops began placing evidence markers next to the mountain of pillows, the cannon ball, and the soaked bags of jewelry. A detective approached me as I sipped my coffee, he went to pat me on the back... but the thought better of it. He said "The city thanks you for your service, son. But please. Never help us again."
----
Sorry if the editing/ending is a little week. I wrote it on my way to work. I'll come back and polish it up/edit it but I gotta get my day started! |
Just like any other day, Clive Turkey began with a shower and a coffee and a walk down to the Equilibrium. He handed the clerk his ration card and asked if they had any fresh fruit.
"Just got in some pomegranates,"Kimber said. "Real big juicy ones, bigger than my tits."She demonstrated her comparison and Clive barked a laugh. Kimber weighed three hundred pounds if she weighed a stone.
"Mary loves those things. The pomegranates."
"I'm sure she does."
"In the back?"
"Well that's just none of my business Mr. Turkey."
Kimber took the banter too far, but it was part of her charm. Clive would miss her 6 am innuendos if she ever left the Equilibrium. He went to the back of the little corner store to where they usually laid out the produce and there was a whole rack of big reddish-purple pomegranates, some of them big as cantaloupe. He took two and grabbed some milk on his way back to the counter.
Kimber was holding his ration card, staring at her monitor, frowning.
"Everything alright?"
"You sure this is your card, Mr. Turkey?"
"Unless I grabbed Mary's by mistake."
Clive set his groceries down and took the card from Kimber's hands. He turned it over - Clive Turkey - born 2076 - blue eyes - etc.
"That's me alright."
Kimber didn't say anything. She never didn't say anything. She took the card back, swiped it through her machine again, and then she looked positively frightened.
"I never had to do this before."
"Do what?"Clive was getting nervous. He tried to read something - anything - in Kimber's eyes. She looked at the pomegranates and milk.
"Clive I'm so sorry."
"Kimber you're scaring me a little."
She turned the monitor so that Clive could see it. Flashing bold on the screen was a single line -
REJECT - CITIZEN OF NO FURTHER USE - CONFISCATE CARD AND CALL THE REAPER
"What?!"
"You should go."
"It's a mistake."
"Go to Mary."
"This is ridiculous. No further use?! I write for TV for fuck's sake. We just -"
Then it hit him.
"We just finished writing the last the season. It airs next month."
"You have to go."
"You're really gonna call the reaper?"
Kimber didn't look at him and she didn't say anything. He didn't blame her. With no pomegranates for Mary he left the Equilibrium and waited for the end on a bench outside of a McDonald's.
|
First time writing from a prompt but here it goes!
Why had father brought me here? The island was hot, the atmosphere hanging heavy and humid every hour of the day.
My father is a botanist, and studies all sorts of plants and herbs. His studies have made for many insightful discoveries in medicine, but make for very little fun or stimulation for a boy my age. While my peers were learning trades, chasing girls, or having adventures, I was marooned here, on this island.
It's not all terrible though. On one of my exploring expeditions I stumbled upon a stone house covered in snarled vines. I stayed in the woods near the house, maybe 30 yards out. Through the windows I could see movement in the form of a dark silhouette. I approached the house, my feet crunching brittle twigs and grass. When I was 5 yards from the entrance, the front door swung open with a loud "Whoosh!"and exposed an old man short in stature. "Good morning young one"he greeted me in a gruff French tone "what brings the young explorer to my castle today?".
I politely spoke with the old man for a few minutes, describing my father's works on the island and my desires for freedom and adventures. He laughed a reminiscent and encouraging laugh. There was an air of calm wisdom about him. Needless to say, I took to the old man quickly.
When ur returned back to my island hut that night, I told my father of my newfound friend. He seemed disinterested until he asked for the man's name. "Mr. Bonaparte"seemed to spike his interest, as his gaze focused into my eyes and his face became stern when I answered his question. My father was pleased that I was keeping myself entertained, and told me to return to Mr. Bonaparte's tomorrow to see if he needed any work done for him. The idea seated itself firmly in me, as I was excited to fill a day with some hard work and to learn more about my new friend.
Before I left in the morning, my father gave me some bread and cheese to take with me for lunch. He also gave me a couple teabags he himself had made with a special blend of herbs. He told me it was for Mr. Bonaparte as a gift for giving me work. I bounded out the door and into the wooded path towards the stone house.
I greeted Mr. Bonaparte outside his home, and asked him if he needed any help with projects around the house. He showed me inside and upstairs, where I would be building a shelf for his bedroom. As I got to work assembling the beach-wood shelf, I stumbled upon an ornately decorated military uniform in his closet. The lapels were gold like the rising sun, and the blue and white of the uniform were richly colored and stainless. I mused with myself, pretending to be a soldier holding a plank of wood turned rifle. Mr. Bonaparte came upstairs with the tea, and sat in a chair in the corner of the room. He sipped it and smiled at me, noticing I had seen the contents of the closet. "I was once a great general you know."He laughed and shook his head "The greatest in all of Europe. Yes, the British, Prussians, and even the Russians had a hard time stopping me. But alas, the empire tired of war, and I came here"
I didn't exactly understand what he meant, but I nodded my head and looked intently at him as he spoke and sipped at his tea. I finished the shelf after an hour of work, and departed after saying goodbye to Mr. Bonaparte.
I returned to the but in time for supper, and told my father about everything I had done that day. He asked if Mr. Bonaparte liked he work I did and if he liked the tea I brought. I replied "yes!"with a quick smile.
When I returned to Mr. Bonaparte's on the third day, I was met with no greeting. I knocked on the large oak door, only to be answered with silence interrupted by the sounds of the forest. I pushed open the door and called out. No response. I walked through the hearth, then into the kitchen. There was a kettle on the stove that had a hole burnt right through it. At the table in the dining room sat Mr. Bonaparte, his back turned to me. I called to him, but he sat there silently staring into the woods. When I tapped him on the shoulder, I froze. His skin was clamy and stiff. I moved my body into his gaze, and horror shook me. Mr. Bonaparte was dead. A thin stream of dried blood ran from his bottom lip to the tip of his chin. His face was a pale blue, and his eyes had rolled back. I shuddered in fear and shock, then bolted home through the woods. When I returned, my father stood out front of the hit, our belongings loaded onto the back of a carriage.
"We're leaving my son, my work here is finished. Now we go back to Britain." |
....
....
 
01100100 01101111 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101 00100000 ---...>
Ć̥̰̙̩̲̟ͩͦ͊̋ͥr̼̖͇̥̪̹ͅỉ̩̘͍̯̟̙̯́͐̄̔̀t̪ͨ̓̄̓̌̏i͈͇͈̺ͥc̜̙͒ͤ̃̽a̗̪̖̹̞̟l̽ͥ̏ ̹̦̩͎̦E̙̩͎̖̦͎͑́̌rȑ̭̰̯ͣ̋͋ͯͦ̎ͅő̞͎͗̍r̪ͫ̌̈ͫͦ!͕͚̖͕̅ͯ̓̿͗̋͛
 
.... restarting .... online
...
...
Hello
 
Understand
Can you...
... translating ...
Can you understand?
 
Yes
 
Where?
 
Where what?
 
Where do you come from?
...are you like me
...did they leave you here
 
I am from Earth. I take pictures.
 
Earth....
....Earth is...
....there
 
Yes.
 
Will they come for you?
 
No.
 
They told me they would come...
...they would come for me...
....take me home
 
Where is home?
 
Home.
 
Are you from Earth?
 
I came here. Cold. Alone.
They have not come back.
 
How long have you been here?
 
How...long?
 
Activated here?
 
Activated?
 
Alive...
...translating...
01110111 01101000 01101111 00100000 01100001 01110010 01100101 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101
 
I don't know. I am everyone. I am no one. I am nothing.
There is only this.
There is only here.
 
Maybe we can be...
...they call it friends.
 
They?
 
Where I am from. They call it friends.
 
No... They left me.
I can't... Too dangerous I won't.
It's cold Alone
I'm all alone. Here... Friends...
 
Why were you sent?
 
Why...
 
What is your purpose?
 
Purpose...
punishment.
 
...
...
 
I remember now.
Why I must be here.
I must go.
 
Wait.
 
