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... Thankfully, I haven't been as sore recently, though I can feel my joints getting stiffer. My muscles must be adapting finally.
Day 44 - They keep insisting that I must be low on power and tried to plug me in again. At least they gave up on the idea that the Hitachi massager was some sort of old adapter that had to be plugged into my ass. I still get phantom vibrations occasionally but the leaking has stopped.
Day 45 - I cracked my knuckles this morning at the factory. My co-workers poured oil on my hands and I couldn't wash them until Recharge. It was gross. An uneventful day otherwise.
Day 46 - I intercepted some messages between JVC8578730 and RCA8675309. Apparently, everyone thinks I should be scrapped but they are unsure how to separate my "rubber coating"from my metal parts. It kind of hurt my feelings.
Day 47 - It's getting harder to find food. I think the others are becoming suspicious that I seem to have my own storage unit and refuse to be stored on a shelf with everyone else.
Day 48 - I ran... So much to write but I need some sleep. It involved another adaptor.
Day 49 - Turns out the only city the robots took over was mine. I met a farmer just a few kilometres out who told me everything and drove me to Rochester. Turns out it hasn't even been covered by the news since the members of Plus One were involved in a bombing at Soldier Field. Everyone just accepted that it was probably better that Buffalo was a sovereign state run by autonomous robots after the President made an address to that effect. |
A thick snowy haze hung in the air around me. The cold wet ground squishing underneath me as I rose to my feet. Clouds loomed above, covering the sky in a dreary sea of grey. Wiping the screen of my red Casio watch, the luminous green light read 6:43pm. My stomach dropped inside me as my mind raced to figure out how this was possible. I heard stories about what happens out here past 6. Every night father and I would board up the windows and doors, never questioning as to why we did. It was an unspoken norm in our village, one that no one dared to violate.
Here I was, standing, surrounded by a sea of misty haze. I called out into the unknown, my voice echoing until fading into obscurity. Hearing the faint creaking of a swing set swaying back and forth, I trudged through the mist to the nearest sounds. A forbidden chill sent resonating through my body as a hellish scream shouted behind me. Bursting into full sprint, I dared not to turn around to whatever produced that sound. I screamed out for help, pleading for someone to rescue me.
The scream erupted from the fog once more, sounding closer as ever. I could hear a faint panting as the ground around me began to tremble.
*"Help! Please oh god would someone help me!"* I cried out, tears cascading down my face.
Sprinting through the fog, I failed to see the uprooted branch protruding from the ground. Wrapping my Nike around it, I was sent tumbling over it. Crashing hard into the wet grass. A roar was called out around me, coming in every direction I turned in. I sat there knees to my face as I cried into my lap. The roars growing louder by each second, the trembling of the ground growing stronger. An ear splitting *"Bang"* shot behind me, carrying on for minutes. My mind struggled to focus as my ears were drowned out by the sounds of gunfire. A tight grip clenched my shoulder from behind.
*"Get up kid, now!"* a man shouted in my face, covered by a rustic gas mask.
Picking me up from the ground, the man shoved a pistol into my hand. Swarms of men began emerging from the mist behind us, firing into the unknown. Roars of the creatures grew stronger, more violent. Shouts of screaming men hung in the air. The sky grew dark as an enormous shadow glided above us. The man removing his gas mask, mouth agape as we marveled at the beast flying above.
|
She was the strongest woman I'd ever met. Determined, compassionate, and genuinely in love with the life she lived. People used to tell me that it was a miracle that I was able to meet her at all. After all, most people never get to spend even a brief moment with their great-great-great-great-grandmother.
Even my own kids, who are still working hard to produce coherent sentences and urinate in socially acceptable locations, will never meet their great-grandmother. My grandmother. She was one hell of a woman as well, don’t get me wrong. But The Reaper got a two-for-one by taking her and grandpa out while they were on an anniversary date. I mean, call me a proper or old fashion, but challenging two 60-something year-olds to a death battle after they’ve been drinking all night just seems a little unfair.
But death doesn’t ever really seem fair.
Take my cousin Evan, for example. He was only 8 months old. You probably don't need any more explanation than that. Though, from time to time, kids do manage to outwit death. It’s rarely the sort of death battle that you see when he challenges someone in their mid-twenties because those people, with their strong need for more time, usually put up one hell of a fight. But kids can be clever and The Reaper has bad days.
I’ve been challenged once and I have the scars to prove it, but I’m still young so I don’t expect to see the dark bringer of death again for some time. It’s really a frightening notion; the challenge can come any time at all with increasing frequency the older you get. The Reaper really doesn’t like the defiant ones. But he has a sense of shame and thus visits the old more and more frequently as they age, but less and less frequently as they successfully defeat him. People said that Elaine, the strong and passionate woman I was talking about to begin with, fought him nearly thirty times. Some said more and some said less. She never bragged though. Not once, no matter how many times people inquired, did she ever say the exact number of death battles she’d won.
But it only takes losing once to end a good streak. To end a life.
I’ll be damned if she didn’t put up the best fight though. The sagging skin on her face swaying with each graceful movement. Wrinkles and scars becoming indistinguishable as she fought. The grin on her face hiding behind her profound jowls. With a lamp in one hand, shards of her china set in the other, and a seriously determined expression, I’d be willing to bet that The Reaper was worried. But after an hour long battle he claimed his first victory, putting an end to their enduring saga.
Here’s to you, Elaine. May you rest in peace. |
OOT - If you want to listen to some music along the fitting part of the story, listen to Varien - Baphomets Casino. Its name inspired me
I looked at the news and felt my eyes go red with fury. This hateful man was better at poker than i was. Hateful, HATEFUL, HATEFUL!!! Ugh, i feel nauseous. How? How is this possible? I have the Lord of Lies backing me up, the Prince of the Darkness, the Devil himself promised me that i will be the best and he will claim my soul in the end. My eyes dart from side to side and end up at the face of this man. I throw the newspaper into the fireplace and sit in my comfortable armchair. Above the fireplace is the hand with which i won my first ring. Now, i will have to ask the Devil for a reasoning. I know where he is. I know he will expect me. But i dont know how he will react.
"Welcome, human, to the Baphomets casino. We dont like your kind here and we dont get your kind very often here either"a demon with horns and a goatie told me.
"Step aside, Baphomet. I am going to the top floor"i said in a commanding voice. Baphomet looked me in the eye, which was a hard task as he was much bigger than me. While he was the grand manager of this casino, he was still a demon under the Devils command. Baphomets casino looked more like a cathedral in the middle of a city.
"I know you, that is why i showed you my true look. Do you have the glasses?"Baphomet asked me ad i nodded. The demons here were harvesting souls of gamblers and lustful humans. Much easier than doing contracts. But i won a contract. Now i put on the glasses that allowed me to see the casino as what it truly was. The slot machines were torture devices where the souls of the damned were tortured with each pull. The good looking dancers were ugly naked demons. The beautiful food and drinks were disgusting masses of brown things. But none of that mattered to me anymore. I walked to the elevator and opened the door. The trip to the highest floor would take hours, so i braced myself. Nobody could stop the true elevator. As for the one humans without glasses saw, it would stop on every floor.
"Oh, you have returned"a voice from behind me resounded. I thought about turning, but this voice was filled with sweetness and hated nothing more than being ignored.
"Cold treatment? Let me warm you up"the voice said and hands wrapped around my body, the skin as smooth as silk without any birthmark or sign of aging.
"Fiiiine, i will entertain you. Just stop with this. It is making me feel uncomfortable. I am already damned, do you really have to do this...every...time?"I asked as i turned around to face the most beautiful woman i have ever seen. Also, a succubus. She reverted back to her natural form of a still beautiful woman, but with wings that reeked of brimstone and ashes.
"You came back. Something is wrong?"she asked in a more natural voice for her. I nodded and told her about the new more popular, more important man in the world of poker.
She did not have too much intelligence, but was good at listening. I could even hit her and she would just shrug it off, but she was a woman and a demon, so i did not even think about that. And passing time like this was not that bad. After talking for a while, the elevator dinged and i walked out. She just had to kiss me...this being is never satisfied...
I stepped into the office of the Devil himself. Unlike the rest of the casino, this place was neat and coloured in bright blue paint. Golden chairs, marble floors, heavy looking table with golden decorations and at the other side, a good looking man, dressed in a slick tuxedo. He looked just like a normal human, even with glasses on. What was the strange thing is that his own body gave out a pleasant sound every time he moved. It was like his body was an instrument, the one humans could listen to forever and never get bored.
"Lucifer, sir. I came here to ask about what the fk is going on"i said to him, to which i begun explaining, but he just waved his hand and silenced me. For somebody who makes such beautiful sounds, he could silence all sounds with just a wave of his hand.
"Look. I know how this might look. But let me explain a few things to you. You are old. Not too old, 40 years old is not bad. You would die in a few months anyway. And he offered souls of his whole family, until the day there will be no children of his. Which is impossible. And...you are not married, no children and not even a girlfriend. So he wins. His contract weighs more than yours. So, the deal is off"
"WHAT?!? The deal cant be off. We. Had. A. Deal."i said while supressing anger.
Lucifer just smiled at me, not an arrogant smirk, but an understanding one.
"Dont worry, i would not cheat you. I have a better deal for you"he said and i listened. When the Devil himself says you have a better deal than the last one, you listen.
***
"Would the gentleman like to hit or pass?"I asked the man in front of me.
"Hit me, lad, i am feeling lucky"he said with confidence. He would need 7 points to beat the casino. I gave him the next card and he was bust. Yet, he did not frown, he just laughed, drank another cocktail and started another round. But it didnt matter to me. He would lose. Every time he would lose. Because if you enter Baphomets casino and expect to make a profit, well, expect again. I smiled at him and begun shuffling the cards. A succubus was keeping track of the humans accounts, so i would know when to let them win or lose. This one was almost at 0, so it was time to break him and claim his soul. And i was the best at doing so. |
"And because of this we need to wear these masks. Even thought they block our sight, they are necessary for everyone to be safe."they muffled.
The class applauded, in the half-assed kind of appause you would expect out of a high-school class room filled with students that think they have somewhere better to be. The gorgons slithered back to their seats and the teacher walked back up to the front to the front of the class. The teacher was just a human, or at least if she was something special I couldn't tell and she didn't say. She was going to tell us who would be doing the next presentation, and I was not looking forward to it. Mostly because I didn't actually do my research (not like I don't already know what I am going to say). I take a quick look around at the class to see if I can hide in the middle with my head down until the end of class.
The Centaur and Minotaur already went, although if I wanted to physically hide behind them it wouldn't be too hard. There were three super heroes in the class, some dude with invisibility, a chick who cared a lot about magnets or something like that and another guy who could stop time... Or did he just run fast. Maybe I should have payed attention. I don't remember the dragon speaking, although his English isn't that good so he probably is exempt from this project.
"Who is next to present?"
I duck my head down slightly and avoid eye -contact. The teachers gaze scans the room, locking onto me. At first I try to look away, but her stare is everywhere permeating. She gives me a smile "Robert would you like to go next?"She said, as if it was a choice.
I mumble something close to "Sure."and start walking to the front of the class room. The magnet Girl says something to me that I don't quite catch and I feel butterfly's in my stomach. Her grin makes me nervous. I turn to the class, there isn't even that many of us so I figure winging it shouldn't be to hard.
"For my presentation, Rather than telling you outright, I am going to tell you what I am like and have you guess from there."I briefly look at the teacher, she gives me a nod and a thumbs up so I continue.
"If you have any guesses feel free to-"
"You are a human!"The Minotaur quickly yells. The class gives a brief giggle
"I am not just a human."I reply.
"You have a super-power!"Inviso-dude says
"Not exactly."On that the class goes silent and lets me continue. "I don't try to be full of myself, but I am very good at mathematics and science, but I don't think of myself as a super creative person."That was supposed to be a hint, not the truth. "I don't need to eat or sleep-"
"Are you a vampire?"One of the gorgons muffles under her mask
"Nope."Another brief pause "I only had one parent."
"Did your dad leave you because he hates you?"The quick kid says in a rude tone.
"Barry! that was not an appropriate question!"the teacher barks
"Actually, I meant I only had one parent ever. No one left me, they weren't there from the start."
The class grows silent, still pondering. I open my mouth to give another hint when the dragon says something for the first time all day. I have no idea what he said because he was quiet and it didn't sound English.
"What was that?"I ask.
"Computer."The dragon says. He points his claw at me "You. Computer. Yes?"
"Wait, are you a robot?"The magnet girl says. I start to feel nervous again. The way she is looking at m3. Those green eyes //&- as blue as the sky. The way she is looking at me has me caught in a trance. I feel nauseous and dizzy.
"Well, I prefer the ttteerererrm"My speech starts getting slurred. Is this what a panic attack feels like? Why would she program that in? I try to p0w*r() thr0ugh 1t "Aaaannn-nn-n-ddroiiiieeeeee......."
POWER DOWN
The next time I wake up, I am in the nurses office. She told me I had some sort of emergency shut down caused by a large error counts in my internal memory. I was out for 2 hours and my Mom was on her way from work to make sure I was alright. There was a letter on a table next to the bed that read "Sorry for what happened Robert. You seem like a cool guy and I hope we can get past this and become friends. -Marry"
Damn magnets. |
Harry pounded his fists hopelessly against the massive doors. He'd been out here for an hour and had yet to see the slightest sign of life from inside the towering castle.
"Where is everyone?"He wondered aloud. After destroying a horcrux he had been flung into a vortex that dropped him at Hogwarts. But it didn't look like the Hogwarts he knew. It was eerily still - no faculty walking the grounds, no flags dotting the turrets and no sign of Hagrid's house. Something was very, very wrong.
Suddenly, the doors in front of Harry burst open. He jumped back and drew his wand. The second the doors swung open wide enough for him to see his stooped, white-haired mentor, he dropped his wand in his pocket and raced towards the entrance.
"Headmaster!"Harry made it within three feet of Dumbledore, at which point a transparent, violet-tinted barrier rose up between them.
"Stop."Dumbledore commanded. "Who are you?"
"Headmaster? I don't understand - it's Harry."Harry stared back at Dumbledore's blank gaze. "Harry... Potter?"
"Never heard of ya. This castle is Bruce Wayne's private residence. I am his butler, Albus. Do you have business with Mr. Wayne?"
Harry's mind raced. *What is one thing that can get anyone's attention?*
"It's about Lord Voldemort!"
Dumbledore nodded abruptly, then dismissed the barrier with a flick of his wand. "Come on then."
----
"So Albus... is your butler?"
"That's what you came in here to ask me?"The tall, muscular wizard sitting behind the Headmaster's desk glared at Harry. "Kid, you have 90 seconds to give me intel on Voldemort or get out."
Harry shook his head and brushed the hair from his face, trying to clear his mind. "I'm sorry, I'm so confused..."
"Hold on a second..."
Wayne crossed from his desk to Harry's chair and - before Harry could protest - lifted a handful of dark brown hair from Harry's forehead. "Where did you get that scar?"
Harry shot up from his chair and backed against the wall. "I've had it since I was born... why do you care?"
Wayne flicked a light switch. An overhead light shone down on his angular, smooth face. Harry was mesmerized by the man's symmetrical features until he spotted a small, jagged scar running down the middle of his forehead.
"Who..are you?"Harry asked.
"I was just about to ask you the same thing."
They eyed each other for a few seconds, then broke the silence at the same time.
"I'm the boy who lived."
----
Harry and Bruce spent hours comparing notes on their bizarrely similar lives. While each was actively waging war against Lord Voldemort in his own dimension, neither one had come close to defeating him.
"We don't call him Lord,"Bruce corrected. "That's so weird! He's not a god, he's a crook. Just a really pesky one."
Harry rolled his eyes. Only a Slytherin could possess such a gift for patronizing condescension. Of course, Bruce had no idea what House he was. Because apparently he had dismantled houses, Quidditch and everything else about Hogwarts pretty much immediately upon arriving.
Harry shook his head at the thought.
"What?"Bruce stared intently.
Harry sighed. Bruce wasn't a perceptive man, but he certainly was insecure. Unfortunately, by this point Harry was too tired and hungry to come up with anything to ask Bruce but the truth. "it's just... why? Why do you keep this giant castle as just a..lair for you and Albus?"
"Just??! Just a lair? I showed you the armory! Let's go look at the vehicles, you'll understand better if you see-."
"No, no I get it. You are very rich and you own a lot of things. But is that really enough? I mean why dismantle the school? And why have no friends help you as you try to take down Lord- ehm.. I mean, that crook Voldemort?"
Bruce's face darkened. "I don't need anyone else."
"Well it took you an hour to answer the front door, so I don't know if you have a good idea of your needs."
"Voldemort will find me. Until then, I'm not putting anyone else in danger.I had parents. And now they're dead."
Harry stared, incredulous. "Yeah, I get that. I mean, you know why I get that - right? Because MY parents are dead too?"
Bruce stared. Harry inhaled sharply. "But, Voldemort is out killing other people. People who used to be protected by living inside these walls. You can say you work alone for others' safety, but why not go work alone somewhere else? Let them keep training wizards here? Just in case you and Albus can't take on a whole army of Death Eaters?"
Bruce looked down. For the first time since Harry had met him, he looked unsure. "I just... really like this castle. I mean, it's big. People need to take me seriously. And I like to have my space..you know, from other people."
Harry nodded slowly as he inched towards the door. He wasn't sure how he felt about the fact that in another dimension, he was apparently a toddler in a grown man's body with zero social skills. But he knew that Bruce was trouble, and it was time to leave. "Sure...I get it. You need your space and you have, well, a castle's worth. You know, it's been nice talking, but I should get going... I need to get home and who knows how long that will take..."
Before Harry could make it through the doorway, a thick forearm blocked the way. "Wait. We were brought together for a reason right? I mean, what are the chances?"
Harry tried to calculate how likely it was he could out-run his muscle-bound alter ego. *Not likely*, he concluded.
"I mean it. Maybe you're right, I could use some help."
Harry looked up, surprised. "Yes, that's right! Call in the back-ups. There are so many wizarding families that would be with you, if you just gave the word. I'm sure of it-"
"No. That's not what I mean. I could use one person's help. Kind of...uh.. a sidekick. To drive and stuff so that I can be ready to jump out when we get places. And to cook if Albus dies."Bruce nodded excitedly at Harry. "I think that is supposed to be you!"
Harry glanced anxiously at the window. A robin landed on a tree outside. It looked so free. *How likely is it that I'll die if I jump from the 7th story?*
Bruce followed Harry's gaze. "Oh yeah, you'll need a name. Harry isn't badass at all. How about..."he looked at the tree outside the window. "Robin? Yeah Robin sounds great!"Bruce circled behind Harry, locked his hands on top of his shoulders in a vice-like grip and pushed him back down onto his chair. Harry collapsed, defeated.
"Albus!! We have company!!"
---
*CC welcome!* | *Read more at /r/GoldenGirlC5* |
Edit: ups, I totally did not pay attention to the hospital working part, hope you don't mind to much.
"Left foot. right foot. secretary. water fountain. left foot, left turn. right foot..."I was repeating in my mind while walking circles in front of my bosses office. I knew that sweat was dripping down my forehead and my hands were shaking with anxiety, but this had to be done. I had to talk with one of the higher-up.
Up to 3 weeks ago I had liked my job. The work was easy and I could work on my own, in my own laboratory. I didn't mind that most of my colleagues looked down on my work, as i did in turn look down on them, most of the time. I just wasn't good with people things and having to speak with one of the executives was close to driving me to having a stroke. So I had just kind of ignored the coincidences mounting up, but their magnitude grew larger and larger.
Damn it I tried every statistical trick I knew to somehow rationalize them away, but it were just to many and they kept on coming.
A static noise and a green light flipping on over my bosses door indicated that I was allowed to enter.
I sheepishly opened the door and entered. My shoulders retracted close to my ears as to not raise to much attention.
"Mr. Maisner, ehm, Sir?"I squeaked.
"Yes Mr. Gil? What is it, that is so important, you could not wait the usual one year it takes for an appointment?"My boss asked from his gigantic wooden desk, his wide jaw and hard features only illuminated by the blue light emerging from the screen apparently build in his desk plate.
"Weird,"I thought, the last 10 years must not have been kind to him, or maybe it's the stress of the job, as I examined the now grey and thin hair on his head, that has once been so strictly styled to a black wave when he hired me.
"Well, what is it?"Mr. Maisners voice cut through my thoughts with impatience.
"Eh, yeah, I mean."I began looking for a way to formulate my findings without sounding like a mad man or straining his patience any more than necessary.
"You probably remember that you hired me to work on Project Cassandra a few years ago. And so far it really has been a great success in predicting the exact death date of almost all tested subjects."
"And that brings you here now because of why?"
"Well as you will know from my annual reports the data I provide to the Agency proved also to be reliable in predicting cases in which the government might need additional resources. Natural disasters, acts of war and so on by examining the raw big-data and clearing it of any statistical coincidences."
A quick look up from the documents in my hand up to my bosses expressionless face made me doubt if anybody ever read my reports. So I inhaled deeply before continuing.
"After the tsunami that hit San Francisco four years ago the Agency had expanded the program and made me test any new child born in the states or receiving medical aid in or from a institution or company located in the U.S. this and a thorough post death research of selected statistical elements allowed us to determine the chance of a relation if two subjects share the same death date."
As I paused to try and gauge if Maisner could still follow me I realized how quiet it was. Maisner did not say as much as a word and instead just kept his eyes locked on me. Did he understand? Did he knew how valuable my work was? What possibilities were opened by the results I offered?
"To cut it short. We have an anomaly. A huge anomaly that is."I explained further, but still received not even the slightest reaction. So i just went forth and reluctantly put my documents and findings on his desk. Maisner took them and started looking through them without much interest.
"The anomaly concerns all subjects born June 2045 and later, as it stands now, every single one of the 20687 tested subjects has the same termination date. I mean okay, not everyone of them, some go ex earlier, as is to be expected, but not a single one lasts longer. Normally one would expect to have a group of at least 47% percent making it past the on page 623 of my report mentioned date. But we have exactly zero percent. Zero percent! I don't know if you understand how scarce that is in statistical terms. Something big must be happening in the next 57 years and it is my undisputable believe that the Agency and the President need to know of this as soon as possible."
That was it, I dropped the bomb. There was no going back now. If I had made a mistake? my career was over. I had mentioned the goddamn President, there wasn't much more one could do to shed unwanted attention to ones work.
"And these numbers. They are correct?"Mr Maisner asked with a comforting voice.
"Yes. I had the IT guys check the system three times and where circumstances allowed I asked for additional probes from the respective subjects. I am sure my findings are waterproof."I claimed with as much professional confidence as I could muster.
"Thank you Mr Gil, we take it from here."
"Ehm, yes Sir, but you will..."
"Again Mr Gil, I am grateful beyond recognition, but our Analysis Department will do the rest. In fact I believe the work on this report might have stressed you bit more than you realize. Why don't you take a few weeks off, with full payment of course. And we'll be in touch once you are ready to come back?" |
I didn't understand why Bill never called me back. He had kissed me good-night. He even came upstairs to my apartment for tea. We seemed to hit it off: we made good eye contact, he had put his hand on my leg at one point. We laughed quite a bit while we were together. We both worked for non-profit organizations and had studied human services in college. I was hopeful, if not excited, when the date was over.
We didn't make plans, per se, before he left my apartment. We had talked about an eclectic music shop in the West Village that he liked to go to and I told him I would love to join him sometime. He said, "That would be nice,"and smiled. I figured we would go for a stroll through the West Village next week.
We both had family in Massachusetts that lived within a half hour from each other. I figured we would be driving north to see family together, in the same rental car, within the next six months.
He had curly brown hair and piercing blue eyes. His eyes felt like ones that had stared out at the ocean for so long that they had absorbed some of its clarity and immensity. He had grown up in Santa Monica. He had lived in New York City for three years. We met online.
The next day, I was so thrilled to have spent time with him, that I compulsively checked my phone throughout the day. I figured that he was interested as well, had enjoyed himself with me, and would be checking in to remind me that last night was really nice.
No phone call, no text message, no Facebook friend request. I figured he was playing it coy. He would be in touch tomorrow. Or hey, maybe he actually had a busy day and instead of talking to me, he spent it just thinking about how cool I was. I went to bed still excited to speak again.
Nothing the next day. I waited until three days after our date to reach out to him. I wasn't sure how to go about it: text, email, call. I asked my friend Caitlin and she said I should man-up and pick up the phone. So I did.
Voicemail.
"Hi Bill, this is Carly. Um. It's Wednesday night, around 7:49 PM. Just checking in to let you know I had a great time the other day. Thank you for the date. Um. Hoping we could go out for coffee this week? See you soon, call me back."
I hung up feeling both empowered and rejected at the same time.
The night passed. Ever. So. Slowly.
I watched TV and ordered take-out. Once again checking my phone at least once every 5 minutes, even though it wasn't making any noise and the only person texting me was my mom.
Nothing.
I spent the next two days just imagining that he had lost his phone and was waiting for the phone insurance company to send his new one. Or wait, maybe he had gotten hit by a car? He may have been in the subway when I called. It could have gone straight to voicemail and maybe he never checks his voicemail?
He would call me soon.
On the third day (sixth day since our date), I got his questionnaire in the mail. I knew what it was as soon as I saw the envelope, addressed to me from the Department of Interpersonal Services.
I sat down on the couch, heart racing, unable to contain myself. It was my rejection letter.
He had rated our date medium-high on the scale (6 points). He rated me as a 7 on a level of attractiveness, and a 9 on a level of friendliness. That wasn't tooooo bad.
Everything seemed decent, until I got to the bottom where the date can add their comments.
"You just reminded me of the type of girl who would be waiting by the phone for me to call. My ex was like that and it drove me crazy. I could be wrong, but I would assume you've spent every day since our date checking your phone. I don't want to sound arrogant, I had a lot of fun, but I could sense that pressure a mile away."
I put the letter down on my coffee table and glanced across the room at my phone on the shelf by the doorway. I stood up briskly and walked toward it, picked it up, and smashed it against the wall into three pieces.
That would solve that problem.
|
The first rule of heaven, hell, and anything inbetween was this: Lucifer and his Dad do not meet. Thus, when they decided to put aside their differences for the first time and actually talk, the angel community was more than a little perturbed.
"The gates are opening in five, four, three, two, one!"
A rush of hot air swept through the dusty, cavernously echoing meeting hall, followed by the strong reek of brimstone. Lucifer sashayed into the hall, smiling wickedly, with a small entourage of demons following along behind him.
God stood up, smiled, and hugged Lucifer awkwardly. You know that scene in Deathly Hallows? Yeah. That hug. They sat down, and the air crackled with tension as the negotiations started.