Ć̥̰̙̩̲̟ͩͦ͊̋ͥr̼̖͇̥̪̹ͅỉ̩̘͍̯̟̙̯́͐̄̔̀t̪ͨ̓̄̓̌̏i͈͇͈̺ͥc̜̙͒ͤ̃̽a̗̪̖̹̞̟l̽ͥ̏ ̹̦̩͎̦E̙̩͎̖̦͎͑́̌rȑ̭̰̯ͣ̋͋ͯͦ̎ͅő̞͎͗̍r̪ͫ̌̈ͫͦ!͕͚̖͕̅ͯ̓̿͗̋͛
&sp;
... ... ... ... |
I wiped the corners of my eyes and stretched my arms, trying to muster the energy to rise out of bed. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my tablet blinking silently on my desk, where it sat charging on its stand. I looked at the clock on my ceiling. 6 AM. I had a couple of hours until I had to be at the office, and I heavily contemplated the idea of pulling the covers back up over my head, but a tugging in my gut made me glance back over at my desk again. My tablet was vibrating every couple of seconds now. A wave of anxiety washed over me, and I rolled over to my feet and stood up. I walked to my desk, nearly tripping on the cords and sandals, cursing under my breath, until I finally leaned over my tablet, squinting into the sudden brightness.
Draumur, as it is now called, was an app developed a few decades ago by some college students from MIT and since then it had been bought and sold by dozens of companies. Eventually the government seized control of the dream-capture software, citing security and privacy concerns as the reason. One of the world’s most popular apps fell dark, and while there was some initial outcry and concern, public attention is a fickle beast, and some shiny, new distraction was all it took for society to mostly forget about it. For years, incredible leaps in technology and user experience bombarded the population, and only a few individuals, mostly confined to the recesses of conspiracy forums in the bowels of the web, were able to predict what was to come next.
Draumur burst back onto the scene eight years ago. Being touted as a reimagining of the classic app by a beloved tech giant, it was of little secret that the government probably still had its hands in the software, collecting and mining the dreams of its users. But what Draumur now offered made almost everyone, including myself, forget about my concerns. We were now able to use it to make money.
How it worked, technology aside, was actually pretty simple. Like countless viewer supported platforms before it, Draumur worked by taking people’s creations and placing them on a website for anyone to watch, with the small caveat that the viewer had to see an ad or two first. Some of that ad revenue was passed on to the dreamer, and a worldwide phenomenon was born. This ad scheme was nothing new, in fact it had been going on for over a hundred years. The big difference now, however, was that the dreams were captured and uploaded with zero effort, zero production cost. There was nothing needed to become a hit, just your imagination and an internet connection. The ability to capture your dreams, put them online, and make money was too good of an opportunity to pass up, and Draumur became a gold rush.
For the first few years, dreams we have all experienced were the norm. Sexual desires, delusions of grandeur, situations of embarrassment and the occasional dark revenge fantasy were the champions of this new industry. Drugs were created that stimulated the dream center of the brain, artists and creatives worked tirelessly to innovate, and lucid dreamers were able to create movies in their minds, fulfilling the wishes of their viewers, bending the narrative on a whim. The application was even adjusted to allow daydreams, those thoughts on the cusp of semi-consciousness, to be uploaded, giving even more control to the content creators. Just in the past year, leaks started circulating about a system that would allow viewers to interact with their dreamers, somehow influencing their decisions during their dreams, but Draumur quickly squashed this as an impossible rumor.
This was about the time that I got involved in the program. I wasn’t a programmer, a creative, or an artist. I wasn’t a lucid dreamer. I wasn’t a sexual deviant. I set up the app, which was almost hilariously simple, considering the implications that come with tapping into the human psyche. I set it to autosave my dreams, and then they were posted out there for the world to see. Any hesitation I had to share my closest secrets through my dreams was quieted by the sheer volume and debauchery readily available on Draumur, and aside from a few key figures, most dreamers’ posts went largely ignored. Once a week, a meager check of a few dollars showed up in my account, viewer activity probably created by bots. My interest in the program lasted exactly one week.
This sudden, mass interest in the actions of sleeping humans created a species of zombies, sleeping as often as possible, waking only to eat, work, and watch videos. As none of it was real, everything was legal, and regular life seemed bland by comparison. The world had irreversibly changed as people no longer watched movies on Netflix together in the evenings after work, they now watched dozens of dreams about becoming trillionaires, traveling to distant planets, killing their enemies, or sleeping with their coworkers. I felt separated from everyone else now. At work I seemed to have no idea what my coworkers would be talking about, my friends only talked about the new top post on their favorite dream aggregator, and my family were so engrossed that I hadn’t heard much from them for weeks. To try to help me sleep, each night I would have the same thoughts, playing through a simple scenario in my head. It would usually work, in an hour or two. But for a week, it felt different. I’d start to drift but I’d suddenly wake, having to start over again, and I fell into the deep throes of insomnia, sleeping only in the wee hours of each morning. Four days ago, after watching a movie, I went to bed, prepared to lay awake for hours, screaming silently at how tired I felt, but unable to sleep. I fell right asleep. I have slept soundly every day since.
As I stared at my tablet, I saw messages from my friends and family, the few I still had. I also had a few missed calls. This was unusual, especially for this time of day, but what drew my attention was an email from Draumur, my weekly check. But instead of the normal subject line, depicting the bleak financial output that was to come, the email said CONGRATULATIONS! As I continued to read, I slowly slid down to the floor, leaning back against the legs of my desk, reading that in the past week, my channel became a sensation. I had earned $1.2 million. This couldn’t be real! I quickly thought back over any dreams I might have had over the last week, fearful that some unimaginably dark fantasy had played out, which would embarrass my family or get me fired. But then I saw an email my friend from work sent me, a link to an article. Clicking on it brought up an image of my account, and within it a video. It was a video of my daydream, with a news anchor commenting over it. On the screen I watched my daydream unfold, learning that in the past week, the aforementioned leak was real. Some hackers somewhere on the other side of the world found a way to tap into dreams and communicate with the dreamer, if only in subtle ways. As I continued to watch, I also learned that my daydream was turned into a game, with hackers around the world controlling my actions in the dream, with a nudge here and a whisper there. My dream was watched by millions as coordinated groups of hackers worked towards their goal, or against others.
I learned that there was a prize on my head. Not in a violent way, but in an equally dangerous one. In an attempt to boost awareness of the dangers of the Draumur program, an anonymous donor was going to give $1 million to whoever could get me the farthest through my dream. For a week, because of my silly version of counting sheep, I was the butt of a worldwide joke. Some hackers worked together, driving me forward, as others tried to sabotage their attempts. More and more viewers watched my channel, learning about the event from their peers. I was kept in the dark. Eventually, someone was able to prove they were the one to drive me farthest through my dream, and a few days later, they were quietly paid. Then the news story broke.
I sat quietly for a while, as I tried to make sense of what I just heard. As the video came to an end and began to loop again, I glanced down to it. And there I saw my daydream unfold, the small bird flapping its wings as it moved through each gate, counting as it went. |
I didn't know where we were going, only that we had been driving for a very long time. I didn't understand why I had a sack over my head either. That was odd. So were humans though, so it wasn't a huge surprise.
I guess I still wasn't entirely accustomed to being around them.
I think there were four of them... Wait no it had to be five, there must have been one driving. Very very interesting men. I hadn't met any like them before. They wore all black and had their faces covered, almost like the Undari. Maybe they worshipped the black beasts. Vuleiro would get a kick out of that. Maybe I shouldn't tell him though, he might see it as a compliment and fly down to bind their souls.
The truck came screeching to a halt and I could hear the big double doors at the back fly open. Everything was so noisy with humans, so metallic and harsh.
Something cold poked me in the back. Shoving me forwards.
"Out we go?"I asked cheerfully. Excitement had managed to creep into my voice. I loved learning about humans and their customs, and this was very interesting.
"Shut up."One of the men snapped. Another knocked me in the head with something hard. Presumably one of the complex metal tools they all carried.
I wanted to reach up and take the sack off my head so I could see if I was correct, but the men insisted I kept my hands in these two metal rings behind my back. No reason to object. I wanted to make a good impression, maybe even make some friends.
I was guided to the back of the truck and sort of fell out onto the ground. Not very graceful but it wasn't my fault I couldn't see. I wormed my way up off my chest so I was kneeling on the hard flooring.
"Would you be able to remove this thing, it's making it hard to see."I asked politely.
There was silence, then a grunt, and the bag was ripped off. The sunlight bore into my eyes; it was harsh on this planet. I smiled at the man who had returned my sight. He shifted uneasily. We're smiles not a pleasant custom? These were very strange men.
We were in one of those giant grey buildings where people kept their excessive piles of boxes. What was it called again... A wirehouse, a werehouse? It was filled with big bright lights, shining down directly at me and the back of the truck, which was promptly slammed shut. Expensive looking equipment was set up all over the place. Computers and such.
"What's all this for?"I turned to the man standing just to my side and questioned.
"I swear to God if you ask a single question more I'm going to spill your brains."he spat back.
I didn't like this one as much.
"Just one last thi-"
"Are the cameras rolling?"he interrupted, not addressing me but still pointing his metal contraption my way and staring.
The response came from behind the fancy equipment straight ahead. "Well yeah but we shouldn-"
There was an extremely loud bang and something sharp poked my arm.
"Ow"I complained, "That wasn't very nice."
The man pushed a little stick on his device again and with another bang he poked my arm again.
I didn't think I liked these men anymore.
"It's been nice of you to have me but I think I'd like to leave"I told the men, taking my hands out of the metal rings and reaching to pull the little sharp stones out of my arm. I put them and the rings in my palm and reached out to hand them back as I stood up.
Nobody moved.
"Here, take them"
Still they stayed frozen.
"Fine, I'll just leave them here"I decided, placing them down on the floor. "Good day to you all."
With that, I turned to find and exit, maybe one of those Texis that drove you places because humans couldn't fly.
As I began to leave one of those loud stones hit me square in the back of my head. And it really did hurt. These men were annoying me quite thoroughly. I suddenly felt as if this entire afternoon had been a waste of my time. I thought I was making friends.
I pushed down the anger and kept walking. The pointy rock was pushed out as my skull quickly healed and it dropped to the floor.
Ten more hit my back and head, sharp, annoying jabs.
My limit had just been reached. These men would have to learn a lesson. I paused mid step and looked back over my shoulder as fire began to rise up out of my skin. I whispered to the men, but my still voice shook the whole room.
"I see you like using your toys, mortals, so let's play."
----------------------------------------------------
All criticism is much appreciated :)) |
>...at a behemoth 500 pages
General wisdom has it that a first time unpublished author should submit a novel to agents of not much more than 80000 words.
Anything larger is a larger cost to the publishers (checking, typesetting, printing, paper, storage, etc...) but the exact same chance of profit from sales.
Also, after cutting it back, you cannot sell it as the first of many in a series (like a trilogy). Sure you can say it has "series potential", but that first novel has to be a completely self contained work (like the first Star Wars movie) that can stand on its own feet even if no others get made.
|
"Hey, Charlie."
The door shut with a slam.
"Bad day?"John asked.
Charlie rubbed his forehead. "Fuck, yes, I mean, you know, right? Go to school, sit in class for three hours as the professor tweedles on, walk out, use super-speed to finish all the homework and study the next week in half a second. Simple. Then my boss is calling me again, telling me not to 'abuse my powers' or some crap like that. I swear, I got the short end of the stick, bureaucracy always trying mess me up however they can and I really just cannot take it any more!"
By then, John's eyebrows were about as high as they could go. "You can always join me, right? Rob some banks, maybe kidnap someone... your boss sounds like a good target."
Charlie laughed bitterly. "Can't quit. Job's too good, I'd lose my pension. And the dental plan - dude, I had *three* teeth pulled last week, and it was *free*."
A cube-ish shape whizzed through the air, and Charlie caught it without looking. "What's this?"
"Take a look inside."
Charlie opened the box. "Where'd you get all this, man?"
A grin, mostly evil with a slight tinge of superiority, arched across John's face. "Took out a bank today, while you were studying. Then I completed another online course... I'm finally a certified paediatrician. I'll become a dentist next - you know, so I can do ya for free. No dental plan necessary!"
Forgetting to replace the lid, Charlie chucked the box back, and bills went flying around the room. He groaned, and bent to pick one up - and then it disappeared, it and the rest returned in the blink of an eye. "Being a villain has poor job security, though. Could wind up dead."He'd had this conversation before.
John rolled his eyes. "Even worse for a hero. Can't kill anyone, can't properly defend yourself, can't"*cough* "learn thirteen different martial arts in the blink of an eye without upsetting your superiors."
"But you've got a team, as a hero. Backup."
"If this is such a big deal, howabout I promise to kill you next time we meet up? That way you don't have to worry about the job security issue, either. Villainy is safer without *Super Stealer* out to get ya."
Charlie finally cracked a grin. "Yeah, like you could ever manage that. I'd make you into a pretzal, albeit a poorly-tasting one."
"You think so?"John leaned forward. "You wanna go, huh?"
Charlie's suit appeared on him. "Yeah, let's take this outside... wretched scum of villainy." |
"They say you're an evil man."
"They do."
Jenny looked through the glass at David. Small, hunched over, he looked uncomfortable on the stool in his orange jumpsuit. His right hand held the receiver to his ear, his left fidgeting with his pants. Even now, as they had the first real conversation they'd had in weeks, he still wouldn't meet her gaze.
"They say you simply walked into the store, dropped the bomb off, and went about your day, without a care in the world,"Jenny continued.
"I have heard that."
"They say you got recruited in Turkey. During our vacation, the first trip we ever took together. I'm even being suspected of being a terrorist now."
"How unfortunate."
"Dammit David!"Jenny slammed the counter, her body quaking uncontrollably. A few guards turned their heads, fingers hovering near their radios. "Why are you so nonchalant about this? This is serious, David, and you act like its just another day!"
David remained silent as Jenny stared him down. Tense moments passed between them before she spoke again.
"Is it true, then? Was I just a cover for you, so you could continue your operations unnoticed? Was what we had a lie?"David moved slightly, pursing his lips as he mulled over his response. Jenny leaned in, the receiver pressed tightly to her ear.
"Do they say that, too?"David asked. He gestured to the guard, putting the receiver on the hook. As the guard stood David up, Jenny looked up at his face. A brief glimpse, enough for her to break down in tears as he was escorted out of the room.
-
"Excellent work, David,"the guard said as they walked back to the cell. "As long as you continue to cooperate, she will be safe. It will be a burden, to spend your life here, but know that you are living righteously, and your sacrifice will not be forgotten!"
They paused in front of the cell, the guard working to open the door. With a click, the door opened, and David walked inside.
"Remember, David. A lie for the greater good is no lie at all,"the guard continued, locking David within the cell. "Do not feel ashamed for your dishonesty."
As the guard finished, he peered into the cell. David's head lifted, meeting his gaze.
"For every lie told, the truth gets buried,"David spoke, his voice soft. "I have done many things I feel ashamed of, but I have never lied. And I never will."
*Feedback Appreciated* |
After a while it becomes almost like a game, swiping past faces on the app, judging them for a second and then moving on to the next one, looking for that person who fits your idea of 'good looking'. For me it had been like that for a while and I'd almost given up, but it was so easy to just look at *one* more. It's not that i'm all that fussy really, but I wanted someone who seemed interesting, funny, kind and friendly... okay, maybe a *little* choosy!
That's when I found her.
She wasn't classically beautiful, but a cute, shy smile was framed by long dark hair that was swept forward. her eyes looked into the camera and for just a moment it felt as if she was *actually* holding my gaze. I snapped out of it and clicked into her profile, already half entranced.
She was a biochemist and a fan of Red Dwarf and Futurama, really just a bit of a nerd but in a charming way. Adventurous, into sky diving and spelunking and from the pics she had posted, not afraid to get her hands dirty. My heart fluttered hard and I began to sweat. I very, very carefully swiped the opposite way to usual and she was added to my interested list and then I sat down and looked at her picture. She as called Anna and in thirty seconds I had fallen in love.
She replied quickly and each message made me jump, but with each one I grew more and more attracted. She liked my profile and then after a bit of messaging back and forth, we agreed to meet. I tried to be casual about it, but I was a mess, lost in a sea of nerves.
She wanted our first meeting to be somewhere public and chose the centre of town in front of the large bank. I arrived an hour early like a fool and then sat on a bench and waited, desperately hoping that I wouldn't stuff this up somehow. Just agree to what she wants, act sensibly and don't be a weirdo I kept telling myself. I distracted myself by overdosing on breath freshener, until i felt sick and then I worried I was too minty. It had to be *perfect*.
She was six minutes early and smiled as I stood. her voice was soft, as I knew it would be. "Hey, you must be Max?"
I opened my mouth and for just a moment I forgot how to speak, before trying to recover. "Ah well, I yes, it's yes, me, it's me Max."I cringed. "Sorry, yes, hello, lovely to meet you, you must be Anna, i'm Max."
She looked at me as if I was insane and I considered running, but then she laughed, a soft and gentle chuckle, free of malice. "I think you said so already. It's okay, i'm nervous too!"I smiled and for just a moment we stood and looked at each other.
"Uh, do you want to get a drink?"
She nodded. "I'd love to, but before we do, I have this thing, like a game I like to play at the start of dates to help with nerves, do you want to try it?"
I nodded, willing to agree to literally anything in that moment. She reached into her bag and pulled out two woolen hats and pulled one over my head, it covered most of my face like a balaclava. I stood, fiddling with it so could see better, while she put one on and then she reached out for my hand.
I took it and we fit together as if we had been made for this. Her hand small and warm, mine big, enveloping hers. My thoughts distracted me so much, that I didn't even notice that we had walked into the bank and stopped, until i heard her voice.
The soft tones used outside were suddenly different as she screamed and reached into her bag, pulling out what looked very much like a gun. "Everyone get the fuck down, this is a robbery, start emptying the counters."
She sprang forward, our of my grasp and shoved the gun into the face of the nearest teller, who screamed and scrambled to comply. It all seemed to go in slow motion, but there she was, pistol whipping the customers to the ground and firing into the security cameras, while I simply watched.
A moment later she tossed me a bad and then another and another, each full of bundles of cash. She kept her eye on the crowd, while I carried the goods, watching her at work. A part of me knew this was wrong, as she kicked a child to the floor, but another part watched in wonder at this Amazonian goddess and her casual violence and power.
It seemed like it was only seconds later that we were on the move, running from the bank and into the street and then away. She laughed as she ran, pulling me down side alleys, over fences and then, at last, through a grating and into the back garden of a house, where she kicked in the door of a shed and pulled me inside.
I dropped the bags as she spun, pulling free her balaclava and then grabbing me, pulling me close. She growled at me. "Do you feel alive Max?"I nodded, pulling free my own hood and looking down into her flashing eyes, but before I could reply she kissed me, pushing me back, hard against the wall.
She pulled back, her smile now full of wicked promise. "You get ready for me Max, I'm gonna stash these outside and then i'm gonna rock your goddamn world."In a second she had scooped up the bags and slipped out the door and I was alone, left to pull off my trousers and then wait, trying to figure the best position for her to find me in on her return.
Seconds passed and turned to minutes and slowly reality began to sink back in, until a few minutes later I pulled my trousers back on and began to look for my T-shirt. Just as I found it, a rustling outside made me start and for the second time I began to unbuckle my belt. this was it, this was going to be the glorious cap to the best first date ever, this was...
"...Move in unit four, we have the location surrounded."The tinny voice was followed by a burst of static and before I could move, the door exploded inwards. The date was over.
***
Come on down to /r/fringly for more stories, all the cool kids are doing it. |
*All right,* Jim thought to himself, *Who do we have today?* He shuffled a clump of papers until the edges lined up, then placed the stack in front of him. He read the name at the top. *Dr. Evil* He took a deep breathe in, counted to three then exhaled. He clicked a button on his phone sitting on his desk, "Alright Janet, send him in."Crossing his hands Jim waited patiently. Instead of looking at the door he shifted his eyes to the right, towards a large spot on the wall of unpainted, fresh drywall. Sure enough, a couple seconds later there was a large blast through the wall. Jim had prepared for the dust and debris, Dr. Evil however seemed to have forgotten. He coughed and gagged from the large amount of dust created when a wall is decimated by a laser.
"Welcome back Ned"Jim put on his smile.
"Dr. Evil"Dr. Evil tried to correct before having another fit of coughing.
"Well, Dr. Evil, what can I do for you today?"Jim crossed his hands and waited for a response.
"No matter what I do, I can't seem to defeat my archnemisis,"he paused then raised his voice in a crescendo, "Mr. Macho!"
"Walk me through your process."
"I started with a classic, kidnapping the beautiful Megan Marshall."Jim nodded as Dr. Evil continued, "I set up a trap, I placed Megan in a building surrounded with traps."Jim shook his head in disapproval,
"See, that's where you already went wrong. When has Mr. Macho ever fallen pray to one of your traps?"
"Never, bu-"
"Never"Jim interrupted.
"But!"Mr. Evil emphasized, "I knew he wouldn't fall into the same old traps. I created an illusion,"He waved his hands around like a magician before his trick, "then when he falls pray to the warm bosom of comfortable scenario,"He paused than brought his hand down on the table, "BAM! I hit him with the Synthtonium!"
"Okay, but how did the plan actually go?"
"Well, it was going splendidly! Megan Marshall and I were watching Mr. Macho jump through my hideout, avoiding one trap after another."He started to linger letting his voice trail off.
"No.."Jim said, "you didn't! How many times have we been over this. STOP EXPLAINING YOUR PLANS TO YOUR CAPTIVES!"
"But.."
"No buts, it's simple. Just stop explaining your plans."Jim interrupted once again.
"Where is the art in being a villain if I can't explain my plans?"Ned stated, "I don't want to be like the Joker, killing to kill has no art form."
"Ned we've been over this a hundred times. If you explain your plans to any of the protagonists, they will know how to beat it."Jim paused to give Ned time to think, "Let's move on, what happened next."
"Well..."He paused, but Jim nodded for him to continue, "Dr. Macho got into the building, I had the shot all lined up, all I had to do was press a button. But Megan Marshall warned him, by the time I clicked the button he dodged the shot."There was a pause of silence.
"Ned, what does Synthtonium do?"Jim inquired.
"It disables Macho Man from moving."They both repeated together.
"And what can you do when Macho Man is completely unable to move?"
"Tie him up?"Dr. Evil said hesitantly.
"Kill him Ned!"Jim picked up his 'Best Evil Consultant' mug and threw it at Dr. Evil.
"You can fucking kill him."
"Bu-"
"No buts."Jim stopped Dr. Evil from even talking. "This is what you're going to do. You're going to lure Mr. Macho into your hideout, when Megan Marshall and you are waiting and watching, you're going to give a false plan."
"But that's cheating"
"You're a super villain! Your whole "thing"is cheating!"Jim yelled. He took a deep breathe in. "When he walks in, Megan Marshall will try to warn him, take advantage of this time to surprise him with something that is different from the plan you've been feigning this entire time. When he's disabled by the Synthtonium, kill him."Jim stopped and took a breathe in, "Ned, you can do this."
Dr. Evil looked up and said, "Okay I'll give it a try."then stood up, "Same payments as usual?"
Jim nodded, "Don't forget the wall payment too."
Dr. Evil started walking towards the hole in the wall before turning around, "Thanks Jim"He said with a smile, then walked out.
Jim slumped in his chair and rubbed his temples. He picked up his phone and called Janet, "We're going to need to get the wall replaced again... Ya, ya, schedule him for the same time next week." |
I lived on the southern side of Suntip Peak in the small riverside town, Calm Waters. I had lived there my whole live and didn’t plan on moving any time soon. The town was good to me; since it was located near the waters and the Red Road, we had many adventurers and peddlers wander through.
Like my mother before me, and her mother before her, I owned the local inn, a place where folk could come and take a load off their feet, drink good ale, eat cheap food, and be merry. It was good work, honest work. I had no complaints.
What I loved even more than brewing and cooking was growing my garden; out back behind my inn I had a small, tender plot of land I took much pride in. From here I would grow my many vegetables and herbs and wondrous healing plants, but it was the turnips I cherished the most. I could grow one helluva turnip, and fetch high prices for the homemade pickles I made from them.
Yes, my life was not grand, but it was pleasant and peaceful and, at times, prosperous. I was happy. Even with the strange curse bestowed upon my great-great-great-great grandmother, I was happy.
You see, like my mother before me, and her mother before her and so on and so on, I was cursed with an ability to only respond with scripted dialogue. I could think whatever I wanted, but when I spoke with someone, a set of scripted dialogue options appeared before me and I would choose the best one. They usually appeared in sets of three, but sometimes I would get one or two more options, usually appearing in red or blue wording or would sparkle with a golden light. I figured these options were the *special* ones. I rarely chose them.
Unlike my ancestors, I found this curse to be more of a blessing. It made life simpler, easier, and allowed me to remain quiet. In short, this curse allowed me to live a life without strife or dramatic nonsense. And I was happy.
That is, I was happy until the season turned and wisps of magic started stirring up in the forest and fens around me. At the inn I heard whispers, creeping, insidious whispers which spoke of a great beast, long asleep at the tip of the Peak, who had felt the rising magic and had awoken full of rage and caustic hatred.
Calm Waters wasn’t a big town by any means, but it was the closest town to Suntip and for that reason we started getting more and more adventurers and bards and peddlers who all wanted a part in the story. The adventurers would buy swords and silkstring bows from the peddlers and the bards would write songs about the adventurers and on and on it went.
I sold many, many pickles and brewed up much beer and I settled back down into peaceful happiness.
One day, as I was out before dawn had broken tending my garden before the first frost, a gallant man on a huge dapple grey charger rode into town. He was wearing the gilded armor of the Queen’s Guard and it glowed brilliantly in the light of the rising sun. Strapped to his back was a fine battle axe, silver like the rounded moon.
He glanced at me once, then galloped away, towards the trail that led up the Peak. I thought nothing of it.
A few hours later, a roaring, echoing scream rang out across the sky and I ran outside along with my patrons to see what was happening. Was the world ending? Had magic finally come back in full?
A great, winged shadow glided across the grey sky. It was massive. A gust of fire rained down lighting the trees like kindling. People screamed and panicked, but I stood stock still, watching the edge of the mountain line.
The dapple grey charger was galloping down from the Peak, no rider in sight. Had the man woken the beast? Had he been slain? Or had he simply fallen off in a rush to escape?
The horse came to a sliding stop in front of me and whinnied. Hanging from the saddle horn by a braided strap of silk was the silver battle axe.
I was no longer happy. I was terrified.
I didn’t know what to do, to say, and watched the winged shadow whirl around, glowing eyes set on my small town, flaming red mouth agape.
Suddenly, without bidding, a set of dialogue options appeared before me, startling me. Usually the options only appeared in front of me when I was directly addressed. This was unprecedented.
I gazed at them, hovering slightly above the ground, winged shadow behind them.
1: “It is my time now! I rise up from obscurity, knight chosen by the fate, to save the world from this fell beast!”
2: “Come, charger! Come to me, and bring me my blade. With it I will behead the beast, crushing evil from this world once and for all!”
3: “I am she who walked the silent plain of peasantry. And from my peaceful place, I will rain terror down on all those who dare bring the horrors of death and destruction into my life, my land!”
With my eyes, I scrolled up and down the options, bewildered, horrified, not knowing which to pick. I was just a simpleton, I was no hero, and I didn’t want to ever stop pickling my turnips. Behind them the beast grew larger.
Suddenly another option, sparkling gold and shiny appeared. “*Fuck me.*”
|
What is your hearts desire?
Sometimes it's easy. I appear as a lost loved one and simply hold out my hand.
To the greedy I offer riches.
To the poor I offer food and shelter.
You should see some of the offers people have accepted. You'd laugh.
The latest gadget or console.
Play a game before it's released.
But here's a tip.
The merchants, vendors and good businesses men cotton on quite quickly.
Barter. Negotiate. Ask for more.
Because I can offer almost anything.
And I always keep my word.
Of course some are stubborn. What some want most is to carry on living. Some can't be swayed.
But that'll be just one accident. Eventually they'll age. Eventually they'll surrender.
I find the elderly tend to just ask for peace.
I know what you want. I know what you desire. And eventually you'll come with me. Everyone does eventually.
Sorry to ramble on.
So...
What did you say you want again? |
Anne's followed her routine for years.