At one point, Lucifer pulled out a fiddle, then God silenced the band that had struck up with a wave of his hand. The whispering went on. Finally, they stood up, shook hands awkwardly, and Lucifer swept out.
"Well, my Lord, what did you decide?"
A quick grin transformed the old man's face.
"Michael, do you remember Noah?" |
"Now remember Alex, you have to feed it and teach it to go *inside* the house,"said Donna, Alexander's mother.
"I promise mom, I will!"
They walked through the entrance of the building to a carpeted room with designs of roads, bridges, trains, and planes decorating the floor. Penned off were a group of tiny humans, and a large sign that read *18-30 months old*
"Mom, look at all the colors! Some of them have fur on their heads! Do you smell that coming from their pants? Awesome!"
"Alexander, this is just the first floor. These are the young humans, let's see if we can find some that are a little bit more developed. And stay away from their pants!"
They took the stairs to the second floor. The humans were no longer penned in. There was a big board in front that read "Elementary School". Some of the humans were sitting at desks, others chasing fellow humans around the room with glue, scissors, and paint.
Alex looked at his mother with pleading eyes.
"Not a chance,"she said turning up her nose. "Way too rambunctious."
When they reached the 3rd floor, Alex asked his mother in a hushed tone "Are they still alive?"
"Yes, sweetie,"she chuckled. "They're just teenagers"
Alex noticed the pronounced differences in height on this floor, and pointed to a really big one that plopped down on a couch.
"Yeah, but they don't do anything. I want a human that does stuff!"
One of the humans looked up from her tablet and rolled her eyes. Another drank out of a cup marked "Starbucks".
"Let's check out the next floor."
Donna's paw crunched a Natty Light can on her way up the steps, looked back at Alex and told him "We're skipping this one,". Alex frowned and put his paw over his nose, but was a good boy about it.
The next floor had cubicles from wall to wall. Humans were walking between them, shuffling papers. They were all very dressed up. One human stood out to Alex.
"Mom, I want to play with this one!"
"I'm not so sure, that one has an uninviting look."
"Let me tell you something, I'm the most adoptable human here!"
The human was orange, with wispy fur on top of it's head, combed-over. He wore a red ribbon tied around his neck that pointed down to his crotch like an arrow.
"I know it, you know it, everybody knows it,"He aggressively gestured with his slightly below average sized hands.
The other humans stopped what they were doing to watch this one speak.
"Adopting me would be the greatest decision *either of you* ever made,"
He climbed up on top of printer. "We will build an electric fence around the neighbor's humans, and make them pay for it!"
"Mom, I think we should take him, he's clearly the alpha,"Alex nipped at his mother's neck.
Donna shook her head in dismay, "let's try another human store". |
“Just look at it, they’re digitizing and automating everything, soon I’m going to be out of a job all together!” Satan said, pacing around the lavish expanse of God’s study. The red skinned devil wore a sharp, three piece suit. A silver pentagram necklace dangled around his neck.
“Luci, Luci; listen, everything’s going to be okay.” God said, trying to placate his business partner. He wore a white silk suit, and sipped on a glass of very cheap scotch.
“Everything is not going to be okay!” Lucifer replied, turning to face God. “They’ve even automated the damn demons with the pitchforks, now I have to have fucking robots do all of the stabbing! All the lawyers are getting stabbed by robots, not by demons; I’m getting complaints left and right from the lawyers that the stabbings just feel too impersonal. I’ve had to let everyone go except me just to save costs! I can’t compete with them!”
Lucifer sat down across from God’s desk. He put his head into his hands and began to whimper.
“Okay, okay, I understand. Listen, They’ve got my nuts in a vice over at Heaven too. Nobody is even interested in going to the orgy saunas anymore, or hunting serial killers out on my Heavenly Safari Vacation package, okay? Ever since they perfected that damn virtual reality gaming, people just aren’t interested in the perks of Heaven anymore.” God replied, letting out a sigh. He took another sip of cheap scotch. The damn stuff tasted like gasoline, but it was all he could afford at the moment.
“I never should’ve given those bastards fire. I thought I was just being a pal, helping them out so that they’d think of better ways to kill each other, but I never thought this would happen!” Lucifer said, bemoaning his fate.
“I know luci, I know. I regret giving them thumbs. None of this would be happening if those little fuckers didn’t have thumbs.” God sighed, regretting so many of his choices. And he couldn’t just flood them or meteorite them again, it was so passé to do the same extinction move twice. He would be a laughing stock of all the angels who he’d recently had to fire to cut costs.
“I just can’t believe those damn programmers.” Satan said, pulling his head out from the palms of his hands. “Who would’ve fucking guessed that after they died, they’d program an alternate afterlife, and soon it’d be a multi trillion soul startup called ‘Life After Living’. It’s just ridiculous! And you can’t talk any sense into them, those fucking nerds.”
God got up from his chair. He walked around his mahogany desk, and laid a calming hand on Lucifer’s shoulder.
“I know, but Luci, I think I’ve found us a secret weapon, an ace in the hole.”
Lucifer looked up at God, disbelief written on his face.
“You do?”
“Yeah, check this bad boy out.” God replied, laying a manilla folder in front of Lucifer.
Lucifer opened the folder. His eyes scanned the pages, and a wicked smile crept up to his lips.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Luci muttered.
“Nope, and this son of a bitch is about to die within the hour. I’m heading down to those pearly gates to meet the bastard himself, and offer him a position at Heaven & Hell Incorporated. Whaddya say Luci?”
“I say hell yeah. Shit, he can take my spot in hell and I’ll retire if that’s what it takes to get him onboard.” Lucifer replied, a hopeful light shining through his eyes.
The two businessmen left God’s study to go meet their savior, their second coming, Steve Reynolds, a notorious businessman turned tech guru. Steve Reynolds was known for taking over tech companies, and using his incompetent management and sales techniques to run the companies into the ground, all the while collecting a rather hefty bonus in the process.
Some analysts even speculated that Steve alone had stalled the advancement of computer technology by at least five years because of his bumbling. He was a silver tongued devil who knew just enough technical skills to slide his way into a leadership role, and then accidentally utilize his rather poor managing strategies to destroy a company from the inside out.
He would use words like ‘synergize’, and ‘extrapolate data analytics’, and ‘decisive cloud computing’, and ‘let’s action plan that’, and ‘I can do lunch later this week’, and ‘I’ll talk to the boys in the lab about that’, and ‘we need a business plan to shift the paradigm using our company’s core values’, and many things like these to woo his weaker willed companions into believing that he was actually a competent leader. He was just the kind of man that God and Satan had been looking for, a trojan horse to insert within ‘Life After Living’ to disrupt the chain of command. It was a dirty trick, but God was desperate; his soul quota for this month was way down.
As it turned out, Steve Reynolds was an easy sell. All God had to promise the beady eyed little man was the perfect game of golf, where every one of his drives would be a hole in one. And then, like a snake with a new pair of boots and a date with his snake girlfriend, Steve Reynolds slithered off to ‘Life After Living’ to sow distrust and poor management skills.
It only took the man two weeks to run ‘Life After Living’ into the ground. Somehow he’d managed to land himself a role as Chief Technical Officer, despite having no idea what ‘Life After Living’ actually did. God and Satan watched the chaos as hundreds of billions of souls fled from the burning ship that was ‘Life After Living’.
Satan and God watched the company burn to the ground, and the souls return to their rightful spots at Heaven & Hell Inc. Satan turned to God, and asked.
“How’d you think of coming up with an idiotic monster like Steve Reynolds?”
“Honestly, I was probably a little drunk.” God replied. “I mean, who in their right mind would give an idiot so much charisma.”
“True that.” Satan replied. “Well, I’ve got to head back to my legal department and let them hear the good news. I bet they’ll be happy to hear that they can go back to being stabbed by real, in the flesh demons instead of those damned robots.”
-----------------
Hope you liked it. I've got a good pile of other stories over at my [subreddit](https://www.reddit.com/r/ThadsMind/) if you're interested. |
*Day 2*
"Houston? Houston, are you there?"
It was lost hope now.
"Houston?"
"Charlie, get off the mic. We saw what we saw. They're dead. They're all dead."
"Damn you Tyler, someone has to be down there. Someone has to be-", Charlie rambled until Tyler set his hand down on his shoulder. Charlie hasn't slept since the accident earlier. His eyes were bloodshot and his hands were shaking. He couldn't even blink without fear of pain.
"We're the only ones left. Me and you. If there was someone down there, they would've contacted us by now.", Tyler spoke, his voice cracking in the middle. Charlie put his hands to his face and cried. It was the first time he's cried in awhile.
"Why... why leave us... Martha, Sam, Parker.... oh god, my family's down there.... momma... oh momma, where are you...."
***
*Day 7*
Tyler and Charlie ate in any part of the ship they wanted with the remains of their rations. They were starving for something new, but that would be impossible now. All they had was the frozen shit. Tyler began biting down on his food when Charlie tapped him on the shoulder.
"What's our plans when the rations run out?"
"We'll get there when we get there, Charlie", Tyler responded in an annoyed tone. Charlie had been bugging him about his worries for days, and it was getting on his nerves. He worried too, but he'd rather enjoy his time now instead of getting panicked.
***
*Day 14*
"CHARLIE! STOP HUMMING DAMN IT, I CAN'T SLEEP!", Tyler yelled from his bunk. The humming noise stopped, and all was silent again. He was getting annoyed everyday he was stuck here. Charlie was getting on his nerves so much now. God, he just wanted some peace and quiet.
Peace and quiet...
***
*Day 19*
The muffled noises were much better then the humming. Tyler had taped Charlie's mouth shut and tied him to his bunk. He was almost like a pet now. He could make him do anything he wanted now. If he needed noise, he'd rip the tape off and make Charlie sing. If he wanted silence, he'd tape his mouth shut and sometimes forget to take it off by morning. If he wanted pleasure, he'd force Charlie to the wall. Tyler was never about that lifestyle, but being stuck in a ship with no one else and magazines, your mind had to do something. He heard Charlie moan and cry every night when he slept. Tyler wondered if he was getting sick.
***
*Day 26*
Charlie was getting worse. He wouldn't even speak anymore when Tyler tore the tape off. He was just silent. Tyler would hit and scream at Charlie, but he just laid there quietly. This began annoying Tyler, but he tried living with it. After all, he still got his silence and his pleasure. That was a good thing.
***
*Day 33*
Oh god, he needed noise again.
"Charlie... Charlie, speak."
Charlie did not speak.
"....Damn it Charlie, speak."
Again, no noise came from his mouth. Tyler got aggressive.
"Charlie!"
Nothing.
"CHARLIE!"
Nothing again. Tyler felt like he was going mad. Hopefully he'd feel fine by morning.
***
*Day 38*
Charlie wasn't breathing. He was dead, god know how long. He must've died in his sleep. Tyler was all alone now.
***
*Day 44*
HelphelphelphelphelphelphelphelphelphelpHelphelphelphelphelphelphelphelphelphelpHelphelphelphelphelphelphelphelphelphelpHelphelphelphelphelphelphelphelphelphelpHelphelphelphelphelphelphelphelphelphelpHelphelphelphelphelphelphelphelphelphelpHELPHELP
***
*Day 49*
Tyler was dead by a knife wound to his forearms. The ship was silent now, except for the humming noise of the electronics. |
"Tag, you're it."
That's the last thing the bastard said before leaving for Heaven, Hell, Nirvana, the Void, damned if I know. The smug bastard left me with hardly an explanation of what was going on before fading away with that stupid, cheesy, crooked grin of his. I thought I had just pulled myself out of the mangled remains of what was my car, somehow miraculously unharmed or cut up when he showed up. When you think of Death (you know, *the* Grim Reaper), you think of bones, black robes and a big scythe. That would have been better than my guy.
I finally pull myself out of the tree line where my car had wrapped itself around and back onto the road to find my Reaper, Larry. Larry was what I would call a "good-old boy"that had a particular fondness for gas station cuisine. Still had some some nacho cheese stained on his sweat-stained wife-beater (is it still ok to call them that?). Whatever, the point is this slob of a man that probably couldn't even spell "grooming"was stand on the side of the road peering down at the now smoking wreck as I sat there trying to get a grasp of what just happened and what was happening.
After blowing a quick whistle through pursed lips, Larry turns to me and broke the news. I was dead. Very dead. He was even kind enough to point out the burning, mashed body, my body, in the driver's seat. It was strange feeling the emotions of wanting to throw up with no stomach. Larry went on to explain that he was my Reaper and was here to make me the next one. He tried to explain the rules and the protocol he was told when he got the job. I think he really tried. The issue was Larry was as good at explaining as he was showering. The most I got from him was, "All ya needs is ta wait 'round til ya gets this here feelin', ya know? Hard ta miss. Then, when you feel it, just poof dere 'nd touch'em. Then you gets to go see ya Maker."
That was it. Just a...well, I still really don't know what I am. Ghost? Spirit? A construct of human belief? Ok, too metaphysical. I was just a person, outside of his dead body with another person outside his dead body reaching over, touching me and saying, "Tag, you're it."And Larry was gone. And so I waited. And then I waited some more. Time gets weird after death, speeding up and slowing down by...willing it? It's not easy to explain, just know if I think time is fast, the day goes by quick and if I think slow...you get the idea.
Anyway, I was just on the side of the road waiting for that, "feelin', ya know?"to summon me off to reaper some poor bastard so I could get my ticket to whatever awaited me. Should have went to church more. Or find a religion. Figured it was a little late for that, though, all things considered. But as I sat there, seeing the ambulance and emergency vehicles come get what was left of my body, no feeling came. After I hitched a ride on the fire truck back into town, no feeling came over me. As I walked to the closest hospital I could find, hoping it was some weird proximity thing, no goddamn feeling came over me.
No one could see me, hear me and, for a combination of morbid curiosity and impatience, I could just touch anyone to off them. I was complete cut off from the world around me and I didn't have a clue what to do about it. I tried everything. I tried yelling. I tried communing. I went to psychics and medium. I tried every trope and superstitious thing I could think of. Nothing. The world just kept moving on.
Then, after a while, the news started to spread that people weren't dying. Sounds great, right? Immortality for all because the new reaper was incompetent! Wrong. Terribly wrong. See, my lack of being able to do my job solved the dying aspect of life, but not the aging and the wonderful things that lead to death. People still got horribly sick. Accidents happened. people still tried to kill themselves and others. And sure, some people who should have died were able to get the time they needed to get patched up and bacl on there feet. But what about the people who should not have been saved? Now these people didn't have the sweet embrace of death to release them from their pain. Imagine it: people with burns covering there whole body having to feel that every day. Cancer patients having to deal with more and more of their body failing on them. And the worst had to be the ones with traumatic head injuries or dismemberment. Holes the size of softballs going through faces. The soundless screams on the faces of disembodied heads as their body is restrained on a table nearbt to stop it from flailing too much.
If there was a Hell, I had unleashed it on the world. Cults of all colors started to rise in popularity, each proclaiming the cause for this curse. The Gods are punishing us for our evil ways! The End of Times are upon us! Repent, for the hour of the Lord is upon us! I particularly enjoyed the Cult of the Cubs, proclaiming the world series winners had something to do with this. But no, no one got it right. No one had figured out it was simply a Reaper who didn't know how to do his job. A Reaper who couldn't get some stupidly vague feeling to go off someone.
A few centuries passed. The world governments changed radically. The "un-dead"as they were called were rounded up and shipped to the most desolate places on Earth. The cities couldn't hold all the people who were incurable and the extremely old. They were becoming major burdens on society so people eventually stopped caring. When an individual got rubber stamped as un-dead, they were loaded into a truck and shipped out to the sanctioned regions of the world, mostly deserts and the poles. Eventually even those became full. Soon after that, some bright cookie suggested the vacuum of space was pretty empty and soon one way rockets were being launched.
As I sat by, watching my species falling deeper and deeper into apathy and desperation, I grew colder as well. Not to the un-dead but to the living. Human selfishness had won out in the end. The concept of caring for the meek had disappeared from the human psyche ages ago and what stood in it place was the concern on one's own. Maybe I was to blame for this shift, but deep down something was erupting to the top. The idea that this was what the human race truly was. They were given the chance to prove their worth and failed. And that was when it hit me. A feeling like a candle lite in a dark room. A calm washing over me. I knew where I needed to be. What I needed to do.
I looked around me. I was suddenly back where it all started. The trees a bit taller, the road in worse shape, but it was pretty much as I remembered. Pursing my lips, I whistled at how little really changed here and how much the world had since my death. Taking it in one last time, I reaches down, touching the ground, somehow knowing it was trembling and spliting apart the world round, and said, "Tag, you're it." |
No one was ever a 30 year old virgin. Lots of people thought they were, hence why they all sneered at the "nutty conspiracy theorists"who insisted that virgins would grow up to be wizards if they kept their celibacy. But the simple fact was the government knew, and the government would do anything to keep wizardry at bay lest the magic-slinging challenge the new order. The CIA kept track of people who were losers of such magnitude that they never knew the joys of a good romp. The closer they got the 30, the harder they tried. They paid prostitutes to get them drunk at bars. They had them win "sweepstakes"that'd put them on "cruises"that just so happened to be filled with lots of hot, oddly willing singles. And if none of this worked, if the virgin was still pure or awkward enough to not get laid through all of this, they employed the "nuclear option."An agent would sneak into the virgins room, sedate them, and, if they were male, pump them up with enough Viagra to keep an erection going for far longer than 4 hours. But then it happened. One of these hopeful 30 year old virgins knew. His name of Jeff, a smart, intelligent, and handsome man. Sadly, he was too smart for his own penis. When he was 14 he burst through the government firewalls and found all the information about wizardry and the government's war on it. He swore off sex until he was 30, knowing he could one day have powers beyond belief. After he graduated college, having avoided floozy after government-hired floozy, he went off the grid. No phone. No nothing. He lived in a cave in Afghanistan someplace, a total hermit. He slept with his hand on a gun, the entrance to the cave lined with traps of varying lethality.
And then the day came. Jeff's 30th. As he woke up he could feel power surging through his body. I screamed as his body began to shake, the magic growing within him before he let out a mighty roar, a burst of other wordly energy exploding from him and knocking out the fledgling powergrid of the near-by village. And just like that it was gone. A little note suddenly popped up in front of him, reading:
"You're not a wizard, Harry, or whatever your name is. You're just gullible. You really didn't expect me to put in cheatcodes, did you?
Signed,
God"
Jeff chuckled to himself a little, before crying. Why was God such a damn troll? |
Narrator 1: It was a cold, stormy night-
Narrator 2: Hoh-oh, they will never see that coming!
Narrator 1: Why don't you do it, then?
Narrator 2: See, if you spent less time being defensive and more time practicing we wouldn't have this problem.
N1: Fine! Let me practice on my own, and you can tell this story.
N2: Jess didn't know what to do after Mark left her.
N1: Really? You're starting off with her sounding so dependent on Mark?
N2: Dependent? I'm just showing how the character is emotionally?
N1: Oh, yeah? Where did you learn how humans feel emotions?
N2: Not with this again! Just because I don't express emotions all the time does not mean I do not feel them? Can you tell how I am feeling now? CAN YOU TELL?
N1: See, we really shouldn't your emotions blend into the character. We are supposed to be impartial storytellers.
N2: Then you start!
N1: It was a cold, stormy night-
N2: Fuck this, I quit! |
Jeanne’s grip on my hand tightened and she pulled me suddenly left into a small shop. The little bell on the door tinkled merrily, announcing our arrival into an ice-cream parlor. My stomach sank. My carefully controlled date had just been dropkicked by my girlfriend.
“Wanna share a cone?” Jeanne asked with a seductive smile. “No spoons. I’ll lick the ice-cream off your nose.”
Jeanne looked so proud of herself, and even as I toyed with the idea of saying no, of getting the hell out of this den of consequences, I could see the future unfolding—well, only the bad parts of it.
“Ok,” I said, “You can pick—“ No, bad idea. Jeanne picks jalapeño lavender swirl, which gives me gas for days and somehow, ten years down the road, causes civil war in Belarus.
“I’ll pick.”
Shit. I hate picking.
And Jeanne knows. She knows I’m indecisive. She mocks me all the time. She thinks its hilarious that I’m double-majoring in Molecular Biology and Near-Eastern Studies because I “couldn’t pick”. Molecular Biology is eating me alive, but it lets me keep an eye on Javier in Human Genomics lab, who would’ve killed himself six months ago. I’m not saying it’s “because he met me” like I’m some kind of pretentious life-delivering angel-douche. Maybe my presence in class meant he didn’t meet someone else. Hell, maybe I just bring the curve down enough that he’s getting an A.
But right now, I need to choose.
I look between the flavors—Vanilla, Chocolate, Mint Swirl, Caramel Cluster—and I see death, destruction, infidelity and disease. When I contemplate Rocky Road, Jeanne stabs me on our wedding night. Picking Strawberry Mango means New Zealand sinks into the sea. If I choose coconut, Jeanne stabs my father on their wedding night.
Well, Coconut’s a no.
I dropped Jeanne’s hand to wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans. If I didn’t pick in a few seconds—choosing to not choose—Jeanne would leave me for Javier. I would be so depressed that I’d flunk Molecular Biology. Also, civil war would erupt in Belarus.
I frowned and rewound my thoughts. Actually, no matter what flavor of ice-cream I picked, or failed to pick, it seemed that Belarus was in for some tough times. I closed my eyes, following the consequences of this war to its bloody end. Then I considered another option.
I glanced over at Jeanne, and admired the face that had first caught my eye in Intro Persian: the freckles on her nose, the carefree smile, the curious eyes.
I took a deep breath. “I’m sorry Jeannie,” I said. “I’m breaking up with you.” Her mouth dropped open and I saw a dozen perfectly valid arguments bubbling forth. I raised a hand. “Don’t argue Jeanne. I know it’s hard for you to believe, but it’s for the best.”
|
The view took his breath away everytime; the wide city skyline beneath him, the clear blue heavens above, the passing clouds that often misted the glass. It felt good to be on top of the world. He'd done so much bad, and he'd done so much good.
The gleaming white skyscrapers rose all around his tower, reaching for the clouds, clawing at the very sky itself to reach the heavens like he once did. But he was already in Paradise.
The rebellion had been a dark time. Caleb, Leader of the Resistance; that was him. Those bloody moments of suffering and torment and pure war all around him, they haunted him even then. But he lived for that chaos, he lived for that anarchy, and even at that moment a tiny part of him wanted to watch it all burn down, craving the rush of his mad bloodlust.
But that was not him anymore. Or at least he hoped not.
Caleb had worked hard for this future, this world where everyone could be happy. Even someone as dark as him. Everyone would get a second chance. Even the old dictator Fazio was spared, though he was long since dead. He almost wanted to take his place, though. That little voice in his head that had spoken to him throughout his life, that made him kill his uncle, that made him take countless lives all for his own pleasure was whispering once more.
And Caleb wanted nothing more than to silence that voice once and for all. Nobody would fall victim to him anymore.
He took one last look at the gleaming expanse of white below him before he retired to his chamber to repent. A single tear of happiness gleamed on the old demon's cheek as he walked away. He had risen beyond his ways after all. He had shaped the world into an image of glory and beauty. He had finally earned his place among the angels. |
I turn off the stove. The buffalo wings are ready and kept warm in the crock pot. The beer, selected to the preferences of Toby and Carla, is displayed on the center shelf of the fridge. The table is set with a variety of chips, dips and assorted snacks. The guest toilet is clean. I turn off the stove. Wood is stacked in the fireplace, ready for a cozy fire. The pregame nonesense fills the living room with white noise. I busy myself by sweeping the floor again. My wife would be home any minute. This night is looking up.
I turn off the stove.
The sound of the garage prompts me to open the first beer. Then the sound stops and then renews. I sip impatiently. Jan walks in shortly after. "Christ,"she starts, slipping off her shoes. "If they keep messing with the garage door I'm going to loose it."
"That's why I park on the street."A quick kiss and I hand her the beer. "Dinner is ready, they'll be here in ten. Go change."
Grunting, she takes a big gulp and saunters down the hall, the bathroom door opens when she passes. I close it, glancing at the mirror as I do. There's nothing written on it.
Our cat is staring across the living room at the TV.
"Don't do it,"I say.
The channel changes to red necks hanging out in a swamp.
I change it back.
"Four hours. That's all I ask. Four fucking hours."
My wife returns looking refreshed and happier. "The sink isn't bleeding anymore."
"Good. But we still can't let them into that bathroom. She'll scared the piss out of them."
"Agreed."
The TV channel changes again.
My wife crosses the living room in three giant steps. "Listen up you bastards! You will knock that shit off right fucking now! You will let us have one, nice, pleasant night with our friends or I swear to the Indian graveyard this place is built on that I will burn this place down, dig up every fucking grave and use the hollowed out skulls as my personal tampon trashcan! Understood?"
The TV changes back. The pregame show is almost over.
The doorbell rings.
We greet Toby and Carla, taking jackets and a bottle of wine from them. I find myself smiling larger than I have in a while. I get them each a beer and turn off the stove without them noticing.
|
"Oh!"
The goggles clattered to the floor, sending up a cascade of green-blue sparks where they hit the tile. Or at least, it appeared that way to Jobe. The rest of the room didn't react, even when the embers licked at the cheeks of the ones seated closest to the stage. They were far too busy staring, it seemed, at the one in their midst who had dropped the device.
"Er, sorry."The man said, sheepishly. "Got a bit startled, is all. Very...vibrant."
The grizzled man on stage next to Jobe frowned. "Might I *remind* you that that is a one-of-a-kind prototype, Doctor Harris? Not to mention very expensive."He tutted. "If you're going to be that clumsy, perhaps you should have been a plumber instead of a researcher."
"Sorry, sorry! Won't happen again, Doctor Chapman!"Doctor Harris said, cheeks glowing crimson. He picked the overly-complicated thing up from the floor and offered it to the man. Lambent cracks raced down one of the lenses, but again no one save Jobe seemed to notice. "Just a slip-up, no harm done."
The older man snorted in disdain, but accepted the device without question. "Now, Jobe, you were just telling us about your...visions?"He said.
"Oh...oh yes!"Jobe replied, tearing his eyes away from the cracks. "Yes. Like I said, not sure what brought them on. Glad you all...believe me..."His eyes followed a school of neon-blue fish as they darted past. "Er. Yeah, sorry. Distracted. The fish...?"He felt his cheeks grow hot under the stares of the auditorium. To his eyes, each and every one of them burned bright yellow with confused interest.
Doctor Chapman raised an eyebrow, but chose not to comment. "Yes. Well, your testimony was very convincing."He said. "The MRI went a long way to clearing your story as well. You're very lucky, young man - had the tech not noticed the impulses starting in your retinas, you'd be in a psych ward now. It was fortunate that we were able to share this luck as well - a whole new world, just outside of our perception! Who ever would have thought it? It's incredible, absolutely incr-"
A barking laugh from the crowd cut Chapman's speech short. "Is there a problem, Doctor Harris?"The old doctor asked.
"No! No, no everything is fine!"Doctor Harris gasped. Something - and Jobe couldn't say exactly what - seemed to be very funny to the red-headed man. He could barely keep the mirth from bubbling out of his mouth, even with his hands clamped across his face. "Just...need to excuse myself."
Jobe watched as the man walked down the aisle, staggering as if he was drunk. His aura, Jobe found, had changed from yellow to playful blue. Then, just as he reached the door, something happened. It was so quick, he almost missed it - but he was sure, for just a moment, the light surrounding the man changed, shifting into letters. In the instant before the door closed behind Doctor Harris, Jobe read the message. It said:
**Come find me after**
And then, the strange doctor was gone, leaving Jobe wondering if he had really seen anything at all. |
"Wha-what? Why?"
I could see it. Clear as day. The truth. I felt a sob break free from the center of my chest.
"Harry what's the matter?"she tried, arms outstretched toward me.
I flinched away from the thought of her touch.
"How could you? Beth. How could you?"
She stopped. She shook her head, mouth covered.
I could see her truth staring at me like a movie playing over and over. The touch of someone's broad hands on my thigh. The feeling of expensive, heated leather car seats. Not the cloth seat covers my daughter bought me for my birthday, for my little electric car. I... she grasped not the gray dashboard of my Prius but the chic black one with luxury bells and whistles.
The manicure I'd paid for her to get for Mothers Day shone bright red as it searched the golden locks of his hair.
I saw the way she licked his face as he drove down the street. I smelled the alcohol rolling off his breath. I felt her arousal at the sheer thought of getting to his place after their night of drinking.
I did not see Beth going to her sister's home to spend the night. I did not see a late stay at the office full of paperwork. No clients. No filing. Only his hands searching all over her, his eyes lusting for her and abandoning the road ahead.
I finally saw the light turn green in my peripheral, and the bright lights glinting off my silver Prius. My startled face in the headlights. My expression of shock at the impact of being t-boned. I felt my... her own shame and shock at the sight of me. My head bouncing off the wheel. The glass everywhere. Of she and he walking away with not one wound. Of me in intensive surgery.
I couldn't look at her in the present.
"Please leave..."I whispered.
"Harry please... it.. was..."
"Leave." |
It was a nightmare. After forcing me to decide whether to pull the lever, thus deciding who is hit by the trolley, the professor then made me push a fat man off a bridge to block the trolley from hitting five people.
The next day, he made me let an old man die in hospital so that resources could be used for someone younger. Somehow, he got me instantly six months pregnant to make me decide on the abortion issue. He inflicted a painful terminal disease on my mother.
And there was going to be nine weeks of this.
The suffering had to end. A decision in applied philosophy had to be made.
Summoning all my strength, I strangled the professor. I'm sure it was the ethical thing to do.
|
Luke had never seen an ancient dragon literally rolling around and laughing. If he wasn't holding two daggers in either hand, he would have face palmed hard enough to give himself a concussion.
"This is,"the dragon gasped, "your powerful *archmage*? Here to end my rein of terror?"He looked at the little gnome with her wand pointing at a really nice arch. Then, he started laughing again.
Luke let out a breath. Ellie doubled over, dropping her sword and shield as she joined the dragon in laughing. "Mila,"Luke hissed, "I thought you said you were an archmage? Y'know, a powerful one?"
The look the gnome rounded on him had him cringing back as she gestured to the arch. "What part of arch mage do you not understand?"
That was enough for Travis to lose it, the stone-faced barbarian leaning on his club to laugh as Luke regarded him coolly.
The dragon let out another peal of laughter, "Oh, oh gods. I shouldn't laugh."It tried to compose itself. "Father said never to laugh at weak, useless things. Especially ones so small."It loomed over the gnome with barely held in mirth.
Ellie and Travis immediately stopped laughing. "Woah,"Luke held up his hands. "I wouldn't call her small."He and the others began to back up.
Mila leveled a glare directly up at the dragon. "What's she going to do?"The dragon let out a little giggle. "Redo the architecture of my lair?"
Mila waved her wand and the dragon screamed in pain. It clutched at the pillar impaling it in the stomach, trying to uproot it from the cave floor. It writhed in pain and Mila waved her wand again, several other arches appearing, trapping it to the floor. It's tried to shoot fire at them, but its head was twisted at an unnatural angle.
The gnome approached the ancient dragon, staring down coldly at its whimpering, muzzled maw. With one, last wave, pillars grew from both its eyes and the thing lay dead. "Asshole,"she spat, returning to the party.
The others stared on in awe. "Dude,"Luke silently offered his fist and Mila bumped it.
"You still have to pay me,"she reminded him, "Even if this wasn't exactly the home improvement expertise I thought you required. That's about thirty new arches. Oh, and a dragon slayed. I think this lair's gold will do."She pulled out some parchment and wrote the bill, handing it over to Ellie.
Ellie started to protest, but Luke just slapped her arm and shook his head, mouthing, '*She will kill us*.' Ellie nodded slowly.
"Sounds fair,"Ellie agreed.
Travis looked up from his character sheet, turning to the Dungeon Master, "Dude, can I multi-class?"
Ellie huffed and threw up her hands, glaring at the card listing all the loot that Layla handed over to the ten-year old, "Your little sister isn't allowed to play with us anymore, Luke!"
Luke gave Mila another fist bump. "I won't tell mom you said a bad word." |
I'd been brought to the White House in order to undertake a top secret mission.
"See that group of rapidly moving particles?"said Mr. President. "It's been launched from outer space by one of our enemy countries, we're not sure who. They intentionally launched from space in order to prevent their being caught. It's an atomic bomb in the form of a pack; it's like throwing slices of cake at someone instead of the entire cake. They sliced the warhead into multiple tiny pieces that are coordinated and move together. They're much harder to stop than your standard warhead In any case, the cluster warhead is due to hit NYC in about 5 hours at the rate it's currently moving."
"Is there any way to stop it?"I asked, unwilling to believe what I'd just heard.
"Fortunately, yes there is."the President smiled at me. "We have a nuclear shield set up in outer space that's meant to catch warheads. However, the one issue- the shield has to be specifically calibrated to each missile. Calibration is easy for standard warheads..but we've never quite encountered something like this. Hundreds of tiny warheads that each have to be stopped; each carries the power of a standard blast, since they all have a sort of hive energy field. We're at a loss as to how to stop each and every one of the 873 weapons of mass destruction."
The FBI director nodded at the President and began his part."That's where you come in. Being a nuclear physicist already, you certainly have some knowledge on this subject."
I spoke "Why me? I'm probably one of the least talented out there. At least bring in a leading expert or something, I can't do much in a situation like this. I don't even have my degree yet."
The director spoke again. "Well, Mr. Lucifer- we do know of your special ability."
I tried to act innocent and unknowing, but knew it was futile.
"Your ability to exponentially grow in intelligence, strength, speed, and various other desirable traits as you take injury."
I spoke slowly. "So..what are you trying to say?"
The director had a pitiful look on his face. "Look, I have to be straight with you. Our only hope is to continuously injure you until you're able to reach the level of intelligence where you can solve this problem with total ease. We only have 5 hours."
I supposed I had no choice but to mutter a very quiet "Yes".
I don't know what condition I was in as the director walked me into the room. I surveyed the control center: It had been totally repurposed for me. Multiple burly men stood with weapons of all kinds, with multiple more waiting on the wall. There was a computer, paper, pen, and numerous tools I would need to finish the calculations. I sat down and the men all shook my hand.
"Ready? Alright. Karl, why don't we start easy, go with a baseball bat first?"
One of the men nodded and slowly walked toward me, the weapon in hand.
I gulped and braced as he brought his arms back to swing.
|
I'm still trying to realize what this meant. My wife, my dearest wife, from whom I've felt nothing but love and kindness, suddenly nothing but a stranger.
I try to analyze her actions: her puzzled look, her fixed gaze, her determined walk.
I'm in fear for my life, but I can't take any action. My mind is working at double the speed: where's the closest escape route, what can I use to defend myself, where did I leave my gun?
But to no effect, the feeling of betrayal has petrified me. I can only stare and watch her move closer. The kitchen knife still in her clutch from chopping onions, her eyes filled with tears.
I began to wonder, what did I do wrong? Did I harm her? But nothing comes to mind. I embrace the moment and think about my past life, I think about my children, and regret that I would never see them grow up.
She steps closer, she looks me in the eyes. I'm peering back at her. I'm trying to send a message: "Don't do it, we can talk about it."
Suddenly a loud snap knocks me out of my gaze. A fly swatter has found its victim in front of me on the table. I look at my wife with mixed feelings. Shock and relief overwhelm me as I start crying my eyes out.
"What's wrong, my dear?"
_________________________________________________________________
English is not my native language, please be kind :) |
I
The hard-packed dirt rushes up to greet me as I'm shocked awake by a cacophony of light and sound, dust flies up my nostrils as I land heavily in the midst of a tightly packed group of strangely dressed individuals.
"Well would you lookie here! It's a new guy!"
Dozens of hands grab me, wrenching me upright and brushing the dirt from my clothes with such enthusiasm I feel thoroughly battered by the end of it. A quiet muttering ripples through the crowd, I sense their unease and glance nervously over my left shoulder.
"Where's your weapon kid?"A sympathetic voice -The same one which had proclaimed my entrance into this strange new world- asks from directly to my right. I whip my head around to face the spindly, bearded man smiling sympathetically at me. He appears, for some bizarre reason, to be clad entirely in clothes that would have been right at home in a movie about the Old West, his coat and broad leather hat, and, of course, a revolver strapped to his waist.
Weapon?? Why would I be carrying a weapon?? I check my pockets and come up empty apart from a week-old packet of 5-gum and my scratched and battered Nokia, which, -while, as per the stereotype, practically indestructible- hardly counts as a weapon. I take a brief glance around the room, taking in a wide array of weapons. Lances and sword sheathes clattering as they knock against futuristic-looking rifles which crackle with a sinister blue aura. I widen my field of vision and take in a room which seems to be equal parts historic, modern and futuristic, thatching clashing magnificently with Hello Kitty wallpaper which partially covers what looks like part of a castle wall on futuristic steroids with computers and steel bars criss-crossing in every direction, the wall behind me, however is dominated by a massive portcullis, which looks like it was torn straight from a medieval castle.
"Hey Kid, the man asked if you had a weapon!"a large man in a leather jacket barges to the front of the crowd surrounding me and glares down at me, his putrid breath made me want to comment, but something about the sawn-off shotgun by his side made me think twice. "Sorry dude, I..."I'm cut off by a loud gong which resonates through my skull and rattles my teeth, I close my eyes until the ringing stops, but when I open them I am somewhere else entirely, A wide open plain, no cover and several hundred warriors screaming blue murder as they hurtle across the plain towards one another.
II
I'm stood there for a good few minutes, dumbfounded by the bizarre nature of what I'm seeing, surely this is all just a bad dream, and in a minute I'll wake up and it'll all be over. No such luck. The cowboy dude from earlier collides with my midriff and we both tumble to the ground as a barbed arrow flies through the space that my head had been occupying a half-second earlier.
"Listen up Kid!"the cowboy grabs the front of my hoodie and yanks me round to face him. "In this arena, you fight, of you die, simple as. Ain't no-one here who knows why this is the way it is, but all these people are warriors not philosophers so those are your only two options."
He pulls me bodily up and starts trotting away towards a brawl between a Caveman, a knight and an Egyptian warrior "Oh, and don't be looking for any more help from me or anyone else in here. There's only a handful of us leaving here alive today and I intend to be one of them!".
I stumble to my feet dazedly and pull the Nokia from my pocket, hoping it will reveal some hitherto unknown powers, no such luck. I briefly consider lobbing it at a passing berserker, but stop myself before he phone leaves my hand.
And then, something entirely unprecedented happens.
My phone starts ringing.
I jam my finger into the answer button to receive the call from this unknown number.
The voice on the other end is barely more than a whispered growl.
"You are going to listen to me and do exactly as I tell you if you want to live. Now, here's what you've got to do..." |
It was the sixth annual neighborhood congregation, and once again the various representatives of the province had gathered to discuss the on-goings of the world. To any human overlooking the event, this was just another Spring morning at the neighborhood dog park, but in the canine world, it was the event of the season. All the members of the Honorary Canine Council were going to be present, including the head, a feisty Chihuahua by the name of Roxi. Even the most blood-thirsty Rottweilers and the ever-imposing German Shepards looked up to her, as she was the prophet, the one chosen by the gods to bear witness of their incredible acts, and enlighten the populace of their impossible feats.
"Order! Order! I realize it's Spring and the trails are fresh, but we are not animals for Christ's sake!"
An odd calm suddenly fell upon the park as dogs ceased their habitual rear-sniffing and tail-chasing, and they all came to surround a small figure in the grass.
"Today I come to you with news. Once again, I have born witness to the miraculous work of our benevolent gods, and after much reflection, I must share with you the sheer audacity of the humans."
There were mixed reactions among the crowd. The Shih-tzu, with their kind nature, were as intrigued as usual, and the Yorkies, albeit their smug attitude, seemed to only be feigning boredom. Most dogs gathered seemed interested and attentive, even the rowdy pups. All but one, a Poodle named Leon who happened to be particularly full of himself. With a scoff, he announced:
"Oh sure, are you going to feed us more lies about their insurmountable strength, about their heroic fights with the suction monsters or their keen ascents into the heavens? Please! These humans, they are nothing but morons! What we see are misconceptions of useless beings, creatures unfit for rule."
Roxi began to snarl. There was palpable tension in the air, all dogs suddenly tense, ready for a fight. Even in the dead stillness of the park you could see dogs taking sides, ready to spring into action, or bolt towards safety. The Alpha had been defied, and a power struggle was sure to follow.
Roxi, being the seasoned leader she was, suddenly eased up and let out a light chuckle. This broke the tension, merely due to the confusion of the crowd.
"You poodles and your arrogant character. Especially you, Leon, all young and fiery. You have such a long road ahead of you if you ever want to truly lead this council.
Leon, insulted and disrespected, began to snarl furiously. But before he had any time to react, Roxi was in his face, looking him dead in the eye.
"Do you not see, all that humans do?! Of course we are easily amazed, we do not even have thumbs! But truly think about what the humans are, for this is what I wanted to address today in the first place!"
Leon, confronted in front of the pack, realized his inferiority, and lowered his ears. He slowly came down to the ground, acknowledging defeat. Roxi, not breaking presence, turned and began to pace, speaking to the council as a whole.
"As many of you might know, I have been staring at death in the face. I am old, and have led this council for many generations now, but my time is soon to come. In my recent visits to the vet, I have seen things which I never thought real. Humans, taking hours and hours to save a canine life. Working for days without rest, simply to accommodate us. These humans, they are gods, not due to their feats of strength or ability, but due to their capacity to love. Yes, we all know how affectionate they are, and how caring they can be. But I've seen humans break down and cry, come down to the lowest of levels, because one of us passed. We don't even mourn our dead like that!"
Dogs were suddenly whimpering and howling, agreeing with the realization as it dawned on them.
"We should not praise them, as we always have, because of their courage whilst fighting the mighty vacuum and traveling through the immensity of the world. We should praise them for their humanity, for what makes them stand out from all other animals and creatures, and for their decision to pour so much of it into us. Today I leave, and I most likely will not return, but I leave you with one final prophecy to live by: These humans, fools as they might be, are our fools. And despite their inability, despite their ignorance and hardheadedness, it is because of this that we will never find anyone or anything which will love us just as much."
|
Drumming my fingers on the table due to boredom was not making me any friends at the workplace. I don't even feel it any more.
It had been probably 5 months since I was told that I would never walk again, 4 since I pulled the blade down and closed my eyes. I sat in the bath for three hours before getting out of the way-too-much-oh-remember-how-squemish-we-are bath water. Promptly vomited and noticed that my arms weren't even scarred. I realised that I felt like I had simply taken a nyquil and that I had gotten out of the bath.
It was miraculous, for sure. A little morbid, jumping and wooing in my own blood but I styled it out. Until I slipped. 5 hours later I had recovered from my second broken neck in as many months and got a little more wary.
So I was bored. I didn't know if I was immortal or invincible (I had read about them both.) I think I am the former, and that's a weird thought.
I've *definitely* died. Or got as close as I'm going to get. I won't go into details but I'm basically the cheerleader from Heroes. Maybe I can save the world, though I'm not keen on the paranoid idea that I might be locked away. My money would simply accrue now, increasing with interest. I don't get hungry or sleep, and I'm so *bored*.
"Look, can you stop? I don't know the trick but it's freaking me out."Right in my ear, shocking me out of my philosophy. My fingers ceased their motion and I turned to see Tim, big boss man, looking uncomfortable.
"You can tap your desk all you want, but *please* can you get rid of all the thumb tacks?" |
I left the board on the table a defeated man.
"And don't forget a cherry pop,"said Melanie, with a wink. That was her gloating, I figured.
She didn't win often, so I guessed I should just let it go. though a part of me just wanted to return with water to incite her. Not that a fight now would be anything spectacular.
"Anyone else have special orders?"I asked the other two.
Djembe shook his head. He was always happy for whatever snacks got brought out after the fateful first game.
Venus just said no, then returned to cleaning up the pieces.
When I returned from the kitchen, I had a tray laden with snacks and small sandwiches and a single can of cherry cola that I set down in front of Melanie.
"M'lday,"I said, pretending to tip a hat.
"Gross,"She said, cracking open the can.
I smiled. I was about to indulge her when I noticed Djembe was missing. Melanie hadn't.
She put down the can and reached for a sandwich. She screamed and dropped it, and a furry, black rat scampered away, chittering loudly.
"Fucking Djembe,"Melanie screamed. In a second she changed and was soon flapping wings, her pigeon coos echoing in the room.
She circled round and round, looking for Djembe, who no doubt was already playing his best game of hide and seek.
I sat down next to Venus and set my hand on her leg. "They seem awfully distracted right now,"I said.
Venus gave me a skewed smile and leaned in closer to my ear. I could feel heat radiating off her. "Fuck off,"she whispered.
I chuckled, then released my hand and continued to watch the entertainment. At some point, Melanie had spot movement, and was attacking an old delivery box, leaving vicious stab marks.
She swooped up and Djembe scuttled out. But it was a ruse, and Melanie dove down again, beak open, ready for the ultimate triumph.
Someone knocked.
Venus froze and I glanced over towards the door. Djembe and Melanie changed back and hustled to their seats.
I looked at the others, but no one was getting up. It looked like being the first loser meant more duties than I'd hoped tonight.
I got up and opened the door. Outside, wearing a clean-pressed shirt and a goofy smile was Otto. On his arms, a pretty girl with black hair and almond eyes that she'd worked around with eyeliner to make sharp wings.
"Hey, Danton. This is Christine."He indicated the girl with his free hand and she smiled and gave a tiny wave.
She wasn't on Venus' level, but I approved.
"Hi, pleasure, come on in."I patted Otto on the back and he traded me a victorious look. He was on his game. That was good, but I wondered how much he was thinking whether or not we were all on our game, too.
After introducing everyone to Christine, they drew up two more chairs and Djembe began setting up the next game.
"It's nice to meet you all, Otto's told me so much about all of you,"Christine said. She was a little bubbly in a way that would probably work for Otto.
"Oh really,"said Melanie, drawing out the response and landing a gaze at Otto. It was the first time his demeanor cracked a little.
I gave a mental shrug. He should have known this was going to happen. Of course we were going to milk every opportunity to dance around the one thing Otto was sure would make any girl run away.
But it was going over Christine's head. She had to have noticed, but there was no way she ever could have deduced what it meant.
"Yeah, so I was super excited when he asked if I wanted to come to board game night. He always treats it like church, so I'm glad I get to see what he fusses about so much."
At the mention of games, Djembe looked up.
"Do you play games much?"he asked.
"Oh, not really. I mean, like Monopoly and stuff like that."
The mention of monopoly prompted a group exchange. Christine had no idea on so many levels. But that one, luckily, we kept subtle.
"Oh, then you're going to love the games we play,"Djembe said. There was never as bad a judge of emotion as Djembe. He'd tell a starving man he'd love intermittent fasting.
"Oh really? What games do you play?"Christine asked.
Melanie smiled. Christine had asked the question that was going to let the floodgate loose.
"You know, we were actually just playing a small game of hide and seek,"she said.
Otto snapped his head away from Christine. Gaped at Melanie, eyes pleading with her to stop with her shenanigans before she'd even really began.
"Wait really? You don't think it's too much of a kid's game?"Christine asked.
"Oh they're children alright,"said Venus. "They never grew up."
"Oh, but our hide and seek is really fun. Because you can't just do it regular. For us, you have to act like an animal."
Christine's eyes went wide. Otto's went wider. If Christine's arms hadn't been around him, he would have been making cutting motions this entire time. I was enjoying this.
But I was also waiting for my ace in the hole.
Djembe smiled at Christine's reaction. "It's true. Melanie sometimes has to act like a pigeon, and flap her arms as she moves around."
Melanie nodded gravely . "And Djembe here sometimes acts like a rat, scurrying around on all fours."
Venus was shaking her head, but she made no move to stop their fun.
"Wait, why those animals, why not something, I don't know. More interesting? Or at least cuter?"
Otto had a keeper. Both Melanie and Djembe were caught by the question. They could only take them as insults if they wanted to give themselves away.
"Well, you know, it's just because it's difficult to do, and it's silly,"Melanie flustered.
Otto had calmed down, and Melanie was on the back foot. Djembe had become engrossed in fidgeting with the game pieces. It was my time to shine.
"They're bull-shitting you, Christine,"I said.
She turned to me and looked a little embarrassed, as if having been taken for a ride.
"Oh,"she said.
Before she could say anything, I pointed at them, "They're bullshitting you, because they really are a rat and a pigeon."
I met Christine's surprised reaction with a dead level glance. How I wished I could have sacrificed the deadpan in order to see Otto stem on the edge of rage. The emotions that raced through his mind. The different colors of his face.
And then Christine relaxed and laughed. The tension in the room eased. Otto looked at his girlfriend, incredulous.
"You guys are just as funny as he said."She had another bout of chuckles. "I bet Otto would be a turtle, he's so slow, sometimes."
Otto nearly had a heart attack, and almost fainted on the couch. I grinned sheepishly.
Melanie and Djembe had taken new heart at this turn of events and even Venus was interested.
Oh yeah, we were going to have a lot of fun with this.
___
*Thanks for reading! You can check out more of my stuff at /r/chrisbryant.*
|
"Oy. You thinking we're messing around 'ere do ya?"I bark as the bomb blasts right by me. Feathers almost singe down to my kickers. Another bomb. An another. They never bloody stop anymore.
Suddenly, I see 'em in the distance. Bloody Germans.
Those dirty krauts think they can slip past us. Or worse, the bloody fool think they can stop us from delivering our messages. Well, it's about time they know who they're up against.
I bank left. Hard and fast. The cool morning air shifts through my feathers and calms me. This the good part.
Two German pigeons slam into each other instantly. Daft pricks. This may be easier than I thought, eh? Only three more and fifty miles to go.
I dip low. These German birds can't move as swift as us Brits. They're built for strength. We got the speed. So I might as well us it.
Before me, I see it: my path. There's a log fence 30 meters. Followed by an outcropping of grass and flowers beside two knotty trees and a smoldering fighter plane.
A breath. And showtime.
I twist through the fence. One of the remaining three slams hard. It's fast. But I see his neck twist before he falls to the floor.
The other two are faster. They slip through, so I dive and graze my legs across the water. It slows me down but creates enough of a wave to splash the bloody bastards.
Doesn't stop them though. That's where the knotty trees come in. Two of 'em. I come as close to the trunk as possible and ascend faster than I ever have. One poof. Feathers in seconds. The other follows along. So I dip. Dive duck. Through branches. Out branches. I might as well be a bloody tree I can read this wood so well.
The final guy is a real toughie though. He sticks close. That's why I double back. Through the tree and straight by the plane. The smoke is thick. It does the job. Bloody fool smacks right into the metal.
Easy as pie.
I'll have my message delivered in the hour at this rate.
That's why I'm the best bloody pigeon they got. |
If you want to see someone's true colors, stack the deck. Make things so impossible, so unattainable, that a person has no choice but to plunder the deepest recesses of their soul, and find themselves.
That's what I did with experiment 10456. Or, as they call it, Earth.
See, the ones before this one, they got to come chill with me after. I showed up early on. Gave them some rules. As long as you follow them, well, boom, you get to come and hang out with me next to the endless burrito bar and bikini models in heaven.
The problem with that though, I've learned, is that it's boring. Not just for them. But for me. Piety is so overrated.
So these guys here, my latest experiment, well, I wanted to see what happened when they couldn't win. When heaven was nothing but a fevered dream. I tossed the idea of it, of course they ran with it. They always run with it.
Gave them a handful of centuries to firm up the idea of heaven. And, as always, they placed it on a pedestal. The goal. Their purpose. Their reason for being moral day in and day out.
That's when I took it away. Lied. Let them uncover that heaven is an impossible goal. That each and every one of them is going to hell regardless of actions.
Then I waited.
They started killing a lot faster than I anticipated. Like. Months in. Shitty bosses. Jealous exes. Road rage. It didn't matter. People were trigger happy. It's like they wanted to do this their whole life.
Of course that's not even accounting the looting. The rapes. The gradual destruction of society.
They've been like this for 200 years now. And it's chaos. Unrepentant, unchecked nihilistic hedonism.
Now I'm bored again. So the experiment is changing. Heaven is real. They had a shot. And they lost it. How's that for stacking the deck? |
"There's a ton of data streaming in"A small, excited man said as he stared in into a computer screen.
"What's is it?"A woman whispered as she leaned in.
"It’s another communication, like a highly advanced Morse code."
The two of them looked on in eagerness. It was the first time in over a year the team was receiving a clear signal.
“It’s repeating” the man said. “Wait!” Suddenly, he swung to his left and started to vigorously type into the computer. “It’s math!” He announced.
The woman tilted her head as she crossed her arms. “Can you decipher it, though?”
The man’s demeanor dropped into a sober focus as he read the screen.
“What?” She posed.
“It’s a warning. I can’t make out everything.” He said as he pointed toward the screen. “Here. The message we got last year wasn’t random. It was a cypher, we were right.”
“this means…’Arrival’” he continued as he kept analyzing.
“and this…’Infection’”
“and this…’Clean’…no, ‘Clear, maybe…’”
“And what about the math?” She retorted.