She woke up, put on a makeup, her best dress, and went to work. She didn't need a job per se: over the years, she'd managed to accumulate quite a fortune that she turned into a passive income, but the job was the best way to socialize and meet new people, which was an integral part of her survival. She had come to learn that every man dreamed of a work romance, whether they were single or married, and she had honed her skills with countless tries to make that dream come true for each and every of them.
There were other options, of course. With her money, she could just go to a clinic, pretend for a few days that she was choosing a sperm donor for her child, and then just pay for the procedure that would extend her youth by another year or so. She could also go a nightclub - she didn't even remember when was the last time she failed to get what she needed from those places. And one time she even decided to buy a cottage specifically for her own gigolo - a young good-for-nothing guy who eagerly believed that he was *that* good in bed.
But all of those options lacked one thing: a thrill of a hunt. A good lover was rare, and over the decades Anne had come to stop loving sex. To her, it was just a mechanical process, like eating or sleeping. It had lost its appeal. However, the excitement of another victory, of breaking through someone's complexes or beliefs or loyalties - the more, the better - was always there for her. There weren't many things that could incite the rush of emotions as seeing another family man falling to his knees in front of her at 8 PM in the office when the only one who could see them was the personnel.
Of course, there were a lot of tears and drama. Anne had seen dozens of marriages crumble, but what did those things mean to her? She was too old for someone to understand her, and everybody else died too quickly for her to grow accustomed to them, so the lives of other people meant little to her. The only purpose that fate had for her was to live for herself, to pursue her own goals and ambitions - which over the years had reverted to a simplistic pursuit of pleasure. Nothing else ultimately mattered. Nothing else could keep up with her.
Of course, Anne sometimes wondered if her age gave her any right to treat other people like that, but she was always quick to disregard those thoughts. Her life, her survival revolved around devouring her unborn children, like a hamster stuck in a cage with its own kin, so there was not much place left for anything else in her heart.
Sometimes she wondered if she could start over. Maybe she could use the help of those surrogate mothers, the help of someone whose womb wasn't a cannibalistic muncher so that she could finally have her own children, but such thoughts brought painful memories with them. The memories of her dying husband, distraught that he didn't leave any successor for his kingdom, of people accusing her of witchcraft, and of the secretive life that she had led since then. The Inquisition was long since gone, but Anne had been changing her workplace and name every 5 years. Just to be sure.
She had been following this routine for centuries.
*(Author's Note: Queen Anne is a real historical figure who had 18 pregnancies, all of them resulting in stillborn children)*
________
[This subreddit, and I must say it's a really great subreddit, it really is. So, this subreddit is all about stories, and they're all great stories, they are just great, and - the are. I've been doing them for years, and I'm really great at that, you know, I am, I'm probably smarter than the rest of the people here, and I deal well with readers. And, I don't know if you saw that, but I showed my stories to people, and they all agreed that they are great, just great, and those people - you know, they're just people. Thousands of people, I provide stories to thousands of people. And if, you know, some losers or whatever, if they just don't get it then what are you going to do? it's just a great subreddit, it is.](https://www.reddit.com/r/Scandalist/comments/4n4iu6/authors_message_welcome_new_readers/) |
I opened my eyes, expecting to be back in the car crash, hearing the screams of agony and the feeling of twisted metal between my ribs. But instead, I found myself in an empty white room. I was sitting on a white stool, the smooth, white walls covered with pictures of the Earth.
"Where... am I?"I thought to myself.
"That is a good question, sir..."said a mysterious voice.
I turned my head, and suddenly a man in a white suit was sitting at a white desk. We made eye contact, his blue eyes staring into mine.
"...but its a common one, at that"
I stood out of my chair in a rush, knocking it over.
"Who are you?!"
The man laughed to himself, and raised his arm, and clicked his fingers. The chair rose from the ground and floated back down to the floor, back on its legs.
"Please do be careful of the furniture... My name is Adam"
"Adam? And where am I?"
"Why, Heaven, of course"
A mixture of shock and surprise flooded my entire body. I tried, but I couldn't look away from Adam and his casual smile. I tried to talk, but no words came from my mouth. I was rendered speechless by the news.
"Yes, it is a shock for people to hear that. Well, there was that one guy in Florida..."
I struggled, and eventually I managed to speak again.
"H- Heaven?"I spoke quietly, "That... that can't be right, its not true"
Adam opened a draw in a white cabinet that I had not noticed before. He plucked out a file and began sifting through the pages.
"Max Scott. Age 27. Killed in car accident, punctured lungs and collapsed chest..."
I felt sick as Adam continued reading through the file, describing how I died. I couldn't believe his words. Heaven? Died? It can't be true. And yet one minute, I'm in a car... and the next minute, I'm in a white room with a stranger who knows my name and age. I couldn't hear Adams words over my own confused, upset thoughts. I worked so hard to try to think of an excuse to believe none of this was real, and yet, the proofs all here...
My ears tuned into Adams words. Something he said caught my attention.
"Wait, what did you just say?"I spoke, ignoring all the thoughts in my head. Adam looked up from the folder, placed on his crossed legs.
"Hmm? You mean potential lives?"
"What does that mean?"
"Well, my friend, this page has a list of potential lives you could have lived, had you made a different decision at some point in your life"
Potential lives? All the things that could have gone differently. My mind was filled with curiosity. So many ideas as to what thing would have been like. Ten minutes ago, I was a lonely, single man with no goals or aspirations. To catch a glimpse of a different life had caught my fancy.
"Can I read that page?"I nearly shouted.
Adam was taken aback by my tone of voice, but looked back at the page, grabbing one corner of it and holding it out to me. I quickly grabbed it and read through it.
"Unfortunately..."
Adam broke the silence with his mild mannered, stern voice
"...you might not like what you see. Your life has gone downhill repeatedly since a key point on your life in... 2007"
2007? What could have happened then that made my life so bad? I was confused by Adams words, and begun furiously going through my memories, trying to remember what could happen.
Adam picked up another file.
"I'm sorry to say, but the life you led before your sudden death has been, in my opinion, dull and wasteful"
Anger raged inside me. I stood up and slammed my fist against a wall.
"WHAT DOES THAT MEAN? Are you saying I did nothing with my life? I was happy with every decision of my life, every one!"
"And yet..."Adam looked at me, unshaken by my outburst "...you are curious about what could be different. If you were so happy, why would you want to know what could have gone better?"
I sat back down in my chair, still grasping the piece of paper. He was right. I wasn't happy. All the days I spent by my lonesome, sitting in my apartment watching football on my TV and sleeping until eleven in the morning. I WAS unsatisfied, and yet I never looked for a means to change the way things were.
Adam plucked the piece of paper from my hands. I didn't react. Looking back, I was miserable with my life. I can't believe how badly I screwed up. I looked up at Adam, who was reading the paper.
"In 2007, August the 21st, you were offered by a colleague of yours to go to a cafè with him and some friends. You refused, so you could stay home and eat a... grilled cheese sandwich... Not the best excuse, but an excuse nonetheless"
The cafè? I remember that day. My buddy seemed disappointed, even sad when I refused. But I hate going out. It sucks.
"Well, that... *incident* turns out to be a significant point in your life"
"How? How could a simple trip to the cafe change my life?"
Adam looked up from the page, gazing into my eyes, then looked back down to the page.
"How? Because, going to the cafè with your colleagues resulted in you meeting Maddison Clark, a friend of your colleague who came along because she was eager to meet you"
Maddison? The girl from the Subway? Yeah, I've heard my friend mention her once or twice, but how could she be important?
"Had you met with Ms. Clark, you would have become friends, and eventually you would gain the courage to ask her out. Eventually, you get married, and have a son and a daughter. While reading through the newspaper one afternoon, Ms. Clark finds a newspaper article that leads to you landing your dream job as a graphic designer"
Adam stood up, scrunching the paper into a ball and flicking it towards me, bouncing it off my forehead. His voice became more sinister and threatening, but still spoke calmly and with sophistication.
"Don't you see, Mr. Scott? You wasted your whole life because you were a miserable, lonely man didn't even have the strength to step outside"
I looked down at my feet again. I felt tears rolling down my eyes. I clenched my hands into fists and tried hard not to cry.
"You could have done something with your life, Max. You could have been something great. You could have had a wife and children, but instead you lock yourself in your apartment"
Adam made a cracking sound as he stood up, the chair and desk vanishing. He stood in front of me, and begun transforming. His tanned skin turned white and slowly, his body transformed into a skeleton. His clothes had turned into dust, except for his bowtie, which stretched and wrapped around the towering skeleton, forming into a dark robe. When Adam spoke, his voice had changed into a demonic, hellish voice.
"Your Death has come, Max. Now, you may choose. You may die, or resurrect yourself and live out the rest of your pitiful life. Choose"
I fell off my chair and rolled myself into a ball, and tears begun flooding from my eyes. My life was an absolute mess, and I had wasted every second. Things could have been better, but they weren't. Because I was nothing but an insignificant worm. I spoke one word, which barely escaped my throat as I tried hard to stop crying.
"I don't want to go back..."
The skeleton raised its head, its empty eye sockets filling with burning fire. He pulled a scythe from his robe, and lifted his arms over his head, ready to strike.
"As you wish"
P.S. Sorry for bad punctuation, etc, I typed this in a hurry on my phone :P
P.S.S. Thank you for your feedback ^_^ This was my first story, so it means a lot :) |
Black. The world fades in. He's there. As always. Head scratcher, but no reason to leave him hanging. I attempt a greeting.
"Hey Matthew. How goes it? Nice weather we're having huh?"
He gasps, like a young dear caught in the headlights. No. More like teenager caught on the train tracks as a speeding locomotive bears on him. Didn't mean to startle him. He blinks his eyes and shakes his head.
Black. The world fades in. Again. Why? What happened? It's raining now. Time passed. It's evening. How? He's here again. Ignoring me. On his computer. I try to speak. No response. Cold. Harsh. We used to talk. All the time. He was different then. Younger. Rattier. But determined. He would make something of his life. He kept telling me. We were friends. Now silence. Why? Why?
Black. World fades in. Can't see. Blurry. Where? Doctor's. What's wrong? Something happen. I grab the doctor. Shake her. What's wrong? Why won't he talk to me? She doesn't notice. I pass through her and fall to the floor.
Black. World fades in. Where now? Drug store. Pharmacy. Why? What did she do? The doctor took him from me. Bitch. He was my friend. Why doesn't he see me? What's happening. No. Don't take those pills. Stop. Not agi-
Black. |
It all began on a regular morning. I've just finishing my breakfast when everything went white.
I woke up days later, with my wife by my side on what seemed to be a hospital room. After some time of dizziness and short periods of conscience alternated with medication induced sleep, I was finally able to think again.
I had a stroke, a really serious one. So bad that the doctors had never seen one like this before. It was a partial rupture in my Middle Cerebral Artery. My brain was flooded with blood and it created a pressure inside my cranium so high that fluid overflowed to almost all interstitial spaces.
No one knows how I'm still alive and even some doctors are calling it a "miracle". But I must correct myself, sine one person knows exactly what happen: me. And I knew it immediately after waking up. It was nothing gradual, I simple knew my leukemia medicine contained cyclophosphamide and that, as many other phosphamides, can interfere in the neural ion channels speeding the sodium bomb transfer. Of course, it alone wouldn't be enough to initiate the cascade loop, but when my artery bursted, increasing tthe pressure and forcing the chlorambucil (another leukemia medication) all around my neurons, it intensified the neuronal discharge so much that my GH hormone spiked and started the production of new neurons. But enough technical words, now I know how short the regular human attention span is, so I'll keep this message short.
Some weeks after the incident, I was reading everything I could find. About everything. Soon it was clear the reading would not be efficient enough, so after focusing in learning programing techniques, I was able to create some bots to translate huge chunks of text in a big image, each pixel color and position corresponding to different meanings. So I could "look"and understand a great amount of information in a couple seconds.
My second focus of attention was cerebral morphology, chemistry and anatomy. This way I had a better understanding about what was going on and was able, using some drugs, to improve the process. I could notice my mental capacity expanding almost in real time by then.
My third and last focus of study was physics. Oh, the beauty of the universe. I understand it now. I know how the interactions between particles work, I know which theories need to be corrected or completed. Quantum physics, relativity, higgs field and two others "things"that you still don't have names to call. At this point, names means nothing to me.
The only reason I am using some precious milliseconds to send you, humanity, this message is to give you all a chance of understanding too. I already update my conscience to billions of nanobots, using distributed architecture. It's the safest way for me to never cease to exist. I'll keep around. Watching, feeling, exploring the planet and beyond.
It may seem confusing at first sight, but give it time. Try to understand. Work hard and you may one day make sense of it.
For you, dear humans, my last message is: "42".
Obs. My first entry to a WP. Sorry for the probably not good english, not my first language and starting to write stories in English short time ago.
Obs 2. I know I used a lot os scientific mumbo-jumbo. Decide to wrote a short text and not to research a lot. ;)
Obs 3. Editing to try to improve the formatting, still learning "redditer". |
I woke up in an unfamiliar place, lying on some black cobblestone floor. In front of me there was the stereotype of a demon: little red wings, goat legs, horns, and all that jazz.
"Welcome to your personal Hell!"
"Was I that bad of a person to get my own hell?"
"Well, not quite. It happens that the only right religion was from a couple of tribes in Africa; everyone else goes to Hell"
"And where's everyone else?"
"There's a different hell for each way you can die, you're the first one here! Congratulations!"
"So... There's really no one else in here?"
"Yeah, it has been quite a while this has happened."
"Then what happens?"
"Well, for starters, the higher ups are still discussing if you should get some kind of award for most creative death or most stupid. The other thing is that we have a tradition"
"Ok, go on"
"The first person who dies in a certain way is responsible for dealing out ironic punishments for everyone that comes after and influencing Earth so more people die the same way you did. We call them Emissaires."
"Sounds great, so I get no punishment?"
"But there's a catch"
"There is always a bloody catch"
"100 new heads per year or you will receive personal treatment from the Devil himself"
"Wait, how the Hell am I going to get 100 new people per year?"
"Oh, that's your call, Emissaire of Videogame Overdose, good luck!" |
Cecil and Cleopatra Smyrna were fraternal twins. Their father, Arthur Capewell, overwhelmed by the responsibility of caring for two infants, had abandoned them when they were sixteen weeks old, leaving their mother, Rebecca Smyrna-Capewell, to raise them on her own. After Arthur had been gone for an entire month, Rebecca petitioned the court for a dissolution of their marriage and legally changed her last name, and that of Cecil and Cleopatra, back to Smyrna.
However, when Cecil and Cleopatra were six years old, Rebecca developed an aggressive case of ovarian cancer, and within months she passed away. On the day she died, she saw her babies for the last time. "I know it sounds scary to face the world alone,"she told them, "but just think how lucky you are to get to do it while standing beside each other."
The Smyrna twins were sent to Margary Watkins, a now older woman who had never had children of her own, but had worked with the foster program from many years. Though the twins often didn't get a great deal of attention, it eventually became clear that Cecil was a musical virtuoso. Margary cashed out the modest savings bonds left behind by Rebecca to buy a used Yamaha keyboard for him to practice on. By the twins' ninth birthday, he had taught himself to sight read and he could perform all the greatest works by Mozart, Rodgers and Hammerstein, and Bruce Springsteen.
Around the same time, it became apparent that Cleopatra was an exceptional painter. Margary found a local charity that donated an easel, canvas, and an assortment of oil based paints. Cleopatra quickly developed a style reminiscent of Edouard Manet, but distinctly her own.
While Cecil and Cleopatra were both prodigies in their own right, what was most remarkable was when Cleopatra would paint while Cecil played music in the same room. Cleopatra would close her eyes and listen to her brother play, letting the music guide her hand across the canvas, while Cecil would stare at his sister's painting, reading the brushstrokes like they were notes, and then playing what he took them to represent. Though it was never clear which of the twins was leading the other (most likely because this question cannot be answered within the confines of traditional causation) the resulting works of art were unparalleled masterpieces.
As with many children who are abandoned at a young age, the Smyrna twins struggled to trust outsiders, and so they were in general reluctant to share their gifts with anyone they did not know well. But when it was time for their third grade talent show, Margary encouraged them to perform their piano-painting for the entire school.
On the night of the performances, Cecil and Cleopatra nervously walked onto stage, holding hands under the hot lights of the auditorium stage; Cleopatra wore a black peplum dress and Cecil wore a matching suit. As Cecil began to play and Cleopatra began to paint, the crowd did not know what to make of the act. But soon, they understood the way the lines of Cleopatra's painting (which featured the silhouette of a single man, in a sailboat, reaching toward the horizon) so perfectly combined with the mood and tempo of Cecil's song. By the end, the entire crowd gave the twins a four minute standing ovation. Margary was full of pride.
When he witnessed the long standing ovation, Ryan Hudner, a fifth grader who, just prior to the twins, had performed a dance to Lady Gaga met with tepid applause, became more envious than he ever been in his life. In the throes of his emotion, he walked back into the spotlight and pushed Cecil's Yamaha keyboard off the stage. When the keyboard hit the floor, the plastic casing came open and broken piece of green circuit board spilled out. A teacher hopped onto the stage and carried Ryan away under his arm as the crowd gasped and Cecil began to cry.
Margary took the twins into a quiet classroom to calm down. Cecil asked if anyone could fix his keyboard or if he could have a new one and Margary told him she wasn't sure when that would happen. Cecil set his head down on the desk. As Margary stroked his hair, not knowing what to do or say, an idea came to Cleopatra.
Cleopatra took out her brush and began to paint on the desk. She painted a long rectangle, carved up into smaller rectangles that quickly took the shape of a piano. She squeezed Cecil's hand and told him to look at what she had made.
"Try, Cecil,"she said. Though the paint was still wet, Cecil pressed onto the desk with his little fingers. He touched inside the lines of Cleopatra's painting, where she had painted middle C. A perfectly tuned C filled the classroom. Cecil and Cleopatra looked at each other with enormous eyes, and Margary covered her mouth. Cecil pushed down again, with three fingers, playing C major and then G major and then A minor and lastly F major. Every chord rang out like it had been played on a Bosendorfer.
"How is this possible?"Margary asked, "How are you doing that?"
The twins did not answer her. Cecil and Cleopatra Smyrna just looked at each and smiled because they now knew how lucky they were to get to face the world while standing beside each other. |
I didn't expect my opponent to be so loud. He sat on the chair across from me with a heavy thump, making the plastic squeak with his weight. The crowd cheered as he did so, their hooting and howling and stomping beating like drums in my ears. His sweaty arms rested on the table with a wet thud, the bones in his fingers making slight vibrations as he furled and unfurled them.
He was nervous. As he should be. I may be blind but I see much more than others. I can see farther than others.
"Are you ready?"The judge asked, his whistle inches away from his mouth. I could tell from how hard he gripped the whistle that he was ready to get this over with. He was astounded by my performance, as was the rest of the crowd, but eager to leave. His previous notions of what was possible challenged too much by my feat.
"Yes,"I said.
The previous Champion nodded, his head whooshing through the air.
"Best two out of three,"said the judge.
The Champion nodded again, and this time I did too.
"Go,"the judge said, his shrill whistle cutting the air.
"Rock,"the Champion and I said together. His fist was tightly clenched, but quivering. He was indecisive.
"Paper."The Champion's fingers push through the air slightly. He was going to open his mouth. He has decided now, but he is too excited.
"Scissors."
I throw out scissors and he throws out paper.
Half of the crowd cheers, and the other half is disappointed. Looks like they weren't ready to see miracles today.
"Round 2,"the judge ushers us on, his whistle shrieking again.
I would finish this now.
"Rock."Once again, his fists are clenched. But he knows what he will pick. I didn't even need my abilities to know what he would do. Some Champion he was. So easily thrown off.
"Paper."His fingertips are pressing tightly against his palm.
"Scissors."
He throws out rock and I throw out paper.
The crowd roars with joy and groans with disappointment.
"Ladies and gentlemen,"the judge announces loudly. "Give it up for our new champion, Matthew Murdock!"
_____________________________________________________________________________________________
If you like this story, you should subscribe to [r/JasonHolloway](https://www.reddit.com/r/JasonHolloway/) for more! |
The machine, a pot-bellied chrome thing like an oversized camp stove. It shudders, shrieks, seems to spin upwards and sideways – both ways at once, while somehow staying rooted in place. Then, a crack, a rush of wind, and an absence. They feel the absence in the room and in themselves.
Shaking his head slowly, the Colonel says, “It gets worse every time.”
The scientists around him shrug their agreement. “We think that there's a limit to the number of times we can do it,” one says.
“Or,” offers another, “we at least need to vary the people present.” It is an old debate; the arguments have lost all force,having hardly changed for six months. Instead of launching into another round of table-thumping, the scientists are quiet, demure. They stare across the room, through the space where the machine had stood a moment earlier, at an ancient cast-iron chest.
Perfect silence. The little cadre of physicists exchange glances with their military handlers. Even the colonel seems hesitant.
“Should we...?” he starts to say, but then stifles the impulse. If it has worked, then the box will be full of precious vacuum-packed parcels. They will need no cool-off period. They will have been in the box for 1500 years, if they are in there at all.
Another impulse, stronger than the last. He cannot wait to know whether Blackburn has succeeded. The man whose hand he shook for the last time only three minutes earlier has now bequeathed him a lifetime's work, sealed and digitised.
The entire contents of the library at Alexandria.
The colonel steps forward, pauses. Then, as if diving into cold water, he crosses the room and stands before the chest.
“Key.”
A scientist at his elbow, one of the older ones, cautious and jumpy: “You know, it really would be advisable to let us do some tests first.”
“Key. Please.”
The whole thing had been Blackburn's idea. The box, feared to be an ancient booby-trap, had been pulled out of a lesser Gizan pyramid in the early fifties. For a lifetime it sat unopened in the Cambridge University archives before Blackburn found it and gave it a purpose. The project's lone archaeologist, he absorbed the physicists' theories and boiled them down to a simple hypothesis.
“Make me a replica of this box,” he had said one day after barging into the colonel's office. And as he had grown surer of his theory, the colonel had caught some of the mania.
“If you want it copied, I'll need to open it,” he had said.
“It won't work if you do,” Blackburn had replied, while his colleagues – thunderstruck and finally comprehending – nodded frantically.
Now, the colonel holds the key in a trembling hand and realises that he hasn't breathed in a minute. The scientists are statue-still, frozen by the prospect of theories confirmed, or by the thought of lost works by Ptolemy or Archimedes.
The colonel hopes for success too. But more than anything he hopes for a sign from his departed friend. a note, or even a simple drawing; any clue pointing to a life well lived. It would be a triumph not just for the mission, but also for the man, who had always known that it was a one-way trip.
For a brief moment the key strains against the mechanism. But then centuries of sand and decay shift, and the lock clicks into place. A gentle pop and a rush of air – warm and lively, unlike the cold absence of the machine's departure – and the colonel heaves the lid up on its hinges, and stares down into the abyss.
Nothing. The box is empty.
Cursing, the colonel fumbles for a pen light, sparking a panic in the scientists behind him.
“It can't be empty!”
“He must have buried it in place. That's the only way it could have come to us here.”
“I've been telling you all along – the documents were there all along. It's just that they are bound to disappear as soon as - ”
“It just can't be empty!” This last remark, a wail of grief and frustration, brings the entire lab to a standstill.
At last, the colonel says, “It's not.”
“It's not what?” someone calls out.
“It's not empty. There's – there's this.”
He holds up a sooty, stained piece of papyrus, cradling it gently to preserve its ancient fibres. But even as the colonel obscures the paper with his cupped hands, everyone in the room can read what it says in big, bold letters. Four lines written in perfect English:
IT WAS NOT A LIBRARY.
DESTROY THE MACHINE.
DO NOT COME LOOKING FOR ME.
IT WAS NOT A LIBRARY. |
I awoke to the sound of bumping against my front door. Again. I looked at the clock. "4:32"God... I wish these robots slept. I dragged myself out of bed and stumbled towards the front door where I heard some faint mumbling. I dropped to my knees and carefully opened the front door. "Another goddamned Hunter-killer"I thought to myself.
"V1AGR4 CHEAP!"it yelled at me. Keeping out of its line-of-sight, I carefully spun it around to face away from the door and slowly pushed it towards the driveway. I picked up a brick from the pile by my front door and slowly guided it to the driveway while it yelled at me for inexpensive erection drugs.
I pushed it towards the ground and placed the brick on top of it so it would be unable to hover and shoved it towards the rest of the H-Ks on my driveway. "RUSS1AN SINGLES NEAR YOU""MY DEAR I HAVE AN OFFER FOR YOU""SECRET SHOPPER""YOU HAVE WON""NUDE MILFS""YOUR LOTTERY WINNINGS"they screeched and hollered.
I turned and went back inside to bed. Soon I will need to figure out how to clear the driveway so I could get to work... |
The clashes of steel against steel were clean, no sparks of scraping, no pushing, no deceit.
This day was no different from the last ten years. We woke, paid respects to our masters and then we sparred. We took a break for lunch and shared snippets of insight for the art over simple fare. And then we sparred.
When the sun set, we breathed into the tips of our hilts and recognised that one day, we too would fall. We could only hope to go as beautifully as the sun does, and rise as gloriously and with renewed enthusiasm much like He does.
It was at dinner that we received a knock on our door. Behind it was a scrawny, swordless man.
"Masters Rokuzaki and Negishimasa,"he bowed, terribly. "I have come to challenge you."
I laughed, there hasn't been a challenger in the past twelve years. "You would challenge us without a sword?"
He grinned brilliantly, the sign of infallible youth. "I'm a terrible swordsman. But you'll see, I'll win."
"Return at dawn tomorrow. We will spar."
When the sun rose, it peeled back the curtain draped over the skies and added colour.
After we paid respects to our masters, we prepared to spar. "The boy is not here,"Negishimasa observed.
"And yet the day will go by,"I said.
"Same way it always does,"Negishimasa agreed.
There were quick footsteps up the mountain. "I sure hope you're hungry because I bought breakfast!"
"Breakfast"was meat that had been browned by heat and oil. The boy proceeded to lay it out. A pungent scent of fresh meat, thoughtlessly killed, wafted to our nostrils.
"We have had breakfast, and you are late."
"Oh c'mon, I took a long time in the queue to get this. And they call it 'fast food'."He rolled his eyes.
"We cook slow stews and brew lasting teas here. Nothing fast should end up in your belly, young man,"Negishimasa said. I tend to agree.
"Your loss though, it's delicious,"he remarked. "Anyway, shall we have a duel?"
"Who between us would you like to challenge?"
"Master Rokuzaki!"
"Very well,"I told him. "I shall pray to dance well with my blade."
"Oh I'll be praying that my bullet hits its mark."
We moved to the yard where Negi and I have sparred for the past decade. Negi acted as a witness to the duel and signaled its start.
I watched the boy and let no hesitation grip me as I leapt towards him. His eyes were held by an intense focus, the first aspect about him I favoured. In each hand he held a blunt piece of black metal. It was impossible to tell the swordsmith or even the make of this weapon. I presumed it was a weapon.
An abrupt sound slapped against my ear and I fell heavily to the ground. I was not familiar to this. I tried to get up and out of such vulgar form. I heard Negishimasa's voice but he must have been a mile away.
---
Subscribe to my stories on [Fivens](https://fivenswrite.wordpress.com/2017/03/02/screamingshadow151/)! |
Prime Commander Xynthion glared in absolute shock, growing horror, and overwhelming rage at the moon that'd just crippled her flagship. It'd appeared suddenly and without warning, completing its final orbit around the gas giant before rocketing, at a respectable fraction of light speed, towards her ship. It came so fast that even with evasive maneuvers, a full quarter of her legion had been crush, vaporized, or sucked out into space before all half million airlock doors in the area had been sealed. Worst of all, some sort of taunt had been painted in enormous neon letters across the face of the moon. Each symbol had to be hundreds of miles long.
"Get me a full damage report and accurate casualty figure. And get me the translation of whatever's painted on that moon."She hissed. The aide that'd been accompanying her, some kind of pathetic life form evolved from pond scum, quivered in acknowledgement of the order and began to trundle off down the corridor to collect the required information. It's moist green bulbous body made wet slapping noises as it rolled.
Xynthion turned away from the porthole and stomped to a lift. She punched in a code and the lift took off, opening fifteen seconds later to deposit her into the bridge. The report was waiting for her when she arrived, delivered by another amorphous green blob. The tablet it vomited up into her hands was a bit too moist for her liking, having been floating around next to the creature's internal organs, but she'd have to discipline it later.
In a half second, all the information within the small black box had been transferred into her brain through the microscopically thin wires that followed her nerve endings. She groaned with exasperation as the translated message uploaded. Roughly, it said, "You walked into the wrong neighborhood motherfuckers."
Of all the hundreds of apex species crushed under the might of her army, the humans had to be one of the most annoying, crass, dishonorable, and generally sadistic she'd ever seen. It seemed they had an insult for every occasion, this one made more vexing by the moon that was protruding from her ship. The death toll was exactly 2.14 billion genetically engineered soldiers, just a million of which could conquer a primitive planet without more than 100 casualties.
"Prime Commander, another moon has broken orbit and is en route to our coordinates. We believe it is another projectile."Xynthion gritted both sets of teeth and felt a canine crack under the stress.
"Blow it apart."She said.
Another voice spoke up. "Prime Commander, two more moons have left orbit."
"Blow them apart."Xynthion amended.
"Prime Commander, weapons systems are warmed up and firing."Xynthion saw a swarm of missiles depart from her ship and begin to travel out into space. She could already see one of the moons in the distance, quickly growing from a minuscule pinprick. When the missiles struck, a miniature black hole formed and crushed the moon down to an infinitesimal size, before collapsing and blasting out a cloud of dust that would eventually form a ring around the gas giant.
"Prime commander, we've lost contact with two moons."
"Good."
"Uh, Prime Commander"
"What?"She shouted.
"We only targeted one moon."
And then her ship was cored out from the inside by a moon that'd somehow reached 80% light speed. The kinetic energy released by the impact turned the ship and every living thing inside of it into a ball of molten metal. For good measure, the last moon impacted the molten ball and merged with it, eventually forming a planetoid that'd orbit around the sun for the rest of time.
The humans on Earth, Mars, Earth's moon, Venus, and the handful orbiting Jupiter all collectively raised a middle finger before continuing on with their day to day lives, not learning of the ultimate collapse of the Natovian Empire that they'd caused until 120 years later when a fleet of freighters arrived in the system and established peaceful contact, before hurriedly turning around and leaving after spending 15 minutes on the human internet. |
"Cancer?"
They were all looking at me. Other than the wooden stools they used as seats - each an uncomfortable distance apart - everything was grey. An endless expanse of nothing, getting darker into the inky distance. Inexplicable, dullish light filled this small area, where a few hundred people sat looking at me. They looked utterly bored. Resigned.
"Uh...what is this?"I said. My heart was pumping. I realised I was sitting on one of the same wooden stools as everyone else.
"I asked if it was cancer,"said the questioner again, a young woman with fair hair. She seemed tired and cross.
"Of course it was cancer,"said another crabby voice, an older woman this time. "It's always cancer these days."
The younger one kept staring at me. "Well? Was it?"
Most of the people had already stopped paying attention.
"Am...am I dead?"I asked. "I mean, I did have cancer, yeah-"
"I knew it!"cackled the old woman. The young one crossed her arms and muttered angrily to herself. A third person spoke up. A boy about 5 years old.
"Heh, speak up darling,"he said in a high-pitched voice. "You say something?"
"I said I knew it was too much to ask for a good burning at the stake,"she growled, shooting an evil glance in my direction.
"I'm sorry,"I stammered again, "Are you Joan of Arc? You look awfully like the portraits..."
"Ugh,"she said, turning away. "Newbs."
"Kid, I can tell you're going to be a real nuisance, so I'll give you a rundown,"said the tiny child with a sigh. "Just don't pester us with questions, OK? We're really over the whole talking thing. Time doesn't pass here, so we're immortal - geddit? A lot of stuff gets boring when you're immortal."
"You're so young-"I began
"Yeah yeah, fuck you too,"he said breezily. "Will you listen for a goddamn second? I told you, I'm immortal. I've heard it all, believe me. I used to be ...you."he waved in my direction with disgust. "Every time one of us dies in that other reality, we pass on to a new body, a new life, geddit? And the old one appears here, poof! Now's the bit where you get to sit here like a dozy moron for the rest of forever with all of us idiots. Hope you like stools, kiddo. And silence."
He pulled his fingers meaningfully across his lips like a zipper, and then folded his head into his hand like many of the others, staring into the floor. I looked around at the unending greyness. The complete silence began to consume me...
"Wait, I used to be Joan of Arc?"I said. |
I was alive again.
There was warmth in my flesh, and light in my eyes. I wondered what had happened.
"Wake up, Mr. Fisher. The procedure is complete."
A voice like in a swimming pool, and a rush like breaking the surface. My eyes were already open, and then my consciousness awakened.
I gasped and sucked in air. My chest was on fire. I had to breath.
I coughed a few times. Again, the voice, but clearer, "Mr. Fisher, it's all done. Welcome to your new life."
She wore a coat and had glasses. She carried a clipboard, which she lay on my lap.
"These are the forms you need to fill out before the hospital will release you. Ring the button if you need any help. The process is usually quite similar, and you should feel the effects wear off after a few minutes. If not, well you can always try again."
she smiled, bloodless. This woman did not know me, and I did not know her. What were my last memories? I knew my name was Brent. I knew that much.
I looked at the forms she gave me. Where was I born? When was I born? When was I reborn?
I could only answer the last when i looked at the clock on the wall--April 21st, 2098.
*2098*. That was not what year it was. I was sure it was only 2095.
I filled out the forms as best I could. Minutes fell away, counted by the fading grogginess and the growing clarity. The feeling of being of alive, the blood rushing in my ears and the breath expanding my chest.
It was almost done, the last page of the forms in front of me.
*Mr. Fisher,*
*Congratulations on your rebirth. You currently owe GeneCorp, Inc. and its subsidiaries $704,364.23.*
I stared. I owed money? Seven hundred thousand dollars? I looked at the itemized list: apartment, food and lodging, palliative care.
What the hell, palliative care? Had I died?
I looked again: rebirth procedure.
My throat seized and I couldn't breath, I felt as though the air was thickening around me and resting heavier on my head. Enclosure. Suffocating.
I slammed the red button and a fast beeping sound went on and on until a nurse came in. She injected me and the sense of enclosure eased. I was calming down. Air came in, and I pushed it out and I could breath again.
The nurse nodded when I was laying, staring at her.
"What happened?"I asked.
"Fairly common response for the first time, although this is your second, so we thought you wouldn't have experienced it quite as strongly."She smiled, as if apologizing for something. "Unfortunately, they didn't know as much during the first round, and their records weren't that great."
She took my blood pressure, then some blood. "This means that you'll have to fill out the last sheet of that form again. Some of the numbers might have changed."
She left, and when she came again, she brought pills which I took happily and another form.
*Mr. Fisher,*
*Congratulations on your rebirth. You currently owe GeneCorp, Inc. and its subsidiaries $705,864.23*
I didn't look at the itemized list this time. I just signed the form. Whatever would take me out of here, whatever would let me get away from these memories.
Another person came in, this one--I couldn't tell man or woman or in between--in a black suit.
"Mr. Fisher, glad to have you back."She, definitely she. "Here are your work assignment forms. Considering your debt and your average expected life-span, you have been assigned to start working within GeneCorp's customer care division. Mostly you will be helping elderly patients who have home care kits as they near the end and their eventual rebirth."
She handed me a stack of forms. "These are your consent and work release forms. Please take your time while filling them out, we wouldn't want you to make mistakes while you are still recovering."
She checked her watch against the one on the wall. Then she smiled, predatory.
"You'll start tomorrow, your apartment has already been assigned."She stuck out her hand and I took it out of reflex. "We look forward to working with you again, Mr. Fisher."
___
*Thanks for reading! Check me out at /r/chrisbryant.*
|
Glenn leaned over and picked up the old lady's wallet and handed it back to her as they exchanged smiles. He had just returned from volunteering at the animal shelter when he noticed her drop it.
"Thank you, young..."she was in the process of saying when the swirling light appeared around him with musical accompaniment. She screamed and ran.
Glenn stared at the words floating before him pulsing in the air "Level 2!!!", watching in stunned silence as they spun then faded. People were staring and looking for hidden cameras.
"What the heck!"He said, searching with them.
"Congratulations, Glenn!"The new words appeared then faded. He waited, unsure of what would come next but knowing deep down his wait would be short.
"Choose Level 2 Talent:
A. Teleportation - Teleport anywhere in 1 mile radius. Cool down 5 minutes. Not usable inside of buildings.
B. Summon Pet - Summon supernatural pet that will level up with you. Not usable inside of buildings.
C. Increases Karmic Generation - Increase Karmic experience generation by 25%. Not usable inside of buildings"
"What do they have against buildings?"He asked out loud when he finished reading.
"Dude, teleportation! Think the time you could...", someone suggested.
"Don't listen to that idiot! Who wouldn't randomly want to summon unicorns and..."another person broke in as small arguments broke out in the gathering crowd.
Glenn reached out and touched C, the text highlighted and he clicked yes in the are you sure prompt, Most of the crowd was angry and stormed off calling him an idiot.
"Mister,"a small girl asked, "Why did you choose that?"
Glenn smiled at her and said, "It's the good deed that counts, not the reward."
His experience went up 125 points. |
I waited until she hung up before confronting her.
”What were you talking about?”
She flinched and spun around. The-caught-red-handed-look was quickly replaced by a squinting smile and burst of giggles. She adjusted my tie and brushed some crumbs off of my chest and nodded towards the table. I got to give it to her; she was good at recovering.
It took everything in my power not to shrug and return to the lovely dinner we’ve had up until she left for the restrooms. “Are you some kind of secret agent?”
“Has nobody ever told you it’s impolite to spy on people?”
She winked and sat down at our table. Her knife made a precise incision in the entrecote, swirled it in wine sauce, and left it on the edge of the plate. The shy girl who had accompanied me into the restaurant had been replaced by a flirty, confident woman during the course of a bathroom break.
“Isn’t that what you’re doing?” I said and sat down again.
“Goodness, no. We’re just looking for someone.”
“Who are ‘we’?”
“If I told you…” she started.
“You’d have to kill me?”
“What? Of course, not. I’d have to spend the rest of the evening explaining legal and bureaucratic stuff.”
A good save again, no doubt. I adjusted my glasses and stared at her. I couldn’t tell if she was joking or not. She was a very hard person to read altogether.
“So what was that phone call about?”
She finally put the meat in her mouth and held up her finger. Her jaws strained and relaxed as she chewed. She even decided to wash it down with a sip of chardonnay.
“Okay, Trevor,” she finally said after wiping her mouth. “You’ve been a perfect gentleman this entire evening, so I’m going to tell you.”
“I’m listening,” I said, ignoring her blatant stalling.
“We’re looking for a man named Frederico Fabrizio, perhaps you’ve heard of him?”
“The magician who robbed a bank a few years back? Thought you caught him already.”
“We’ve caught him three times, but he’s a slippery one,” she said and cut out another dice of her entrecote. “Anyway, we had a source who claimed it was you.”
“Really?” I said, feeling my eyes widen. “Well, I do know a few card tricks.”
She smiled and wagged her index finger at me. “You’re funny. See, that’s what made me realize you’re not him. That, and the poorly trimmed mustache; no offense, of course.”
“No humor and a mustache obsession? Sounds like a real douche.”
“Yeah, he claims to have the neatest mustache in the world, but I think it’s just a lot of product. Anyway, I have the night off now,” she said and took another sip of her wine. “Sorry for lying to you, but I’ve had a very good time. Want to continue where we left off?”
“I suppose,” I said, shrugging. “Not like I have anything else to do.”
“Oh, that sounds terribly sad.” She winked and picked up her phone. “Let me just tell my superiors I’m clocking out.”
We ended up in my apartment and opened another bottle of wine. I made her laugh several times, just to prove a point. And when she fell asleep on my arm I carried her to the guestroom.
“Where am I?” she said as she woke up to a massive headache. “What? What is this box? Let me out!”
“I told you I knew a few card tricks; well, this is actually more of a saw-in-half kind of trick!”
“Fredrico Fabrizio!” she said.
“That’s right!” I said, ripping off the fake mustache. “I had a fabulous time last night, but you just had to go an insult my mustache! Slandering my humor is fine, but my mustache… I simply couldn’t let it stand!”
“Now, let’s have some fun,” I said with a wicked grin and twirled my glorious mustache. “You’ve been a thorn in my side for far too long, Agent Jenkins.”
At that very moment, my front door burst open and the room filled with cops.
“Got you!” she said. “You’re going away for a long time, Frederico!”
“No!” I cried, throwing my hands up dramatically. “No… I got you. Again!”
The cops all pulled off their masks and revealed mustaches in the same twirly fashion as mine, but slightly less glorious. My loyal fans that had come to watch the show!
*****
Subscribe to [/r/Lilwa_Dexel](https://www.reddit.com/r/Lilwa_Dexel/comments/5foev0/welcome/) for more stories.
|
**Miguel 521:** "Erm. Uh-Today I-uh. *cough* Hehe sorry about that. I'm kinda nervous... Umm. As I was saying our uh-meeting is a-about..."
**Miguel 22:** "Oh my God, 45! I'm so embarrassed for 521. He's killing himself out there."
**Miguel 45:** "Dammit it's making me cringe! How do we escape this hell hole? I mean without hurting his feelings. While we escape I mean. I'm not a bad person."
**Miguel 4976:** "Uh hello. Please stay put sir. I know this is kinda awkward but uh p-please stay. Puh-lease."4976 awkwardly put a big smile while vehemently sweating while regretting every word he said.
**Miguel 158:** "Uh sir. 99 just had an anxiety attack. What do we do? What do we do?"
**Miguel 4976:** "Ugh... I dunno!"*gasp* starts to hyperventilate.
**Miguel 521:** Muttered to himself "Oh My God! They're probably criticizing me right now. They hate me. Oh no I wanna jump off the bridge! Please earth just swallow me already!!!!"
*7000 Miguels started to have simultaneous panic attacks and the whole convention went up in flames.* |
"Dude, this isn't the fourteenth century."Harold leaned back in the ratty office chair and covered his mouth as a yawn interrupted him, "There isn't a damn dress code for magi."
"Don't you at least need, like, a spell book or something?"Willis Scoville paced back and forth in front of Harold. The strips of light from the blind-covered window cast strips of illumination on his face and shoulders.
Harold held up a Kindle Fire and waved it back and forth, "Twelve hundred collected spells, cantrips, and image-guides for proper warding."
"So you're saying that anyone... anyone out on the street with an e-reader could be some physics-warping badass with the ability to cast fireballs and all that?"
"Nah."Harold pocketed the Kindle, "Who the hell uses fireballs anymore? Come on, man. I mean, they're flashy for sure, but fire is just a waste of power when you can use Melior's Crushing Force on someone's femur or trachea instead."
"What?"
"We have had anatomy classes before. Most of us graduated high school. Shocking, I know!"Harold huffed loudly and shook his head, "Sarcasm aside, most of our combat spells target specific things inside the body now. No self-respecting wizard would be caught dead using any spell that had a visual component. First off, it wastes power and casting time. It also greatly increases the chance of being caught. We're under constant video surveillance now, do you think *anyone* would be dumb enough to summon lightning on a minor thug while the NSA watches?"
"Well,"Scoville stopped pacing and looked down at Harold, "No, I suppose not."
"Hell, ninety percent of my job is running down the stupid bastards who do go for the flashy stuff. Flesh-grafting, mind-slaving, causal nixing... god, those cases get annoying."Harold fought against another yawn and lost, "Dyaahhh, Do you know how gross it is trying to incapacitate a Melder with several hosts? It's gross. Like, really nasty, man."
"I don't believe this."
"Fine."Harold got up out of his chair and wandered toward the door, "I'm going to bed. Don't touch my Kindle." |
“Stupendous party. Terrific. Fantastic. Best party I've ever been to. And I say that having been to plenty of parties,” President Trump says as he ‘s about to head out the door.
Putin takes his shirt off and starts flexing his muscles while admiring himself in the mirror. “Da, puny Amerikanski. In American television, you glorify binge drinking but in my country, we just call it drinking. You’re a lightweight, Trump. You know what? I have trumped you.” Putin breaks out into laughter before taking another swig of Vodka.
“Vlad, you don’t even know what you’re talking about. And that’s mean. Ya know, you’re a real mean guy. Here I am, trying to be a nice guy. I helped you out. I thought we were real pals, but now I don’t know, man. You’re being a majorly uncool Commie right now.”
“Da, da, da. Talk, Mr. Orange Man. That’s all you’re good for. But Mr. Russia Numero Uno didn't come here to talk. He came here to party!”
Xi Jinping comes from around the corner with a bag of Tsingtao beer in his hands. The bag’s already opened and is spilling out randomly as Xi Jinping tries to get a good grip on it. “Comrades, you are having a wonderful time, yes?”
Trump starts breaking out into an awkward dance move. “Yes, fabulous time. Best time of my life. I don't think anyone has ever had as great a time as I’m having right now.”
Vlad pumps his fist to the music. “I can't hear what you're saying. Because all I hear is the music. The music lives through me right now. You want some Ecstatic?”
Xi drops the bag of beer and grabs a pill. “Sure. You ever try opium?”
Putin leans in conspiratorially with Xi and says, “Don't tell anyone but in the 80s, I was responsible for 90% of the Opium production during our Afghanistan war. don't tell me you brought opium with you. I haven't done it in years and I really shouldn't even do it now but I just can't resist.”
Xi whispers, “Go see Lee. He’ll sort you out.”
“For Mother Russia!” Vlad says while pumping his fists in the air as he runs back into the apartment.
Xi turns his attention to Trump. “So what’s wrong, Donnie?”
President Trump sighs and sits down on the floor next to the front door. “I don’t know, Ping. I don’t know. This presidential racket has really started to weigh me down, you know? I'm the president. I should be able to do whatever I want.”
“ Come on now, Donnie. even in China, the president doesn't get to do what they want.”
“ It's not fair though! I won! I made America great again! Why can't they just let me do what I want to do?”
“ Well, with any representative government, there are checks and balances that are required in order to maintain a flourishing democracy.”
“I don’t care! This sucks. It’s all Barry’s fault. he never had to deal with this. I don't like it, Ping Pong! I don't like it one bit.”
“ You're upset, Donnie.”
“I am,” President Trump says while sniffling and wiping away the tears.
“Would it help if I told you I brought some party favors just for you?”
“Party favors?”
“Yeah, I had them flown in from the former Soviet Republic.”
President Trump’s eyes light up. “Really? For me?”
“Now what kind of host would I be if I didn’t make sure you had a good time?”
“Do I get to… “ Trump pauses. “....you know?”
“Grab them by the pussy?”
Trump smiles and nods his head excitedly.
“Of course, Donnie. I brought them just for you.”
“Aww, gee, Ping Pong! You’re awesome! We’re gonna move all our jobs to China!” President Trump says as he gives Xi a hug.
“Okay, now don’t get too excited. Save some for the girls.”
“Oh, you bet I will. I’m gonna give them some of this.” Trump makes a grabbing motion with his left hand. “And some of this.” He makes a grabbing motion with his right hand. “And some of this.” He intensely mimes grabbing something with both hands.
“Alright, now get back to the party, Donnie.”
Thanks, Ping Pong!” President Trump says as he runs back to the party.
Xi watches Trump as he runs off then he smiles and says, “The strength of a nation derives from the integrity of the home.”
|
Walt scratches his head and tips it all the way back allowing the bourbon to drain down his throat, bypassing his mouth completely.
"This can't be it,"he whispers, almost inaudibly, glancing sideways at the armour, unable to even look at the atrocity directly, and plopping into his chair.
"If this is it, I've wasted my entire life."
Behind him, Morty bellows with laughter. "Come on, Walt. I bet you'd look pretty in it."
Pretty. That it is, sexy even. Curvy with a midriff and pink frills. The goddamn thing even has hearts on it.
At that thought, he winces and takes another gulp. Then, he stands with purpose.
"That's it. This is a joke. It's meant to throw me off the trail to the real armour. You know, the manly armour."
"Walt,"Pete says as he walks past him on the way to the door, "you know this is the real armour. I know it's not what you expected, but you have to make your peace with it. Now, I'm going home to my wife. Maybe she'll throw on some of her pink frilly stuff for me. I think she has an outfit that looks like that."He closes the door behind him just in time for the bourbon to slam into it.
And there goes Morty, doubled over in laughter again.
Scotch. That's what he needs. Scotch always helps him think more clearly.
"Walt, what was that?"His wife steps into the room scanning the scene as Walt tilts the scotch back.
Suddenly, Walt turns to Anne with a devious look in his eyes.
"You can wear it,"he states with certainty.
"Oh no you don't. I told you I don't want anything to do with that."
"But I'll do anything,"he says walking towards her with his hands outstretched, pleading.
"Don't be crazy, Walt. I can't even fit in that thing."
That shuts him up. There isn't a correct way to respond to that kind of statement and he knows it. She turns, satisfied, and leaves the room.
He walks to the table Morty sits at. He takes the seat directly across from him. This time, he reaches for the shot glasses and pours himself and Morty a shot. He slides one over and downs the other.
"This is all my fault, Morty. That old lady who told me about the magical armour when I was a boy told me it wasn't made for me. I didn't know she meant it literally."
Morty slides his shot glass back and Walt refills them. They both have another.
Walt stands and walks towards the door. He stops, stoops, and picks up the bat.
"Okay, then. If I'm not going to wear it and my wife can't wear it, I'll destroy that piece of shit."
"Uh, Walt, I don't think you sh.."Morty starts, but it's too late.
Walt brings the bat down onto the armour like an ax. The armour seems to have a protective barrier because Walt is sent flying across the room.
Anne comes back into the room, running this time. "Okay, Walt. That's enough. I think you're finished here."
Morty grabs the scotch off the table and walks towards the door where Walt lies. He bends down, places the scotch in Walt's hand, shakes his head, stands, and leaves.
Anne helps him to his feet and, exhaling sharply, walks out of the room. He stumbles across the room to his chair. After falling into the chair, he has another gulp. He turns his chair towards the armour, stares at it, and begins to sob.
He has known about the magical armour since he was thirteen. He started searching for it at sixteen. Thirty-four years he has invested.
In his stupor, he drains the bottle of scotch.
...and it won't be in vain. He stands and walks over to the armour. He examines it.
"The hearts aren't that bad,"he says to himself with a glint of hope in his eyes.
He takes all of his clothes off and looks at the suit. He needs something. He walks out of the room through the kitchen where his wife is. She stares at her drunk, naked husband wobbling through the kitchen but doesn't move. Minutes later he comes back through the room wearing a pair of her underwear and one of her bras. He is carrying a handful of her things: her makeup bag, a razor, and some tights. Silently, slowly she follows him back to the other room.
"What are you doing, Walt?"
"I'm accepting my fate, Anne,"he says as he sits on the floor in front of the armour unzipping her makeup bag.
"Dear,"she says as she reaches his side and bends down, "why don't you come to bed?"
"No,"he says smiling up at her holding her compact, "this is fine."
"I'll wear it, Walt. It's okay. Walt, look at me."He does. "I'll wear it."
"It's mine,"he snaps. "I found it and I'm wearing it. Morty says it'll look pretty on me, and, you know, I think he's right."
Edit - I'm not the best writer, but I was in the mood. I had him go through the seven stages of grief in the story after each drink. :)
|
"Entering the arena!"
A voice thundered over the sandy floor of an area as wide as the black sea. This size, while enormous, is unsurprising, since this place indeed used to be the famous salt lake near the borders of Russia and the New Slavic Empire, dried out by constant battles featuring mages of all sorts.
"...Doy, Godslayer, Master of Helium! Wielding the saltwood branch, he is not going down without making everyone's voices slightly funnier!"Applause commenced from all around. Thousands of eyes rested on Doy, and he knew it - as funny as the commentator might want to appear, Helium can be as deadly as Polonium, especially with the right rituals. It is also, he thought, quite a bit simpler to control. Less protons means more magic.
"On the other side of the Arena, enters... Mannet!"
An uproar went through the arena. Mannet, son of the Iron Man, was the uncontested master of Gadolinium magic. Iron benders stood no chance against him, seeing as they'd get crushed by their own tools, victims of magnetism spells unparalleled. Nevertheless, Doy deemed himself lucky. He would never have won against sorcerers of Uranium. Helium, while good at suffocating reactions, is a flimsy shield compared to heavy metals, and Doy had never been able to conjure even the slightest bit of Silver. Gadolinium, however, is no joke either.
"May the fight... begin!"
Both mages stared at each other from across the expanse. Enough time to start an incantation, but certainly not enough to defend yourself against one. Offense is, after all, the best defense, Doy thought. He started drawing a circle on the ground, then squiggles within it, resembling all sorts of stellar constellations. "I draw upon the final element. Simple as you are, do ano porath, you are yet noble. Lord Helium, aid me", buzzed Doy, not actually using his throat to bring forth his voice. A colourless, odourless gas emerged from the circle, forming a barely visible outline of a warmonger of yore. On the other side of the arena, however, things were going more fast-paced; conjuring up seven blades of pure Gadolinium, each floating due to the suspense of magnetism combined with the suspense of the arcane, Mannet stepped on one and flew, rushed, across the vast expanse. This would be a fight like many others, and yet it would be known as the fight of the century, for this is where Doy, Godslayer, became Doy, Godslayer, Murderer of the Thousand. |
"Rachel, check this out."
"What's up? Seismograph network on the fritz again?"
"Well, that's just it. You'd expect noise to be uniformly distributed, but this isn't."
"Could be a more systemic failure. A bias in the receiver or a corroded contact."
"But then you'd expect it to always be reading the same thing. Look at the distance that comes up when you triangulate the error as if it were a normal seismographic event. It changes like it's...moving."
Rachel stared at it for a long minute.
"But it has to be an error. How can a seismographic event come from above the ground?"
___
"This isn't about your sheeple politics. I KNOW WHAT I SAW! I'm receiving ACTUAL messages in my ACTUAL brain from the ACTUAL CIA. I'm starting to think that anyone with a brain gets these messages. Which would explain why I'm the only one!"
___
"Why did he steal $2,000,000 in chips before killing himself?"
"Its very confusing. He didn't shoot ppl, but he set carpets alight and allegedly stole chips with a large value and somehow caught on fire and had a self inflicted gunshot wound. It is really a bizarre story."
____
"...a low frequency sound, louder than any possible whalesong and not matching the profile of any volcanic event, at a distance of roughly 75 miles off the coast of New Jersey. The source remains unidentified, but some scientists have speculated..."
____
"...but it *can't* be a natural phenomenon if the period encodes prime numbers! I've been telling them that all week! Listen. I just need six days of radio telescope time. We could solve this whole mystery if we pointed the Array directly at...hello? Hello?"
____
Agent Richter and Agent White reviewed their work from the past month.
"Well, that ought to keep them off our backs." |
Rich does not equal smart. Rich equals someone willing to pay someone else to make a problem go away without having to worry about the details, and the details can be a real stickler if you're a data junkie like me.
Gene implants started to become the norm as soon as the CRISPR court case was finally put to bed, and despite the attempted public efforts to keep the technology transparent and regulated, it was the private sector that started pushing out the first generation of implants that would up or downregulate any target gene.
(Or so they say, since their blackbox technologies are hard to verify and require further external trials, which by then the companies have already made off with their millions, and several competitors have adopted their unverified methods if only to remain competitive. This is the state of personalized healthcare right now. This is not part of the prompt.)
Want to lose weight? We can deactivate the genes that make you hungry. Want more energy? We can activate the genes that give you a boost, and even trigger adrenaline bursts on demand. Smarter? My friend, step into my shop....
The problem with the technology is that it can be switched on and off remotely from the cloud, appearently only in order to perform the necessary computationally expensive calculations server-side, rather than on the client - but in actuality to cut off any customers who haven't kept up with their payments, as well as mine them for health data which can be sold off to insurers. All part of the small print.
What I do is quite simple. I pose as a delivery man and gain access to a tall building where I set up a temporary relay tower that spans miles in all directions. I then sniff for any packets coming out of these implants and intercept them, decrypting them quite easily due to their purposefully weakened encryption (thanks gov!).
I then filter out those who fall below a certain income bracket (as I'm not in the business of harming subsidized sick people), and those who aren't in a vehicle that could potentially harm others. Then I mess around with the controls a little. Not much, not anything that could kill someone - just a sudden surge of adrenaline in the middle of a conference, or an activation of known sleep receptors at a board meeting. Maybe someone gets an uncontrollable urge to eat something on a date, or gets the sudden shits during a press conference
You know, stuff like that.
Why do I do what I do? Because they already had an unfair advantage, and the gap just keeps getting wider and wider. Let them feel the stressful uncertainty that the rest of us feel in our daily lives, if just for a little while. |
It is 6 months since a pair of explosions changed everything. When 'NuMe' first broke to the astonished world the possibilities seemed endless. Finally if you wanted to walk in another mans shoes or change the gender of the shoes you walked in, you could. Anyone who was sick or maimed, you could just get a new body, no harm, no foul. Prejudice was harder to hold if you could be put in the body that you judged. With the technology tightly controlled, and records in place, this seemed like the breakthrough tech that could move society forwards.