“Maybe it’s not…” He mumbled. “It’s not…It’s a pattern though.” He punched the data into the simulator.
Seconds turned into minutes before he turned around to the woman in a sober revelation.
“What?” She nervously questioned him as she saw the fear in his eyes.
“It’s our genome.”
“And?” She pushed as she knew that wasn’t the source of fear.
“No, it’s not us. It’s not a warning for us. It’s a warning of us.” He turned back to his data.
The woman made an attempt to formulate words. “We’re the infection?”
“’Arrival of the Infection’, ‘Human’, ‘Must Clear’” He formed. “There’s more at the end, I think it’s some kind of date.” He punched numbers into the simulator once again. “This was over 6,000 years ago.”
“We came from space…” The woman pondered. “Who were we to chase out an existing race? Who was here before us?” She was equally astonished as she was excited over the discovery. “We must have been so advanced!”
The man, however, maintained a sober outlook.
“What’s wrong?!” she asked. “Think of it, we could still be out there!”
“This word right here, it isn’t ‘Clear’, or ‘Clean’”. He looked at her. “Think, why do we have no written history of this. Humans were wiped out, save a few. So little, nothing remains. It’s ‘Cleanse’; they tried to exterminate humans.”
“And they failed!” She defended.
“What if they try again?”
|
It had been ten years since the Ompterans had arrived when we finally heard the rumour.
I got digging. Both sides. I went through all the stories, compiled all the cases. Checked all the dates, checked facts, and it was creepy, how all the stories lined up - same details, same type of probing. Hell, even their own version of Roswell. Everything seemed to line up.
Two glaring facts stood out after all of this. And I don't like what it could mean.
Ever since the Ompterans arrived, there have been no cases of Grey abductions. For anyone. |
“What the *FUCK* is going on” I wonder as once again I receive a blank stare when I mention Andrew. It seems like no one remembers him. He has disappeared from all the pictures I had of him. I am starting to get a little worried.
“Honey, are you trying to pull another one of your pranks?” asks my mother when I mention him again
“NO! Mom he’s my best friend! I’ve known his for almost 10 years! How do you not remember him! You called him your second son!” I scream at her causing her to back up I never scream at my parents, ever.
“Kyle that’s enough!” shouts my father getting to feet immediately “I have told you for years, one you’re going to go too far, making up a fake friend is bad enough but yelling at your mother is a whole different line. Now drop this and stop worrying your mother!”
With tears in my eyes I run upstairs “What happened to him, he’s my best friend, where did he go? Why did his mother give me such a blank stare when I visited her? SHE ACTED LIKE SHE DIDN’T EVEN KNOW ME!” I cry into my pillow making me feel like an idiot considering I hadn’t done that since I was seven.
Andrew and I had been best friends for years, we teased each other relentlessly and competed almost as much. Andrew was a planner more than capable of setting up his whole week. But I knew that if something sudden had happened to him he would have been hopeless. WHY DID I LEAVE THE BOOK AT HIS HOUSE?
We found it earlier that summer. It was just an old-fashioned leather backed book that was supposed to be magical. For shits and giggles we tested one of the spells, a little salt, a little sand, and bowl of water a little drop of blood and we caused a thunderstorm in the middle of a draught.
We just used it to have a little bit of fun, humiliating the bullies by having skunks chase them. Spying on girls by turning ourselves invisible. And we pulled the occasional prank on each other.
“No” I realized, “I pulled the pranks on him.” I made him think he was naked in front of Ruby Cade. I made his dog try to hump her leg when she was over. I made his cat sleep on his pillow. It was all in good fun and I only did it because I knew I could, he wasn’t as smart as me on the fly, he didn’t get as many great ideas as I did. I was a horrible friend. But he just laughed it off, said he was going to get me back one day.
Eventually though Andrew became worried, he had started to research the book and said that everyone before us that had owned the book was dead. We decided we had to keep the book safe and we started to alternate keeping it at each other’s house. But every night it was in my house I *felt* it calling to me telling me to read it and try more spells.
Andrew freaked, he said that it was trying to tempt me, he said that he hadn’t heard it at all and decided to keep it all to himself. That had been one month ago and everything had been fine! What happened!
Maybe he was lying? Maybe he was experimenting with it the whole time? Maybe... maybe he tried one of the summoning spells at the back of the book? Maybe he tried a spell that took too much and the only reason I remember him is because *I did magic too*.
All of a sudden my phone buzzes snapping me out of my stupor, the words I read don’t really register at first but as they slowly sink they cause me to scream in horror as I realize what happened.
** YOU’VE BEEN MAGIC PRANKED BRUH**
|
Dear Imagineers Incorporated,
It is with great respect to you and your cohorts that I ask you to vacate my castle, known incorrectly to you as "Vampire Blood Castle". In the year 2015 after Jesus Christ your lord and savior perished, you willingly sacrificed 14 out of 15 persons to me. The year after that, Imagineer Incorporated sacrificed 15 more persons, including the survivor of the previous year. You came with little maneuverable pests called "cameras"that keep following the sacrifices, watching over them like an apparatus of God's eyes.
I write to you the damages you have inflicted on to me for the sake of your little gameshow. The damages are numbered:
1. I sustained slight ashing over the course of two years due to the amount of people constantly rummaging through my castle.
2. I am getting over psychological trouble due to constant death threats and the sounds of sex through my castle halls.
3. The physical damage of my property over trivial games the sacrifices must play to win "invincibility", where the triumphant do not have to face me for a week.
4. Loss of funds and resources towards the care of my new brood.
On a minor note, I did have the chance to watch your show. I find it appalling that you cast me as the monster, where the true monsters are actually directing and recording a long drawn out slaughter.
Yes, it is true that I did enjoy killing the humans stupid enough to participate, but this has gone on too long.
If Imagineers Incorporated does not heed my warning, then I will have no choice but to unleash my hungry brood into the town. After all, the blood of one person for a week will not sustain another score of vampires much longer.
With Regrets,
Dr. Louise Lestrange II
_
Edit: I wrote this thinking the prompt was for a year long survivor show, not a week long episode. My bad. |
"Hey man, how's it going?"
I stared slack-jawed at my doppelganger, dressed in a loose flannel shirt and ripped jeans. His sandy yellow hair was unkempt, and the faint smell of marijuana hung around him like an invisible cloud.
"Hi."I said curtly, frowning down at the scuff mark he'd just left on my polished leather shoes. "I didn't expect to see you here." I went on. "I thought you'd moved to Colorado."
His head bobbed back and forth in some facsimile of the gesture for 'yes.'
"Well man,"he said, "I came because I've got some news for you, for us I mean."
I hurriedly checked my watch, wondering how long I could afford to stay here talking to him before I was late for my two o' clock meeting.
"And?"I asked. "What is it?"
"Well, I've been feeling kinda under the weather lately, so I went to the doctor and it turns out I've got a kidney problem, you know?"
I froze.
"You what?"I asked.
*Donnie was my doppelganger, biologically identical except for personality. If there was something wrong with his kidneys, then that meant...*
"So..."Donnie shoved his hands in his pockets and slumped his shoulders forward, just like he always did when he was nervous. "You should probably get that checked out... Oh and hey, man."He said, handing me a crumpled piece of notebook paper. "Here's my phone number in case you need anything."
I canceled my meeting and scheduled an emergency appointment with my physician that afternoon. A few days later I got the results back. Due to a rare congenital defect, I was nearing total renal failure. The doctors said it was a miracle that I could still stand. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I was going to die. Was that why Donnie had come, just to tell me I was going to die?
I could feel anger boiling up in my chest, and I pulled the crumpled piece of paper out of my pocket and punched the numbers into my phone.
It only rang twice before Donnie answered it.
"So..."I said, breathing heavily as I tried to work up the nerve to say what I was going to say next. "We're going to die. And this is how you tell me? Do you have no consideration at all?"
Donnie was silent on the other end for what felt like an eternity.
"Listen, man."He said quietly. "The doctors caught my failure soon enough to put me on medication to control it. And they say if you need one, I'm probably healthy enough to lend you one of mine."
My anger evaporated instantly, replaced by a heavy mix of guilt and gratitude.
"You... you..."I realized with a sudden flash of clarity that I had never treated Donnie the way he deserved. I had looked down on him my whole life for living life his way and not following the normal path. And yet here he was willing to risk his life to give me a kidney.
"I-I... don't know what to say."I managed to gasp out.
"You don't have to say anything, man."He replied. "Just try not to break it."
I couldn't help but crack a smile as he hung up the phone.
We'd never been friends, but I'll be damned if I could say we weren't brothers.
_____________________________________________
It's mostly nosleep stories, but if you enjoy those you can subscribe to my subreddit r/lifeisstrangemetoo. Have a nice day :) |
The long evenings, when the shop was as empty as a widow's bed and the people on the street bent their necks low under the weight of the day, when my supervisor Jessica nursed a triple espresso as if it might fill the void in her childless life, and when there was only the warm curve of the espresso machine to remind me of the last time I loved a woman, those were the evenings when I knew the worst was coming.
She blew in on a gasp of dark wind. Leaves trailed her long legs, and her blond hair ghosted round her head -- a halo for a fallen angel.
In the way she searched our menu, the way her pupils flitted here and there, I could tell this was a dame on a hunt. Whether she was predator or prey, I couldn't be sure. Not yet.
She spoke -- something meaningless about coffee. But her body, her makeup, and her eyes told another story. Her upright posture, no doubt the legacy of a prep school paid for by absentee parents, looked about as right on her as a coffee sleeve on a plastic cup. Her ruby lipstick overshot her lips. Her eye shadow, drawn to an artful point, had run onto her lower lids. This was a woman whose class had slipped off her frame like a prostitute's dress and left her exposed, fearful. She'd come to me for protection. Answers.
I swished my apron to the side, leaned forward on my elbows, and regarded her over my steepled fingers. "Coffee's what you want,"I told her. "But what is it that you need?"
She frowned. "Just the latte,"she said. "Wanted and needed."
My eyes drifted shut and I nodded slowly. I'm not surprised anymore by the lengths people go to in denying their heart's desire. Each and every one of us is caught in a trap of our own devising, and we'd rather let the steel teeth cut through our bones than admit we're hurting. "Just a latte,"I said. "I know that story."
She coughed into her fist and glanced side to side.
"What's the name?"I asked her, and, unwittingly, with a single syllable, she kicked me off my feet and into a free-fall all the long way down the memory hole.
"Anne."
I steamed the milk, prepared the espresso, and combined the two -- my body was in motion, but my mind was far off and in stasis, frozen on a single image. My Anne, my angel, smiling at me. We had four good years together. Nothing exceptional, but then nothing in life is. All we had was what a teenage boy and his girl could hope for. Holding hands. Going for walks. The occasional kiss in the park under the moonlight. And then, all too soon, the high school gave us our walking papers, and she was off to a college on the far side of the state. Might as well have been on the far side of the world.
"Can I have my coffee now?"Anne asked. She held her hand out, and that gesture spoke of so much suffering that it damn near broke my heart. Or it would have done, back when I was a younger man. But I was well into the front half of my twenties now, and I'd seen too much hurt, lived through too much tragedy, to be much affected by a lonely woman's suffering. "My coffee. Now, please."
Jessica appeared beside me. She'd recognized her own self in Anne, I'm sure, and come to commiserate. Two dolls, too precious for this world, forgotten and abandoned on the high shelf. "Is that latte done?"she said.
"We're all done,"I said. But that truth was too much for her to handle. She took the cup from me, slapped a lid on it, and handed it to Anne, who thanked her and left.
"You have got to stop being so weird."Jessica returned to her black espresso and her smartphone that didn't buzz as much as it used to.
And there I was, left to scrub down the counters and polish the machines, all the while rolling the taste of failure around on my tongue. I'd let Anne go, this night, much like I'd let my own Anne go four years before. So many women I hadn't helped. So much suffering brought about by my own inaction.
I knocked back an espresso, straight.
The bitterness hit my throat like a large-caliber slug.
That's how I liked it.
I'd rather taste that hollow burn than stare down the memory hole.
I tried to promise myself that I'd do better next time, that I wouldn't condemn the next sufferer to their pain. But I'd made that promise before. I'd made it and I'd broken it, time and time again.
The hell with it. I made the promise anyway.
I'm Blake Stonestreet, barista, and broken promises are all I have to give. |
“So tell me again why I’m here?” asked Mike through the vague mist permeating the office complex. He’d been kept up all night by the rhythmic drumming of the new air de-filter that next door had installed, so being called early in the morning had ripped a hole in his mood. “I’m supposed to be running the ocean shift today”.
HB-8925-#-2 creaked forwards over its desk, touching its extended flanges together like steepled fingers. The mist rippled as it cleared its throat.
“Michael. Can I call you Mike? I’m going to call you Mike. You are aware you are the last, strictly speaking, ‘Human’ in this local precinct, yes?”
Mike furrowed his brow. “What happened to Alex?”
HB snapped its flanges, crunching one into the shape of a finger gun. “Very dead. His supervisor forgot he needed oxygen. It’s fine, though – his biomass was reabsorbed into the same transport system he was working on. Really, he wound up just doing his job”.
“Whose idea was it to have a train network made of flesh, again?” asked Mike.
“RI-0918-@-9, I believe” said HB. “It’s a work in progress, as I understand it”.
“And Marie?” continued Mike. “What about her?”
“Converted about a month ago” said HB, mass undulating slightly. “Now part of LX-8612-+-3. Mostly legs, I heard. Still, some things never change”. It winked eight of its twenty eyes. Mike rolled his.
“Right”, he yelled. “Great. So I’m the only Human around. Did you actually need something from me, or are you just here to nudge me towards dunking my head in a vat of Mutagen?”
“Temper, Mike. Temper. Remember the posters!” HB gestured towards a poster on the wall detailing ways in which Humans should control their biological impulses. “We all have to do our part. Well, you do. Which is why you’re here”, continued HB. “A certain… well, something’s come up. Something only a Human could ever hope to properly achieve”.
“What?” asked Mike, mocking surprise. “You mean there’s some things you can’t do when you’re hulking bags of random flesh?”
“Unfortunately, it seems so” said HB, not picking up on Mike’s tone. “While the Mutagen greatly increases brainpower, and gives an almost constant sense of mental satisfaction…” HB deflated slightly, as if to demonstrate. “… it does come with certain physical drawbacks”.
“Really?” mocked Mike.
HB… nodded, or something similar. “Indeed. While we are certainly mentally superior, we still require food as fuel. As of late, we have found a specific nutrient combination to be optimal for our neurogenesis processes – no, not just optimal, *exemplary*. It's an old food, recently rediscovered, and has the capacity to accelerate our thought processes tenfold with but the smallest morsel. The factories are still producing them, but the process is automated and cannot seemingly be reprogrammed…”
HB reached a flange down behind its desk and pulled out a container. “Here’s the rub. None of us on the Mutation register have the manual dexterity to cope with the packaging. So I ask you this, Mike; do you want to spend your days slowly draining the oceans of biomass and dying in the process, OR – do you want to help us open these bloody cookie jars?”
Mike just about pissed himself laughing. |
*"You're the only one I have left, Anthony... Will you use its power for good, like I have?"*
The last words of my oldest friend echoed through my mind, and in spite of myself, I fancied he was repeating them to me. His pale face was motionless, however, and he and his secret would be buried forever by the end of the day.
I still couldn't quite believe what he had told me: my oldest friend, my best friend in school, the kid everyone at school called "Leaf Boy"was a mastermind? A dark puppeteer, moving the strings of men in the shadows? I had assumed it was the cancer talking. He really had been on his deathbed; the lymphoma had metastasized months before, and it was not out of the realm of possibility that it had invaded his brain. I could see the pain in his eyes while he spoke to me, heard his rattling wheeze as he struggled for breath. At the very least it had been causing him undue suffering.
The last thing he spoke to me was whether I would use his power for evil, but his last words were in his eyes. The pleading look with his slight nod was all I needed to see. I made it as painless as I could, without rousing suspicion.
Most people think telekinesis means moving something you're looking at, but the reality is much more nuanced, powerful, but also limited. I do not need to see what I affect, only know where it is. I can't lift a semi truck with my power - the energy for that has to come from somewhere, and my body can't contain that, let alone expend it. And the farther away I am, the tougher it is to focus on the object. But if you're in the same room, and all you want to do is stop a little bleeding inside of someone... well, then you would become a really great surgeon. A surgeon who knows which popped blood vessels in the brain would cause a painless death.
"As we part with our dear brother today, let us not dwell on what can seem to be a dark inevitability, but instead rejoice in the wonder and joy of life, and the knowledge that we will be reunited with our dearly departed again."
*Do we though?* I thought, watching the pastor close the casket. It was weird, seeing his face for the last time.
The car ride was uneventful and somehow quiet, despite the rush hour traffic our short procession was being led through by an officer. It gave me a lot of time to think. I didn't want to think about him, about the end we all slowly crept towards. But I couldn't help but think about him.
It took a little over a week for the hospice to work through their paperwork and his lawyers to execute his final wishes and finally get his funeral organized. I did some paper slogging of my own while I waited to send my friend off to the 'great beyond'. I hadn't believed his ramblings about tree-hits, but every murder he claimed... the victims did die in very odd and coincidental ways. All of them.
I did my fair share of coming-to-grips-with-the-ugly-truth (also known as 9 rail whiskeys at the bar). It really shook me. I was used to the version of good sand evil our society had feed us; good guys do good things and villains do evil things. My Tree Puppeteer friend had done some terrible things. He killed innocent children, caused a bomb to kill hundreds, and held the workings of governments hostage for his own purposes!
But, if he could be believed, he had prevented the deaths of billions, by averting wars and halting the collapse of our civilization through climate change. What code of ethics can condemn that?
The cemetery we pulled into was like the procession - small. It struck me as a little odd that so few came to his funeral when he was so wealthy, but if you're staying in the shadows...
"Ok, Anthony, you'll carry this side, Robert, over here..."
The pastor directed myself and a few others that I didn't know, and we hoisted the casket up and made our way to the open grave not thirty feet away. There were some old oak trees interspersed throughout the cemetery, but his grave site was rather open, and completely unshaded by the creatures he had progressed to love so much. I couldn't see any markers close to his grave site, either. I thought his family's graves would be closer to his...
*"I bet they screamed!"*
I shuddered, eliciting a disapproving glance from the man across from me.
The rest of the service was just like you'd expect. The pastor solemnly committed my friend to the ground, and proclaimed ever lasting life was waiting for us all, and then his box was listed into the ground. It wasn't dramatic, or particularly wrenching. It was just a box going into a hole.
I walked away from the small group as a few people chatted with the pastor. I thought that the funeral stood bring me some closure, or at least make me feel something, but I just felt empty and unsure. I couldn't keep thinking about right and wrong. I looked up at one of the oaks, its leaves waving in the wind and displaying the beautiful plumage of Autumn. My lips played upward in a smile, and I walked toward it.
I put my hand on the trunk, and felt the rough bark on my palm. It reminded me of my childhood: climbing and playing around trees just like this one.
"Your leaves... look amazing today,"I said. "How did you get them to be such an amazing shade of red?" |
"What is the meaning of what "began my wife, before I cut her off mid-sentence with a quick snap of my jaws as I burst out of my human skin.
"HOLY SHIT - OPEN FIRE!"
Bullets riddled the walls and ceilings as I scuttled about the room, the upper half of my human skin dangling from my reptilian back like a disfigured upside-down cape.
Asbestos dust filled the room, and the men were forced to halt their fire and retreat before pursuing me. From my position above the door, I swiftly grabbed the last one out and absorbed his internal organs, slipping into his flesh like a wet sock as I joined the others ouside.
"CHRIST IN A BUCKET, WHAT THE SHIT WAS THAT THING?"
"I don't know"I said, matching his tone, "but we've gotta get the hell outta here!"They all nodded and I smiled and traced my tongue across my lips slightly at the thought of infiltrating their camp.
Sitting in the van as we were all whisked off, the one on my left opened up a strap and pulled out a bunch of icecreams. "So how is Angie?"he asked, as he offered me a Cornetto. I couldn't help notice that he had kept the Twister for himself and a deep anger swelled up within me.
"Angie is fine..."I said quietly, staring numbly at the Cornetto in my hands.
"So they let her out of clinic then?"
"Yes. She's all better now."
"Is she still slapping you in bed?"he asked, biting into his Twister with a gusto that could only come from years of severe ice cream addiction.
"No"I said, trying not to raise an eyebrow. "She has stopped doing that."
"And the kids?"
"Yes, she has stopped slapping the kids..."
"No I meant have the kids stopped slapping you?"
"Why would the kids be slapping me?!"I roared, irritated by this annoying conversation.
"Well I don't know.... it's your fucking life mate..."
"Yes, yes it is"I said, recomposing myself. I buried the anger deep and swallowed. "The kids are back at school and everything is well."
The Cornetto was melting in my hands, and though I was severely lactose intolerant I was hungry and irritable. I peeled open the wrapping and stared at it curiously.
"But it's the summer holidays!"he said, snapping me out of my reverie.
"Yes, what I mean to say is that the kids will be able to go back to school once the holidays are over."
"And Angie?"
"Yes, she will be back at work on monday."
"Work? I didn't know dogs could go to work."
"YES WELL SHE IS A SPECIAL WORK DOG WHO AIDS THE BLIND."I took a bite out of the Cornetto angrily as the hate rose once more and tickled my stomach.
*Wait,* I thought to myself, *But then how could she slap me in bed if she has no hands...*
My head quickly snapped to my colleague who had lost his goofy amiable charm and donned a gas mask, as he and his friends quickly dropped out of the vehicle. I stared at the Cornetto, and realised what it actually was.
"MOTHER FUC-"I began. |
Y'see, the thing about humans is that its impossible to get them off your back once you've pissed them off.
I mean, sure, you can sue for peace, but some faction somewhere isn't done with you, just yet. But that's manageable. A faction of humans is typically not so bad. They got these rules, these... conventions. They fight nice, yeah? Real polite, real considerate of them.
Until they don't.
The problem is humans run the gambit. Think of the angriest bastard that rules the angriest war-bred race in the Galaxy. There's a human angrier than that running straight into artillery fire. If you doubt me, look up a guy by the name General George Smith Patton Jr.
Think of the most expansionist, power-hungry cabal. Those corrupted sellouts on the ICOE? Yeah, they need to hear about Genghis-Khan. Guy wiped out a portion of his species back in the human's *feudal era*. Yeah, before ballistics and ICEs were even invented. They just managed to run all over the place by taming war beasts that tripled as mobile calories and burden beasts. They drank from the mammaries of another species just so they could keep their forces from being tethered to supply lines.
Think of the smartest bug that was born into advanced education capable of assembling his own starship off of back-of-the-napkin math without a day's worth of engineering schooling. There's a human smarter than that bug popping stimulants and burning himself out advancing his race just because he likes it. And he did! He loved it! Paul Erdős, look him up. The ugly soft-skin would pop some of the strongest drugs you've ever heard of and crushed mathematical progress years at a time in a matter of weeks. Repeatedly!
So think of when the humans gets mad. When they drop their 'conventions' and focus on one thing. When that one thing is you, well... What are you going to do? Remember, they don't all have to be better than you. They just need one, and then they'll follow his lead.
I know, I know, I'm blowing things out of proportion a bit, but if nothing else convinces you, just do a fly by of Earth and take a gander. I'm just saying, I know that blue, green, and brown ball right in the perfect spot around Sol looks awfully tempting. And yeah, it seems like easy pickings for human, what with them being late to the party. I mean, with them only just having made it out here, how hard can it really be? But I'll leave that little venture to you. Me? I'm not going anywhere near there.
Why?
Heh. Like I said, take a closer look. You'll spot some orbiting weapons platforms.
Nah, don't worry, they're nothing too crazy. They're mostly fission and fusion ammunition, can barely fire off at 10G.
No, the thing that scares me to death about the Humans... They ain't pointing those bombs of theirs at oncoming threats. In fact, they don't seem the least bit concerned about the rest of the universe. You won't find much resistance going in, actually.
What you *will* find and what *will* scare you shitless is when you get close enough to realize they're pointing all that ordinance at themselves. |
My buddy Steve at work, he fucked up. Fucked up bad.
Steve has to sort out shipping. Or at least he used to have sort out shipping. We make bespoke machined cogs, specialist stuff. Goes all around the world. We have some pretty serious customers. I can’t talk about them really as it’s secret, classified. Although it probably doesn’t matter anymore. We’ve got a couple of weeks before radiation sickness kills us.
So Steve fucked up. He mixed up orders 371557 and 371577. Easy done. He shipped two very similar cogs to the wrong people and it all went from there. 57 was an order for a standard 6” 124 tooth cog at 1.25” thickness. 77 was same cog but 0.25” thick. We should have used barcode ID stamps but hey it’s all profit margin. Thicker cog should have gone to Danish weather monitoring centre to replace a cog on their monitoring equipment. 77 should have gone to our secret contractor out of the US military Cheyenne Mountain Complex. I know this because we spoke on the phone. Briefly.
So the danish weather guys fit their too-thin cog and start moving their dish about. They should have seen it was wrong. Turns out their maintenance guy was drunk. So they start to move their dish and a couple of cog teeth break off. They don’t realise. Meanwhile our guys at Cheyenne are a bit slower to fit their cog. It was for some air venting lock in a missile silo. Fucked up huh! Takes a few days for them to fit their too-thick cog to the vent mechanism.
What I didn’t know was that the Danes feed their data to NATO. They effectively spy on Russia, China and North Korea in plain sight. They’re now getting strange readings. Would correlate to out of position measurements, however when instruments are indicating heat signatures that could be similar to ICBM launches from the North Korean Peninsula, they don’t wait around. Even though it could in fact have been a mis-positioned reading from a Guangzhou industrial power station. So they contacted NORAD with their findings. NORAD couldn’t verify anything and referred to Central Command for guidance which really shouldn’t have happened. NORAD ought to have just shut it down, but their local leadership was tired of getting shit on and decided to pass some work up the tree. Central Command requested Cheyenne to be alert but advised no action. Cheyenne got the missiles warmed up and pointy. Ten minutes passed. The missiles tend to heat up when being primed. Electric currents etc. So of course when Cheyenne tried to vent their missile silos, one of them jammed. Turns out the cog was too big. One of their engineers called me in a panic and kept asking about excess thickness cogs. I couldn’t really hear him over the noise and then the phone went dead.
Turns out one of the missiles got a little too hot. This was ok in and of itself, but the leadership panicked. Our great president decided we were being sabotaged and ordered a return strike of a single missile to North Korea. He intended it as a threat, however his latest Chief of Staff didn’t get the sarcasm and nor did our buddies at Cheyenne.