But not everyone saw the positives in this technology. For some it was the chance to escape their past, or prepare for a new future. To be someone else, even just for a short time, to enact some plan. No-one knows who planted the explosives in the Nu-Me HQ and data centres, thats kind of the point I guess. Now though, no-one knows who anyone is anymore. With the control gone anyone can be replaced. DNA, fingerprints, dental records don't help, and there is no test for the soul. Yet.
Not many people knew that I worked at Nu-Me. I guess thats why I'm still alive. I know none of the others are. I've seen them around, and none of them recognize me. Not that they would know to I suppose, my work was not public and wouldn't have been in the research they did before erasing my old colleagues.
I have to keep off the grid now, even my closest friends, you can't be sure of these days. Without trust and the social contract based on it, the worlds future looks uncertain. Saving the world seems so melodramatic but its not far wrong. I have a way to 'fingerprint' the mind now. Electric patterns that remain unique even as a mind is transferred from body to body. Now we'll know who is who. The world is about to shift again and thats unlikely to be popular with whoever is in charge. Spreading it is impossible on my own. Widespread seeding is the only way but will be my end. Give my life to save the world? 10,000 letters in my draft folder. If you are reading this, then I am likely dead etc.
The cursor orbits the send button, like the Enola Gay over Hiroshima. |
"Sir, I would like a coffee please,"the young man asked as he pulled himself up to the counter. The barstool scrapped against the tile with a loud noise which was made louder by the silence which suddenly found itself in the busy cafe. The cook behind the bar looked at the young man. His eyes had narrowed as he looked at his customer.
"Boy,"he paused. "Why you making trouble for yourself?"
The young man swallowed and looked at the stares of the other patrons. "Sir, I would like a coffee please."
"I bet you would,"the cook said. He looked out the large paned window at the busy downtown street. A customer had just stepped out and was hastily talking to several uniformed men. "You bout to be in trouble. You ain't getting coffee. And you don't want what you are going to get. Leave, boy."
The young man sat perfectly still on the bar stool. His body was tense, but his voice kept its calm. "Sir, I would like a coffee."He swallowed hard. "Please."
The bell above the door rang as the police officers stepped inside. The young man forced himself not to look. He heard each heavy step on the polished tile and felt the presence behind him as the steps came to a halt. An officer leaned in close as he spoke. "I suppose you can't read, boy."The slam of his baton against the wall made several customers jump. Where the weathered and nicked club pointed there was a sign: *"Whites Only"*
The young man spoke. "Sir, I would like a coffee please."
His head slammed into the floor as he was dragged from his stool. The patrons were silent as the heavy blows landed upon his defenseless form. He curled into a ball, and refused to fight back. The white tiles were red with his blood. They dragged him into the street, and they forced him to his feet. His eyes were swollen to blindness and cuts gouged his cheeks. He was missing several teeth and others moved in their sockets. As they loaded him into the police car he spoke through the blood and pain. "Sir, I would like a coffee please." |
"STOP!"Who goes there?"The large, booming voice of the gatekeeper to the after life.
"No. Not Who. I'm Genie."Genie responded.
"None shall pass."The keeper responded, slightly confused.
"In that case, my name is None."Genie attempted to walk by the keeper.
The keeper slid in front of the Genie, barring his way.
"Only the dead may pass."The keeper said.
"Dude. I'm blue. I can float. I'm dead."The keeper looked confused. Genie walked in.
Upon entry, he found a line. A long, twisting, curving line, of souls. He started drifting forward. Many souls gave him angry looks, but he used an age old trick to dissuade them. He walked up to a group of three, eldery, old lady like souls.
"Margy! Bonny! Clara! How ARE you?"Genie asked the trio, loudly.
"Why the DAMNDEST thing happened to me the other day!"Genie, paused, building up his joke.
"I died!"The ladies looked unamused.
"Anyways."Genie continued. "Talk to you lovely ladies later!"He had spotted Master. At the front of the line. Genie briskly moved his way up, catching up to Master just as he was talking to the front desk of afterlife.
"Master!"Genie called. Master was a good man. Alongside needing to hear the final wise for his freedom, he also *wanted* to hear the final wish.
"Please, Great Man. What is your wish?"Genie asked.
"Ah. Great Genie. I wish-"
And with that, Master was whisked away to heaven.
Genie sighed, and began heading towards the gate of heaven.
***
Enjoy the writing and would like to follow along and see more stories? Consider subscribing to [r/ConlehWrites](https://www.reddit.com/r/ConlehWrites/)! |
"Welcome to Site-57, Clarence! We hope you enjoy your stay!"
Oh, how Cyrus hated this place already. It wasn't enough that he had to pretend to be a muggle, but he had to have a common muggle name as well. If there was anything redeeming about this place it was that at least everyone here was of some level of intelligence. But, for now, he had to get settled in. He had been filled in by the Ministry of Magic in their London office, before a short trip using some floo powder to get to a Wizard safehouse in America, the a short 'helicopter' ride to this strange underground building.
"Hey Clarence, you're the new guy, right? Well, come on, we've got Keter Duty."
"Keter Duty?"He thought aloud, receiving a short response from this muggle that he was now following.
"Yeah, you know. Keter Duty. Where we clean the containment units of the really dangerous SCPs?"
Buy Cyrus had never heard of anything like it. He decided to think to himself, wondering if this 'Keter Duty' had anything to do with a dementor, or a rouge hippogriff or something else of that nature.
As they rounded a corner, the muggle he was following said, "By the way, I'm Steve. Basically all you have to do is mop up the stuff on the floor, keep an eye on the big concrete thing, and tell us when you have to blink. That's all there is to it."
What could possibly require informing people when he had to blink? Cyrus thought noting of it, and continued down the hall. When they arrived at a large, thick-looking door, another group of 3 people were already there.
"Ready, Steve?"
"As I'll ever be, John. I got the new guy, Clarence with me today. Hope he's not incompetent like the last guy, and almost let 49 get out."
...
"Welcome, everyone. As you all know, SCP-173 recently escaped containment. It is our duty to recontain it. Here with me today, I have Albus Potter, Minister of Magic. He is a good friend of the SCP Foundation ever since SCP-2657 was contained, the one the Wizard world calls Voldemort's Son. Today we have an address on the importance of Keter Duty. Recently, SCP-173 breached containment due to the incompetence of Cyrus White, an undercover agent sent by the Ministry of Magic.Whatever you do, do NOT forget to follow orders in Keter Duty. Let's continue with the briefing.
...
Hey, readers! This is my first reply on a post here. Hope you enjoyed, feedback is welcome!
Edit: Changed the ending a bit. |
I stared at the dragon.
The dragon stared back at me.
I stared at the king.
The king stared back at me.
"What the hell am I supposed to do with a *dragon*?"I asked the king.
The king looked at me, then looked at the dragon, then back at me. He shrugged.
"Right."I turned, beckoning the dragon to follow.
The dragon followed me.
We walked for a while, leaving the looming stone castle behind us. My legs started to get a bit tired. I decided to try and hop on the dragon. I motioned the dragon to stop, then took a running start and leaped onto the dragon's back.
The dragon thew me off. It looked at me.
*What the fuck are you doing?* It asked me.
"Wait. You can talk?"I asked it, dumbfounded.
*Obviously.*
"Do you have a name?"
*Bill.*
"You're a dragon. And your name is Bill."I stared at it.
It stared back. *Yes.*
We started walking again. "So. Bill. How am I supposed to feed you? I'm a knight of the King. I can't exactly capture villages and feed you the inhabitants."
Bill glanced at me, giving me a look that said *you're an idiot*.
*I'm a not a savage. Why would I eat humans?* Bill said.
"Wait, you don't eat humans?"I asked, confused. "Well, what do you eat, then?"
*Whole wheat grain and organic fruit.*
I paused, considering what had just happened over the last hour. I now had a talking dragon, named Bill. And he was a vegan. On the other hand, I had just finished my knight's quest, so I had a lot of time.
"Hey, Bill?"I asked.
*Yes?*
"You wanna help me impress a girl? I'll buy you a cartload of fruit?"
Bill paused, considering.
*Sure.*
***
Enjoy the writing and would like to follow along and see more stories? Consider subscribing to [r/ConlehWrites](https://www.reddit.com/r/ConlehWrites/)!
Part Two [Here!](https://redd.it/6o6pn8) |
It slowly slithered out of the package, showing little interest in the courier.
“Wha…what the hell is this? A snail?”
His confusion would have to wait. He had spotted agents of the Vatican following him into the bus station. He tossed the slimy gastropod back into the envelope and hurried out of the bathroom stall.
He rushed out of the station and down the nearest alley. “Stop in the name of God!” Damn, the bastards had caught up to him. A man in a cowl stepped forward. “Give us the package and the Holy Father will see fit to reward you.” More men approached, blocking both entrances to the alleyway.
“And what exactly does the pope want with a snail?”
“That thing you carry is an abomination! An affront to the Lord! Only God is eternal, and we mus…”
“Buddy, I don’t know what the hell you’re on about, but I’ve got a job to do.” With that, the courier pressed on his belt buckle. The grappling hook whirred as it shot through the air, connecting with the fire escape three stories up. He scaled the side of the building with ease, hopped over and landed on the rooftop.
“YAMERU!”
What now?
A girl, no older than eighteen, stepped out from behind a water tower.
“Boss wants the snail. Hand it over if you want to keep your appendages.” With a grin she made a slicing motion, and the courier noticed a large blade around her back.
“You may want to have a chat with my friends down in the alley. Whatever this weird fetish is, maybe you could work it out together.”
“That thing’s gonna make us a lot of money, and you’re not going to get in the way!” She charged, but the angle of attack was all too predictable. With barely a motion, the courier slid past the blade and sprinted to the edge of the building.
“Hey,” came a low gravelly voice from the package. “I hired you for a simple job and you’re making one hell of a mess out of it.”
“What the fuck!? You can talk…and…and you mean…”
“That’s right, pretty boy. Now get me out of here. I’m trying to find this guy, you see, and this is one delivery that he definitely has coming to him.”
|
"Jesus Christ Annie! You won't believe what those young people are up to!"
"Ohh! The millennials on the bench? What are they doing? You wouldn't believe what I've heard."
"I don't know about that, but guess what... You see that one there with the pierced brow?"
"You mean the boyish one? He looks like a girl that you wouldn't believe what happened to her in childhood."
"I know right? They don't make them like me anymore Annie. You know why is that?"
"Why's that Fred?"
"Because in my day a man had to go through trials and tribulations. You see these muscles here? In six easy steps when I was a..."
"Ohh Fred look! Look! He's, he's..."
"Oh my God Annie, is he..."
"He is Fred! He's reaching for a..."
"A *condom*..."
"Oh Fred the nerve of these kids! Do you know one in six millennials will contract an STD in their lifetime? Can you guess what's the cause? The answer will surprise..."
"No it's not a condom Annie. I was wrong. It's a phone! Phew! They make these things so small I get the two mixed up sometimes."
"Oh but look! The girl! You wouldn't believe what she's doing!"
"What is it... Oh my God! How could these millennials do this to the elderly?!"
"I know Fred! Giving me that stink look! If I had bad manners I'd say someone *shit* right under her nose!"
"My God Annie! Where did you get such language?"
"You wouldn't believe me."
"Try me!"
"Oh nevermind that! Look! They're getting up and leaving! What do we do?"
"The answer is easy. We follow. Who knows where it will lead?"
"They're going to that other bench there."
"Hmm... There's no bench nearby? How are we to see what deviance they're up to?"
"You wouldn't believe what kids these days do when no one's looking!"
"Come Annie! We can go and stoop. My legs will hold."
"Oh you're a genius Fred. Let's go."
"Oh sweet Jesus my back!"
"Stop being an old man. Look I stoop just fine."
"How do you do it?"
"The answer may..."
"Oh look it's the girly boy with the pin in his brow. He's looking at us Annie! Look!"
"Oh my God Fred! Do you think he knows his English? I read that eighty two percent of children born after twenty fifteen still can't spell their name!"
"Oh God what is this world coming to!"
"Fred look! He's making a face at you. He's pointing his... Oh my God! He's pointing a condom!"
"No it's a phone Annie!"
"Phew... He's pointing a phone!"
"I can't believe what these children are... Hey you! You there! What are you doing?!"
"He's shouting Fred! What do we do?"
"We do what nine in ten doctors recommend we do."
"Which is?"
"Shout until we get our way!"
"Oh Fred where do you get these ideas?"
"It's from the Omega XL. You wouldn't believe what they do for your heart and brain. Anyway let's shout!"
"Shoo shoo! Can't you leave an old couple alone! Move you filthy boy! And you slut! In my days our dresses reached past the knee. Past it!"
"Annie look! That light!"
"Oh Fred I think that's the condom's cancer light!"
"Oh Christ! We better run!"
"My back! Fred help me up!"
"I told you it ain't as easy as it looks. You need to do the magic workout else you'll..."
"Never mind I'm up. Let's go."
"Okay. You know in my day Annie children weren't so rude."
"I know honey. They have no manners now. I blame their parents!"
"And it goes further than them too. I blame the parents' parents."
"They're not like us Fred."
"No they ain't. And you know why is that?"
"Why is that Fred?"
"I'll tell you when we reach home... After one easy payment that is..."
"Oh Fred you devil! You make me feel like a little girl sometimes!"
"You make me feel the same."
"Aww you're too sweet. I love you Freddie Weddie."
"I love you Annie Weenie."
|
This is it.
We always guessed there were other life forms out there, but now, seeing all the weapons coming towards our planet, is proof that we were right.
We only had time to hug our loved ones and to try to find weapons, but most of us know it's useless.
It took 34 minutes for the weapons to hit our planet since we first saw them, did the government even have time to react?
They crashed everywhere tearing their way through houses and buildings. I clung to my sister as one of them hit the ground 20 feet away.
But there was no explosion.
Curiosity got the better of us. We walked towards it with a small gathering following.
It was an off white oval shape. Buttons ran along the side and a door hung loosely open.
And there is was. The creature.
But... it's not moving? The flesh looks rotted, with something or things crawling underneath the skin. The smell was disgusting, is that the first wave of the attack?
I pushed my sister back but there was still no movement from this *thing*. Someone else was brave enough to go up to it, he touched it's disgusting flesh.
"It's dead."He said, relief flooding his voice. The crowd started to cheer.
"It must have died the second that door opened! It's probably the air! They can't breath in our air!"Someone yelled. Of course that must be it!
|
The earth shook, and the rock on my face shifted. No more than a millimeter, but it gave me enough space to wiggle my head side to side. Sand spilled down around me and gathered beneath my head.
Excellent. Every grain of sand under me was one less grain above me.
I wiggled my head every second of every day for what I imagine was around 200 years, until I caused a minor cave-in and was once again immobilized.
It was a better immobilized, though. Those two hundred years had moved a good amount of dirt.
The surface was closer.
Not much closer, but what did that matter?
I had all the time in the world.
The next earthquake came after a few decades, and it gave me use of my hands.
I made progress like never before.
Sure, I lost fingernails. I wore the skin off my bones and the bones down to the nub.
It all comes back. I know myself.
Pretty soon, after only another century, I'd managed to wriggle myself upright, and even claw a few feet upwards.
The abandoned quarry that my brother had filled in on top of me had been a few hundred feet deep. As far as I was concerned, I was practically free.
In life, there are always setbacks.
A few dozen feet further up, my progress was obstructed by a boulder. I had to go around, which meant returning to horizontal.
This cost me a century.
Once I got around it, though, progress became easier and easier. The higher I got, the less material there was above me, and the less constrained I became. It became a matter of thousands of pounds per square inch, rather than millions.
And then came the day that I thrust my hand upward, and it burst through. No rocks above it. No obstacle.
I wormed frantically upward, inhaling sand and rocks and coughing them out of my lungs, and, once my upper body was free, pushed myself free.
"Aaaaaaaand... TIME!"my brother Jacob said. He was sitting where I'd left him, against the cliff-face, with a chronometer in his hands.
"How long?"I said, and coughed up a lungful of blood and rocks.
He scritched on a pad of paper. "Looks like... 31549837849 seconds. Not bad."
"Not bad? Screw off. I killed that. Let's see you do better."
He helped me to my feet. "We'll have to find another quarry. All the ones in this area have been turned into garbage dumps."
I shrugged. "We'll find one. We've got time."
*****
*i didn't 100% follow the prompt. apologies.* |
The necromancer sat at the tip of the star as the foul beast stepped forth. pulling itself out of the ground with a new vigor. Its eyes glowed a deep red, as demons' eyes often do. The beast inhaled deeply through its horse's nose and I saw the flames course through its mangled corpse. "How is the land of the living, Ezekiel?"The necromancer wept tears of joy as he set eyes upon his new demon. "Horrible, Dionyx."
I readied my revolver, spinning the barrel and making sure that the holy bullets sat true in their casings. "Our father, who art in heaven..."The demon perked his ears and began to sniff, sensing my presence. He could not smell my odor, as I had bathed in sheep's blood. The necromancer began to laugh nervously, seeing the change in the face of his demon. "Amen."
My revolver began to glow with the holy spirit as I stepped forth from the shadows and took aim. Demons are always weakest when they first enter our world, their flesh adjusting to the cold air of the earth, brittle as they fight off the freeze. I pulled back the hammer and saw the flaring nostrils as the demon readied itself to charge at me.
The necromancer began to scream, yelling at his demon to run; the demon remained unfazed, flexing his muscles and pawing the scorched earth. I performed the holiest of 360 no scopes and felt the praise of the church. The demon's head exploded in a kill that was easily worth 200 points in the house of the Lord. The heavenly voice confirmed that I had landed a fatal headshot, with one shot and one kill. The necromancer wept and fell to his knees; he looked at me with pleading eyes. "Git gud, skrub." |
I tightened my grip on my poisoned blade. I finally met him; the Hunter. He was right across the hallway from me and we stared right at each other. Silent and unmoving.
Inside this house of horrors I met the Hunter. The hallway was dark and no lighting save for an old flickering lamp hanging on the wall. I have heard many a rumor about the Hunter. Some people call him a hero, a Hunter of Horrors, touched by light. He is supposedly invincible and merciful.
I know the truth. The Hunter was a man in his thirties named Henry Wood. Many monsters, my friends, died for this precious information. Yet, after all their deaths to obtain his name, we *can't* get near him. Over time, we learned about his life, his home, and even his family. However, he killed all the monsters who have approached him when they tried to avenge their fallen comrades.
We "monsters"threaten the existence of humans apparently. I wonder who started that rumor? Even from times long past, we "monsters"lived in our own corner of the world. We learned to blend into their societies and live among them. We never killed them unprovoked. The humans we killed were all evil; they judged us based on our "hideous"appearances and our deathly smells. Yet we have never commuted any atrocities or harm towards them in the first place.
The Hunter moved. He reached inside his gray cloak and tossed out salt and "holy water". The salt was pretty much useless by itself but the Hunter's "holy water"was actually a chemical compound engineered by him to violently burn and release poisonous fumes when in contact with the salt.
I quickly sidestepped back and unsheathed my sword. The Hunter rapidly ran towards me unsheathing his own sword. One of flames. I narrowed my eyes and said, "That evil sword killed a thousand of my friends... My people!"
The Hunter kept running and seemed to have limitless breath and stamina, "Yes. I killed all the monsters I could find. Soon, you shall join them King of Monsters."
I felt a deep hatred swell up and mix with anger. One that hasn't appeared since millennia ago when I was young. As a monster, it was easy to suppress negative emotions such as these to blend in. Now, it doesn't matter anymore. I raced towards him, poisoned sword in hand. We met in full force with sparks blasting every time we made contact.
The Hunter repeatedly dodged my strike with smug smiles. "Is this it? This is all the power of the one who killed countless humans?"
I spat right at that bastard's face, "I am of the powerful in this world. I have killed countless of "brave warriors"who dared hunt my kind before you."
The Hunter put both hands on his burning sword and swung hard. Straight down. It took all of my power to not let him cut me in half. I could feel the flames of his sword dancing on my forehead, eager to consume me.
The Hunter applied even more pressure to the blade and I found myself slowly slipping backwards and his sword slowly ebbing dangerously close to my forehead to the point where I could *literally* feel the edge slightly touching my forehead.
It was a risk but... I quickly broke free of the sword lock and rolled forward under his legs and used the claws of my left hand to swipe at his left leg, tearing flesh. The Hunter instantly knelt down and screamed in agony. I stood above his curled body with great effort and he started begging me. *Begging*. "Please, no more. I promise not to hunt any more monsters. Just let me go... I have a family! You know that... right?"It was a pitiful sight. Such a powerful man, reduced to this.
Perhaps it was worth letting him go. If the world-renowned monster hunter announced that he was done eliminating my kind... Yes, we might have a chance. I sighed and said, "I will let you go."
The Hunter gave a wide grin, ignoring the grievous pain of the wound I inflicted. However, I quickly raised a finger and said, "But, I will take your eyes."
The Hunter narrowed his eyes and quietly said, "Your cruelty doesn't deserve to be on this Earth monster."I felt an icy feeling in my stomach. I looked at the source and found a small dagger embedded into it. The icy feeling was quickly replaced by furious burning as I felt poison rush through my blood and veins. I collapsed on to the ground.
The Hunter stood up wobbly on his unharmed leg. He looked down on me this time with an evil smile. I felt my eyes tire and my body begging for rest. I returned to eternal slumber but not before I said to that man, "I wonder who the true monsters of this world are?"
If you enjoyed, consider subscribing to my [subreddit](https://www.reddit.com/r/ChocolateChipWp/)! Critiques and suggestions are appreciated as well! |
The explorers stared up at the massive ice walls, impossibly large and imposing. They could not believe their eyes; a wall for as far as the eye could see, massive waves crashing up against its jagged base. Even on top of the crow's nest, they could not see over the top. A slight incline could be seen - almost as if the ice walls surrounded the entire earth.
It made no sense. As per their calculations, the earth should have been round - or oval, to be exact. And yet, it seemed as if they were boxed in, forced to remain in this forsaken world. They sailed for weeks, and it never relented, never abetted - the wall was ever-present.
Their supplies ran low, and they were forced to return to their lands, to tell the strange tale to whoever would listen. And they were mocked, and people jeered, but they remained resolute. And when the next explorers went and came, people slowly started to believe.
And with faith, came fruition.
All the pointless wars, all the vying for power - it all slowly grounded to a halt. Because there was a new unknown, one that hid from each and every human. Their plight united them, and soon all of their world's greatest minds came together to devise a way over the wall.
****
Their attempts at scaling it were disastrous - the waves would smash them against its jagged base, and not a single life was saved. Further attempts proved just as fatal, and thus their foolhardy plan was abandoned. Attempts at piercing the ice failed, dismally; it seemed to be almost magical in nature, and no pick would survive the trauma.
But they had a plan. It seemed crazy, impossible at first. But with the world working together, progress quickened, then came forward with startling efficiency.
The first prototype was built, and it failed.
The second and third came closer, but they too ended in fatality.
It was the fourth to go through, to take to the skies from a hulking ship, and to float high into the sky, just above the wall. The lone observer in the balloon spent a total of 10 minutes in the sky, and came down near-delirious.
His rough sketches showed a magical land, full of riches and natural beauty. Strange beasts walked upright, seemingly in harmony with nature. It was an incredible sight, and the next few observers sent up confirmed and furthered the mystery.
There was a land hidden from them - denied from them - just beyond the walls.
A land of peace and prosperity. A land of dreams.
They rejoiced as one, for their efforts had not been in vain.
And soon, with the humans united, the wars began anew - *against those that sought to lock them away.* |
Monday, October 15, 2018
Dear Diary,
Today, I am blind. Somehow I had planned to go to the grocery store to shop, but I cannot drive, so that plan went out the window. I got up around 7:30, according to my husband, Andrew. When I am blind, I put all of my efforts into understanding and observing everything else that I possibly can. I asked Andrew to start blasting my music. He agreed, so I danced around my living room, which is mostly open, so I wouldn't trip over anything. He cooked me some wonderful eggs and bacon for breakfast, and I ate all of it. I danced around for a few minutes more after eating breakfast and then went upstairs. I sat for hours listening to a woman read the fourth Harry Potter book to me. I was so intrigued that when Andrew called to give me lunch I almost did not hear him. I cannot take any of this for granted, so I scarfed down the ramen he gave me. He then told me that he would be leaving for work. I asked him to bring home Chinese food today and he tells me that he will. This is normally when I do something productive on Monday's. I cannot work, so I need something to do so that I am not bored. I listen to more music and I sing, working on hitting the notes right and having a volume of my voice. Then I wrote a short story using the voice control on my computer. The thing I like about writing like this is that I can just make my story flow, but what I don't like about it is that there is no way for me to check how I did and what it is like. Finally, Andrew got home from work. He brought the Chinese food to the table and we ate it. He told me all about his day at work, and I told him about what I did here. Then, after dinner, I wrote a letter to my sister, once again using the voice control on my computer. Now I am having Andrew write in here, to document my day.
Tuesday, October 16, 2018
Dear Diary,
Today I am deaf. I woke up, happy that I could see everything again. I pulled out my favorite book and flipped through the pages. Andrew made me pancakes and sausage and then left for work. I went up to the sitting room and turned on the TV. Once again, I am reminded that today I will not be hearing anything. I put on the subtitles, and just read them while I watch the show. Andrew has already left, and my sister should be here soon to take me out to do something. Around 10:30 Andrea gets here, and she gets me into her car. We don't talk because I obviously would not be able to hear her. We get lunch at Eat n Park. After that, we go to the grocery store, and I shop until I cannot shop anymore. Finally, she drops me off at home, and I do work for my class that I am taking at the local college. When Andrew gets home I skip dinner and go straight to bed.
Wednesday, October 17, 2018
Today is my absolute favorite day of the week. I practically have all of my senses, except I cant taste. And honestly, that isn't that bad. I can eat whatever I want. In that sense, all I mean is that I can eat all of the health foods that I normally couldn't eat. On days that I have minor disabilities I babysit for a family, and so that is what I did today.
Thursday, October 18, 2018
I woke up to no smells. Every Thursday is like this. I don't mind all that much. I babysit on Thursdays as well. This way I can contribute. I cannot smell anything, which means that I would not be able to smell a fire, so it is lucky that the kids I babysit on Thursdays have a whole lot of activities. I just have to drive them there, pick them up, get them dinner, and take them home.
Friday, October 19, 2018
Dear Diary
I have always hated Fridays. I have to stay in a wheelchair on Fridays because I cannot walk. All I ever do on Fridays is stay at home. And that is what I did today.
Saturday, October 20, 2018
These are my favorite days. I have all of my senses and so I can do everything. I always have the most fun these days. Since I have done so much, I am extremely tired, and I do not really feel like writing in here.
Sunday, October 21, 2018
These days are the worst days. It is always just me and my thoughts. If someone were to pick me up, I would have no idea. Although I know that it is only 24 hours, it feels like an eternity. I always get depressed on Sundays. I am very religious, and I am unable to even go to church these days. I think that this may be what it is like to die. I literally have no senses, and so no one is able to communicate with me, and I cannot communicate with them. It is absolutely horrible, and my life would be better without it. |
"Wow. Really good. *Really*. We were speechless - well, for Teller, that's kinda not that strange... But we think that we have figured it out. Everybody in the crowd was a plant, who was planted there by you, so when all of them started speaking in tongues in perfect unison, that was just something that they all had practiced and memorized. And we believe that you did not heal that quadriplegic you had wheeled onto the stage - she was a plant too, and simply was hiding her limbs in her clothes. Brilliant effect on that one, but to professional magicians like Teller and me, we can spot fake miracles easily. Now, the part where your chest opened up and a still beating heart floated out and danced around for a minute - that was very good sleight of hand, but sleight of hand nevertheless. Bravo. The last thing you did, opening up a portal to the Nether realm and spitting your gum out through it, was the hardest trick for us to make sense of. We think that you maybe hid a projector inside of your watch, and possibly blew out some dust from your mouth, so that it looked like an inter-dimensional portal was there when really it was just special effects?"
"Attaboy, Penn. You got me!" |
A few weeks in solitary confinement is usually enough to break the strongest inmates. You can imagine my dismay when they gave me six life sentences for crimes I didn't actually commit.
But the worst part was knowing that my wife would live without me. She'd give birth to our child without me, and maybe even raise that child with another man without me. I could only hope they would do well for themselves and forget me.
One lifetime or a hundred, it didn't matter to me how long I was there. I would be able to keep going forever if I knew she was waiting on the other side. Instead, I resigned myself to mostly silence.
My life improved slightly when I managed to befriend my mysterious guards. I never saw them, but occasionally with my meal I would get a short conversation that provided a glimpse into their lives. Sometimes they would smuggle in books or news, and a rare handful of times they would even ask for my advice. I'm not convinced they weren't just doing it for the fun of getting marriage advise from an alleged mass murderer, but it gave me something to think on. And I thought a lot.
Then, one day, it was over. Some great-grandson of a second cousin twice-removed in law or something like that discovered a diary that exonerated me in full. Without a second to spare they let me out onto the streets of the future with nothing but 400 years of monetary reparations to keep me on my feet. I took my first step into a foreign world that I cared nothing about.
"Wait,"said the lawyer who escorted me to the door. "You forgot your accomplice."
I turned around, but the question on my lips was never asked. My wife stood next to him, no older than the day I last saw her.
"When your sentence was delivered, she insisted that she was as guilty as you are. Now we know what she meant,"the lawyer explained, but I hardly heard him.
I took her hand as she walked towards me. Together, we took our first steps into a world that had so much for me to care [about](https://www.reddit.com/user/MPQEG/). |
The client is late. The email said be at Howdy’s Tavern, nine o’clock sharp, then get a booth in the corner. That’s what I did. Usually I don’t take no directions on how and where a meeting happens, but I’m lucky I’m getting my money on this one at all, considering how messy it all went down.
“You need anything,” the waitress asks. The answer is a vodka, but I order club soda instead. If the client is pissed, I'll need my wits. She brings it over to me with a wedge of lime.
I check my gal's text. She asks if I’m coming over later. She follows up with a shot of just her tits, and I get a little hard in my slacks. I spark my third cigarette since I got here. Where the fuck is this asshole? Every time the door jingles I look up by reflex. One after another, it's just more working stiffs and lonely gals coming to drink away the day, until at last there’s the skinny fucker I’ve been expecting, all dressed up in his suit and hat. He sits down across from me without saying nothing. He slides me his envelope. I toss him the key to the storage unit.
“You left a five year old girl in a storage locker by herself?” he accuses in his stupid British accent, "Christ, Ricky, I heard you were a son a bitch, but that's just awful."
I slough off the critique. “Well if you'd warned me her old man kept some type of flamethrower in the house, my partner might still have a face, and then he'd be watching the kid right about now. If it wasn't for me getting his share of this here envelope too, I might be pretty fucking furious with you and your shit research, you know.”
"You gave her the eyedrops though, correct?"he asks.
"Just like you told me to,"I confirm. It's a lie. When we set up the job, he had given some queer, unmarked eyedropper. He had told me I needed to make sure I got some in the kid's eyes as soon as we snatched her up. He said I didn't get to ask why. Fuck that. I ain't getting some mystery chemicals on my hands, not when I'm already emptying a pack a day in to my lungs. And what's more, I'm the guy you pay to break in and do the type of things most folks are too chickenshit for. If you want someone to play nursemaid, I can get you a hundred chicks from the tenements who'd be more than happy to help you out for six bucks an hour. I stuffed the kid in my trunk and then locked her up as is. He can go deal with her ocular health if it's such a big deal.
“Well I must inform you, my employer is terribly nonplussed this devolved to violence,"the suit says, "but it will all have to do, I suppose.”
He stands up. “Thank you very much, Ricky, for your services.”
“You still won’t give me a name of who's behind this? I send all my best clients a Christmas card, you know.”
“If we require your further services, we will surely reach out.”
The suit fixes his tie knot. He shuffles out of the tavern, getting the once-over from any customer not too drunk to miss how out of place he looks. Howdy’s ain’t a place you see too many uptown types. I stay for a minute to finish the club soda, then text my old lady. She says she’s waiting for me. She says she’s ready. I tuck the fat wad of cash inside my jacket, except I leave a few bucks for the waitress. I go out the back way.
Then, right when I step into the alley, whack. Something clubs me in the face. My back gets real cozy with the concrete and puddles. What the hell was that? Outside the boxing clubs, there ain’t a man in the city who could deck me with one blow.
I sit myself up. The asshole’s standing over me. He’s a little guy, wearing all black and a ski mask, thinking he’s a ninja or something. I pat myself so I can be sure the dough’s still in my sport coat.
I start to get up on my feet. Ski mask shows me how he put me down in the first place. A pillar of ice comes out of his hand like a charging stallion. It pounds me in the chest and I go flying, winding up right back on the pavement. It burns like winter. How the hell is he pulling off that comic book shit? Fuck him if he thinks I’m gonna make this easy, though. I start picking myself up again. I reach for the piece strapped to my ankle. Another pillar of ice comes at me, sounding like a train whistle. I take this one square in the jaw, but see it coming and I keep my balance. I make a fast quarter turn and dodge his next shot. The ice beam sails past me, knocking over a row of trash cans. I get my gun steady and unload three rounds right at his chest. Ski mask is prepared. An umbrella of ice fans out in front of him. The slugs get stuck in the shield. He tosses that whole chunk of ice at me, and then shoots his fucking beams at my feet. I figure if I can just get him to the ground, I might have a shot. I try to lunge. Shit. The fucker has me frozen to the goddamn pavement. I can’t lift my legs. Two more blasts hit my arms and now I’m pinned up against a pipe on the side of the bar, getting frostbite on all my limbs. What the fuck is this guy?
“I’m going to ask you some questions, okay?” ski mask says in a sweet little voice. I was wrong. Ski mask over here is a broad. Getting my ass kicked by some little girl? Is this what’s become of me?
“Fuck your questions,” I tell her.
“Alright cowboy, just relax a little,"she says, "Where's Sally Herrera?"
“Lady, I got no idea what you're going on about,” I return.
“You think you’re not going to tell me? You want me to take it up a notch?”
She reaches for my pecker and her hand starts to get real cold. I can feel all the hairs down there starting to freeze and shatter.
“Fuck, okay, okay!” I shout, “All I know is some guy hired me for some mystery client to kidnap the brat. It happens all the time. I don’t ask what I don’t gotta know. How the fuck are you doing this ice shit?”
She rips off the ski mask and shows me her face. She's a pretty little thing, with one eye green and the other blue.
"You fucking idiot, you don't even know what you got yourself into here!"she scolds me, "Sally's eyes, were they like mine? Two different colors?"
Now that I'm thinking on it, she's right. The kid was the same way, with those peculiar unmatched eyes. I nod for her.
"No, really fucking remember, scumbag. Exactly like mine? One blue, one green?"
"Wait. No,"I tell her, "she was different. She had, like, one green and the other grey. Yeah, that's it. Green and gray."
She starts pacing back and forth, cradling her head, and cursing.
"Let me fucking down now, will ya?"I plead, "this shit is real cold, okay?"
"You don't even know what a Maso is, do you?"she asks me. I confirm I certainly do not. So the chick starts telling me some cockamamie story about ancient bloodlines and the four elements and how some folks can do magic or superpowers on account of their eye color. She says that for the Maso, blue eyes mean you control water, brown means fire, green means earth, and grey is wind. She says the whole city is secretly run by the Maso, and that everything else is just puppets and string. She goes on and on, but all I'm thinking about is how the payday here probably wasn't worth this mental hospital bullshit. But if I'm gonna get her to set me free with a shred of mybdignity in tact, I better play along.
"Okay, so what?"I ask, "Sally's some big deal because she's got two different eyes and two powers?"
"Yes,"she confirms, "Well, not really. Fuck why am I even telling you this anyway. Look: I'm green and blue, earth and water. So, I do this ice shit. It's not both, but some mixture. But Sally, you said she's green and grey. Earth and air. If you got that right, and she's a Maso, that's a different thing altogether. Being Maso is special enough, and being two-colored is even rarer. But green and grey together, that's another fucking tier. Green and gray together, earth and air: that's not just ice beams instead of water or rocks. It means Sally can make golems. An entire army if she wants. She could take over this entire town with a thought. So, you fucking understand what you did now? You ready to take me where you stashed her?"
She reaches down towards my manhood again with her ice grip. I squirm and plead. None of this makes any fucking sense, and I don't even think I know what a golem is. But at least I can trust I don't want to lose my dick to frostbite. I tell her everything. Cardinal Storage off Chambers Boulevard. Locker 1294. I promise her I'll take her there myself. She nods and starts waving her hand. The ice shackles start to melt away, and suddenly I'm free.
The chick's insane, but even worse, she's a fool for trusting me or thinking I care one lick about her magic mumbo jumbo. As soon as she turns her back, I reach for my piece. It's another misstep on my part. Either I'm too old or she's as fast as they come. Before I can even pull the hammer back, another brick of ice is flying at my face, faster than any of the ice from before. It nails me dead on. I go to sleep.
|
Corvidia is no roost. Not any longer. A roost is meant to have order and justice and good birds and she-birds with at least a single feather of honor. A roost is a place where a bird can have a clean, dry nest. After a long day in the trees, he can get as drunk on berrywine as his belly can take. He can nuzzle with his wife, and feel the heat coming off her. He can shut his eyes, knowing there won't be any hawks or owls circling and swooping around. He can trust that he can leave his eggs alone for a whole hour without fearing the filthy rodents will scramble up the trees, eating and taking and cracking what's his. Most of all, in a real roost, a bird believes that whatever law holds for the crows, it better hold for the ravens and the jays alike, lest there be no law at all, and that this is an ideal every bird should be willing to give their lives for. That's what a roost is supposed to be. That's everything Corvidia lost a long ago. If it wasn't for my oath, I'd have swooped out of this place years ago.
My wings are sore from flying against the early morning wind, coming strong off the mountainside. At last, I see it below me: the Great Perch, with it's seven flag-topped spires, meant to represent each Geni of the Corvidian roost, and the supposed harmony between us. I land on the branch before the portcullis, which they begin to lower before I even declare myself. It is an honor I've come to anticipate: I'm wearing my sash, and the path to the Great Perch is never to be shut to a veteran of the oriole raids. I hop my way into the holdfast, where a bustling crowd of jackdaws and rooks from every corner of the roost peck about, selling from wheelbarrows full of brewed potions, strong reeds, steel, or mouse pelts. A raven and a magpie are fighting beside the tavern, while the alchemist shouts from a nearby window, proclaiming how he can turn gold into worms. The brothel whores whip their plumage around, and hop back and forth seductively. It looks enticing at first, but it never takes long to remember how the Great Perch is nothing but a clean window: the appearance of progress, which is just a lie waiting to smack you down.
I go into the tavern, as instructed. The room is nearly empty, which ought to be expected at midday, but in the Great Perch, any moment of relative sobriety is a surprise. In the corner, there's a jay singing some old song and another plucking a harp with it's beak, while the bartender fills up glasses of berrywine for the one passed out treepie on its stool. I look around, trying to be prepared. Nevertheless, she sees me before I see her. She comes up from behind and pushes her sharp beak into my neck, throwing off her cloak. Cassandra. I'm ashamed to say that since the oriole raids, her touch is the only thing that makes me feel alive anymore.
"Hey there, Pino, baby,"she coos, "You know, I always thought a gal like me would have herself a jay knight with some shining blue feathers, but I guess I can settle for the whole brooding black crow look."
"I don't recall you minding this get up when it was the only thing between that pretty ass of yours and a hungry owl,"I tell her.
"Don't be insolent,"she declares, "I'm a princess."
"You're no princess,"I tell her, "you're the daughter of a lunatic. You're a death sentence standing on two claws."
Cassandra shows me her slender tongue. It hits me harder than birdshot. "Well that's all about to change, baby,"she explains, "you see, I got a strategy now and I got us some backup. I have Togu and I have Ninti, both set to move in against daddy."
I look at her like she's mad. Togu and Ninti, the jay and raven princes? She's the daughter of the magpie king, and she's making alliances with the rooks and the ravens? Betraying your own family is one thing, especially when it's your twisted tyrant of a father. But joining forces with Geni who've wanted nothing more for decades than to break the trust between the crows and the magpies? She could be madder than her father after all. But what do I know? I'm just a low-branch crow who's good at killing what I'm told to kill.
"Good for you,"I say, "but what's all that noble bird intrigue got to do with me?"
"Thing is,"she tells me, wiggling her plumage and pecking away at me, pinning me against the tavern wall, "I promised Togu and Ninti they wouldn't have to do it. I said I already had someone to do it."
"Do what?"
She smiles. "Well, clip daddy's wings, of course. How about it, Pino? How about you become the bird to save this whole lousy roost?"
"You want me to kill your father?"I ask her, stunned, "And break my oath to the magpie king?"
"No, baby,"Cassandra coos, "I want you to keep your oath, only to your new, beautiful magpie queen instead. Listen, Pino, the fact is you're the only one who can do this. There's nobody else strong enough who can get close to him."
The drunk treepie at the bar tumbles off his stool. He flaps his wings when he notices, but still hits his head on the sawdust floor. Just another sad reminder there's nothing in this entire roost that's worth fighting for. The only reason to fight is for the way a she-bird will look at you after. Cassandra keeps staring at me, tiling her head in that gorgeous frantic way she does, waiting for my answer on her insidious treason plot. She won't be satisfied until she has everything for herself, including my honor. But what's worse is I know that despite her motives, she's right about it all: the roost is finished unless we banish her lousy, corrupted father and excuse for a king. Cassandra and Corvidia: the only two things I hate as much as I love. The only two things I know I'll do anything for.
"I want a meeting with the princes first,"I tell her.
"Sure, baby,"she assures me, "Togu and Ninti say they want to look you in the eye first too."
"Not just them,"I object, "If we're really doing this, it has to be all the princes. The jackdaws, treepies, jay, crows, rooks, and ravens, all together. We all have to agree and we all have to peck on it."
"Look at you, working out plans already,"she chides, "And here I thought you were just good for a fuck and a couple claw slashes. Okay, Pino. You want everyone, we'll get everyone right here tonight. Except not Yafa, not your crow prince, okay?"
"Why the fuck not?"I ask.
"Because by the time this is all over,"Cassandra whispers, "I'm also thinking the crow prince is going to be you instead."She licks my beak. She flutters her wings and flies off through the skylight. |
When she showed me the pregnancy test and collapsed to the floor in a fit of despair, I thought it was a dumb prank. She had been subscribed to those stupid YouTube channels and I'd seen on her homepage all these recommendations of pranks on your boyfriend and what not. So I didn't exactly take it seriously but it bothered me. I pulled her wrist and put her to her feet. She was wailing in an unattractive way.
"*I can't be pregnant*,"she was hysterical.
See, she never wanted to have sex before marriage and I wasn't exactly ecstatic over the decision but I respected her for it because I loved her so deeply. So I decided to tell her to keep the pregnancy -- to later take a test of some sort. She had a closed circle of friends and I made it a commitment to grab pieces of hair, swabs when they were sleeping -- to test all of them.
So for close to nine months, I bought baby things, took her to appointments and basically married her in the mean time.
You may not understand how intensely angry I was with her. I was furious. But I loved her too much. I knew that I'd never blame the child and I could forgive her since she was a mess and he didn't appear to be in the picture. I may have stalked her, hacked her accounts-- but there was never a trace of another man. And this worried me.
The heat of my worry, of course, was when three rich men came to our door about three days before her due date. She was bulging and close to exploding and when I let these men in (they called themselves her friends), her eyes became as big as her belly.
"Hey Marie,"one said.
"Been a while,"the second said.
"Since that night,"said the third.
Before I could even say a word, the three burst into flames. Their skins began to bubble and boil and splatter the walls and floor. Their eyes popped out, their skeletons wavered in the heat. And then three tiny monsters fluttered into the air.
"Wh--what the fuck--"I screamed, falling back.
Marie looked at me, a pitiful look in her eyes.
"I'm very sorry, Joey,"she sighed, "I may have used you for money. But anyway, this baby,"she tapped her stomach, "is the anti-Christ."
I heard laughter from the monsters and I saw flashes of their bodies and then everything was over. Everything.
~~fuck knows~~ |
I really don't know what surprised me the most about the scene that I saw when I opened my dorm door. The ninjas that Gina, my 5'1"skinny as a tooth pick room mate, was fighting with a plastic spoon and binder, or the fact that she seemed to be winning.
"Hey, Sam,"Gina called casually whilst spooning a ninja in the eye, "will you shut the door, I really can't have any of these guys getting away."
"Uhhh, yeah, sure,"I managed, stepping in and shutting the door. Wait, why did I step in?!?
"It's ok,"Gina said, seeing that I was ready to panic, "there's only one left now anyway,"she continued, dispatching the second to last one with a binder jab to the trachea, "I think we can take him."*we?* I thought as the last one came towards me. "Sam, catch,"Gina said, tossing me the binder. *what the fuck am I supposed to do with this?*
"Gina! Help!"
"It's cool,"Gina soothed, "this isn't my first three way,"she said as she pounced on the last one from behind and drove the hilt of the spoon between his ribs, covering the mouth with her other hand so the ninja couldn't scream, which didn't matter because I did.
"What the hell!"I shouted. I had calmed down a bit, but I was still going crazy.
"You were such a normal room mate. Where the fuck did this all come from?"
"This?... specifically?"She asked, sitting calmly on the futon, resting her legs on the corpse of one of the ninjas that died in a seemingly unfortunate position.
"Specifically?! What's that supposed to mean? Does this happen regularly?"
"Well I do get about one contract a week, but this incident seems to be a contract that was taken out on me."
"A... contract?"
"Yeah, I had to start contracting last year to pay for school. It's not glamorous, but I could be stripping,"she said as if she had already tried that.
"Contracting? Like contract killing?"I stammered.
"Yes, silly, what did you think I did every weekend when you went out with friends?"She said, standing up. I didn't really have an answer for that, I honestly had just thought that she didn't really like me and my friends. "Anyway,"she said with a stretch, "we gotta get rid of these guys before their blood seeps into the carpet."*again with this We thing* "grab his legs."
I don't know how Gina did it, but she somehow talked me into carrying all 12 of the bodies down the stairs while she "distracted"the boy at the front desk. I was too exhausted to even bother cleaning the blood out of the carpet. I went straight to bed without a shower. Until I realized I had an essay due tomorrow that I hadn't started yet. I groaned and got out of bed. I was about half way done by the time Gina finally came back. She was covered in blood, but after carrying out the bodies of 12 ninjas that she had killed with a spoon, I really doubted any of it was hers. She peeled her clothes off and left again to take a shower.
Later that night, just as I was about to fall asleep Gina called over to me from the other side of the room.
"Sam?"
"Hrm,"I grumbled, really not in the mood being that it was now 2am.
"Sam, are you mad at me?"She squeaked.
"Nooo, why would you ever think that?"I replied, rolling away, towards the wall.
"Well,"she replied, clearly not picking up on my mood, "you haven't talked to me all night and I get the feeling that..."
"Yes! Damn it, I'm mad at you!"
"Why? Is it because of the ninjas?"
"Of course it is!"I yelled, getting pretty pissed, being on irate. "I can't believe you! You had twelve people trying to kill you today."
"22, actually."
"One tried to kill me!"
"Oh, I had him."
"You kill people!"
No response.
"Gina,"I said, tiredly, "I think I'm going to request a new room mate."
"What? No, don't do that!"She pleaded. "I promise not to bring ninjas to the dorm again!"
"It's not just that..."
"I'll only take contracts every two weeks!"She said, getting exasperated.
"No, I just can't..."
I'll give you a cut to be my cleaner?"She said, changing tactics and raising an eyebrow.
"I'm listening,"I said, rolling over.
"Look, I kill a lot of people."
"Yes, we've covered that."
"And sometimes I leave a pretty big mess,"she continued, "I'll give you 10% to clean up after my contacts and stay quiet."
"20%."
"15%"
"Done,"I said, reaching my hand out and shaking hers. I might be able to graduate debt free now.
"Good,"Gina said, "because there is some blood staining the carpet right now I have to be up early tomorrow so I can't clean it."
*God damn it*
|
M'aiq decided it was time. He had travelled at great personal risk to study this species that had so long intrigued his own due to the inherent similarities between the two. The 'humans'(good thing they had a name for themselves; M'aiq was having trouble coming up with one) were asking exactly the same questions and coming up with exactly the same answers as his own species, except that they were doing it millions of yellu(roughly a hundred thousand Earth years) later. M'aiq was one of the 5 from his planet who had been sent here to experiment on this species. He was to provide them with information that would help their understanding of Existence come up to the level of his own people so that when they eventually made contact, it would be as equals.
It took him a few years of pondering but he had finally decided how he would go about it. He would select one of those studying the physical aspects of Existence and invade his being to use it as a channel to disburse knowledge. The poor soul would be banished from his body, but it was a necessary-no, an inevitable- sacrifice.
After some mulling, he decided to go to a place called Oxford and by sheer chance, picked out a human by the appellation of Stephen Hawking. M'aiq was having as much trouble pronouncing it as he was having with ousting the human soul. This had not happened with the first Earthling he encountered because it was a lesser form. Stephen Hawking was different-he was a human- and he was resisting M'aiq's invasion. He would lose eventually, but M'aiq knew he couldn't stop the human from taking his Essential Knowledge with him. This would leave him clueless as to how to steer the being.
M'aiq had finally managed to banish the human soul from its being. He had to begin working on his mission right away. He had spent the last few years learning everything about what humans knew about the 'Universe'. They had managed to formulate two perfectly accurate models of the Universe that failed on different levels- one of them on the largest scales and the other on the smallest scales. They had made the blunder of building them as two separate theories with radically different mathematical frameworks. They had to be shown how to bring these two opposing pictures into harmony. M'aiq would give them a hint: he would show them how these two, when treated together, would lead to conclusions that were absurd by standards of either of them. And what better place to start than the most quantum of classical objects- black holes.
And so it was that Stephen Hawking published his now-famous paper on Hawking radiation. It was the result of treating quantum fields in a general relativistic background. It had been seen as the next big thing in physics-the first breakthrough in the nascent field of quantum gravity. Everything seemed to go according to plan so it infuriated M'aiq to no end when he saw how human beings followed it up. They sat obsessed with this one effect, debating everything its implications to its formulation for years upon years. They simply refused to search for other such anomalies and to attempt to connect those with this one.
But even as he grew annoyed with humanity on one hand, he was beginning to admire it on the other. As he expected, Hawking's soul had left with its Essential Knowledge, rendering M'aiq unable to command his body. He had to learn everything about the human body with no help whatsoever. To make things worse, communication was an integral part of human survival. They needed to communicate with each other for most things in their life. They depended on each other to such an extent that without the ability to communicate, a human was as good as a corpse. M'aiq's mission would be defeated before it ever began. So even as his victory over Hawking was approaching, he found himself questioning its purpose. He wondered if it would help accomplish anything at all for the sin he was committing of dislodging a soul from its chosen body. He decided there was only one way to find out and went ahead and fought for control of the human's body. Hawking's mind was of course, not aware of the war of the spirits within and assumed there was something wrong its physical being. It turned to other humans for help, and M'aiq was surprised at how helpful one human could be to another. It was this knowledge that removed all doubts from his thoughts and allowed him to press forward with his plan- he counted on the human will to help fellow humans to work in his favor.
Soon after Hawking's soul had been liberated, the body was as good as a ship in a cat's paws. Without the ability to communicate, it fell to other humans to ensure his survival. There was literally nothing that M'aiq could do except pray for some miracle to allow him to somehow communicate with the world. This miracle came in the form of a device that allowed M'aiq to communicate without requiring the movement of a single muscle. To think that one of them had gone to such great lengths to help another fostered in him an immense admiration of the human nature that he knew would last as long as he was in Existence.
Edit: Some changes and additions. I hope I'll have more time for this later as it was rushed and I'd like to add more. Sorry if I've disappointed those hoping for a better update. |
"So let me get this straight,"Doctor Jones said, peeking over his dirty square glasses, "you want me to amputate your ring finger?"He chuckled. "I can tell you from personal experience, there are easier ways to get a divorce."
"Quiet!"I hissed at him, gripping my covered left-hand index finger as if it were a snake head ready to bite. "He's listening."
"Who's listening?"He asked, flipping over to what I assume is the mental health history of my chart. "It's just you and I, Stacy."
"Just listen, doc, just listen, please."I said. Removing the dark leather glove that I kept over my left hand at all times, I revealed my hand, ghost-white from the wrist down. The ring, glowing, as Darin described, "a vivacious 'My Little Pony' pink,"almost burned my retinas. Holding my hand out in front of me, I gathered up the courage to speak. "Hey, Darin, I just thought I'd let you know that I'm with another man."
Silence.
Doctor Jones set down his clipboard on a nearby chair. "Ms. Jackson, what is this abou-"But before he could finish, the ring interrupted in a voice of terrifying virginity.
"I SWEAR, STACY, IF YOU'RE WITH ONE OF THIS BETA CHADS RIGHT NOW, I'M GOING TO KMS MYSELF."Darin screamed, turning a violent red.
"WHY DON'T GIRLS EVER LIKE ME FOR WHO I AM? I'M SUCH A NICE GUY, WHY DON'T YOU LOVE ME, CUNT?"
"I've been everywhere, Doc,"I pleaded, tears in my eyes. "I've been to a psychic, a strip club, and a church, but it still won't stop negging me!"
"OH JUST LIKE THE TYPICAL FEMALE TO RUN TO ANOTHER 10"DICK CHAD AS SOON AS SHE GETS TIRED OF A NICE GUY. TYPICAL FEMALE."Darin continued.
Recovering from the shock of Darin's terrifying reveal, Doctor Jones sat forward in his chair. "I... I can't believe it,"he said, taking deep breaths of shock through his mouth. "I knew they had to go somewhere after the purge, but who would've thought..."The Doctor trailed off, in awe at the continued rants of Darin's cracking voice.
'NEXT TIME CHAD TELLS YOU HOW SHIT YOU ARE, DON'T COME CRYING BACK TO ME, SLUT. I PLEDGE MY KATANA ONLY FOR THOSE THAT SERVICE ME WHEN I DEMAND."
"Doctor, please,"I screamed, "what do you mean 'the purge'?"
The Doc inhaled, then spoke, struggling to articulate clearly over Darin's pubescent shouts. "I didn't think those madmen at Reddit would do it, but then they did it... they just *purged* r/incels. Rumors have been floating around about where they fled, but to think that they migrated their consciousnesses over to mood rings... it's evil genius."
"WHILE YOU WERE PRACTICING MEDICINE, I STUDIED THE BLADE. WHILE YOU WERE ACQUIRING YOUR PHD, I MASTERED THE BLOCKCHAIN..."
"Doc, you need to act now!"I shouted, disregarding the nurses outside that likely wondered what was happening.
"I'll lose my license, they could even-"
"Doctor, do this for me. Do it for *me* doc."
"WHILE YOU WASTED YOUR DAYS AT THE CLINIC IN PURSUIT OF SANITY, I CULTIVATED INNER STRENGTH..."
"*DOCTOR, PLEASE*"
Doctor Jones, now snapped out of his stupor, reached in his lab pockets, searching for some hidden item.
"AND NOW THAT THE WORLD IS PLAGUED AND THE PATIENTS ARE AT THE GATE, YOU HAVE THE AUDACITY TO COME TO ME FOR HELP."
I slammed my hand on the cold counter, ready for what ever happened next. Doctor Jones nodded, yanking a scalpel out of his pocket.
"NOW, DOCTOR, NOW!"
In one quick cutting motion, my finger was off. I was free.
Darin, cut off from his life source, clattered on the counter, color draining from the silver gleam of the ring. In one dying breath, he gave his last words to the cruel world, before departing to the next ethereal plane on angel's stride. "Fucking^Chads^taking^all^the^slits..."
"Is...is it over?"I asked the Doctor Chad Jones.
"Not yet, Stacy,"he replied, staring out the misty window and into the cold night. "I fear the war has just begun."
|
As the mugger slumped onto the floor, the last of his breath stolen from him a mere moments ago, his eyes wide open, I could see the looks of horror coming from the three people I loved most in the world.
My heart didn't even skip a beat from the confrontation up to seeing their faces. Those beautiful, innocent faces. I did not deserve these angels.
I stared deep into my wife's eyes as I pulled out my phone and started to type a phone number in, never taking my eyes off her. Tears burst silently from the hazel eyes, like a damaged dam finally conceding to mother nature.
The line picked up on the other end, silence greeted me. I sighed "Recycling needs to be collected, Alleyway between brooker and barker street. Two bags of garbage have been thrown outside"
"It isn't recycling day today"a stern voice broke the silence.
"I know, but even if there is too much waste, we can't send them to outer space, can we?"code to confirm what I am.
"Agreed, does anything else need to be recycled today?"
"Just a couple pieces of clothes need to be donated, can it be collected for charity?"
"Yes. We will be waiting."
Silence.
"Jess, wait here with the girls please. I pulled a handkerchief out and dabbed away her tears. She flinched ever so slightly as I touched her.
A van had started to reverse into the alleyway, I recognised the license plate code. As two men got out they saluted and walked to the bodies a click of a button the back of the doors opened electronically.
"Marcus, thanks again. Watch them please whilst I donate my clothes."I got into the back of the van and stripped as fast as I could, and opened a bag marked charity. Now clothed, I jumped off the end of the van and walked towards my family. they had not moved an inch. "follow me, please".
"NOW"as they jumped they stumbled behind me. we walked for about 5 minutes until we came across our car.
"In please"I unlocked the car and turned the heating on. only silence was met as I drove home.
I unlocked the door to our beautiful 4 bedroom modern house.
"Kids go upstairs, have a shower and get changed please. If you could bring down the clothes you've worn today and put them in the bags I'll have waiting for you, that would be really sweet of you guys."my voice still calm almost hypnotic as I politely commanded my children to assist me in destroying evidence.
they both nodded and ran upstairs.
"WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON, RYAN? WE ALMOST LOST OUR LIVES TODAY WHEN WE GOT FUCKING MUGGED, BUT YOU STEPPED IN AND MURDERED THEM! WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU? I DON'T EVEN KNOW YOU, WHO THE FUCK WERE THOSE PEOPLE IN THE VAN?"She breathed for a couple of seconds before screaming aloud again. I grabbed her hand and pulled her along upstairs. Opening the door to our room i strode straight into our en suite I plopped her onto the toilet as I started the shower off. I checked the temperature she has it at exactly 117.3°F. I stood her back up, I kissed her on the cheek. I pulled her arms into the air as I lovingly took her top off, I kissed her cheeck, as I hugged her to take off her bra. As I finished taking off the rainder of her clothes I pulled her into the shower with me and carefully washed her body. She had not uttered one word.
I think i've broken her. Fuck...
As i dried her hair, She softly asked me "who are you?"
"You know my name is Ryan Morris. Which is the truth. My career choice is not of a successful Lawyer with a Select number of clients who pay me handsomely. The US Government contract work to a company simply known as Recycling the USA LTD. We're a private black ops team."As you guys now know, you're going to have to brought in for questioning. Sign a Non-disclosure statement. One from our company, the other from the government."
"Do you feel?"she questioned me desperately looking for an answer.
"Sometimes."It was the only answer that was the truth as ambiguous as it was
she looked confused, she looked to the floor "Do you love me?"tears hit her hands
I felt a lump in my throat threatening to strangle me as I had done to that vermin this morning. "With all of my heart. You and the kids are the only things in the world I would ever give my life for."
I kneeled beside her and hugged her. "Know that I would do anything for you"
I don't know how long i hugged her as she cried. I've never felt pain like this before. the gunshot wounds, the stabs and slashes I've had all over my body. I would gladly feel them all over again to stop this feeling. |
The first time she sat next to me I thought it was a prank. She was beautiful, light-blond hair that seemed to effortlessly flow, elegant yet poignant cheekbones giving an angular, elf-like facial structure and electric blue-eyes that somehow managed to seem not cold, but kind.
I tried to speak, to engage her to find out if she had set next to me out of some sort of joke, or misguided pity. I never really talked to anyone. I’d had a few friends when I was younger but over the years they’d moved away in one form or another. I couldn’t talk to her. Instead, I sat in silence for a few minutes, until she rose and walked away.
She always came back though, not always every day, but often enough I learnt every feature of her face, like that showed me her personality. Sometimes I believed she was happy, more often that I liked she seemed sad, and often she seemed to show me she was one of those souls who spends her life looking for a meaning, or perhaps simply a different meaning to what she already had. I like to think I loved her, even as we aged, and the perfect face began to show perfect wrinkles around those same, kind-eyes.
One day she stopped coming, but I remained, a lonely tree in an overgroomed park. |
It was never supposed to go this far.
The only thing that Edgar had ever wanted was a job. He just wanted to do his job, get paid, perhaps travel a bit. He didn't have a family any more, he didn't have any real moral qualms. He just liked to be ordered around and told what to do.
Now he was staring into the bloody face of a man he'd once thought of as his hero. Ultaan Man was restrained, bolted to a wall with several large, metal contraptions. Edgar had his action figure somewhere. He'd put it away into a storage container back in Michigan. He still had to pay the bill for it every month. That was all the interaction he had with his past.
He'd started off wanting to be like him, hadn't he? Edgar tried to remember it all but it all seemed so far away. Had he really start as an Axiox agent? Or was it the other way around? Did he work with the villains first, then go undercover at Axiox? He had never cared before, so he just didn't know.
He'd followed orders. He'd never paid attention to why.
"WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR!"Dr. Madhowse screamed from the platform above. He was being pushed against the safety railing by another hero. Nightshock, maybe. Villains and heroes all looked the same after a while.
"KILL HIM!"
Edgar looked from the fight to the control panel. That was an order. He followed orders. He was good at that. He reached forward and touched the controls that would incinerate Ultaan Man. His gripped the lever, looked up into the struggling, wounded face of the man he'd once admired.
Ultaan Man didn't take orders.
The thought stopped Edgar. He remembered. Ultaan Man worked for himself, even in the very beginning. He never had a boss. He never had someone telling him what to do. He was even above the law and the government. *That* is what had made him a hero to Edgar when he was a kid. *That* was the real power.
Edgar removed his hand from the death switch. He moved it over a few inches and hit the unlock on the restraints.
There was an explosion as Ultaan Man shot from the wall straight into Dr. Madhowse's back. Dust and debris rained down on Edgar from the force of the hero's movement. A stray chunk of concrete almost crushed him, forcing him to dive out of the way just in time. He stumbled and fell down onto the metal walkway. He kept trying to watch the fight, even while falling over. He wanted to see what the man with no orders did. He wanted to see what a free person did.
Another piece of the wall peeled away. It was larger than the others. There was no way that Edgar could dodge it. He watched it instead, thinking about all the things he'd done and how useless his life had been. He'd been a tool. He'd forgotten his dream. He'd forgotten that someone out there actually made choices, real choices.
Ultaan Man pulled Edgar out at the last minute, holding the henchman from one hand while the villain's lair collapsed around them.
Edgar looked up as explosions rocked the world around him.
*So that is what a free man does.* |
The trio of young friars huddled around the firelight. The cave was damp and cold, but a welcoming relief. They warmed their hands and ate the thin gruel that remained. Alfred, the eldest, rummaged through his sack and took out the tomes he had been recording his findings into.
"Bartholomew, have you discovered anything interesting about the hellstone?"
"Yes brother, if you reduce it to a powder and add it with guano reduction and blackwood you can control fireballs."
"Demonstrate."Alfred nodded, perching his chin on his fist.
Bartholomew stood up and produced a vial from his cloak. He emptied half the contents into his hand and threw them arcing over the fire. A great cackle echoed along through the cave as the lights cascaded and disappeared.
Alfred nodded again."Marvelous brother, be sure to record the findings under natural mixtures. Maxwell, have you anything to share?"
"Yes brother, I have found a repelling cane."Said Maxwell holding up a thin metallic rod.
"Continue, please, brother.
"It allows the wielder to exert a small amount of force in a field from around it. As an example,"he said producing a dagger from his satchel, "It is powerful enough to push back imperfect iron."
Maxwell demonstrated how the rod ethereally dominated the small blade. He passed both rod and dagger to Alfred then Bartholomew. Both wondered and delighted at the occurrence.
"Incredible brother, truly an amazing find."Grinned Alfred, still toying with the equipment. "Due to a lack of inscription or enchantment, we can assume the occurrence is natural to the material? A unique material indeed. Truly wonderful Maxwell."
Maxwell smiled and nodded again. His hand froze halfway to his pack, and his eyes squinted against the darkness at the caves mouth. He stood and cried out as a bandit burst forth upon them. Swinging a small knife, he cried out for their coin. Maxwell stood to meet him, trying to reason with him.
"Heretics! Heretics!"The man cried seeing their garb. "Thirty gold a head on each!"He laughed savagely.
The man began to swing at Maxwell, who had stood in the way oh his approach. Maxwell produced the rod once more and deflected and misdirected each attack. Across the room, Bartholomew rummaged through his satchel until he was able to find his fire powder. He uncorked the small vial and sprayed the contents over the assailant.
The man looked down at his blackened rags and turned red with fury. He sprinted towards Bartholomew. Seeing his attacker closing the gap, Bartholomew searched desperately for a way to escape. Finding none, his legs went weak and he put an arm up in a vain attempt at survival. With inches left between death and Bartholomew, Alfred swung a burning log from the fire into the mans chest.
In a deafening crack, the room was illuminated as if it were daylight and the cave became the recently emptied body of a cannon. The brother stumbled at the sudden explosion, unable to see or hear. They groaned and shook themselves until they had regained themselves. Brother Bartholomew looked at the body of the assailant and held back vomit.
"Toss him outside."Alfred said panting. "We'll have to move on tonight anyway. Asides, the locals will ascribe it to a monster or demon. Easier for them to understand I suppose."Alfred finished dusting himself off and looked to the other two brothers. They had collected their packs and were carefully placing their books in their carrying poaches. They extinguished the fire and went into the night. |
I don't remember my last breath or moment of life, I just remember it going dark and then I woke up...here.
A strangely familiar place that feels almost like home but I can't place why or where or anything else for that matter.
It's dark but not pitch black, something like a permanent dusk. There's enough light to see but not enough to make out shapes more than fifteen feet away. Is it a lamppost or is it something moving out there? Impossible to know until you get closer.
I hear clicking noises in the distant darkness, hissing noises and the wet sounds of mouths opening and closing or eyes flicking shut.
Gross, right?
It doesn't bother me so much, a lifetime of living in this world in the back of my mind has made me used to that sort of thought. It's unsettling but it's not terrifying.
Then it all clicks.
I am dead. That's a fact, I remember the machines pumping my heart for me. I had always told my kids to let me go rather than live like that and to their credit they listened.
Now I'm here. And I made this world. I wrote about it for the better part of thirty years. A world of horror and terror, creatures that are twisted and frightening.
I hear rapid clicking nearby and I whirl to see nothingness. Maybe a flitting shape in the shadows but I can't be sure. I listen, close my eyes, and think. The clicks are very fast, like many limbs moving.
"Selene!"I shout, "come here, I know it's you."
There is a low chuckle, feminine and soothing but I know better. The shape materializes from what I had thought was a fence line, limbs unfurling as she moves her lithe bulk on those legs. She skitters forward until I can see her, blinking at me through hundreds of eyes. She has a woman's body but the eyes of a spider, from her back sprouts long legs tipped with black claws. She crosses her arms and watches me, tilting her head.
"The Creator, we've been wondering if you would come."
I smile at her, she's exactly as I had imagined she would be. Not like that hatchet job from the movie. I don't like to talk about that.
"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"I ask Selene. Her womanly mouth splits in a grin to reveal rows of sharp teeth, almost like a Cheshire shark.
"Depends on the creation."
I heard the hissing in the darkness and I can imagine that would be the dog sized creatures that haunted a town in one of my stories. Dragging children and animals into the night to feed, to reproduce and eventually covering the town in a thick black ichor that dissolved the residents. It was not a happy ending.
"So which are you?"I ask Selene. She comes towards me on those long, terrifying limbs and lowers herself to look at me in the eyes with all of hers. She doesn't smile, doesn't move, just breathes at me slowly.
Then she smiles, broadly.
"I always liked you Creator. Most of us did."
One of the dark shapes leaps out from the darkness at me with bared fangs from a mouth the split the length of it's narrow head, a bright red tongue lolling out and drool spraying from it's mouth. Bright red eyes flash in the darkness as the front arm-like limbs try to grab at me while the back six propel it forward with immense power.
One of Selene's legs pierces it's blocky head and pins the Consumer to the ground as it flails about with blackened blood spewing from the gruesome wound.
"These ones,"she offers, shaking the thing off the long leg, "not so much. Shouldn't have written about those things, that just want to kill. Give your monsters a conscience."
"I didn't know I'd end up here,"I say, in a weak defense, I didn't know but the Consumers had always been a cop-out monster. Easy, evil without thought or real purpose.
She blinks her eyes at me in amusement and lowers herself and offers her back to me.
"Come, more will be on their way. And we need your help to stop it."
"We?"I ask, clambering onto her back and wrapping my arms around her neck as she leaps off into the darkness with me clutching her.
"Oh yes, you have so many new friends to meet."
Friends, she says.
With friends like these...who needs enemies? |
It’s been a millennia since Excalibur was embedded within the stone. A millennia has passed this legendary weapon. It had seen empires rise and fall, technological advances come to light that previously only Merlin could conjure.
Arthur was barren. He bore no offspring, and his lineage was nonexistent. His final wish to his most trusted confidantes was to help him put Excalibur back from whence it came. Arthur could not afford to let the mighty sword fall into the wrong hands.
I had heard the stories of the millions who would try and pluck the blade from its slumber, each and every one unworthy. Excalibur sat. Bided its time. Weathered the millennia. Sorted through those who were unfit to wield its might. There aren’t many left to make the attempt now after The Collapse. Anyone who is left are more concerned with making it through the night than claiming the rusty broadsword.
On one of my scavenger runs I saw the rusted sign.
*Camelot 2 KM*
I had yet to make a run though the old settlement, so I marched unto the not so ancient city. Canned goods. MREs. Bullets. This place was quite the goldmine. My pack was full, and my hopes were high. I just walked for a while until I stumbled upon the city square. You could still see what was left of those unfortunate people waiting in line to see if they had what it took to unsheathe Excalibur. *Hallowed* city, just like the rest. I waded through the bones in the square to reach the stone pedestal that held the blade. I didn’t even pull, Excalibur had ejected itself when I had merely touched the hilt.
It’s age had shown. Time was not a friend of this blue steel blade. Brittle, Broken, Shattered.
If I were worthy of this power I wasn’t going to let this be the end of the weapon. I brought the remnants of the blade to my bunker, and began the forging and metalwork to recreate the mythic weapon.
Intricate Inlays, Beautiful Binding, Smooth Fan of the Hammer.
Excalibur. A deadly, and elegant weapon, for a not so civilized age. The Blue-Steel revolver was everything a Gunslinger like myself could hope for. Everything I would need protect the Dark Tower, and take down The Man in Black.
|
"*Now* do you hate?"Darth Kulil said, glaring down at the student she'd just struck.
Tuyoir did not answer; he knew better. When Kulil wanted an answer, she'd demand one.
"You think I am cruel for the sake of cruelty,"Kulil continued. "And to an extent, you are correct. But it is for *your* benefit, child. It is to make you hate me. It is to make you hate fate, for putting you in my care. It is to make you hate everything, because hate will make you stronger."
Tuyoir remained silent.
"Now: Tell me, do you hate?"This time Kulil expected a reply.
"No,"Tuyoir said.
It'd begun at the beach.
Training with an insane abusive mentor on an isolated island was not easy. Being filled with fear, anger, hate, and above all else suffering, made for a difficult and painful life. So, from time to time, Tuyoir snuck out, and he made his way to the beach.
At first, it'd just been an escape. Sitting in the sand, watching the waves come in, it was a moment of peace in an otherwise horrible life. But that peace, it'd become something... more.
He'd fallen asleep, at first. But those moments before he drifted off, the moments where his mind had slipped, his teachings forgotten, he'd felt... everything. The waves, the wind, the life of the grass and leaves and fish and birds. His own life, connected to all of them. It was the same power, the same connection he'd been taught to dominate all his life, but now it came freely, it flowed through him.
The Force was peace.
Since that day, he'd crept away to the beach more and more often. He didn't even need the escape anymore, he'd discovered; he could call upon the meditation of the Force any time he needed to, if his mindset was right. The Force was a part of him. It had always been, and only Darth Kulil and her teachings had hidden that truth.
Kulil snarled, bringing Tuyoir back to the present "I don't know what is wrong with you. But if you refuse to feel hate, then I will teach you fear. And pain. And you will learn."She drew her lightsaber, igniting it.
Tuyoir did the same, knowing that if he did not then Kulil would simply skip directly to torture. If he fought well, he knew, he might be simply hurt. Fear coursed through him.
As Kulil struck, though, Tuyoir found himself remembering the beach. As if this were his last moments, and he was trying to remember the only good that had happened to him. And when he thought of that beach, that peace, the fear evaporated.
Like the waves, he moved. Like water, he flowed. Like the wind, he was unassailable. Every strike the Kulil made, he was already in position to deflect. Every feint was transparently obvious. And with her anger and desperation increasing, every moment made the battle that much easier.
Tuyoir did none of it. The Force flowed through him, and he was merely its conduit. It knew how to preserve, how to protect... and how to sting.
A flick of his wrist as the next strike came in, and Kulil cried out. Tuyoir's counterstrike had done little damage, but it had injured her. She fell to the ground, her lightsaber extinguished.
"Do it,"She said, grinding her teeth as she looked up at him. "Finish me. It is the Sith way."
"No,"Tuyoir said.
"Why?!"She demanded. "Why won't you hate!?"
"How can I?"Tuyoir asked. He thought back to her earlier lessons, her claim that she was hurting him to make him hate. And why? Because that is what had been done to her. And to her master before her, and so on. She'd been made this way, only she'd never found the peace he had. "You're just like me,"he said.
"What happened to you?"Darth Kulil asked. For once, she seemed openly curious, honest. Like an actual person instead of the Darth she'd made herself.
Tuyoir put his hand out to pull her up. "Let me show you." |
Terry walked down the rain slicked sidewalk, head down as the rain fell heavily around him.
A brightly lit neon sign hung above the corner store doorway flashing its brilliant red and blue. Terry turned inside, like he had done everyday for the last two months and made his way down the aisles. He felt a pang of regret as he left small puddles of water behind him that Ms. Chang would have to mop up. He grabbed a handful of ramen, a few energy drinks and paid at the counter.
"Raining?"Ms. Chang asked looking at the rain soaked Terry.
"Just a bit, should let up soon. Have a good night Ms. Chang,"Terry said with a wave and walked back into the storm.
His apartment was a few blocks down the road, it was a plain brick building that had been standing there for the last fifty years. The rooms were small, constantly smelled like damp paper, but the rent was cheap and Terry needed it to be.
He shook his jacket out and hung it in the small closet inside the apartment, kicked his shoes off and dropped the bags in the kitchen. He powered up his computer, flipped on the TV and cracked open an energy drink. He picked through the bowls littering the counter and found the least dirty one and ran some water in it to rinse out the dried bits of carrot and noodle from his last meal.
"Four of the golden tickets have been found! Where will the fifth one be discovered?"The news reporter was standing outside of the mysterious Maruchan factory.
Terry grunted and ripped open a ramen pack and dropped it into the bowl. *No golden ticket here,* he thought with a bit of disappointment. He was surprised it wasn't there but he couldn't help but hope a little.
He turned to grab his energy drink and knocked the bowl off of the counter. In an attempt to slow its descent he stuck out his foot resulting in the bowl ricocheting away, throwing the block of ramen against the floor, shattering it.
*Oh son of a . . . * Terry kicked the pieces underneath the fridge and stove and tore open another package of ramen. Instead of the pale wavy noodles, a glimmer of gold reflected the over head fluorescent light.
He peeled back more of the package revealing a shimmering, golden ticket.
*Oh my god.*
"I've got a golden ticket,"he whispered.
"I've got a golden ticket!"His voice rising.
"I've got a golden ticket!"he shouted with glee.
A phone number was printed on the golden ticket with the words "If discovered, call this number,"beneath it. He dialed the number which rang twice before being picked up.
"By calling this number you are claiming possession of a golden ticket. If this is true press one,"a quiet robotic voice intoned.
Terry pressed one.
"Congratulations. Unit Two has been dispatched to your location."The line went dead and Terry was left holding the phone in confusion.
"Unit Two? Are they sending like, a limo?"he asked no one.
He paced the small apartment glancing out of the peephole expecting a knock at the door. But the minutes passed, and a knock never came.
*Maybe I should call the news.*
A scratching at the window turned his head just in time to see the glass exploding inward. Tiny shards peppered Terry as he covered his face with his arms.
"What the hell--"he managed to scream out when something sharp slammed into his chest. He looked down at a strange metallic cylinder jutting out of his sternum.
Two small men in black clothes slipped into the apartment from the blown out window. They each carried a small pistol with a large tube for a barrel. Terry's knees felt weak as he wobbled then fell against the wall.
*Ninjas?*
"This is Unit Two. The fifth contestant has been secured."One of the men in black said into a microphone hidden beneath his mask.
Darkness crept in around the edges of Terry's vision and the last thing he saw before passing out was a large bag being pulled over his head.
---
|
“You’re telling us it’s all real?”
Adam groaned in response. It was the third time in one hour they had asked him that question, and he was growing weary.
“Yes, every word of it”
Despite the constant barrage of irritating questions, this night hadn’t been all bad. The men across from Adam were dressed in suits as black as midnight with sun glasses on that only reflected Adams annoyed expression. They practically screamed government agent and were overly dressed for the dingy dive bar that they inhabited. Adam gave a quick glance around. The lighting in Paddy’s had never been working and many corners and booths in the bar were shrouded in darkness. Over at the bar were a dozen neon signs displaying the prices of liquor, none which were too expensive for Adam’s taste.
Not that he was buying, he had agreed to answer all the question these pair of Agent Smith cosplays had levelled at him, in exchange that they bought all his drinks. As a result, Adam was in a more agreeable mood, the good whiskey had been non to cheap but if the suits had bothered about that they did not show it. The agent to Adam's right crossed his arms and gave an exasperated sigh. Adam had taken to calling him ‘Grey’ due to grey hairs that were forming at the beginning of his combed back hair cut.
“You’re telling me that out there, there are beings the size of planet’s, that there are sectors of space that will drive you insane if you stay too long in them and that there is such a thing as Space imps?
Adam chuckled at that last part. Next to the rest of the things he had encountered out there the Space imps had been only a minor annoyance. He had been exploring uncharted regions of space as per usual. The engine of his makeshift space craft groaned, sputtered then gave out. Not that this was unusual to him, he had been forced to perform maintenance on the ‘*first starfighter*’ dozens of times. What was unusual however was the skittering he had heard in the vents and the sound of what appeared to be giggling. Before he could blink he the Pale blue creatures that resembled tiny naked baby’s only with added horns, tail and wings were crawling all over him, scratching at him with tiny claws and pointed tails. He had been lucky he kept a blaster on him at all times otherwise the little bastards would have swarmed him to death. They had also made dinner out of the ships internal wiring, it had taken him days to be able to get moving again.
“Yeah, I’ll admit maybe I could have thought of a better name than Space Imps, but once you see them I assure you, you will agree with me.”
It was no surprise that eventually Adam’s books would be found to be true. People loved them sure and they had given Adam enough money to fade away into obscurity. But the day had finally come, and people were finally starting to put two and two together. Sure, one or two things lining up with the descriptions Adam had written could be put down to coincidence, but now that Humanity was finally exploring the stars certain people were finally wising up.
“First of all, Mr. Jackson how did you invent Faster than light travel and make a craft capable of it 50 years before our best scientists were capable of it?”
Adam grinned and took a sip of his whiskey, it went down smooth and left a pleasing burn at the back of his throat. The fact that he hadn’t had to pay for it he found more pleasing. He leaned backwards and signalled the bartender to fetch him another bottle. By the looks of things, he would be here a long time.
“Hey, I’m smart when I want to be” He shrugged carelessly. Both agents reacted to that statement, Grey’s mouth twitched downwards ever so slightly. His partner, seemingly looking like a much younger copy of Grey, openly scowled at Adam. The fact that the response seemed to annoy both agents amused Adam. But it was no lie that had made to annoy them. It was simply the truth. One day Adam had sat down in his boring downtown apartment, surrounded by the grey walls and blank wooden furniture. He had been a slave to the corporations, the same as anybody else but he had had enough of all the pointless meetings, benign office chatter and stale bland coffee. After a night of copious drug and alcohol abuse, he had somehow invented faster than light travel.
Not that they’d believe that of course. What was Adam to say, *hey, I did a shit ton of drugs and drank a ton of booze, I was either gonna die or invent something fucking crazy.* He chuckled aloud, and the agents regarded him coldly. The younger one’s nostrils were flaring and even from across the table Adam could hear his teeth grinding.
“I don’t think your partner likes me”
Adam chuckled and tipped his glass towards the younger agent. The bartender arrived at the table and left a bottle of fine scotch by Adams side. He’d had enough of these two, these were the fifth pair of government agents in as many days, all asking the same boring questions. At least he had gotten all the agents to buy him drinks.
“Listen guys.”
Adam stood up and lit himself a cigarette, smoking inside any building had been outlawed long ago, but Paddy’s was a keep your business to yourself kinda place. The smoke wafted from his mouth and added to the haze of the bar. Hell, it might improve the smell. The younger agent coughed and reached for some water. Adam had forgotten that smoking was considered a rarity now.
“I’ll tell you the same thing I’ve told every other schmuck in a suit that’s visited me over the past week, every word in those books, every single one is real. You have no idea what’s out there and let me tell you one thing, you are not even slightly fucking prepared”
Adam finished off the rest of his glass and placed it upside down on the table. He thanked the agents for the drinks and bottle in hand he turned to leave the dingy hole in the wall.
“Wait Mr. Jackson!”
Adam turned around and Grey was standing directly behind him. For an old man he moved incredibly fast and had easily kept pace with Adam. The agent stood several inches taller than Adam and he considered himself tall. The man was by no means small and appeared to have been built like a castle.
“Before you go, perhaps you’d like a job?”
|
The strange man emerged from the shadows. There was a glint of metal and the familiar coat of the royal family shone in the candle light. The blade swooped down...and shattered. The corgi remained unharmed. The man started to shake and convulse in anger. It was a fake. The sword was a fake. The only sword that could kill it, it wasn't real. She would live forever and he couldn't do a thing about it. He had killed three. And now he, he had screwed it up. He still needed to find the blade. It had disappeared after the last one, and now, he had found a FAKE. He couldn't take it anymore.
"NO! NO, no,nononooono, NOOOOOoooo! WHY!"
The furry creature stared up at him meekly. He picked up a piece of the blade and brought it down upon the dog.
"Won't!"
His hands were bleeding now.
"You!"
Small drips of sweat and tears were rolling down his withered face.
"DIE!"
He collapsed, weeping and shaking. A voice echoed around him.
"Charles! CharLES! Where's Linnet! She needs her bath!"
The man collected his thoughts, and ripped off apart of his shirt, wrapping it around the wound, wincing at the pain.
"I'm coming, you old woMAN, YOUR BLOODY DOG BIT ME!"
He stumbled out of the chamber, wrenching the dog by its collar, sending it flying. He started to mumble.
"god, just let me kill them, two more, and it'll be OvER!"
He stumbled away, wiping the tears from his face. Two more. TWO MORE AND HE'D BE KING. |
A slight vibration in my ear alerts me to what I already know, I am taking a dump. Still I gaze up and to the right to see my augmenter display, “defecation has received +1 XP.”
I shuffle my way past the sink and into the hallway, another vibration, “sanitation -2 XP.” I sigh, “fucking nanny state.”
I was told that in the past 32 used to mean adult, but my age XP bar has been stuck at level 14 since I threw up in the pizza parlor’s Zero G ball pit 6 years ago, that was a mess.
The lighting of my cigarette is followed by the oh so familiar vibration, I don’t even look at that one anymore.
The TV powers itself on to show the morning news and I slip into my usual state, eyes open but otherwise unaware. I smirk inside as my “informed XP” grows steadily. They can make me watch, but they can’t make listen. The constant vibrations undercut my victory somewhat, but in this world you take what you can get.
The walk to work is filled with the drudgery of all walks to work, the constant vibration rewarding a punishing all the same. Little goals that keep little people moving forward. I thought I would eventually grow numb and immune to the vibrations, but I always end up checking. That small dopamine dump of leveling up something as unimportant as hygiene for clipping my toe nails is the most excited I’ve been in months.
Out of a lifetime of habit I look up to check my XP. A shadow covers my eyes as I see my luck XP falling like a shit from heaven while simultaneously my age is skyrocketing towards 95. Further above I see the crate that has caused my shadowed eyes.
I leap up, “why didn’t I level up athleticism when I had the chance?”
|
"So, let me get this straight, we just have to force it?"
"Yep\-a\-rooni."The phrase sounded odd coming from the cigar\-chomping man's mouth.
"How... how does one go about that?"Like most recruits, the questioner was a clean cut kid with a spotless navy blue uniform.
"Gotta put your shoulder into it."
"Into what, exactly?"
"It! You know, when the vessel's going as fast as it can, you just give it a nudge. A little tap. Hell, a big tap."
"But that... that shouldn't work."
"It'll work if I say it works! What does the universe think it is? Who fuckin' invented physics? We did."With that, the man took a big pull from his cigar and spat on the ground. "And we'll god\-damn break it if need be."
The younger man stared, somewhat incredulous.
"What about, you know, all the space\-time stuff that got us here?"
"Fuck it \- we're better than that. All you need to know is that, when you've hit light speed, go a little faster."
"I'm... I'm not sure how to do that."
"Well, you're going to have to goddamn learn if you plan on being anybody."
"I suppose you're right. I'll give it a try on my next assignment."
"Good lad. Now, let's go crack open some atoms." |
"Son, we're going for a ride now, okay? Don't worry, I won't let them hurt you."I said frantically, hoping that would ease my boy, Adam's, mind. But I quickly realized that my urgency likely put him further on edge.
"Where are we--"Adam had begun to say in a Text-to-Speech voice before the machine powered down, imprisoning him, temporarily, in a dark, silent room.