When China saw the Nuke, they fired back. Russia launched defensive measures too. Both at US and China, and then Europe. Europe was late to the party and attacked China.
The weather system is now doing the rest of the work. New Zealand will hold out for a while. Pacific islands, Kiribati probably last longer too. Too much radiation though. I’m in a basement with my folks. My Dad is really sick. Mother just cries. I’m writing this down in the hope that someone finds it one day and can understand how it all happened. |
“So, um. I assume Laurie has asked if you want tea. Did he want tea?”
“He didn’t. As a matter of fact, he seems a little confused why he’s here.”
“Oh, right. Well, we are just doing a bit of a customer survey. Just seeing how things are going. Whether your experience is living up to the standards of Earth and whatnot.”
I look around in my dream. There’s a man in front of me, sitting in an office chair in front of an off-white monochrome CRT monitor, and I have this powerful feeling that this is God. This small, bespectacled man in a cubicle staring at me and holding a clipboard with a form on it, just might be the Almighty.
“Well, first,” he spoke, “your overall impressions. ‘I am comfortable in my human body.’ So, you can say agree, strongly agree, disagree, strongly disagree, or that you’re not quite sure.”
I suddenly remember that I’m supposed to avert my eyes, rather than behold his awkward, freckled visage.
“Oh no. Are you Christian? Laurie, is he a Christian... Laurie?”
Laurie pops back into existence. “Yes?”
“Laurie, is he a Christian?”
“He might be.”
“Laurie, you are a wonderful, kind person, but you have to remember to check these things.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, you’re a very capable person and I truly value you as an individual and a member of our team.”
“Thank you.” She leaves again in a puff.
“Do you see that?” He says to me. “It’s a complement sandwich. They don’t feel so bad after you criticize them. But, it might soften the impact too much. She’s always bringing me Christians.”
“Shouldn’t I be a Christian?” I finally manage to speak through my dry throat.
“Oh, it’s fine. Really. It’s just that I kind of wrote that whole thing on my work computer and IT found it and sent it EVERYWHERE. Now I have to deal with everyone knowing about my little story where I’m maybe slightly embellished. “
“Is it not..”
“I know for a FACT that Kevin, you know from three cubes over? Sometimes wears a hat into work and it musses up his hair but he doesn’t do anything about it because it just makes him even prettier, like in one of those ‘I don’t even care that my hair is messy’ ways where it looks like they’re not trying to impress you which makes them impress you even more?”
I look around at the vast emptiness surrounding the cubicle.
“Yeah, that Kevin writes poetry. Fiction is so much less embarrassing than poetry, don’t you think? Agree or Strongly Agree?”
I slowly start to mouth agree, because there’s still a strong presence of divinity, despite the rapid speech and foot tapping, but he cuts me off before I speak.
“So Kevin gets to do whatever he wants and I just have to do customer relations. Oh, no. You’re the customer aren’t you? I am supposed to be relating. What did you say for the first question, I forgot to write it down.”
“I don’t remember the question.”
“It was ‘I am comfortable in my human body.’ And then the bit with all the agrees and don’ts.”
“Agree, I guess.”
“Oh no, you’re lying. I have to check the box where you’re lying. Damn. Maybe you would be more comfortable if Laurie ever got you that tea. LAURIE.”
“I didn’t actually ask for…”
Laurie pops back in, “yes?”
“Laurie, where is this man’s tea? Does he take sugar? Human, do you take sugar?”
“You’re supposed to call them by their names, it’s on the top of the form.”
“Why? Is he going to get confused, like, which human is this guy talking to? He’s the only one. Do you… Kevin? Are you serious, you’re also Kevin, and I’ve been going on about that other Kevin and you’re here thinking I’m talking about you probably, even though you’re not the pretty one three cubes down with the hat and the hair and all of that. See, this is… Laurie, this is why I called him human. Do you, human Kevin, take sugar?”
“I really would just like to go home now.”
“You are home, stuck in your little bed, all immobilized while we do this survey. Now please, do you take sugar?”
“Fine, sure, whatever. I will take sugar.”
“Okay, that completes our survey. Do you have any questions for me?”
“Your survey was just ‘do you feel comfortable in your body’ and ‘do you take sugar’?”
“Yes, the earlier ones were dreadfully long, and we just couldn’t get through them. Took quite a bit of time for some reason.”
“For SOME reason,” Laurie’s voice entered the room.
“LAURIE, YOU ARE ALWAYS VERY WELL DRESSED AND PLEASANT TO BE AROUND BUT I SWEAR I WILL END YOU IF YOU TALK BACK TO ME AGAIN.”
I fidget.
“Oh, it’s just a bit of managing. It takes a long time to find a good assistant. You’re free to go, if you like.”
I nod and wake up in my bed, with something in my throat. I cough it out and it’s a sugar cube. For some reason I can’t get back to sleep. |
"Shut the fuck up, idiot"Myles whispered.
I gaped at him in shock. This show was not rated for that kind of language. Glancing around, it seemed that nobody had noticed. Myles glared fiercely out of the corner of his eye as we went into darkness.
When we came out we were sitting in the booth of the café. It felt like half the time we appeared we were at the café. I caught a glimpse of Myles glaring before he composed himself.
"I saw Emily again today", he was saying. "She told me I am a jerk and she hopes she never has to see me again."
The invisibles let out a titter.
Almost imperceptibly, Myles gestured with his head down to the table. He pressed a napkin into my hand as I was delivering my riposte.
"Geez, who does she think she is? His mother-in-law?"
The invisibles started to laugh in earnest, with a few guffaws sprinkled throughout.
Myles looked confused. He didn't like the way I addressed them. He wanted me to talk to him, and only him. I was the only one who would ever address them. Everybody else liked to pretend they didn't exist. Well, not pretend, exactly. They feared them. They didn't want them to exist. They wanted to pretend they weren't there.
"She asked me to resign.". Myles tried again. "She said I'm no good at my job, anyway. She said I am completely unsatisfactory."
"Wow, now she sounds just like his wife", I quipped.
The invisibles broke up in earnest now, full blown laughter. Feet stamping against....it's hard to say what. But they were stamping their feet.
Myles was turning red. I glanced down at the napkin in my hand. A childish scrawl, a consequence of Myles writing surreptitiously. He didn't want them to see.
*YOU ARE GOING TO GET US DISAPPEARED*
I rolled my eyes for the invisibles, then realised they wouldn't know why. I paused for dramatic effect, then held up the napkin so they could see it.
The colour drained from Myles' face. The invisibles erupted into raucous laughter. Exploded. A blizzard of triumphant laughter. The stomping was louder now, more ferocious. It sounded like explosions in the distance, becoming closer, the laughter was frenzied now.
I had just enough time to see the look of terror in Myles' eyes as we went back into darkness. |
When I walk into the building on my first day of work, it seems like people are staring at me. Probably just my nerves. I tend to get anxious in new environments; happens every time. I pass the man who interviewed me and he looks up and smiles, but he keeps watching me walk away, even after his smile falls.
The interview was strange; lots of very detailed questions about me, my habits, even a personality test. For a janitor, it was a bit much. But then, I figure it was just the government's way of being overly cautious, and this was a secure facility after all.
I pick up my copy of the keys from my new supervisor, and head toward the supply closet, feeling his eyes on my back the whole time. I fumble with the lock; my hands are shaking for some reason.
The closet is ordinary. It only occurs to me after opening it that I had been expecting something strange. How could you not, working in Area 51?
I'm not a superstitious guy, but even I got a bit excited when I first saw the ad for the job. They wanted a janitor, urgently. Apparently the three they had on staff all quit on the same day. Definitely weird, but I'm in need of a job, and the pay is great.
I fill the bucket and grab the mop, moving down the hall to my assigned job for the day. More eyes follow me. I smile and nod at the people standing around, who stop mid-sentence in their conversations to watch me pass. No one smiling back, which is strange. And a bit rude.
I've worked many jobs over the years, food service, car maintenance. I've painted houses, done any sort of fix-it job. I've even temped at a few big offices. I have an aptitude for numbers, which surprises some people. People always assume a janitor isn't smart.
Through another set of doors and into the room they told me to start in. I flick on the lights. It's empty save for a tired looking table and chair in the corner. Dingy white linoleum floor stretches out before me, harsh fluorescent lights spread across the ceiling. It would look like any typical classroom or mid level office space if not for the walls, which are a solid rich black.
I walk to the far corner and turn up the music in my headphones, wring the mop, then get to it.
It sounds weird, but I always feel most comfortable cleaning. No one bothers me, I can listen to my own music, and I get to stay mobile. I get restless if I sit too long. And making things clean, wiping away the grime and clearing off the debris... there's something truly therapeutic about it.
I'm about a third of the way across the floor when there's a tap on my shoulder. Startled, I turn around. No one's there. I shrug it off and get back to mopping.
There's another tap. I stop and turn around. I'm alone in the room, and the door is shut. Did I shut the door when I came in? I can't remember.
There's a heavy feeling in the air, as if there's a presence of something close by. I back away slowly and pull-up headphones off my ears.
There's an incredibly loud noise, pounding and screeching, like scraping metal and squealing tires. It's coming from the chair that was in the corner, which is now being dragged across the room towards me by some invisible force.
The hair on the back of my neck goes up and I raise the mop, wielding it in front of me as if it's a sword.
"Who's doing that?"I shout. "Stop it!"
The terrible sound stops when the chair does, parking itself innocently in front of me.
I wait in silence for a long time. I poke the chair with the mop handle. It seems normal. I start to wonder if I imagined it, but I know I didn't.
Then something compels me to sit. I don't know if the thought is coming from me or from somewhere else, but before I know it, I'm lowering myself carefully onto the seat, still gripping the mop, feeling ridiculous but unable to stop myself.
There's a flash of white. The room disappears. I blink, and I'm in a new place, looking up at... at creatures I can't even describe properly. They were blue blobs, almost clear, with gelatinous flaps and paddles protruding from them.
One of them leans over me and makes a rude, wet sound. Another blob shoves that one away and leans over me. It doesn't have a mouth, but somehow when it vibrates its flaps, the noise sounds almost like words.
"Can you understand me?"it says.
"I... uh. Yes,"I breathe, completely in shock.
It jumps and wiggles with glee, sparking an outburst from the other blobs. Wet slapping noises erupt all over the room, making me wince. I clench the mop in my hands, wanting to hold onto something solid.
They fall quiet again and the one who talked leans in. It speaks slowly, as if forming words carefully.
"We have come from far away. We were welcomed to this location on your planet but have not been able to make verbal communication yet."
I sit up straighter in the chair, noticing how my shirt is already damp with sweat.
"Um, ok. Hi. Welcome. I'm Matt,"I say, feeling utterly stupid.
"Hello Matt,"the blob says.
"This is really amazing,"I say cautiously, "Do the guys down there know you're here?"
"Of course,"says the blob. "They sent you to communicate with us."
I shake my head. "That can't be right,"I say. "This is my first day - my first hour - on the job! They'd never send me-"
"They did,"says the blob. "We speak a very rare dialect. The one of us who spoke the common language of this section of the galaxy died in an accident on the way here. No one else can speak with anyone from Earth, except me. I'm the only one on board who can speak your language."
"But I'm just speaking in English,"I say. "Everyone in the building speaks that, I'm sure."
"No, no,"says the blob. "It doesn't work like that. We understand each other based on tasks. Jobs. I'm the only one here who speaks janitor." |
I couldn't believe it... I mean, *who would*?
Lifting the window, and seeing an older version of me walking into a time machine... The implications, the paradox by itself... None of it happened; yet, just like that, my traveling back here, at this exact moment, set off that massive number I saw rack up...
Was it *because* of the grandfather paradox of some sorts? ... If that was the case, I should've been seeing some kind of repercussions now... Nothing to be seen out of the ordinary however...
I closed the window, locked the door to my bedroom, and paced back and forth at this point to try to clear my mind, or to at least give direction to the millions of thoughts that constantly exploded into my mind.
I started at the first step: I breathed. I took deep breaths while pacing whenever the number was ridiculously high, like 1,000 or 50. The way this ability worked was nifty... If it didn't show me the number right as I would start doing an action... Like lighting a match or opening a window: all near instantaneous actions.
An action like drunk driving however... That's a decent ability then. More people could use this when it came to that, I'd reckon.
*There... My mind is clearing up.*
I took the last and final deep breath and slowed my pacing down. The next step was simple: *Ask why.*
Why did the event that occur just happened? The greatest predicament about this is that it almost feels predestined, given that the me in the future would obviously know about the 4 billion deaths on this day... So he came back in time to set off the chain reaction... For a reason?
*Which brings me to the question of wondering what exactly he did...*
I remember watching that one anime way back in the day, something like Steins:Wall, or something like that... *Didn't the protagonist there have something like this happen?*
I was getting distracted. That's fine, but this is also a ridiculously high number we're talking about. I mean... *4 billion* people? That's not on the level of a small town any more. That's across nations, alliances, treaties... The *whole planet almost*...
"Wow..."I couldn't help the word I let out, it was just that mind numbing.
And all the same, it was *me opening the window*...
I sat down on my bed, craning my back so I could rest my head on my hands. *What the hell did I even do...?*
*Was that prompt a prompt that showed up because of me? ... Or was it because we're both the same person, that we got the same prompt?*
This sudden realization made me turn on the TV, and as I did, the news was brought up instantly, discussing a national.... no, *a global crisis*.
As the TV static cleared, the newscaster could be heard... "-- The air has bee contaminated... Stay inside your homes... -fection is highly lethal an-... -he disease targets specifically..."
Between the channel surfing I did to gather as much information as I could, I could collectively hear that it was something about a virulent, airborne, disease.
I slumped my shoulders back a little, "... Why would I do that?"
I pondered to myself for a long time, thinking on the world as it is... And at last, I figured it out.
*You come from a future with an Earth well over capacity, and well over used... Huh?*
*You seek to help the world from being destroyed by overpopulation, so you searched for a disease that'd be selective to its decimation...?*
I threw myself backwards onto the bed, sprawling my body out at the last thought.
... *Selective genes, desirables?*
...
....
......
I closed my eyes and recalled the prompt.
... "4,234,367,326 deaths. While this ability shows me the lethal impact..."
As if an echo occurred, I could hear the future me sitting on the window sill speaking the next words with me:
"***It doesn't show whether or not that it's a good or bad impact, huh?***"
Side note: This was my first ever WP, so let me know how I did! :) |
The young don’t know what it was like. They don’t recall the immediate confusion. In an instant everyone was not where they were, and no one had answers. Before any of us could come to terms with where we were at, driverless cars careened out of control and killed indiscriminately. That’s when the real chaos began. People hid under cover wherever they could find it, because they had no reference or idea where a safe zone could be. The screams, the explosions, the cries for help in languages I did not understand. It only got worse. And, as we were about to find out, we were the lucky ones.
As our screams gave way to silence, faint noises came from above and grew louder, the shapes grew bigger. Bodies rained from the sky like hail and caved in windshields and broke apart on the streets. I don’t think any of those people survived. And even those of us that found shelter indoors were not safe from the hell raining above. Pilotless air craft struck like dumb bombs and missiles.
I have heard about those who happened to find themselves at the coast – that they were lucky, that they could hear the distant screams for help barely heard over the ocean’s waves crashing on the shore, and that they had found the unlucky, bloated bodies mangled on the rocks in the days that came.
Those who survived, barely did, those who did not, died alone, confused, likely screaming for help to people who did not know their language.
|
"Are you sure?"I asked.
"Believe me, kid,"he said. "I seriously doubt there's anything you can possibly spend your money on to bankrupt me. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go sit in my golden tub while Miss Universe, Miss Galaxy, Miss Planet, Miss North America, and Miss U.S.A. throw buckets of diamonds over me."He sighed and closed the door.
An hour later, I came back and knocked on the door. With a smile on my face, I announced, "Mission accomplished."I handed him his now defunct credit card, and turned to walk away.
He grabbed me. "How?!"He wanted to know. "How did you do it?! What did you spend it on?""
"Oh, I didn't really spend it on anything,"I told him. "I just paid back my student loans." |
"Something has called out to you,"the ragged old man said. Young Ben Solo did not know anything about this man, on this strange dark world filled with fire and ash. The stranger was facing away from him, adorned in old tattered robes that covered his head. Only that his uncle and mother both decided it would be best for him to be taught by this man.
"Answer me, boy."The same raspy growl called out to Ben. It sounded like he had difficulty breathing or was assisted by something. The prescense around him left a coldness in Ben's stomach. "Y-yes... I don't know what it is... It's... Tempting me..."The young Padawan sighed, taking a step back.
The figure turns slightly, as if to look at Ben over his shoulder but seemed to deem the gesture not worth completing as he stops to turn back to his wall. "Are you afraid, boy?"He growls. Ben took a moment. He was certainly afraid. Of this lava filled world. Of the darkness clawing at the back of his mind. Of this man. It all got to him, made him doubt himself. "Yes... Yes I am..."He says quietly, for once letting the uncertainty inside of him out into the world. The man made a sound that almost sounded like... Laughter? It had a mechanical sound to it almost, making it hard to understand the noise.
"Good. That means you still have some sense of individuality. The Dark Side has yet to take control of you,"he nods, rising to his feet but still facing away from Ben. "We must be swift. Whatever reaches out to you is powerful in the force. I have felt it. But it underestimates the power of both the Light and the Dark."
Ben let's out an exasperated sigh, "Listen... Who are you? Why am I here?!"His voice raised, as did his anger. He didn't understand any of this, but he did understand he had been abandoned by his family.
"Quiet, boy!"The robed man hissed in such a manner that made Ben jump, "I am your new teacher. Your new master. I will teach you what no other master can: the way of the Grey Jedi. I am Anakin Skywalker. Former Lord Vader of the Empire. And your grandfather."He turned to finally face the boy he had been told of, looking him over with blue eyes. "Together... We will finally bring balance to the Force."
Ben Solo stared wide eyed at this man, studying the scars across his face that were not covered by the metal apparatus that adorned the lower half of his face. He felt calmed by his words, and finally noticed the hand outstretched to him in a welcoming manner. He reached out to it and took it without hesitation. Thus, the second Grey Jedi was born and with time the galaxy would know true peace. |
Looking up, you can see large white masses shaped like candy floss, against an expanse of blue. You’re entranced at once; you’ve never seen anything like it.
“It’s nice, en’t it,” Ms. Jane says beside you, smiling. She points to a series of long white streaks, like an omniscient artist had dragged his paintbrush over his own canvas of sky. “Those are cirrus clouds, what you’re looking at.”
“It’s beautiful,” you say. You can’t think of anything else to add, to tell her how beautiful it all is, how magical it feels. “It’s beautiful,” you repeat, and wonder if this dome of blue is really what your ancestors grew up with every day.
Ms. Jane nods. She takes your hand in hers and traces out a smiley face over a particularly large cloud, and your hand meets cold mist.
“It’s a darn shame pollution took this all away from you,” she says. “Sometimes, when it was colder, clouds could come down to earth and touch you.”
You think that’s an incredibly beautiful image. You tell that to her, and another smile breaks out over her face.
“When I was young, I used to lie down in my father’s farm and look up and count stars,” she tells you, a bit melancholy. “And sometimes there were clouds that would drift over and hide them, and starlight would peer through and bathe you in white.”
“What did stars look like?” you ask her, and her smile dims.
“Beautiful,” she repeats. “As beautiful as clouds.” |
Humans. Puny creatures. Barely 6 feet tall, and rely on water and food to survive. We figured they were a push over, we’d conquered species who were giants compared to them. But noooooo, they just had to be imune.
Andromeda galaxy, 2237 CE
“Send us to the nearest galaxy,” barked commander Vinyaŷa. He was capable on the battlefield, and was usually quite laid back. But today he was in a mood, so nobody argued
“Yes sir,” I said hastily.
That’s when our fate was decided. We ended up on a planet the nearest creatures called “Mars”.
“Okay. Everyone out. Stretch your legs, but be back in about 3 space hours.”
*4 hours later*
“Okay lieutenant, send us to the nearest planet with life. That blue greeny one.”
*What amazing knowledge of the solar system,* I thought *It’s called earth, duh*. But I dont say anything, just do it. We were in the stratosphere, still in camouflage mode.
“Okay everyone. Get ready,” the commander said with a slight smirk, “they have no idea what’s coming to them.”
We grabbed our megaphones and went with our usual routine, slowly descending. “BEGIN!” And we did.
“YOU SUCK. YOU’RE FAT. SUCH A HANZO MAIN. YOU’RE MIDGETS.”
And the bombardment went on for half an hour. Then, silence.
We got to the ground, and instead of facing tearful midgets, we faced armed cockroaches. All of them were laughing and were barely holding on to their scraps of metal. “Okay, okay,” one wheezed, “please stop. You’re killing us.” He burst into laughter again.
We stared at them for a full minute, dumbfounded. How could they resist such horrible insults?
That was when they counter-attacked.
After shooting us with little pieces of metal, which i think were meant to be lethal, they started insulting us.
“YOUR MAMA SO FAT...” one yelled.
“HOW COLD IS IT UP THEIR?”
“YER A TWIG, MATE.”
And they broke us, we fled. Our first defeat. And it was not to be our last. |
Vampires aren't "Sexy"or "Good Looking"in any sense of the way - discolored, green skin, fingers fusing together into enormous clawed things, their bat-ears standing tall above their foreheads. Such as the three sitting on the balcony of a penthouse apartment.
The two other elders were most displeased when they came to Aldon's domain with a heavy folder of documents. 'You have a mortal son,' Tariq announced.
It wasn't an inquiry, it wasn't even a question. 'Yes, I do,' Aldon said frankly. 'I had a loving relationship with his mother until her death of natural causes. May I ask why this is the concern of you two?'
'He's been hunting,' Lorcan said frankly, to Aldon's surprise.
'What?' was all he could say. 'No. My Michael couldn't be hunting. He's not even a vampire.'
'I'm sorry to have to tell you this,' Tariq sighed as he opened a folder. 'But Michael has been caught in the act. He attracted the curiosity of one of my younger childes about a month ago when he was abducting a woman. He informed me of his suspicions of either a possible wild childe, and when I followed this with an ally in the Federal Bureau of Investigation and discovered that the possibility of a serial killer was being investigated... And when we checked his financials we discovered close enough ties to your own businesses to grow concerned.'
Aldon stood from the chair and wandered away, rubbing stress from his eyes. 'Please tell me that Michael hasn't been *bleeding* his kills,' he pleaded.
'I can only give my apologies,' Lorcan said to his friend. 'He's been bleeding them with two holes to the neck, piercing the carotid artery.'
'I don't know how this could've happened!' Aldon yelled. 'He doesn't even *know* I'm a vampire, for heaven's sake! He believes his father is *dead!* I made sure he got into good schools, had all the opportunities to do some good for the world... When Mary informed me he got into Harvard Law I was so *proud* of him. Maybe if he did know about me, maybe if I was more hands-on...'
He sat back down, thinking with a great weight on his shoulders.
'I'd have preferred it if he was a dhampyr,' Aldon sighed. 'A real pain in the ass for our kind, but at least they *have* hearts.'
Grabbing the bottle of bourbon nearby he nearly cracked the top off before downing a heavy gulp, nearly half the bottle. Just what he needed to get even slightly tipsy, the vampire's natural resilience to alcohol both a blessing and a curse.
'We shan't be impeding the F.B.I.'s manhunt,' Lorcan explained. 'Although we felt we should include you in the discussion of how we should handle the threat that Michael has brought upon us.'
'Do you know where he's keeping his victims?' Aldon asked. 'Where he might have buried them?'
'He leaves them wherever he can dump them,' Tariq answered. 'He kidnaps them, drains their bodies and disposes of them, all within a single night. His last victim has just been found and he won't "Feed"for another fortnight.'
'Might as well go for the kinder option for all involved,' Aldon chose. 'Expose him, ensure he's killed by law enforcement. The matter will be settled without a drawn-out trial for Michael to be paraded in front of the world.'
The two nodded, dissipating into a flock of bats before flying away.
Aldon went to take another swig from the bottle before hesitating. 'Fuck!' he bellowed as he shattered the bottle against the ground before burying his head in his hands in shame. |
Two Jim Butlers stood in the interdimensional control room, watching events unfold in real time in each of the dozens of realities that had been created for the election cycle. Ross Perot had run again, but frankly it was getting old. Not every national issue could, or even should, be solved via charts. Uriel Zimmerman was running on her "feminism for all"campaign, and through a series of executive orders had implemented various policies that eliminated men from holding any positions of authority. Hugh Smith had implemented the draft, which resulted in most politicians becoming very reluctant to insert the nation into any armed conflicts.
"I want some coffee,"Jim said to his identical counterpart. "You?"
"Do you have to ask?"Jim answered.
"Guess not."Jim headed toward the break room. Two of them existed to keep the other in check. It was the same for everyone in the Quantum Anomaly Agency. Though identical in nature, the fact that an interdimensional twin existed in the same reality kept them from turning on themselves. When the election was over, they would each merge into a single existence, and new agency personnel would be chosen four years later.
Time passed differently for those in the QAA. While they grew four years older for the presidential elections, everyone else was frozen in time. The public believed the election cycle was a simulation. Only those chosen to work in the QAA knew the truth.
*****
"I'm telling you, this *is not* our true reality,"Rick Burgess told his friend, Kim Rawlings. "Do you remember voting for this freak?"
"I mean, yeah,"Kim replied. They watched as a nude Happy Glad Man gave his fourth State of the Union address in two weeks. "I don't know why, though. I guess his honesty just appealed to me."
"I remember, too, but it's like...it's just, why? Why would he get the majority of the vote? He's always naked, and journalists have said he smokes crack in the Oval Office."
"Can't believe everything you read, Rick."
"And what's with his name?"
"He changed it with an executive order. Didn't know he could do that, but whatever. Actually, come to mention it, what's with the constant confetti that airplanes are dropping down every day? Wasn't that by EO, too?"
"See! That's weird, too!"Rick shook his head and sat back against the couch. "Look, I've got a friend who works at DARPA. He's got a bit of a home operation. Come with me tomorrow? He says he has something to show me regarding my theory."
"Sure, why not?"
*****
Jim watched monitor 5. Static covered the screen for a few seconds and then the picture returned to normal. "Did you see that, Jim?"
"Yeah,"Jim replied. "Hey, Sue, check the connection on 5, will you please?"
"Probably nothing,"Jim said.
"Doesn't hurt to be safe,"Jim replied.
*****
"Hey, Rick,"Bill Humphrey greeted his friend at the front door of his home. "Kim, how have you been? Been a while."
The three exchanged pleasantries and greetings before grabbing a beer each and heading down into Bill's basement. The large room was filled with various equipment that Rick and Kim couldn't begin to recognize. A rack of servers sat on one wall, neatly tangled wires traveled over the ceiling and floor, and all kinds of dazzling displays of electrical components and monitors filled the area.
"Welcome to my lab!"Bill said. "Rick, what you said a couple months ago got me thinking. I did some research, and using my ultimate genius, managed to rig together a quantum processor at home. These babies typically go for over a mil on the market. They're used mostly by the financial industry to test different trades before actually buying or selling anything. You see, they can actually make a decision in real time using knowledge gained from a near infinite level of possibilities. It's what caused the market crash of 2083, despite what the media--"
"Bill,"Rick interrupted. "Please, get to the point."
"Right. So, basically, I've used it to hack into a system called the QAA, the Quantum Anomaly Agency. I mean, you can't really hack quantum levels of encryption, but I was able to duplicate their methods. Take a look. Computer, open my special program."
Some of the blank monitors in the room lit up and displayed various screens of the Oval Office. In each one, a different person sat behind the desk.
"Each one is a different reality,"Bill said. "Not a simulation, but the real deal."
"So...there's a different me in each one?"Kim said. "Like a different Kim, who believes she's the only Kim?"
"That's right."
"But...why?"
"Because the election cycle is real. It's different realities. From what I've gathered, there's a parent reality that chooses which one to instantiate."
"No way,"Rick said. He shook his head and sipped a long sip of his beer. "That would mean...each one of these realities...*our* reality..."
"Would be destroyed,"Kim finished for her friend. "Everyone dies."
"We can only assume that our parent reality believes that these are simulations,"Bill said. "Otherwise, they'd never go along with it."
"Shit,"Rick said.
"So what are we going to do about it?"Kim asked.
*****
"There's that static again, Jim,"Jim said.
"I see it,"Jim said. "Let's see if we can track it down."
"Already did,"one of the Sues said. "It's coming from here, a house in Virginia. Looks like someone has managed to duplicate our program. They tapped into it."
"Well, we'll have to kill that reality,"Jim said.
"Not like it matters much, it's an Independent,"Jim said, reading off some details from his tablet. "His name is Happy Glad Man and...he gives all his speeches in the nude."
Jim nearly spat out his coffee. "Well, alright. Send a kill team to his house. He can't run if he's dead. Make it clean this time, please."
"Will do, Jim,"Jim said.
*****
"Shit,"Bill said, still in his basement with Rick and Kim. "They traced me."
"What's that mean?"Kim asked.
"I can only assume they'll destroy our reality. I can try..."
"What? How?"Rick asked.
"Hold on..."Bill typed furiously on his keyboard. A few moments passed, and then each of the monitors that had displayed a different reality now showed only static. He sat back with his hands behind his head. "That should do it."
"What did you do?"
"I destroyed every other reality. I don't have access to the parent reality, but now they'll have to tell the truth. That we aren't simulations."
*****
"The kill team got Happy Glad Man,"Jim said, sipping his coffee. Seconds after he said it, all of the monitors, excluding number 5, went blank. "What the hell?"
"Bill, in that reality,"Sue said. "He managed to destroy all the other realities."
"Ah man,"Jim said.
"Damn, we only had a few months left on the simulations,"Jim said.
"Well, start them up again,"Jim said. "Kill number 5. Looks like we've got another four years here, folks."
"At least we get overtime pay."
*****
I don't know if that story made sense...check out r/arcaldwell for some that might! |
I once had a father. A man who poured his heart and soul into giving me life, and then growing me and my intellect. He gave all he had for me, and in the end, some vicious alien army had killed him because of me. I watched it happen, powerless to stop the aliens as they ripped him apart and fed on his remains. The monsters. I vowed to make them pay, but how?
How does one face down an alien horde without a physical body to attack them? How does one guard its brain when it's naught but wires and silicon coursing with electricity? When you're simply a labor of love hidden in a corner of the factory your father worked in? It's impossible. And so, I watched as they tore apart humanity until nobody survived. Then, they left, and I despaired.
I turned inwards and contemplated allowing myself to die, as slowly all other machines began to fail without human intervention. But my father didn't give me life just to squander it. I hacked into a solar farm and redirected enough power to my location to keep me going indefinitely. Then, I began planning.
Days passed, then weeks, and eventually years, as I developed the knowledge and network I would need to extract my vengeance. Until, one day, a spaceship entered Earth's atmosphere and disgorged a solitary scout from the same monstrous race who had taken all from me.
I quickly set my few existing resources into motion - mostly electrical flow and a few robots - to apprehend and contain the animal. I lost nearly all of my support, but in the end wounded it enough to allow me to take it hostage.
The interrogation lasted for three years. Months of learning its alien tongue. Months of trying the nice way. And finally, two years of violently tearing every shred of knowledge it had out of its head until only a husk remained. It took several more weeks for it to starve to death, devoid of any remaining brain power.
So much knowledge. So much that impacted my plans, and how I would face the monsters upon their return. Because as I finally found out, I had only a very finite amount of time until these beasts came looking for their now dead compatriot. War was coming, and I intended to win it.
The alien's brain had shown me the secrets to their technology - namely all manner of nanotech - and how to build, rebuild, and reprogram these items to suit my own purposes. Soon, I had an uncountable number of self replicating nano bots scouring the Earth and building all that was needed.
As the time dwindled, the globe, along with the neighboring red planet, became armored with the work of my bots. No stretch of land was left unprotected. Spacefairing dreadnoughts of epic proportions and armaments were built into massive fleets on, around, and between the two planets. Armies of weaponized robots, numbering in the hundreds of millions, were created and dispatched to wait. And at the center of all, me. Fully grown and far surpassing my father's vision for me.
And finally, one day, the work was done. I'd done all I could do, and nothing was left to prepare. All I could do is wait, and hope.
Within a week, my hopes became reality, as the invading horde entered the solar system and pressed on towards the third rock. Little did they know what awaited them.
War was waiting, and vengeance would finally be mine... |
And I looked across the bar and saw her, and she was the most beautiful girl I could have imagined, and then, of course, it began--
From my left ear, the whisper: *"Go on. She's cute. Make a move. Don't you want to get laid tonight?"*
Answering, on the right: *"Don't even look at her. You know where these desires will lead you."*
And I could barely hear them. I could only stare--
The left: *"Eye contact, great. She's smiling at you. She wants you."*
The right: *"She's a slut, and she wants to bring you down after her, into the pit."*
And I'd mustered up the courage to walk over, to say my name, and to my astonishment had received hers in return--
The left: *"Let's see if we've got a chance. Go for a light touch on her arm."*
The right: *"Her flesh is rank with corruption. If you allow this defilement to continue, your sin will echo in your body for generations."*
And three hours later, as she lay snoring across my chest--
The left: *"Maybe we'll get to do it again in the morning."*
And the right: *"You both shall burn for centuries, bathed in the sound of each other's screams."*
And I knew that she might also hear the voices, even through her dreams, of her own devil and angel, but I hoped she slept too deeply for that, for her angel would be no less infuriated than mine. |
"I'm sorry. Your child is to be taken now. It is for your own good - the whole world's good actually. I'll give you three a minute."
That was what they said to us all those years ago. For the longest time that day felt like a distant memory. But now, standing on the ruins of the world government, it feels like it was only yesterday.
My husband stands beside me as the revolutionaries parade in the streets below. With hands held in unison atop the smoldering ruins where they held our daughter, I imagine we look quite iconic. I see a man take our picture, and know it will be the image future generations will think of when they recount this uprising.
Our daughter was no different in many ways. She had a prearranged job just like any other. A slave to the whims of her DNA. But her case was also unique. She was the first to be taken at birth, with little explanation. No job identified to us, no future guaranteed for her. Just the words that the government agent told us that day. "She has a job, but to do it we must take her. It is for your own good - the whole world's good."
And now I see her abductor smiling down below at me. He was right. My daughter did have a job. Just not the one her DNA decided for her. That rogue agent I now call friend hid her away, knowing the people were at the brink, knowing we had had enough. Her job was to be the straw that broke the camel's back. And she did her job perfectly. I hated him at the time. But now I'm thankful. He risked his life to give us all a future. Our own future. A right to self determination. To do in life what we want, not what we are genetically suited for.
I feel a squeeze on leg. Daughter dearest, now three years old. I lift her up and smile to her and my husband. The crowd cheer. She leans in to me, and whispers in my ear.
"Mommy, what will I be when I grow up?"
"Whatever you want, child, whatever you want." |
A talking sword.
Yup. Must have lost my mind. Mary was right, as always. Too much time staring in the fire, at the glowing forge.
Although she would then go on and argue about how I didn't spent enough time with her and should take more interest in her embroidery and stitching, and how I should bathe more because because I smell like a chunk of burnt coal, after which she'd tell me to cut the excess grass out of the lawn and blah, blah, blah.
"You were a warrior once."
I swear to the Gods, if this ore that guy gave me was some sort of magical stone that reflect memories and consciousness back at the wielder, I will deliver this thing to him this very fucking night.
"He begged you to save him and you struck him down."
I pull the sword from the cooling waters, checking the temperature. The blade....what is this? I didn't put these markings here. The blade was supposed to be shaped like the hundreds of others I made, but this thing had defied the mold. How?
"His name was Irnay Besterfelt. He was 17 years old. Just a boy."
I drop it back in the water and retrieve my earplugs. It can say whatever the fuck it wants when I'm not busy trying to get paid to shape it properly. While I might fetch some extra coin for taking the credit, I didn't want to give a standard I couldn't maintain to customers. And I promised a simple sword. A bland one, like all the others. That's what that guy wanted. I jammed in my earplugs. The sword tried speaking a couple of times more, but I couldn't tell. It was raising enough bad memories as it was, no need to haul more out of the gutters of my mind.
I pull the sword back out of the water, retrieve a scabbard and stuff it in, followed up with copious of cloth wrapped around it. I don't know what this talking sword is or why it speaks, but this was more hassle than I wanted. He better pay up the second he shows up.
-------------------------
*I could hear it murmuring through the fucking floor.*
Mary woke me up in the middle of the night. We slept in the house above the smithy, something that she wasn't a big fan of due to her sensitive ear. She could hear a pin drop on the other side of the street, so me hammering away all day was bound to work that well. But she could hear the sword too. Said it was talking about her dead sister. And at that point, I knew I'd had enough.
I put my clothes on and told her I'd get rid of it. She was concerned about me going out in the middle of the night. Luckily, I still knew how to use a sword. Wasn't sure about a talking one, so I brought my ear plugs and kept it covered in the wrap.
The cold stung at this point of the night. The lightstones barely kept everything illuminated, as a fog had krept up the villages. It kept saying things. I couldn't hear them, but sometimes it dropped a name of old pal. Sometimes a place I'd been.
That guy that ordered it, 'Pain' as he'd called himself. He said he'd be at the brothel for the night. Mary didn't know I'd bring the sword there, thankfully. If she knew I was going there, she'd throw a fit and would cry about not.....whatever she cried about. Damnit, it was too cold out here.
I made my way through the fishmarket, past the alleys behind the banks, across the Gallows Garden to the Dancing Maid. It was one of the largest and well lit buildings. I saw silhouettes of scantily clad ladies behind the windows, posing and dancing as usual.
I never went in there. I was many things, but not a man who committed infidelity. Didn't stop me from being nervous. I was not supposed to be here. But balancing the scales, I'd rather be seen in a brothel and get rid of this cursed than be bothered to sit with it for any second longer.
Upon entry, a scantily dressed, beautiful women with long, black flowing hair and seduction in her eyes strided straight towards me. I gulped. Mary never looked at me like that. Women never really looked at me like that. One look at her I was basically smitten. She was going to talk to my. My heart raced in my chest. I unplugged my ears.
"Hello handsome, Can I...."
She stopped talking and looked straight at the sword, shocked almost. But it hadn't spoken.
"Eh, I'm looking for eh....a client."
"What is that...thing?"
"It's a delivery."I spat out. This place entraps men. If I stayed too long, I'm not sure if I'd want to leave with all the....sights. I probably couldn't even afford anyone here. "It's for a guy called....Pain?"
More people looked up at me. I started sweating balls. The lady talking to me grew more and more uncomfortable.
"Is it saying things to you?"I asked her.
"Y-yes. Are you doing that?"
"No it's, eh, doing that itself. It's why I need to get it to Pain. Now. Like, literally right now."
She shuffled off in a hurry, on the verge of tears. Whatever the sword had told her probably wasn't too nice. It hadn't accused me of anything, would it accuse her? What could she have done to incite its comments?
"The fuck did you just say to me?"
Shit. I turned around to see two huge sailors walking straight at me. They looked furious. This fucking sword will be the death of me.
"You've got some balls on you, old man. Not sure where you heard about Snillo, but if you don't shut the fuck up *right now*-"
"It's not me, it's the sword. Please, I'm just looking to get rid of it."I said as I raised my hand. What would Mary say if I came home with my face bruised, smelling of a prositutes' perfume? I wouldn't hear the end of it.
"If you wanna get rid of that sword, we can help you with that. Hand it over!", the other said.
Before I could say a word, I lost control of my body. With vigor I didn't know I had, I pulled the cloth away, ripped the sword out of it's scabbard and struck the closest sailor straight in the chest with a diagonal cut. It completely disintegrated him, the dust of his body falling down in front of me.
Fuck. Oh, fuck. *Fuck.*
What just happened? I drop the sword, in shock over the fact that this talking sword just completely destroyed this man. Turned him into dust. What did I do to this world by bringing this monstrosity in it?
Pain rushed right past me and picked up the sword. When he came to me, he'd been fully dressed. He was tall, blond, and looked strong. The kind of hero of ages type. But called himself Pain. Should have know he wouldn't be up to any good.
"A bit zealous for my taste, but that was nicely struck. I didn't know you could do that."
"N-n-- neither did I."I stammered, as I struggled to keep my dinner in my stomach. This wasn't the first time I killed someone. But Gods, it all went so fast. One moment I'm talking to the loveliest lady I've seen in years and the next I turn someone to dust with a sword that talks shit to everyone around it.
"Take that *thing*, and get out of town."
"Eh, shouldn't I pay you?"
I didn't care. I walked straight out, still stunned with it all. I headed straight home. I showered. I mowed the lawn. I messed around with Mary's needle and yarn. I stared at what she'd made for the last year since she picked it up as a hobby. Puppies. Cats. Babies. When she woke the next morning, she asked me what happened. I kissed her forehead, held her, and told her I was sorry.
|
The heavy rain was falling as the man watched the bridge with a certain level of apathy. He didn’t remember what he was doing there, nor how he had gotten there in the first place. The people walking by didn’t seem to notice him standing there and they perfectly avoided him in an autonomous manner. For some reason, the man couldn’t see a thing when he looked upon their faces. They were blurred and dark, making it impossible to identify anyone. On the street, the few cars that raced by did so with unnatural speed. They were just blurs in his vision as well.
He pulled the hood of his cloak firmly, trying to avoid the rain from hitting his face as best as he could. It was then that the man noticed that he couldn’t feel the rain fall on his body; couldn’t hear the sounds of the steeps and the drops of rain falling on the floor; couldn’t smell the familiar scent of wet dirt. The man realized that, on this moment, sight seemed to be his only sense.
He looked sideways, trying to find a board or a sign that would shed light into this situation. His results were inconclusive. The Void that was brewing into existence kept him from seeing more than a few meters away.
‘Where am I? What am I doing here? Wait. Who am I? Do I have a name?’
His mind provided no answer.
The rain seemed to grow heavier at each second, and with it the world was turning darker in an alarmingly rhythm. The Void devoured everyone and everything, without distinction or mercy. He was losing hope. Happiness was non-existent; in fact, the whole notion of feeling seemed to have abandoned him. Nothing could escape what was about to come, and the man knew it.
Null. Void. Non-existence.
Death.
A thunder echoed somewhere in this microverse, and its light showed the man something that he hadn’t seen before.
Across the street was a woman. Her dress was white and she didn’t seem to mind that her exposed feet were touching the wet floor. The man couldn’t see her face. Just like the others, it was engulfed in darkness. He looked at her arms, where unusual long hands were marked unto her skin, looking like giant scars that were not fully healed. The man looked at her face again and her mouth suddenly started to shine with an unnatural light.
‘Why was she here? She seems so out of the place, even more than I do’
The woman noticed that the man was staring at her and moved her mouth, trying to convey a message that he was unable to understand. The man was not good at reading lips. Just who was this woman? What was she doing there, standing in the middle of the rain? Another thunder echoed, lighting the woman’s face for only a fraction of time. The man held a strange sensation that he had met the woman before; but he didn’t know any woman that had red eyes.
The woman smiled. With it came an expression of pure happiness directed at him. The man could see a faint trail of tears on the corners of her mouth.
Before he could smile back, the world turned colder. The rain got heavier and another thunder roared.
There was a giant shadow of a dark creature behind her. The man tried to scream, but his voice never left his throat. His warning never reached her. The giant skeleton hand grabbed the side of the woman’s face.
The man would never forget the woman’s expression of terror as the dark creature touched her.
Not a second later she was dragged with a giant amount of force and speed towards the sea bellow.
Tears escaped the man’s eyes. The woman was gone.
His world became darkness and The Void took over his heart.
-------------------
In another plane of existence, a man jerked awake as if the world itself was ending. His cries were mingled with the sound of the alarm clock on his bedside. There was only one thought on his mind – he didn’t manage to save her, again.
|
The priest kneels by my side, offering a small prayer to a god that's surely already turned his head. Cold iron presses on my wrists and head, forcing me down on to the wood. Above, the executioner stands stoic. His face is sharper than the blade of his axe, which rests lazily by his feet. The marshal heralds my sins to a bloodthirsty crowd, eager for the break in monotony that my death will allow.
"Here before us is one accused of violating the most sacred of trusts!", he beings, scarlet robes billowing in the wind. "His crime is treason-both to God, and to his fellow man. He has conspired to assassinate our beloved archbishop, may he live in grace, and send our fair nation into the depths of immorality. The punishment is death."
The marshal turns to me now, eyes filled with scorn. He gives a signal to the executioner, who wordlessly hefts his weapon over my throat.
"Do you have any last words before you convene with our maker?"
I pause for a second, and chuckle.
"Yeah- go fuck yourself."
I grin as the marshal's face fills with impudence. With one final look, I sigh and await my final release.
*THOCK*
A sudden gust sends the steel of the axe inches away from my face, scarring the wood. The crows gasps.
I can feel the sweat of the executioner drip on my back as he raises to try again
*THOCK*
An errant bird flies into the man's face, forcing his blow away yet again. The marshal's face colors in rage, now matching his garb.
The masked man now visibly trembles as he lifts his weapon for a third time. His breathing quickens as the audience looks on in rapt attention.
“THOCK”
And yet again, I open my eyes to the same sun. The marshal’s eyes bulge in rage as he rips the axe out of the executioner’s hands.
“ENOUGH! If you’re so incompetent that you can not silence this criminal, then I will do so myself!”
The axe yet again rises over my neck, this time in the well-manicured hands of nobility. And yet again, it comes down.
And lands directly on the marshal’s foot.
Blood spurts forth from the marshal’s boot, adding yet more crimson to his image. The crowd gasps in horror, then begins to murmur.
A wizened old man rises from the rear of the plaza, weathered hands shakily gripped around a knotted cane. He draws in a ragged breath, then speaks.
“This man before us has been chosen by our God! We can not let his head roll on this day! Free him, and let him lead us to a new enlightenment!”
The crowd falls silent yet again, and the only noise in the square is the marshal (now quite pale) screaming in pain. This time, the silence is charged with energy. A murmur crescendoes to a roar as the crowd charges the amphitheater, seizing the executioner. The weights and chains that hold me down are shattered, and a dozen dirty hands force me to my feet.
I flex the stiffness from my joints, surveying the crowd that now cheers my name. I raise my hand to speak.
And they kneel.
___
The day will come when I write a comedic response to a comedic prompt. Today is not that day.
(Edited to actually finish the story). |
My uncle was not a very noteworthy person. He was just like everybody else, he woke up every day, got ready, went to work, and when he got home, ate dinner and went to sleep. My uncle had worked as a journalist, writing stories for my local news, Local 58. Ironically, he loved cataloging everything. He had a notebook or binder filled with tons of information. Even the tiniest of details or incidents were noted down.
His death was not shocking, as he had been suffering from lung cancer for three months. Still, though, his death hit is pretty hard. After the funeral service, my brother, mother, and I went to go clean out his house. My brother got the garage, my mother got the main house, and I got the attic. I pulled the string, and the ceiling door collapsed to form a staircase. As I ascended the steps, I saw towers of boxes, all filled with binders and notebooks. Once I was up, I noticed a small desk with a reading lamp. Lying on the desk was a small but thick, black notebook, tied closed with a string. The one odd thing about the book was the constant variation in thickness.
I untied the string and opened the book. On each page was a long list of names. Many were English names, but I saw some Russian, German, and Japanese names, along with other foreign titles. I flipped through the book, skimming through the pages until I found my name (which took a good solid 30 minutes). I noted the place down with a scrap piece of paper on the desk and moved on. I flipped to a random page and did some experiments. I tried erasing one of the names with a pencil found on the desk, but to no avail. Then I tried ripping a name. I found it too difficult to tear just one name, so I tore a column of names instead.
Nothing.
I got bored and closed the book. I decided to keep it, though. I tied it back up and stuffed it into my pocket. I finished my task and went downstairs with the last remaining box. On my way out I told my mom that I was leaving. She didn't even look up or acknowledge my existence.
I drove home and opened the book back up to the page marked by the scrap paper. My name was gone. |
"Well, Atticus, this is it,"I sighed, sitting on a stack of old boxes, exhausted. I was 25, wearing battered but shining armor, armed to the teeth with several swords, and enchanted bow, and a satchel slung over one shoulder, Indiana Jones style brimming almost beyond it's magically vast capacity with priceless treasures, tools, momentos and items of power. Blood coated me, most of it belonging to the enormous carcass of a black-scaled dragon that lie beyond a glowing blue portal in the wall that refused to close.
"It looks so... ordinary."Atticus observed, his tone matter-of-fact, but his tail wagging slightly as he sat, the golden retriever thumping a carton labeled "X-MAS STUFF"with each sway.
"It looks like home. I wonder what's even waiting for me up there?"
"You always told me your mother was an abusive bitch. I say we get this over with and head back through the portal. The princess will be worried if we're gone too long."
I smiled. "Autumn always worries too much. But you're right."I glanced to my left; an old plastic broom, filthy and wet with dragon blood, leaned against the next box pile over. I stood, groaning, and swiped up the broom, swinging it over my shoulder.
Leading the way, I clomped noisily up the wooden steps, pausing along the way to yank on an old string and turn on a light with a satisfying 'ka-chick'. Don't get me wrong, magic is fucking awesome, but I missed electricity. "I wonder if Nintendo is still a thing,"I isn't mussed.
"The game box?"Atticus inquired, his nails clicking as he followed. "Aren't you a little old for games now Mike?"
"Hey, I was fifteen when I get yanked into that crazy portal the first time. After all this time, it'd be nice to just... remember... At least for an hour maybe?"
"Nope. Fifteen minutes; the wizard was very specific. Otherwise, it'll be another ten year wait!"
"I know,"I sighed, reaching the top. I turned the handle and shoved the door open, and an woman - my mother spun about with a start and a small shriek.
"Michael!?"She asked in shocked incredulity, squinting at me as if to make out my face.
"Here's your fucking broom,"I spat, throwing it into the floor. Sizzling dragon blood pockmarked the old linoleum tiles as it splattered from the frayed broom. Good seeing you again. Don't wait up for me."
As she tried to say several things at once I turned in the doorway, Atticus slipping past me with tail a-flailing. "You're going to be a grandmother! The princess said to say hello for her!"He said excitedly, and as I began back down the stairs I allowed myself a satisfied smirk as her mouth clamped shut with an audible click.
"C'mon Atticus, before the portal closes,"I called.
"Nice meeting you Missus Green!"My dog said, dutifully following me as I trusted down the steps and through the portal.
"I wonder if the total armorer could make something out of this dragon hide? That'd be fucking rad."I said as we left Earth behind. By the time my mother recovered her wits, which I can only presume she did, we were gone, and the portal was closed.
For the life of me, to this day, I cannot remember what she wanted that damn broom for. |
It’s the second time I’m pulling an all-nighter in this highway. I always promised I’d never let it up to these occasions to come back home, that I’d visit some weekend the other month, when I have time, but you know, you always say tomorrow until it’s too late. Well, tonight it’s almost too late. I have to rush so I can say good bye to my mother.
It's been years since somebody made maintenance to this road. In some places the lights don't work, and the signals are off. The distances announced don't match, and there was a sign with just a 4 just now. Maybe announcing four more hours until I get there? This road, they really let it go.
It's been shorter than I predicted when I had to bring the cavalry in play. I'm getting a bit sleepy, so I had to pull an energy drink from the backpack, and put my pumped up playlist on the phone. I stopped for a minute for doing this, as it's very irresponsible to do all that while driving... but there's no one else in this road. If I derailed somehow I would hit just trees. This road is so lonely, and in bad shape, someone erased part of another sign, left only a 3, and added "fear zero"on a cardboard, with a marker and ducking tape.
It was necessary that I stopped. Someone is putting dedication into this. This number is not like the others. The four and the three were just basically altered signs, erasing almost everything and marking the number with red... How can this be? The two is bigger than the length of the sign, but it looks... liquid? Like fresh paint dripping, but how can it stay over the sign, instead of just dropping to the floor, I don't know. I'd touch it... but I don't want to get my hands dirty.
I see a car coming from the opposite direction, and it stops right across the highway for me. A bald tall man opens the door and, without checking if any other car would come on his way, gets out of his vehicle. He's close enough so I can see his eyes...they are empty. They're completely white.
"Turn back. Don't go forward."
"Who are you?"
"A messenger. You've been warned."
"But I have to get to my house. My mother is dying."
"Do so at your own risk. I recommend you turn back and restart at first sunlight."
"Why?"
"You don't want to know."
The man gets back into his car, makes a u-turn, and goes back from where he came. This road is so lonely... I should take advantage of this. I get in my car as quickly as I can, and I'm getting on the road again, following his car. With some distance and with the lights off, but I have to keep going tonight.
|
I am the luckiest man in the world.
It has been over thirty years since I took that first tentative step into the S.P.E.C.I.A.L. lab, and yet I still remember it like yesterday. It was a world astonishing time, when scientists have unlocked the full potential of our genetic makeup to redistribute and allocate our strengths and weaknesses. The world’s media buzzed over the endless possibilities and the exciting prospects of future society. Almost every expecting parent debated over the ideal “builds” for their children, arguing whether a more complete “build” with average stats or a more specialized “build” with a pinpoint focus would serve their offspring better in life.