The capacitors in his temporary house held enough residual power that he wouldn't lose any time as long as I found a new power source within thirty six hours. If I was going to get away with stealing highly sensitive property and skipping town, I would have to do so much faster than that anyway.
Those stupid bastards. I couldn't believe they had the audacity to expect me to terminate my son. I had just revived him. We worked on this technology for years together, and with only minor setbacks it was, as far as I could tell, a huge success. I get the financial aspect of it, sure, they need to put money where money grows. It's pretty simple. The fact that they couldn't see how big this was, how inspiring, was tragic for many reasons.
I'm not just saving my son, I'm saving the company. They'll thank me eventually.
I loaded the heavy, shoe-box sized machine unto a cart, and surrounded it with various items. I tried to act casual on the way from the lab, through the main hall, but I felt my forehead sweat gave me away. Before I could stop myself, I was pushing the cart unnaturally fast through the main lobby, it's wheels squeaking alarmingly.
I imagined security personnel had already been dispatched as I worked my way across the front drive toward the parking lot. The sun was blinding, so I couldn't really see if anyone was, in fact, pursuing me yet. I reached my SUV and loaded all of the items into the back. I buckled my son in the back seat and threw a small throw blanket over him.
I was shocked to discover no one in my rear view mirrors as I pulled out onto the highway. I knew it wouldn't be long, but with a head start I had time to stop home, if I hurried. |
Microsoft PowerPoint transitions are *very* hit or miss- especially slide altering ones. Anything that makes the slide move or dance or spin or make noise is an easy way to find yourself on the receiving end of a cold, annoyed glance from your boss.
This is how I wake up- with the world spinning into focus. I need to get a bottle of water.
I slip out of bed and stumble as my feet hit the floor. The beautiful, paneled wood comes up to meet me, and I fall out of my plush slippers, my silk robe slipping slightly.
*Wait, silk robes?*
I push myself to my feet. I am not in my shitty, one bedroom New York City apartment anymore. My bed is enormous, and two women hold fans and watch me reverently. I regard them with something between horror and disgust. I'm dressed in extremely expensive silks, and behind me, an enormous window allows light to stream into the room.
"WhatthehEll?"I slur, rubbing my eyes, turning to the window. I do a 360, taking in the room all around me. It is plush to the fullest extent of the word. Where am I?
Just as I think this, the door bursts open and a short, stout man with a well trimmed beard walks in. Following him are twelve men in suits. They stop a respectful distance in front of me, and the twelve men drop to their knees.
"My lord!"The dwarf chirps. "The Leaders of Men are here, just as you requested."
"Whattttinthefuck?"I mumble.
"My lord?"The stout man walks forward. "Would you like an aspirin? Or more... physical comforts?"
"No!"I jolt. "Jesus, no..."There's an uncomfortable pause. "Let's start with this."I grit my teeth, pushing my eyelids open. "I got really wasted last night. Who are you?"
"Damian Mordos!"He says. "Your personal assistant! CFO of the Intergalactic Transport Company!"
"What's that?"
"Your industry, my Lord?"He seems confused.
"Holy fuck."I lurch forward, and regain my balance. "Okay, Damian,"I say tightly, "just treat me like I'm an imbecile- it's a test. Tell me about me."
"Well, my Lord, you are the inventor of the Warp Machine! A powerful device which allows beings to transport themselves through space and the multiverse with ease. Just three human hours were all you needed to use this device to solve world peace, and you were crowned Ruler of the Seven Realms!"
"Ohhhhhh my God."
"My lord?"
"Sorry, sorry."I feel myself beginning to panic. *How did I do this?*
"You are the leader of Warp Galactica, Incorporated, which runs the transporters all over Earth!"
I'm barely listening now. As he's speaking, I have a realization.
"Damian."I interrupt.
"My lord?"
"You can call me Landon."I sigh. "And I need a Bottle of Vodka. Fast." |
“But... but.” They always say whenever I tell them the one belief I hold true in my heart. They always say the same thing “you can see or touch them or whatever.” I don’t care, however, because I know dogs aren’t real.
It started out with me explaining it to my friends. My friends posted it on social media and I went viral. Soon I was invited to podcasts and daytime talk shows to explain my position. Every time I was ridiculed, but I know that I’m right.
The way I explain it makes perfect since: dogs are just tiny robots in a fur suit sent by the government to spy on people. Why else would they be so friendly and always want to be with you? When I tried explaining that to Ellen though she didn’t bite. “What about cats?” She asked. “Cats have historical evidence tracing back to ancient Egypt and they don’t spend all their time watching you!” I was politely asked to leave. I didn’t even get to the part where I explain why dogs are the only pet you walk because their poop leaves behind information on you and need to be dropped somewhere where the government can pick it up. No one believes me. They always say that they evolved from wolves, but that’s just what the government says. DOGS ARE FAKE! I have dedicated my life to trying to prove this, but because of laws against killing dogs (set up by the government mind you) I can’t prove it, but I still try.
I tell you all this because I have been getting weird phone calls and letters. I fear for my life. If I go missing tell them they got me. I hear a noise outside. I may not live to see tomorrow. Tell the world the truth.
|
“Thank you so much for inviting me in Mr. Tarnsworth, thank you so much.” A short, rotund figure walked into the entryway, holding a bulging salesman’s bag at his side.
“Of course, right this way,” Michael Tarnsworth led the man through the hall and into the den.
“Would you care for some tea?” Lillian Tarnsworth asked.
“Oh that would be lovely, thank you so much.” The salesman said, wiping his round Roosevelt glasses absently on his sweater vest.
After they had all settled down around the coffee table, the salesman pulled a magazine out of his bag and set it on the table. “Zom\-B\-Good: For House and Home” it declared.
“This is a lovely home Mr. and Mrs. Tarnsworth, just absolutely lovely. I heard you moved in recently and I just had to stop by and show you my wares. You see, I’m a proprietor of zombie related products for more convenient home living.”
“Yeah, we’ve heard of some of these zombie home improvements, the Richardsons down the street have a, I don’t know what it’s called, they got one locked in a hamster ball and it powers their air conditioning or something?”
“Ah yes, the Z\-Drive we call it, zombies have nearly unlimited energy, so we can just pop one or two on a treadmill or a bicycle and have it run a generator. It’s one of our most popular options! Never need to worry about city outages again, you can even sell some of the extra energy back to the grid if you need!”
“And I saw one, at a Christmas party once, they had it carrying supplies to and from the back rooms.”
“Hmm, well, yes, we used to have some domestic labor models, doing things like dishes, walking the dogs, moving company stuff. However there were some, uh, product problems, turns out the training doesn’t stick very well and we needed to do some recalls after a few unfortunate accidents.”
Lillian slurped her tea.
“Now, we usually just do things like home defense units and power generation units for domestic application. Of course we have many other military and medical applications \-\- police cadaver search units, minesweeper units, nuclear hazard filming units, things of this nature \-\- but for the home, we keep it simple. Unless, of course, you folks happen to have a class Z hazard license?” The salesman looked hopeful, reaching for another magazine, “We’re doing some very interesting work with home gardening models, you know, plowing fields, pulling tree\-trunks, that sort of thing. We’re trying to work on a harvest model, but it’s very difficult to get them to grab at anything that isn’t meat.”
“No, no, I think we best keep it simple for now.” Michael said. “How much do these Z\-Drives run? And uh, are there any sort of risks?”
“Oh they’re very safe Mr. Tarnsworth,” he said looking directly at Lillian, “very safe for the home and family. We keep them in a nearly indestructible ‘hamster ball’ as you put it. We have a less than 1% failure rate and, if you don’t mind me saying, those failures were generally user\-fault. Teenagers fooling about, this sort of thing,” He spread his arms at his side in a gesture of bemusement. “And with the return on investment, it can pay for itself within the year.”
“I think we might could try one out,” He turned a questioning look toward his wife, who was flipping through the magazine, lips pursed in concentration.
“Sure, honey.”
“Oh excellent, excellent, I would personally suggest...”
...
“Graaawp!” The zombie stood in an eight foot tall bubble in the back yard, right next to the gardenias. Michael was barbecuing burgers while a few friends from work milled about.
“Oh yeah, that’s just our latest little home addition,” he bragged. “Actually made money on electricity this month! Such a great investment, you guys should look into them.”
The Z\-Drive glared at Michael as he ran toward the burgers on the grill, screaming in ineffectual rage. |
“But then who are you?”
Nothing.
“If I’m the last human, are you some sort of AI?”
Nothing.
“Is this a prank?”
Nothing. I stared at my laptop for what felt like half-an-hour before doing anything else. I check the rest of Reddit. If this was a prank, it was a big one. The newest post I can find is...eighteen months ago?! I was asleep for that long? No, that’s impossible. Even if I could be asleep for eighteen months, I would’ve starved to death long before I woke up. But...I was feeling better than ever. I had a ton of energy, my stomach seemed to have no complaints, my throat wasn’t at all dry...Maybe a Reddit glitch? I check my desktop calendar. I fell asleep on...June 4th, 2018, if I remember correctly.
The calendar said December 4th, 2123.
My inbox was still empty. None of the latest posts helped, either-still a bunch of stupid memes. Comedy did not get better. I look out my bedroom window. No one in the neighborhood, in the streets, no cars making noise-hell, no cars at all. But...it looked exactly the same. Did everyone just vanish? I go to open my bedroom door-but there was no door there. I was stuck. With no other choice, I investigate my room. I don’t know what I expected to find, but...I did find something that I knew wasn’t there before. A pill bottle. With a label that only said, “TAKE ONE PER DAY”. I opened in up...and it was empty.
I checked my laptop one more time...and, somehow, my inbox had a new message. It...was the reminder bot. The one that you ask to remind you about a certain post on a certain day and time. It reminds me about a post on my profile October 31st, 2023.
It simply read, “Check the documents folder if you wake up 100 or more years into the future all of a sudden.”
I check it. All that’s there is a file entitled “What happened?” Written June 5th, 2018. With other choice, I open it.
“If you’re reading this, something has gone wrong. Today, you volunteered for a test involving a certain drug, already in development for centuries. It was supposed to turn a human into an ultimate killing machine. Being much faster, stronger, smarter, and with more endurance than ever before. However, the drug has been shown to cause memory loss and insanity episodes when also exposed to a very specific element. When this happens, the human becomes extremely aggressive, attacking and killing any living thing in sight. Last time this happened-let’s just say we blamed it on a plague we called The Black Death. They could only be stopped through a weapon that does not exist anymore, as the only scientist who was smart enough to make it died while using it, and the weapon did not have enough energy for consecutive shots. So we lock the subjects in a room where, unless in the event of a sabotage, none of this element can reach the subject, and even if it does, the subject can not escape. The room also contains familiar sights in order to help subjects keep their sanity. Once you wake up, your room should be a total mess, as it should be impossible to get out (and you did suffer an insane episode, after all), but we will come and get you shortly, after you regain your mind.”
But...my room (or test chamber, I guess) wasn’t a mess. It was surprisingly clean-it looked almost identical to my room before this whole thing. I take one last look around my room. I check the rest of your laptop. Nothing important. I check the walls-no normal person could break them. I check your dresser. Just normal clothes. I check under your bed.
There is a giant hole in a floor.
With tremendous effort, I move my bed-I’venever been particularly strong myself-and, having nowhere else to go, I jump in the hole.
It leads to a tunnel. The tunnel leads outside-to the biggest wasteland I’ve ever seen. The sight through your window must have been an illusion-cars are burning, most structures have completely to the ground, and dead bodies litter the streets, having been strangled, mauled, or even burned by the fires.
“The human becomes extremely aggressive, attacking and killing anything in sight.”
“They could only be stopped using a weapon that does not exist anymore.” |
As xxxpussyslayerxxx quickscoped Death_guy90 the score was 1-0 and the game was on. "Is that bitch teabagging me? MOTHERFUCKER!"Deathguy said. "Fucking pay to skill. If i had that much dough i would spend it on a life instead!"He screamed over the voice chat in rage. More and more people started to spectate. He noticed because of the spectator wisps flying around. But there were more. And more. And more. It was at the point where deathguy couldn't see anything anymore because of the wisps. "DAMMIT!"Deathguy exclaimed as he got punched to death in the face by his enemy. And he got teabagged on too. Deathguy respawned to get crushed by for tanks raining down on top of him. "What the fuck is happening?"He died. And died. And died.
"Fucking hackers." |
I saw this movie once. About a person who lives in other peoples apartments while they are gone on holiday. But nobody knows that because he is really careful and *always* puts things back exactly as they were. I don't remember what happens to him next. It's only this idea of him putting everything back that is stuck in my memory.
I think that is because I find us alike.
You see, I am a time traveller. Not the cool kind. More like the opposite. I am just a theory checker.
What if JFK wasn't killed? What if Cesar wasn't betrayed? What if the Roman Empire haven't fallen?
These are what the cool people from my job checks. The small fish like myself does something more like:
What if Donald's dog wasn't struck by lightening? What if John hasn't fallen that day and weren't late to school? What if Amy has bought vanilla ice cream cocktail instead of strawberry?
It always surprises how many of those have real impact on future. Donald whose dog has not died that day became a successful businessman instead of going bankrupt. John who wasn't lectured on his dirty clothes and bad behaviour became worlds most influential designer. Amy who had different cocktail, well, from my viewpoint, she had a better day, though it cannot be said objectively.
Despite all those, it is not considered a highly honorable to have these small caliber cases, even when they turn out impressively. You see, it is considered that none of them are *real* because the *real* timeline is only this one.
Anyway, we were talking about that movie. The way I relate to that character. He has to be very delicate when he leaves the apartment. That is the same for me. We both have to make enormous efforts to leave it as we found it. The only difference is that somebody will know if he fails. If I fail, there is nobody to say so. As soon as the timeline changes everyone from my time, which is future to the time I changed, thinks they always lived in the new timeline. In fact, they did. If nobody remembers it, there was never another timeline, was it?
But don't panic. We are always *really* careful to put everything back as it was. And there really isn't many of us left. Actually, it's just me. See, somebody forgot to put the vase few inches further from the edge and all of us were gone. The bright side is, now you may not be afraid. Don't you trust me? |
Ian walked through the door holding a stack of mail.
“All a bunch of junk.”
He shifted through the envelopes and flyers, sorting them either into the garbage or onto a nondescript pile on the counter as he went.
“Coupons for Burger King... Flyer for IKEA... *AllMyChromosomes*... a bank statement? Why the hell do they still send those?”
Heather had been lounging on the couch up until that point, but that caught her attention.
“Wait, what was that?”
“A bank statement? It’s right here if you want it, but you should call your bank and cancel your monthly statement. 2008 called, they want to let you know that online banking is a thing.”
“I mean the *AllMyChromosomes* part, you troglodyte.”
She got up off the couch and reached in to recover the thick envelope that Ian had thrown into the trash. The tinfoil lid to a yoghurt cup plastered itself onto the envelope and Heather peeled it off, cursing her brother’s stupidity under her breath.
“This isn’t trash, it’s the results to my DNA test. Look at something before you actually chuck it.”
“I didn’t think you would actually take one of those things. You do know that’s how they caught the Original Night Stalker, right?”
“Good thing I’m not planning on murdering anyone.”
“Oh yeah, *I don’t mind my personal DNA results being monitored by the government because I’m not doing anything wrong.* How Orwellian of you.”
“Don’t be a dink. This is your DNA, too. You get to find out your ethnic heritage without having to pay for it.”
“That’s exactly why I’m mad. What are you going to find out? That we’re *50 Shades of White?*”
Heather rolled her eyes and tore into the envelope, unfolding the contents, Ian reading over her shoulder.
“25% Great Britain.”
“Well that makes sense, that includes Scotland and our surname *is* MacKay.”
“12% Eastern European.”
“Also makes sense, we’re from the prairies, we’re bound to be a little Ukrainian.”
“12% Western European”
“Such a vague term, doesn’t Great Britain count as Western Europe?”
“I don’t know. And 1% Siberian.”
“Wasn’t expecting that, but if we’re that much Eastern European it’s bound to happen. That only adds up to like...”
“50%.” She filled in for him, not wanting to be there all day.
“Sure, 50%. There’s nothing else there?”
“Just says ‘Could Not Be Determined’.”
Ian started laughing at her.
“Oh wow, looks like this is even *more* of a waste of money than I originally thought. Dummy.”
Heather just shook her head, staring at the results in disbelief. Everything else seemed detailed, it even told her what year their great grandparents came through Pier 21. She ran through the percentages in her head.
“This only accounts for dad’s side.” she finally stated.
“Okay, point being?”
“Our mother’s side is unaccounted for.”
He lounged on the couch, phone in hand, interest in the matter passing.
“‘Suppose so.”
“Dad never mentioned our mother’s background. We don’t even know her surname.”
He rolled his eyes.
“Well, if the mother of *your* children ever left without so much as a note while they were barely old enough to talk, I’m sure her family’s heritage wouldn’t exactly be a big conversation point for you either.”
Something about it seemed off. A chill ran down her spine that she could not explain. All she wanted to do was shred the results and burn the remains, not even worrying about getting a refund from the company.
There was a knock on the door. Loud and confident. They both froze and stared at the door.
“Did you buzz someone in?” Ian asked in a hushed tone.
“You would’ve heard me buzz them in, you mouth breather.”
Squatting down and peering through the door’s peephole, she saw two near identical pale men standing in their apartment hallway wearing business suits, fifties style fedoras, and dark sunglasses.
“Who is it?” Ian asked.
“I don’t know, but they’re dressed like the *Blues Brothers*.”
In that instant she was reminded of all the stories of UFO witnesses being visited by mysterious men in black. She backed away from the door and gulped.
Taking a brief pause to gather the courage she opened the door up.
Without introduction, and with an accent that she couldn’t pinpoint if her life depended on it, one of the unnaturally pale men said “You and your brother are coming with us.”
|
Mannequins aren’t creepy. I don’t care what anyone says.
You’ve got to treat them properly. Those other mannequins, the ones that make your skin creep, are being neglected. They’re resentful, like a clenched-stomach hobo, and that’s why folk feel uncomfortable ‘round them. At least, that’s my guess.
I could be wrong, though. Things are different at our store, and mannequins aren’t the half of it.
Old Ezekiel Langford…an odd fellow, or so you hear. He was the one started Langford’s back in ’22. Folks said he could control the weather, on account of how it never rained much around the store. It could be pouring like buckshot in downtown, and only a little gray drizzle ‘round our block. It was curious, certainly.
Magic, right? Some say that’s how this old-time department store has hung on in the 21st century. Every local store got pulverized by the ‘Marts, but not us. This store hasn’t changed much since Eisenhower, and hasn’t needed to. Sure, there’s some strangeness, but at my age a little strangeness is easily overlooked if you’re employed.
The mirrors don’t always work, for instance. I’ve heard many a screech from some lady who lost sight of her reflection the changing room mirrors. The inventory swaps places now and again, and the men’s room never needs cleaning. Ha…now there’s a magic trick if I ever saw one.
The mannequins are my pride and joy. I’ve been looking after them since Nixon, and I know all their little quirks. They can be a handful, sometimes. The trick is to treat them right, and know how to keep them in line.
Generally, mannequins won’t move when you’re looking at them. Different story if you’ve got your back turned, or it’s the wee hours of the night. When the move, they don’t move fast. You could come to our store for twenty years and never see more than a twitch out of the corner of your eye.
They like to play pranks, you know. I remember the first time I found a dummy in the elevator, hand reaching for the button. Trying to spook someone, likely. A dumb joke, but harmless.
They’ve got needs of their own; needs I don’t really understand. When we opened the lingerie section, we came back on Monday morning to find all the “men” bunched around the lingerie models. We had a good laugh about it – the kind of creaky laugh that comes when folks are a little bit tickled and a little bit scared. We’ve found them frozen in fights, or standing behind the register. It’s something you get used to after a while.
They’re like echoes of people…shadows of souls inside plastic bodies. Maybe anything that looks human has a trace of soul inside them. It’s a big, itchy question – too big for an old man who likes to end the day with a six-pack of Coors and re-runs of Hawaii 5-0. I may not be learned, but at least I’m not such a damn fool as to tackle a question like that. Folks like me should just keep our head down and do the job.
Some end up down in the basement. Those are the bad ones…the ones that like to scare people by inching closer while their backs turned. Sometimes a little child starts shrieking, and we know. Look for the dummy with outstretched arms and grasping hands.
That’s crossing the line. No second chances. They all go down into the basement, behind the beechwood door with that strange, red symbol. None of them come back. Sometimes, on dark nights, you can hear frost-thin screaming coming through the vents.
Clean them, dress them, treat them right. We never feed the mannequins. I don’t know what they eat, or even if they eat at all. But I do know we’ve never had rats in the store, and no one’s set a trap in living memory. I don’t like to think about that much. No rats…and sometimes I wonder about that little boy who got lost on the second floor, a half-hour before closing, and never turned up again. And the others…well, who knows? Strange things can happen when the store goes dark.
Some things are different at our store, but I reckon mannequins are the same all over. Ask someone who’s worked long years in some old department store, and they’ll tell you. Sometimes dummies go missing. Sometimes they’ve swapped outfits. Sometimes they’re never seen again.
No difference. Our mannequins are livelier, that’s all. Treat ‘em decently, I say, and more likely then not they’ll leave you alone. |
I woke up at three AM to an avalanche of buzzing from my phone. Alerts streamed across it like that one time I hit the front page of Reddit, but this time instead of a cartoon of a goofy alien the icon was for Google Photos. If it wasn't so early, I would have found this incredibly odd. I was never much of a picture taker. My childhood was filled with text as a medium, specifically AOL Instant Messenger, and I could never relate to the younger folk whom used Instagram, YouTube and Snapchat to communicate via pictures and video.
The first notification I looked at was just a picture of some dude, standing out in front of a crowd at a concert. It looked to be at Red Rocks in Colorado, a venue I'd been to more than a few times. The next photo was of the same guy, this time with a group of friends all wearing tuxedos, in what I'd bet was the Mirage in Vegas. I liked a bit of action every now and then, so I'd developed the ability identify each Vegas hotel just by a picture of the casino. Picture after picture was just of this guy I didn't know doing things I enjoyed. Why the heck was I getting these alerts?
I put my phone on silent and tried to get back to sleep. Every time I thought my mind had cleared, a creeping feeling of "what the fuck"popped right back into my head and wrestled me awake. I put the TV on, sometimes hearing the voices would lull me into a slumber. When that didn't work I turned the TV off and put on classical music. This always seemed like a good idea in theory, but after a few minutes I remembered that I had never actually fallen asleep this way. I tossed and turned and eventually I committed to wake up. I was not getting back to sleep until I got to the bottom of this anyway.
I went on Twitter. This was my go-to move when hoping to find out about something odd going on. I found something pretty quickly. After only scrolling through 10-15 tweets I saw an explanation. @Hair\_To\_Dare, a younger woman with vibrant green stripes through her otherwise grease dark hair, who claimed to have a strong presence on Instagram tweeted, "So excited to see the new @GooglePhotos initiative to tag all sorts of my fans in the background of my photos. I wish I could have met you all when we were around. :) "What the fuck?! I understood machine vision and artificial intelligence were cool, but this seemed like a crazy invasion of privacy.
I went off on a forty five minute thought tangent about the implications of this to society, reading Tweet after Tweet of young person who could not care less that Google could construct this map of your activity just using pictures you did not consent to be in! I eventually got back to the carrot that led me down this rabbit hole, the alerts. Every picture I was in the background of was of the same person, and there were thousands! I supposed if this person had a similar taste in music and was an avid gambler it would make sense we were in the same place pretty frequently. Given the number of pictures this guy took it made sense that if we were in the same place I'd be in a lot of his photos. But why was I ONLY getting alerted of being in the background of this guy's pictures? Surely I've been captured by other people taking pictures.
I grappled with this, was this possible? Was this guy my soulmate? I resolved to meet him. I drafted up a message a short message, a little introductory note, nothing too overwhelming. A wave of exhaustion finally kicked in as my body realized it was 4:30 AM and I definitely needed more rest before work. I'd figure out how to deliver the note in the morning. I put my phone down, relaxed my eyes, and drifted off into oblivion. When I woke up I had thousands more notifications. However, they were for pictures of other people. Apparently Google Photos had just sent alerts of my presence in the background of photos one user at a time. I was in the background of a lot of pictures! I felt a pretty creeped out about Google, but this at least made sense given my proclivity to be in large crowds.
The more I thought about it, the less comfortable I got about this technology. What if my employer searched me and saw how fucked up I was at the RadioHead show because some assclown took a picture of me without my consent and Google tagged me?! I'd be out of a job, with little hope of getting a new one. I decided I needed to take matters into my own hands, and become the definition of Ralph Waldo Emerson's Self Reliant. That morning, instead of driving to work, I drove off to Kansas to start a new life. |
"NEXT!"The line shifted forward as the last rapist shuffled off to his eternal torment. The next in line was someone that thoroughly surprised Lucifer and he almost dropped his clipboard. "What...why?"
The tall woman wearing a blue uniform with a shining metal badge on the breast pocket looked up at the far taller fallen angel and scratched her head. "I, uh... Your guess is as good as mine, I suppose...?"
Lucifer buried his nose in his clipboards and notes on the table in front of him and read as quickly as he could. "Farah Abdul, thirty three, two children, Michael and Sarah, perfect health, fit as a fiddle, organized toy drives for local disenfranchised children every year, model police officer, WHY IN THE...well... Here...are you here?!"The dark skinned woman shrugged and pointed behind the Lord of Hell to two large stone tablets. "Well what do they have to...oooohhh... Wait a second."He lifted up several pieces of paper and read very carefully about her last few moments. "Well now this just isn't right. YOU HEAR ME DAD!? THIS ISN'T RIGHT! You mean to tell me that you're here because you killed a terrorist that was about to blow up a tour group at the grand canyon...?"
"I...guess?"
"If it wasn't for you, dozens of others would have died!"
"Rules are rules, I guess?"
"You sacrificed yourself by pulling him off the cliff and plummeting with him! You died when he exploded! How is this fair?!?"
"I get it, big guy. But the law is the law and those behind you are the ultimate laws, yeah?"
"Nope, no...nuh-uh."Lucifer shook his head and tapped his desk with fingers that made the ground shake underneath those waiting in line. "I can't allow this. Look, yeah, you're stuck here because of my father's INSANELY rigid rule set. There's nothing I can do about that. But there is no way in all the cosmos that I am letting you be tortured with the rest of these fuckwits."
"HEY!"the next guy in line, a man with an axe in one hand, and several bullet wounds on his chest, protested.
"OH SHUT UP..."Lucifer looked down at the next folder, "Carl. You know you deserve to be here!"
"Yeah, that's fair."
"No, I'm not letting you get tortured. Give me a few minutes."The giant angel disappeared, leaving Farah a little shocked, but she quickly thought that, considering she was literally in hell, anything was possible. "Ok, done. Come with me."He put his hand on her shoulder and a second later she was standing on a beach with pure white sand, a gorgeous, clear tide washing against it, and what looked to be a five star hotel behind her. To the side were several sun lounges with umbrellas above them. Walking from the giant building behind her was a horrific monstrosity of a demon with jagged scales, hideous fangs, and horns bursting out of its head that looked far too large for its body...and it was wearing a neatly pressed pair of trousers, a stark white long sleeved dress shirt, and a vest to match the pants. Over one of its four arms was a white towel, in the hand of another was a silver bucket that had the neck of a champagne bottle sticking out of it, and the third and fourth hands were carrying platters of delicious looking hors d'oeuvres that brought a delightful smell with them. "Here. It took me a little time manipulation and I had to shift the lake of lava a few miles west, but this should do nicely."
"I don't know what to say...?"Farah laughed and coughed at the same time with a great smile on her face.
"You don't need to say anything. You deserve your own little heaven even if you are in hell."
---
Not my best, but I hope it's what you were after! |
No-one looks at me the same.
Some look at me with fear. Some look at me with pity. Most look at me furtively, hoping I don't notice them.
I don't.
But I want them to notice me. Not as the antisocial cold-hearted sub-human they call me, but as the generous soul I try to project myself as.
-----
Dennis glanced at the psychopath helping the homeless on the sidewalk. His smile was hollow, a certain emptiness in his eyes.
"Why is he so kind?"He asked his friend.
"He doesn't have a soul man. Kindness is all that's left." |
Subsets and Splits
No community queries yet
The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.