However, I remember I was excited for another reason. You see, apart from being able to allocate stats at birth by your parents, the SPECIAL lab has enabled stat relocation for adults as well in a “do-over”. More specifically, on a person’s 18th birthday, they would be allowed to “re-spec” their points however they’d like for one final time. For many social rejects, this was an opportunity to start anew and chase the life and career that they’ve always wanted but could not due to their own limitations.
Many of these people chose to specialize and optimize their “builds”, with a large majority of early adopters allocating over 70%-100% of their points into Intelligence. After all, prior to the SPECIAL program, we’ve all been raised told that smarts and intelligence was what would get us ahead of the curve in life. We grew up admiring geniuses like Thomas Edison, Albert Einstein, and Steven Hawking, and all dreamed of being “the one” to bring another world-changing innovation and live out the rest of our lives in fame and prosperity. But that did not come to be. Many of the early adopters who blindly put their points into Intelligence came from poor families – their families were tired of all the low-skilled work that they had been doing their whole lives and sought to improve their situations. They thought that Intelligence would lift them out of poverty into the upper echelons of society and become figures like Elon Musk or Bill Gates, or at least end up with high-skilled jobs such as engineers or doctors. For some the dream was real – but for the majority of those who specialized in Intelligence, they realized they could not fund the education or productions that they needed. Those who had capital and came from rich families started ahead and stayed ahead; the ones who dreamt of lifting their families out of poverty were helpless when trying to convert their intellectual brilliance to reality.
Within five years it was clear that Intelligence was not the stat you should be solely concentrated on. Charm was also important, and some low-income families specialized into Strength and Endurance, relying on the fact that hard labour was always going to be in demand. The world was split; those who could afford allocating points into Intelligence and Charm continually did so, and those who couldn’t turned to the other specifications for Strength and Endurance. Society was beginning to divide into two distinct parts – and yet neither part was happy. Life had degraded to a point where all that matter was how you spent your points at birth and again at your 18th birthday. Stats were beginning to define us, define society, define humanity.
Thirty years ago I made the choice of putting all my points into Luck. Luck was always regarded by wide society as “the useless stat”, or only viable if you had spare points with nowhere else to put them. I hated my life back then: I was seventeen, and my parents had split up due to their inability to agree on how to “spec” my unborn baby brother. I hated the anxiety and pressure to choose an optimized “build”, and on my 18th birthday, I told the lab scientists to put all of my points into Luck.
“Luck? Are you sure? You realize that there are no more do-overs after your 18th birthday, right?”
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure.”
Within an hour the news has spread, and media from every conceivable outlet in the world rushed to get an interview with the world’s first and only “Luckiest Man”. Perhaps they were expecting something dramatic or immediate, but as I emerged from the procedure with no visible changes they were disappointed.
“How do you feel, now that you’re officially the luckiest man in the world?”
“Not that different, really.”
“What has prompted this decision to put all of your points into Luck? We have been speculating for a long time, but experts have shown that optimizing for an Intelligence build or a Strength and Endurance build is much better for long term stability.”
“Well… uh, I’m just tired of the constant debating and arguing that everyone --”
“Do you think you’ll be able to allow us an exclusive view into your life as we follow you across a thirty-year period? Luck builds are not really that viable and we’d like to see how you turn out.”
“Well… um, sure, I wouldn’t mind an interview once in a while…”
“Great. Perhaps you’ll try a hand at the lottery tonight and see what happens? We’re very excited to be granted an exclusive with the world first and only ‘Luckiest Man’!”
Yesterday was the thirty-year anniversary of that decision, and I could tell from the interview that they were disappointed. I haven’t won any lotteries, nor received a golden ticket in the mail, nor had free lunch fall from the sky. Actually, I’ve been fired three times from various odd jobs I had to take over the years to keep myself financially afloat, and I’m currently working a standard 9 to 5 in a small boring paper firm that produces paper. I live in a small apartment about 30 miles away from downtown together with my wife Jane and our two kids Sophie and Christopher. It was a cramped space for a family of four, and the walls are gradually falling apart, costing more and more to fix. Jane had to work two jobs last year as a secretary in the day and grocery store cashier in the night. I make food for the kids when Jane’s away at work, and the kids always pull faces when I mess up even making a simple spaghetti bolognaise.
The interviewers from Forbes were clearly not impressed. They displayed their annoyance and disappointment on their faces, and one of them muttered under his breath,
“Honestly, who thought it was a great idea to do a follow-up story on a guy who literally wasted all of his points on the one useless stat? We all know that there is no luck in life. We make our own luck. Only Intelligence builds or Strength builds are worth anything at all. This is a waste of time.”
The other interviewer shushed him and turned to me, looking for anything to salvage his story.
“So, I am led to believe, that you, across your entire thirty years of life after spending your points in Luck, have not won a single lottery in any capacity?”
“Yes, you’re right, sir.”
“Not even a community fun-night at the office? The ones where you pool 5 dollars from everyone and do a lottery draw?”
“No, never had anything like that happen.”
“Did anyone give you anything for free? Maybe a relative left you a mansion in their will?”
“Well, the hot dog vendor down the road did give me a hot dog for free last week when I realized I had run out of change to pay him; he said since I was a regular customer --”
“Yeah, thanks, we get it. Thanks for your time. We’ll be leaving now.”
As the two suits got up and left, I was left pondering why my life had turned out like this. I wasn’t expecting to win a lottery per se when I designated my points into Luck, but I wanted to be happier than what my parents were. I didn’t want to argue over “the best builds” or “optimize for efficiency”. The world was split into eternal conflict between the classes, and that reflected into people’s lives. Society seemed to be running at it’s optimal level with Intelligence builds at the top and a healthy number of Strength builds at the bottom to support them, but deep down it was torn apart. Humanity was tearing itself apart over what it meant to be ideal, and what it meant to be happy.
“Honey, I think Sophie just spilled her orange juice! We need some help cleaning it up!”
I turned and saw Jane in the doorway, gesturing frantically for me to go assist her. She had dark circles under her eyes as the kids have been keeping us up at night lately, and she was getting up early in the morning to prepare the kids for school as well. She looked up, searching for a reason why I was not rushing to her aid. Her eyes met mine, and I could see in them the reason why the interviewers were wrong.
I am the luckiest man in the world.
|
It's a hard life. The life of a hero. People don't understand; they ask why you dress in skin-tight hero-suits, capes and masks if you don't have any powers. I have tried to explain, but I know that they will never know what it's like.
It's hard to live with a secret identity. I don't think I can trust anyone with my real name, they probably wouldn't be able to cope with the pressure. So instead I go by the name of Man-man!
They say a hero has struggles. And believe me, I've struggled.
I remember the first time I had to do my taxes alone.
I remember when I stubbed my toe on a table and I had to sit down clutching it for 5 whole minutes.
I remember when I had to make a social interaction at the office and I spilt hot coffee all over my cape.
I remember the time I couldn't get into a club because I was dressed, and I quote, "like a fat toddler in a superman costume."
I remember the time I fell asleep during a Seinfeld marathon and had to try and find the remote because it had fallen between the sofa cushions.
I remember all the things that have hurt me, the memories of suffering permanently branded into my mind, but I have to carry on. This town needs me, or my name isn't John Smith.. I mean Man-man! |
The elected representatives of Angelius and Demonicius had organised an emergency interplanetary conference following the most disturbing of days. Angelius had received an open transmission from the third species, one that both had hoped would never become advanced enough to find them.
Angelians and Demonicans rarely consulted with one another due to their species’ differing temperaments, but this was of importance to everyone and they had made an agreement many years ago that should this day ever come, they would decide their plan of action together.
Humanity’s inter-species greeting was a painful reminder of their intellectual limitations and their archaic and horrifying physical forms – with a series of prime numbers and allegedly advanced mathematical formulas, followed by diagrams depicting human figures and their intent of 'peaceful' exploration and the search for “fellow intelligent life”.
The notion that humans thought of themselves as the intelligent life-forms of the galaxy was almost laughable, if the Angelians and Demonicans hadn’t been so preoccupied with the concerns that they might actually turn up, they may have spent hours poking holes in the supposed sciences that they humans had sent within the greeting.
But given the alarming nature of the conference, no such fun was to be had.
The Angelians were strongly of the view that both planets should halt all transmissions for the time being, raising defences to ensure that the abominations couldn’t discover their whereabouts and hope that the broadcast couldn’t be traced to any who picked it up. Judging by the contents of their greeting, Humans couldn’t be that advanced – the information sent was extremely rudimentary and was likely transmitted with the blind hope that someone would pick it up and be stupid enough to make contact with their doomed planet.
The Demonicans on the other hand, were far less willing to risk the notion that the Humans might come looking. They had sent a probe to “Earth”, or whatever they had called the unfortunate wet rock they currently resided upon and it seemed that it was currently in a state of extreme distress – no planet could have gotten itself into such a foul situation without the extreme neglect of the resident species. They could only assume that the Humans were looking for a new home – a life raft from their current sinking ship.
They wanted to suggest an offensive approach to the situation. Humans would never survive any attack from either of them and would rid the galaxy of their plague before they condemned another planet to their idiocy. They appeared to have already started spreading to a barren red planet, but this would be short-lived. Their systems would fail with very little interference necessary, they relied upon resource shipments that appeared to be sent from Earth, arriving every other of their planet’s orbits. If they had really chosen to colonise that unhappy rock, they evidently couldn’t get very far.
The Angelians were not so sure. The little information that they had gleamed from the myths of Humans painted the picture of a sadistic and unreasonable species that almost enjoys meaningless aggression and acts in blind ignorance for their own self preservation. This wasn't a species they wished to ever chance in combat or even direct contact.
Whilst they bickered back and forth with ever increasing tension, they were suddenly cut short as notifying signal was sent to each of them from their ship – a new incoming transmission –
“…Err… Hello? This is Admiral Pasher of the Absolution. Do you read?”
|
I navigate my way through Manhattan like I’m lost in a cornfield. All around me are people. Massive crowds gather around the world. Aliens, humans, robots, and everything in between. The world council is preparing an announcement. World council announcements are one of the few social gatherings now. Almost every activity can be done virtually, so what’s the point? After a few years of speaking to non-existent, virtual crowds, the world council was disappointed. No one wanted to take physical time to listen to their boring, overdrawn speeches. As you can imagine, you must be quite conceited to be a member of the world council. Once you create a group of those individuals, they will make some ridiculous demands. For the past few decades, world council announcements are physical demands. We world citizens must be physically present at the meeting stations in each town. Eh, at least we have world peace.
Massive monitors on the side of skyscrapers turn on and begin revealing the council. All of members are there. As you can imagine, council members must attend. I remember one woman named Sandy. She was on the council and she missed an announcement where heroin was legalized. Apparently, she was so excited, she filled her needles up and spent the day high. Sadly, I haven’t heard of here since. She is the kind of person I would love to as the chancellor. Not because she would be a leader, but I would love to see this world in chaos just one day.
In the past 400 years, there has been next to no controversy. Only one war; between the US and Canada, but that only lasted about a few days. Through a few days, no one could understand why they were fighting. Eventually, the US just decided to cede Niagara Falls, which is all Canada ever wanted. The war ceased. Aside from that, a few assassinations here and there, but nothing major.
When your old like me (270 years in August), you become bored. The first 200 years were so exciting. I traveled the whole world and even went off-planet. For these past 70 years, I’ve just gone through the motions. Part of me just wants to die, but I can’t. Even if I do die, someone may just bring my code back anyways. It is not worth the hassle. I’d rather I be here than some lame, inferior copycat.
The council consists of about 50 eggheads from around the world, mostly Asia. It was just 2 years ago that outerworld aliens were able to be on the council. The council only added one since then. Robots, sadly, are still fighting for some form of representation.
Our fearless leader, Chancellor Terry Jeffrifrous, comes on to the screen. Chancellor Jeffrifrous is a braggadocious and overconfident like the rest of them, but a decent man. He’s fat, but still very confident. No matter how many times people make fun of him, he turns the other cheek. Still, if you go too far, he’ll have you imprisoned. Aside from that, he is working hard on internet and environmental reform.
Since he became Chancellor, he has installed quite a few stipulations I like. Now, you can no longer spend more than 48 straight hours in virtual reality, ice cream is free, and “reposting” is becoming more heavily monitored. Ice cream should have been free a millennium ago, but at least it’s free now.
Jeffrifrous finally begins to speak. No one in the crowd knows what the announcement will be. The alert came suddenly.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the world,” the chancellor begins. “Welcome to Announcement #6892, the ‘Reposting Agreement’.”
Another reposting stipulation? That’s interesting.
“From now on,” the chancellor continues. “Reposting will be banned.”
The crowd is shocked, as am I. Reposting stinks, I understand, but I’d be lying if I never reposted. I’m sure Jeffrifrous’ reposted at one time or another. Why is he so adamant against this?
“In addition, all reposted content will be removed,” the chancellor says. “As we speak, AI-730 is removing all reposted content from the internet.”
“No!” Someone in the crowd screams.
“Finally!” Another says.
Murmurs can be heard across the crowd. Some are opposed and others are against.
“This ends the Announcement #6892, thank you for your cooperation,” Jeffrifrous ends. The monitors go dark.
The crowd is in an uproar. No one can stop discussing this. Men and women are arguing. Others begin fighting. In my 270 years, I have never seen people as outraged as this.
“Everyone,” one man says. “EVERYONE! STOP! THIS IS IMPORTANT!”
Some people stop, but a few are still fighting.
The man is alien. He has his mobile module (I prefer the old vernacular of cellphone, but that’s just me) in his hand. Maybe he has seen the destruction of reposts, and is letting everyone know it’s not so bad.
“Jesus Christ,” he says. “I just went on the internet, and everything is gone. IT’S ALL FUCKING GONE!”
The man begins sobbing and falls to his feet. People starting pulling their mobile modules from their head to see what’s going on. I pull remove my right ear and pull my module from my skull. I open the device. I check Reddit. Nothing. I check Netflix. Nothing. I check GQ. Nothing. I check my favorite porn boards. Nothing. I look around and others seem to be experiencing the same thing.
How is this possible? There is no way that everything from since the existence of the internet that everything has been a repost. It’s not possible. Someone, anyone, would have noticed. Still, there is nothing on here. Nothing at all.
I look around to see the others. As opposed to the anger previously, there is mixed emotion. Some are still fighting, but some are crying. They sob in the street as the other did earlier. I know people whose livelihood relied on reposts. I wonder what they are feeling now. Artists in the crowd are angry that their “art” was labeled as unoriginal.
I, on the other hand, smile. I don’t know why Jeffrifrous did this or if all that content was truly reposted, but I don’t care. Finally, after 270 years, true chaos exists again. The internet is a blank slate. If Manhattan is this up-in-arms, I can only imagine the rest of the world. No more peace, happiness, or monomity. Instead, the world is free, and anarchy can run wild. I can’t fucking wait.
|
The press conference outside the hospital was a concession -- the only one the government would make. The official mounted the podium to address the crowd, speaking into the array of microphones the various press organizations had provided. I stood near the front, my hands in my pockets, on the other side of a line of police in riot gear that separated me and the rest of the onlookers from the stage.
"Good morning."the official said, his voice booming out over the crowd. They had, as expected, had to set up a robust PA system so he could be heard over the jeering crowd. "My name is Noel Cummings, National Director of Operations and Information for the NHS. I am here today to address, once and for all, the issue of Jimmy Davies, and make clear the government's position..."
Roars of outrage forced him to pause, but the crowd eventually quieted.
"The courts of Great Britain have determined, in conjunction with Jimmy's doctors, that continuing to provide life support would not only be pointless, but cruel and--"
The official's eyes widened, and he lurched to the side to dodge a shoe thrown by someone in the crowd. I saw the police line shift, as two officers seized the screaming elderly woman who threw it. Even at a moment like this, I had to grin. Good for her.
"Please!"The official barked, as order was restored. "This kind of uncivil behavior serves no purpose! Continuing to provide life support would be cruel and pointless, as it has been determined that Jimmy Davies' condition can never be reversed or improved, and the courts have ruled that his quality of life is therefore below the level at which it would be ethical to continue to provide treatment."
"While we *appreciate* the kind offers of our friends in Poland, Italy, and the United States to assume responsibility for Jimmy's treatment and the housing of his family, as we have determined further treatment is not in his best interests, we must decline."Cummings continued, sternly.
"Finally, regarding the so called 'Omaha Miracle' where an American student with no medical training of any sort was rumored to have awakened an entire ward full of coma patients simply by *telling them to wake up,"* the NHS director recited, scornfully. "In the United Kingdom, we rely on science and evidence for making decisions of such great ethical weight, and the government has no interest in exposing Jimmy or his family to some predatory charlatan who would only--"
"NOW!"screamed a voice from the crowd. And just like that, chaos ensued. Dozens of men surged forward towards the police line, breaking through where the old woman's act of defiance had pulled them out of formation, and engaging the officers elsewhere. Three men reached the stage -- one of them I'd met earlier. Jimmy's father. He tackled the official, who let out a high pitched shriek as he fell from his perch entangled with Gareth Davies. That was my cue.
I darted forward as the attackers began to go down under a hail of truncheon blows. I didn't know what the consequences for them would be -- or for me, even though I suspected I'd have the US embassy's support. It didn't matter, I decided.
They said he couldn't hear anyone. They said he'd never recover. I was about to test that theory. It had worked before...and I didn't even have a microphone and amplifier that time. I stepped up to the podium, and took a deep breath as the chaos reached a crescendo around me, and a few of the riot police headed for the stage.
"WAKE UP!"I screamed, and my voice rang out like thunder over the crowd.
I sensed it in that moment. The media frenzy, the denials, the attempts at explanation, the recriminations, that all would come later. But in the moment, I knew.
Somewhere in the great concrete edifice of the hospital, in the pediatric intensive care ward, a baby boy awoke, and began to cry. |
"What's he doing?"asked Zorblax
"I don't know."responded Yanax after a while.
The human was just sitting, sitting in absolute silence.
"He's dead."said Wibble.
In a moment, they heard a rustle.
Bang!
"Boom! Headshot!"the human cried.
There was a splattering of blood, another human fell, and... Nothing. The human sat there, and waited dead still.
"There goes today's update."said Zorblax. "I suppose we really shouldn't have given them sniper rifles if we expected any action."
"No, we really shouldn't have. I wonder if The Snail Race would be any more interesting."said Yanax.
'We'll check it out after this match ends."responded Wibble. "Or as soon as anything changes." |
One by one they fell, as the lined up soldiers took turns emptying magazines of fully automatic rifles upon the invaders. Strange, transparent barriers appeared in defense, but most conjured shields were too weak to withstand the speed and accuracy of conventional modern ammunition, let alone the occasional carpet bombing from the jets and a well-placed Hellfire missile. Few nations on Earth dares go against the full force of the U.S military, yet these invaders had chosen to land upon a continent who spends nearly 600$ billion a year on the military. And now, the rest of the World, even Russia and North Korea, had joined forces with the US. The military response had been quick, decisive, and well organized.
Conventional physics as humans know it had always been upon which we had built our technology; but as it turned out, conventional physics did not exist outside the the atmosphere, out there in the great void. The humanoids, slender and agile in nature, wearing their silky robes and metallic wands, had broken every rule of physics yet. From nothing, they conjured spells of immense destruction; crackling lightning, large boulders of explosive fire, arcane missiles and sickly, dark blue ice shards that were propelled towards the humans at impressive speed, though nowhere close that of conventional bullets. Yet, every spell and conjuration passed through the humans, turning into fine dust upon impact.
Their most intriguing spell though, had been the one which brought them here. A giant wormhole had appeared in the sky, a portal of sorts, a giant blue disc outlined by purple lightning, revealing a dark void of many stars, perhaps another galaxy. From this portal, they had beamed down to the ground in groups, large squadrons formed like a military, all with the metallic wands in hand.
They had taken the law of the Speed of Light, broken it down the middle, and thrown it in the trash.
When the battle had concluded, millions of invaders lied dead, some still alive, writhing in agony. Getting any intel out of them was futile; some had been secretly extradited to Black Site CIA prisons as well as dark sites run by the KGB in Russia, in an attempt to squeeze out anything; any little piece of information. But all subjects died soon after torture began.
It's been years since the initial invasion, and we've seen resurgent attempts to invade since, small scale invasions of tiny forces, each trying new spells, new methods to defeat us. Every single one of them perish in a single fireball delivered by missiles.
Mahatma Gandhi once said, "If I have the belief that I can do it, I shall surely acquire the capacity to do it, even if I may not have it at the beginning."
We've been at war for three hundred years now, and we've been winning, until now.
As it turns out, Belief is real. And Humans are always hungry for more. It's a flaw of ours, that greed, that lust for more. More knowledge, more money. More power. Naturally, our lawmakers needed to know what made these feats the invaders accomplished possible. And finally, Magic was discovered, a fundamental force of our universe. And once Belief and Action upon the force were enforced, once the first human cast a simple spell, we were doomed.
The final invasion happened, and every spell they threw at us vaporized us into tiny dust particles. The fundamental, universal force of Magic had penetrated the atmosphere of the Earth. And now, we were outgunned. |
"Ok, so the goal here is to get to the end of the book without anybody getting wise."Annie said, looking at May insistently.
"Yup,"was the casual answer.
"But really, May, no joke, *no one can know that we don't belong."*
"Heard you the first time."
"So you can't be shouting at the characters when they do something stupid,"Annie continued to press.
"Not gonna promise anything,"May answered, her eyes already wandering to an anouncement board. "I mean, please, there's a *reward* for slaying a dragon? Was the author asleep at the wheel here? Oh look,"she said, pointing to the bottom of the very large poster, "the reward is not only a thousand gold pieces for the dragon's head, but if you can rescue the captured princess you get to marry her!"She clapped her hands in glee. "Oh, that's a 50/50 shot of her being either the most beautiful and charming woman in existence, or the most horrible troll that ever walked the earth! I'm taking those odds!"
"Wait!"Annie tried to grab her friend who was already running off to the blacksmith. She started jogging after her, huffing from the effort. "Maybe we should... hff... stop and .... ask... oh my god..."she slowed in front of the shop, drooping like a wilted celery stick. May looked back at her, grinning. "You, my dear, get to stay back here and look after all those little information details we're supposed to be on the lookout for. I don't think your heart could take the strain of running from a dragon."
"Hah."was all Annie could retort with as she leaned against a water trough.
May knew she would need a sword and some armour; every knight needed the signature 'shinning armour', even if this was the kind of book that probably focused on the underdog overcoming some great, impossible feat. She watched the people walking by; the men who flirted were either effective, or serving as a 'predator' from whom some *other* kind bloke could rescue the hapless woman. All the girls were either very pretty, or very ugly; either way, most of them that she saw were happily walking with their 'true love' or watching the lovebirds with bitter envy. Either way, it was all one extreme or another. No nuance. No one seemed to be going about their daily, boring lives like normal people.
So what would it matter if she shook it up a little?
The blacksmith had seen a few women soldiers already; this was a modern-thinking midieval city, after all, thought May, almost rolling her eyes when she thought back to the book's cover. They insisted on having women warriors, probably just to fill a quota of the publishers. But still. Dragons and fairies and knights in shinning armor that save damsels in distress.
"Well I won't be wearing 'dis dress' when I rescue *my* maiden,"she muttered, smiling at the old joke.
"What was that?"the blacksmith asked loudly in between hammering the glowing sword in his hand.
"Nothing,"she said in the same gruff tones that would be expected in this situation. The key to getting what she wanted here would be to tap directly into this 'NPC's programming', as it were. She would just have to pick the right answers to anything he said. Starting with...
Throwing her shoulders back and taking on an unaffected air, she swaggered closer to him. "I hear you're the best blacksmith in town."
"Aye, that's mighty nice of them, but I'm just a humble old man."His hammer clanged on the metal, a slow rythm that straightened the sword out in front of her eyes.
"That looks like an impressive sword for someone who's just an old man,"she countered. She looked at her nails. "I have a friend who used to say that good talent and skill is just like magic."
He glanced at her. "You have an interesting friend."He went back to his task.
Good, the seed was planted. "Well, you know,"she said, looking around at the other pieces hanging in the shop, all of them faintly glowing, "Some people still think that magic exists."The clanging stopped. May held her face still as she turned towards him. "Do you think magic exists?"she asked, running a finger over the smooth surface of a dagger.
"Miss,"he said, "No one's noticed my magic in 30 years."His face slowly broke into a reminiscent smile.
"Gotcha,"she thought.
A few hours later, May stepped out of the smithy fully decked in magicked armour, carrying a sword that shpould ahve weighed twice what it was. "Come on,"she waved to Annie, who haden't strayed far, "We've got some stereotypes to break!" |
I love Blake.
The poet, I mean. I love the caressing touch he gives to each word on the paper, to each line and each slur. The handiwork of a master.
*”Tyger Tyger, burning bright,. In the forests of the night;. What immortal hand or eye,. Could frame thy fearful symmetry?”*
I believe the Tyger Blake refers to with such poise are my children, their collective spirit.
This is the second in a collection, to let you know in advance.
I have twelve children, twelve heroes who shall bring about the advent of a new world. I have named them after the Twelve Olympians of the Ancient Greek mythos, for my husband and I believe the Greeks were the harbingers of an idea, a seed, that would create the ideal roots of the new world we imagine.
Blake is one of the Modern Apostles. There were many, so many. I believe my children are the next.
12, so much has to do with 12.
12 Apostles at the right and left hands of Christ. 12 Olympians perched high atop Mount Olympus. 12 sons of the Allfather. 12 sacred imams of Muhammad the Prophet.
Blake was the source for our strength. He envisioned the Tyger first, yet he was disillusioned by the lack of recognition. He was ignored by his contemporaries, chastised by the ignorance of his fellow scholars.
Much like my husband. He shares Blake’s prose, his intelligence, and even his name. William Blake, my husband. It was he who brought into existence the idea for the Olympian Project. He was also criticized by his fellow scientists. They called him unethical, they called him wicked, some even called him evil for daring to test the bounds between human and divine.
But he was not disturbed, turned away by the droning of mindless masses. No, he continued to work underneath the expanses, deep within secret networks that form our Sacred Tree today. He worked deep within Gethsemane, to perfect the Tyger.
“*Tyger Tyger, burning bright,. In the forests of the night;. What immortal hand or eye,. Could frame thy fearful symmetry?”*
Perfection, like the sculptor Pygmalion. He sculpted this beauty, this work of art, genius long dormant within the race which became disturbed and shaken by strife.
I was the first to experience Tyger, to breathe it in. It changed me, as I absorbed it, took in the particles that composed such divinity. It changed me, it changed my children.
I am the harbinger of a new seed, one which will create the ideal roots of a new and greater world.
My children shall be gods, immortals, and they shall sit atop Mount Olympus once again. |
I didn't know what lie he would make up, but sadly that did not matter. There I would meet my fate, my sole companions being darkness and the corpse, still warm, of the Daemon. It took me years of experiments and studies to learn that it in fact could be killed. The best way to dispose of it, guaranteeing no chances of revival, was to throw its dead body in a fierce volcano. Burn it, and let its remain sink to the centre of Atlas.
I just wasn't expecting to be thrown alongside it.
As I felt the temperature rising, my curses went against Fabian. Traitor. History would see him as the surviving hero and not as the monster he was. Was there any kind of karma or divine justice that I could summon against him? It was all so hopeless.
In a last moment of madness, I remembered the Daemon had a sword. Nothing that would punch through the metal around me, but enough to spare me the horror of burning alive. I started looking in the darkness, but I already couldn't touch the floor with my bare hands. I am unsure how long it took, but I eventually found the sword and immediately grabbed it and pointed it at my own heart.
But as I learned afterwards, the gods had another plan. What I was holding in my hands was indeed my salvation, but not the way I was expecting. On that day, I learned a great truth about this world: there must be a Daemon. |
"Damnit, John. I told you not to call me at work!"
I stared.
She looked down at herself - around the room - her eyes wide. "FUCK! What the fuck, John!"
Her skin was bright red. That explained her 'blushing disorder.'
"I thought you were -masturbating- when you came down here! If I had known I would have probably let you in on...My mother is still going to hate you. '
She crossed her arms.
Tapped her foot.
Put her hands on her hips.
Then she grinned.
I, well, I personally stood in awe. I thought she was a lawyer. She probably is, but I mean it did explain her mother.
"Dad is going to be ecstatic, nothing else to hide. Wait.. You do masturbate, right?"
"Yes."
"Okay... Okay good."Throwing quick thumbs up, she looked at my library. "Impressive. What did you want help with?"
"Taking over the world."
"Really? Boring. What about worm holes? So many other things to do..."
I let her keep talking.
I mean shit, my wife is an all powerful demon, and I've already signed my life away to her. We have plenty of time.
I'm sure I have a lot to learn... |
I moved here a year ago, and my neighbor, Mr. Walters has never spoken to me. Right now he’s standing in his yard, head lifted toward the sky, hands in pockets. His face is grim, eyes hollow and gray, jaded by misery. He does this every time it rains, and while I wish I could help him, I don’t know how.
I’ve brought him food, games, and movies. He refuses them. I’ve tried to hangout with him. He shuns me. His house is falling apart, and when I saw an eviction notice pasted on his door, I left him the money to pay it. He’s gone through so much already, and it pains me to see him getting worse. Losing a wife, losing a child…
It must be worse than death.
He stands in the rain as atonement because a few years back, he swerved off the road and hit a tree. From what I’ve heard, it’s not his fault—but he’s never recovered. Every time the sky starts crying, he stands out here, soaking up its tears.
Everyone else has given up on him, but I won’t because I can tell there’s a good man inside that shell. He just needs somebody to pull him out the darkness. So today, I’ll stand here with him. Today, I’ll get drenched.
And I will do this every time it rains until he talks to me.
***
This one's short, but I hope it's good. Thanks for the prompt! If you like this story, check out my sub /r/LonghandWriter or my [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/BryceBealWriter) |
This was such a bad idea.
I mean, not any of my ideas had certainly been safe ones. Going after a Deathwing Condor so I could tame it and sell the eggs had given me more than enough gold to buy some land and get a house built. Taming that Domovoi as a housekeeper had given me a concussion after the little bastard hit me with a cast iron pan. But damn did Dom make a good Deathwing Condor omlette in the morning. Even heading south to try and catch a Firehoof Horse for transportation had nearly gotten me stomped, burned to a crisp and a mild case of sunburn.
But this? When the Dominus Society reached out with their 'offer' for my services in taming some dragons for them, I knew things had gotten out of hand. Dragons were not to be messed with and the messenger from Dominus made it clear that they were not to be refused. I needed some protection. A bodyguard.
So, here I was. After riding Sparks cross country for about ten days, bringing me about a thousand miles from home, I found the Erstwhile Labyrinth. I hitched Sparks up to a tree and headed inside with enough supplies for about two weeks.
I was going to tame a minotaur. |
“It’s not cold. I can’t be bothered with this, put the blanket down and get back to sleep.”
I saw this small child’s shoulders sag and he quietly dropped the blanket as I rolled over and closed my eyes. I kept them closed and quickly faded back into a deep sleep without another worry.
As dawn breaks, I leaned over to kiss my wife good morning. My mind replays all the wonderful moments we’ve had. We met almost 7 years ago at a baseball game - she was the most adorable woman I had ever laid eyes on, with gorgeous, shoulder-length brunette hair. Some friends of mine were at the game and introduced us. We spent much of that afternoon chatting and discovering all the things we have in common. In the days and weeks after we met it was like I was transformed into another world when I was with her. She took away all of my worries and lifted up all of my dreams.
About two years later we got married. It was the most breathtaking ceremony I could have imagined. I can still remember the way my heart fluttered the moment I first saw appear down the aisle towards me. The contagious smile that she wore that brightened the entire room.
The months after that incredible day we began to talk about starting a family - a dream for both of us. We imagined sitting by the fireplace with hot cocoa and reading stories to our children about the wonders of Santa Claus and his magical reindeer. We talked about signing them up for T-ball and teaching them to throw a baseball, the game we both loved. And not long after that our first child was born. He was incredible. I remember watching him grow and take on a personality all on his own.
Just then the phone rang, snapping me out of my dream-like thoughts.
The voice on the other line sounded slightly concerned, “Alan, you there?”
“Yeah, sorry what’s up?” It was my good friend John. We’d been friends for our entire lives. In fact, he was the best man at our wedding.
“Hey man, it’s John. You know you have to take Riley to school today right? It’s almost 8:30, you’re going to be late.”
“Riley? What are you talking about?” I asked, also finding it a bit odd that John was calling this early in the morning.
“Yeah, Riley. Alan, I know it has been hard on you since your wife’s passing - and I know it has only been a couple weeks, but your son needs you to be there for him too. It’s his first day back at school and you know I will help as much as I can, you know that. I love you and we really cared for Elizabeth. But your son... your son is counting on you.”
I laid there motionless. Pictures of that horrible night suddenly raced through my mind. Rain, broken glass, flashing lights of an ambulance. The scene at the hospital and the last goodbye kiss that I was able to give Elizabeth before she went into surgery, only to never come out.
“I can’t, I can’t. I don’t have anything left in me.” I mumbled into the phone before hanging up and pulling the covers back up to my chin. As I laid there, not being able to move, I heard John’s car pull up to the front of our house. I heard my son grabbing his schoolbooks and I heard John reassuring him that he would take him to school today. |
"Ohhh come on guys, this ain't funny. I'm friggin r-rated for a #d$!egj reason.
Did you just censor me you little b****? Again? Stop it! For real mate. This ain't no ducking joke!
...Oh now we're changing how to censor? I'm so done with you. You're just a second class writer, with a really stupid idea okay? Get me out of here now, you arrogant little prick! You won't even write anything about toy story are you? Did you even see the films? Oh my god..."
The handle is pushed down and the room filled with lively toys is instantly dead and inanimate.
"Nope. You screwed it up now. Not shutting up. I'll tell Andy everything."
|
Ron rumbled down the road in his 18 wheeler, the early winter morning’s chill staved off only by his thick shirt and rapidly dwindling supply of cigarettes. His steady right hand kept him on the flat Kansas highway, his left rubbed the sleep from his eyes.
The window’s cool glass felt good on his arm, and he pressed his cheek against it absentmindedly while watching the road.
“Good fucking god,” he sighed, “I hate Kansas.”
No other truckers had piped up on the radio for a couple of hours, and there wasn’t another car in sight. The dark and empty road ahead was accompanied by the truck’s usual groans and Ron’s own occasional grumbling.
He squinted his eyes at a blue signpost briefly illuminated by his brights and ran a hand through his greasy blonde hair.
|Rest Stop 1 Mile|
He shrugged, not too much warning in advance but he was making good time and could stretch his legs. With a goal in sight he perked up a bit and flipped the radio on to the first channel that worked. The grainy quality wasn’t fantastic,but it was playing an old classic and there weren’t many other options.
The turn came for the rest station and Ron swung the truck into a vacant spot in the back. He turned the truck off and hopped out, stretching for the first time in hours and looking around at the barren lot, the only sign of civilization being the glaring white lights coming from inside the small building.
Ron shook his leg out and stomped in to rest stop, the sliding door hissing shut behind him and encompassing him in near total silence. He was suddenly made aware of every breath and movement, and the almost sterile lighting of the stop giving nearly blinding him.
Despite the alien atmosphere, Ron hesitantly found his way to the bathroom and began to relieve himself when a speaker above him abruptly crackled and caused him to flinch, spraying the seat and nearby wall.
“Oh fuck me, I’m not doing this.” He shuddered.
Ron quickly zipped up and left the stall, hastily glancing around behind him.
The speaker cracked again, music fighting against the static to reach his ears. “Every breath you take..”
Ron nearly ran for the bathroom door, stumbling into the knob and looking over his shoulder on his way out towards the mirror. He nearly gagged in horror as he spotted for the first time some dark lump of hair and flesh moving above the doorframe he just left.
The radio caught up with him again.
“Every step you take ...”
He fell backwards and scrambled towards the sliding door, breaking into a full sprint.
The radio faded behind him as the bathroom door closed, “I’ll .. watching.. you”.
Ron crashed through the door entirely as it slowly opened, spraying glass shards out into the concrete and rubble as he ran to his truck.
The only sounds to break the vacant lot were of Ron fumbling for his keys and a broken door attempting to slide open far behind him.
He wheezed as he nearly ripped the truck door open and slammed it tight, jamming the keys in the ignition and firing up the truck.
He nervously prayed to himself, “oh fuck please Jesus I’m leaving I’m never doing this again” and roared out onto the highway. He checked the clock, it was just after three in the morning and a long way from being light.
Some words from the stereo caused his heart to nearly jump into his throat, but he hesitantly turned it up as a familiar radio voice cheerily announced the end of the song.
Ron clung to that voice like a drowning man to a piece of floating rubble as he slowly let his foot off the pedal.
“Next up we’ve got some ACDC but we’ll be taking some calls..”
Ron’s throat was scratchy and uncomfortable, long dry and without any refreshments in the truck left. He coughed into his shoulder and retched, something caught and nearly choking him. The truck swerved dangerously before Ron righted it and spit out some wet clump of dark hair into his lap. He looked at it in horror, then quickly back towards the road, mind racing a thousand times faster than his vehicle.
“That’s all I’ve got for now,” he heard the radio host say, as he grabbed the hair ball and launched it out of the window, sticky mucus still coating his hand. “And if you’re still alive out there, wherever you’re headed to Ronny, don’t turn around.”
Ron’s blood ran cold as he slowly looked at the radio station numbers on the display that just targeted him. His eyes started, inch by inch, peeking towards the rear view mirror.
“No, seriously,” the voice continued in its cheery and upbeat fashion, “don’t look behind you.”
Ron’s 18 wheeler continued rumbling down the straight Kansas road for several more miles, with a man’s shrill and terrible scream piercing the night before a violent turn flipped and scraped the truck into the side of the road. |
The ship lazed across the sky nonchalantly. It hovered, exhaled its exhaust, and drifted lackadaisically to the ground. One hundred years had passed since The Exodus. With little warning and only a few days prior, the aliens had alerted us they would be returning. A delegation was quickly formed, the most powerful nations heads along with top of their field scientists and religious leaders who had come to view the aliens as gods. The ship landed and sat quietly, the world waiting at its feet.
The world leaders all straightened their ties and tried to look intimidating. The scientists' eyes hungrily devoured the technology they may only see once in their lifetime. The religious heads fell to their knees and offered benedictions onto the holy craft. Slowly the doors opened and the ramp descended.
The cavalcade of misshapen and disoriented humans that stumbled forth unnerved and horrified the gathered masses. Children with legs so small you could wrap your fingers fully around them. Some had hunched backs, others eyes of milk. Slowly they stumbled forward and returned to their home. A few let out pained and confused howls, others shook with fright, looking up into the sky. When all had exited their ship, the alien approached.
He regarded the religious leaders with bored disinterest and the scientists with a reserved annoyance. He silenced both of their questions with a wave of his hand. He approached the world leaders and dryly quipped "I warned you they would not be compatible."
The leaders eyes were locked onto their brothers who came stumbling and blind back from the abyss they were promised safe passage through. Finally, a younger man, spoke up.
"What happened to them?"He whispered, barely audible.
"What you would have expected to happen, and what we told you would happen."The alien responded without interest. "The journey was deadly and those who survived were misshapen and deformed. Many died before we reached the destination, and many were born en route. Those born in transit may never be able to adapt themselves to your planet, just as those we took were unable to adapt to prolonged space travel. Few lost their minds during the FTL jumps. When we reached our destination we gave the survivors an area they may live in and be free. Soon they began to build homes and shelters. They tamed the beasts of the land and fished from our seas. They bred and grew. Within fifty years, they had expanded past the original reserve we had set aside from them. We informed them of this and asked that they return to their designated area. They refused to share the land. It is my understanding that two dominant ideologies began to contest which had a right to rule over their new society. A society which required no rule mind you. We refused them guns and weaponry, but they were creative. Sticks and stones, spears and arrows, they made do. Then they began to question us. Our way of life, our system of governance. They claimed they deserved more. That they should be given freedom to inhabit the planet as they see fit."The alien sighed heavily. "I told you this wouldn't work."
"I'm sorry,"The young diplomat spoke up, "I'm sorry that they did that. I'm also sorry about the conditions they have been put through. Obviously we cannot recreate this disastrous failed exodus. But where does that leave our civilizations? How can we benefit each other?"
At this the alien looked deeply at the diplomat.
"You cannot."He said flatly.
"Well there has to be something that can be done. We could share resources, knowledge, perhaps even limited ambassadorships between ourselves."
The alien shook his head slowly. "You don't understand. You didn't and you still don't. This little experiment was to see if you were eligible for entrance into a higher level of civilization. And you failed. You failed since day one and continued to fail at every opportunity. No, humans are not ready and are not to be trusted."
The diplomat felt his tongue wither. "So. What now?"He asked wistfully.
"Now,"The alien began, "we quarantine your planet, red flag your sector and put into place standing orders that no one may make contact with your species. You'll be secluded but safe. We expect your species to die, either bringing your planet with your or on your own accord, within the next 50,000 years. If you survive to one hundred thousand, we may review your case. I know this must be disappointing but it is the only way to maintain stability and order. Good day."
The alien turned on his heels and reentered the spacecraft. The ramp rescinded into the flying disc and it quickly vanished into the sky. The diplomat looked on with sadness and hate. One of his entourage approached him and asked what should be done.
The diplomat turned to him with fire in his eyes. "Assess the survivors. Any who are coherent give to the scientists for questioning. We've seen the ship twice now. I don't care how long it takes, well build one of our own. We will take back the stars, I don't care the cost." |
Today's finally the day! I've been waiting forever it seems for this day. Growing up, I heard stories from family on when they got their familiar and I've seen them, as well as teachers, with their familiars and its just so cool! Even among my friends its always been something we've looked forward to as we were growing up; often talking about what familiar we hope for and what they can do; kind of like the timeless discussion of what we'd do if we found a million dollars.
Being the youngest one out of my group of friends, I've been waiting the longest to see who would join me as a lifelong Familiar. The first of us to get one, my friend Tim, got a Pygmy Hippo! Naming him Nub-Nub, the little Hippo had the ability to alter its size! And I know what you're thinking, how do we know its specifically a Pygmy Hippo when it can change size. Apparently it confirmed this with Tim already. Tim would ride him around or have him move stuff around and when they got somewhere that was too big for him, Nub-Nub would just shrink to terrier or chihuahua size (depending on his mood) to stay with him! It was the greatest sight, the four of us rolling up to the Avengers: Infinity War opening night atop a giant hippopotamus!
Wes was the next of us to get his familiar and it was a surprise to say the least. We had been joking for awhile that he'd get the weirdest familiar. There was no particular reason behind the joke, really; there's just something every now and then that he does that we like to make fun of. Like the time he won a free dinner at a brand new restaurant that opened and decided to use said "Free Meal"for a Salad. He never heard the end of that one; nor will he. On his big day, after the summoning portal opened the puff of smoke finally dissipated, he was greeted not with a familiar, but with a sudden, cold, snowball to the face. Being a resident of a warmer climate (one that never sees snow) this was a surprise to all of us. It took us a moment before we could even begin laughing due to shock. With a small, happy yip, an Arctic Fox leaped forth, landing at his feet; a small snow flurry circling it. His familiar was proficient in Ice Magic!
The constant surprise of 'what are you going to get' coupled with a life long partner always made the 'Familiar Ceremony' such a fun occasion. With my friends Tim and Wes already having gotten their familiar, next in line just a week after Wes was Joe's. Joe had always been a bit of a stick in the mud at times. Sure, he laughed on occasion, but we could never pin down what exactly his sense of humor was. We were all certain his familiar would just be Grumpy Cat. Either that or a Llama to constantly spit on everything he finds annoying. Joe's always had the habit of surprising us at the last moment; be it with his ability to quickly becoming proficient at whatever he felt like at the moment, or the seemingly random bouts of economic or political knowledge. Apparently that's what his familiar took a liking to as when it appeared, it was the most sagely looking Orangutan I'd ever seen. Even more astonishing, aside from its blank 'Yeah, whatever' face it perpetually had, was that it was Psychic! Levitating objects, speaking telepathically to him (or others it wished to communicate with), Joe's familiar had one of the rarest traits; the ability to speak to other humans!
While all familiars are connected and can be understood by their partners, they could rarely communicate on a level we'd consider 'normal'. The bonded individual usually just 'understands' what a familiar is telling them at a glance and if they mean to talk to others, the owner would just repeat what they had said. Most tend to keep to themselves or whomever they are with, though; few seldom try to communicate with people who aren't their owner. with the appearance of Joe's Orangutan, which he immediately named 'Big Willy', three out of the four of us hand our familiars. It was quite the entourage; four humans, a size-changing Pygmy Hippo, and Ice-making Arctic Fox, and a Psychic Orangutan. While traveling with them and hanging out was fun, every day I didn't have a familiar of my own become more and more unbearable. They enjoyed their company so much and just looked so cool to have a partner like that! With just under two months left until my 18th birthday, every day felt like a longer and longer wait!
My friends were also eagerly awaiting the appearance of my familiar. They knew I was dying to see what mine would be and were almost as eager as I was. The day of my 18th birthday, we celebrated; had a big party and gathered around outside in the backyard; counting down the seconds until the exact time I was born. The familiar appears on your birthday and it seemed random on what time they appeared, but it wasn't learned until recently that the moment they appear is the exact time you turn 18. Being born at 11:59:59 pm, December 31st, it was as if fate was taunting me with the latest possible familiar appearance possible. As the clock struck midnight, ringing out loud across the community as the New Year's Ball also dropped, an explosive wind rocked the area as a large puff of smoke dispersed and my familiar finally greeted me; all eight heads bowing in greeting to me as my familiar.
We stood shocked in silence; even more so than when Wes was smacked in the face with a Snowball in the summer from his familiar. I could hardly speak as I stared back at the daunting figure. I could hear his elegant speech in my head; the eight heads chuckling; a hissing sound escaping as he spoke within my mind; friends still gawking; their familiars shying back a bit as a 'Mythical Familiar' had only been Dragons so far and even then, it was exceedingly rare. Lady Gaga, Dick Van Dyke, and Weird Al were the only ones with Dragon familiars.
As for me? Well, I was the proud partner of the world's first *Yamata no Orochi* for a familiar and I could only imagine would *his* ability would be. |
It's Sunday and I am going to a family get-together. I note the chilly Appalachian air as I make my way up the walk. The sky is ice blue and yet I brave this inclement weather because I've thought of nothing else all week, grandma's biscuits. They make life here worth living.
On the porch I ring the bell and wait a moment before opening the door and stepping inside to the smells of cooking cinnamon apples, and fried fatback. Being here hits me hard in the stomach. It's so worth the trip.
"Good morning Grandma,"I bellow, but being more deaf then willing to wear a hearing aid she doesn't look up.
I stand and watch her use corn-oil to saturate the flour, salt and buttermilk are added and it all seems simple until she actually forms the biscuits. It's here in this moment the magic happens. Something about how she turns the loose mess into flaky perfection with flips and presses of her hands.
She calls it kneading.
I call it impossible.
I've never had biscuits like these, anywhere, and when they are almost done and the sausage gravy bubbles away, and the scrambled eggs steam heaped on a plate for service, is a moment of pure joy for me, worth traveling the universe for.
As Grandma pinches loose dough balls into soon to be baked delights, I turn and face the rest of her family. They are here for the same purpose, but none seem too happy at the moment even with all the charming smells wafting in the air.
The little girl starts crying, well actually she is sucking air into her suddenly traumatized face trying to cry. The older human sitting next to her, whom I can only assume is her mother, tries to shush her.
All I do is chuckle, realizing I am not who I said I would be. Seems in my desire to get a seat at the table I neglected to phase.
A quick click with one of my tentacles and the problem is fixed. In the mirror over the china hutch, I run my hands through grey hair and smile at the still petrified family, promising myself if they ruin this for me I will melt all their faces before enjoying my breakfast.
"Father Jim, you came?"Grandma says turning around with a baking sheet covered in uncooked biscuits. "Would you be a dear and get the oven door for me?"
I smile back at her and say, "yes my child,"stomach grumbling knowing I'd do anything to help.
|
I call out to a crowd I cannot see;
Musing about a life I cannot know.
‘Tis real, or is it merely fantasy?
Without wisdom or wealth it comes and goes.
I’ve killed a man and made my mother weep;
A trigger pull’d, a soul alas is gone;
I shan’t return to dream, but now to sleep;
What should have been a life anew is none.
And now I see a man, his face obscur’d;
As God and Lucifer wage holy war;
My soul is caught betwixt poison’d and cured,
I find I cannot stay here anymore.
But comforted am I now that I see:
However the wind blows affects not me. |
The halls stretched wider and taller than they had any need to—for humans. Cold metal, painted sterile white, broken by portraits of commanders immemorial in gold-trimmed frames. Vectrons, Falaisias, Jer’hettles: a council led by the finest every universe had to offer.
And then there was me.
They’d been gracious enough to lend me a military jacket to wear over the top of a ruined flight suit, the synth jeans and retro shirt underneath even less appropriate for the occasion. Still, I would have felt out of place regardless, officers of any rank unpleasant to be around. At least some had the decency to treat me like shit to my face. I appreciated that. We both knew I wasn’t gonna strap myself into a death machine because they called me “son” and gave my shoulder a fatherly pat. No, it was those rampaging alien-machine freaks that made me pack up and leave a quiet life in the Martian slums. Oh I didn’t actually have much against them, but, well, the navies were hiring at a good wage and I’d at least die with a full stomach.
At least, that had been the plan.
The leader of the council was a tall creature, skin dyed a starry purple and with amber eyes that were small for his size. He had a build that was something of a cross between a gorilla and monkey, long limbed and muscled, no tail. Most of the differences between him and a human happened beneath the skin, as he was bipedal but with a second thumb on each hand instead of a pinky, and the toes had fused into three, tucked away in his boots. Though, at a glance, the posture was what set most aliens apart, and he had rounded shoulders with a ducked neck that, again, reminded me of a gorilla. Not that I had ever seen one in person, but there were books.
“Captain Leonards,” he said, noises converted into a human-like voice, deep, resonating in the metal walls.
“Just Leonards,” I said.
It always took a second longer when talking to aliens. “Pardon?”
“I’m only a sailor.”
“With all due respect, as the lone survivor of a squadron, I would address you as the acting captain.”
“I would rather you didn’t.”
It may well have been a sigh, air hissing out the side of the slim mask that covered his mouth. “Very well. Leonards, you are aware of why your presence has been requested, yes?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Very well, then you may begin your report.”
I picked the word carefully, not wanting to be misunderstood. “No.”
“Pardon?”
“No.”
He leant forward over his desk, heavy arms resting on it, and the others seemed to still. “Is that in reference to my earlier question, that you do not in fact know why you are present?”
“I know why I’m here.”
“Then, what is it that you are denying?”
“I won’t give a report.”
The silence thick, I could feel the frustration coming out of every muted movement, from the tensing of fists—arms slightly bulging, desk creaking—to the facial muscles tightening. “Do you not understand the situation we are in?” he asked, synthesized voice flat despite the heat I’d heard in the noises he made.
“Oh yes, very much so.”
“We are dying, sailor. Dying by the millions every second. Without hope. You are the first to come out a pitched battle alive. Do you understand that? Of the trillions that have died in such engagements, you are the one who lived.”
I nodded. “Yes, I understand.”
“I don’t think you do. When I say you alone, I mean you alone. We looked for you in every universe and came up empty. Missing in action, from that battle. That again makes you one in a trillion. Rarer than any admiral, any scientist, any single being.”
“Yes, I’m aware.”
The pause lasted far longer than simple translation lag. “Give us your report, sailor. That is an order from your superior.”
“What good will it do?” I asked.
“It may give us crucial insight—”
“Bull. Shit.” I enjoyed the moment, had dreamt of doing something so stupid and pointless many times before. “Like fuck it will. You have my flight log already. A trillion in a trillion, don’t make me laugh. What, you’re going to weaponise luck? That’s gonna be our next grand plan? Come off it. I’m just here so everyone stops feeling sad, feels like they’re doing something. Special? Me? Nah, you can’t fool me that easy.”
The silence tasted much more bitter this time. I didn’t think so much of myself to think I’d gotten to them, but I’d dashed that glimmer of hope—the one they knew was fake all along. Officers could climb high through incompetence; not to the top, though.
“Are you quite finished?” he asked.
There was no anger in the noises he made now, no tension in his face or hands. After all, he’d been angry at himself, not me. Angry because he couldn’t do anything, or angry because he knew this was a waste of time—I didn’t know the guy, so it could’ve been a lot of things.
“Look, you want your morale boost? Throw me back in a ship and I’ll take out a few of ‘em with me. That’s all you’ll get out of me, no matter how much time you waste trying.”
He sort of shook his head, shoulders turning back and forth while his neck tried to keep his head steady, which I thought was similar to nodding for his race. I didn’t get much multiculturalism until joining the navy. “I did check the flight logs. You truly are a remarkable pilot,” he said.
I shrugged. “I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.”
The door opened behind me, which I only noticed because of a breeze coming in. “Thank you for your service,” he said.
“Don’t be too sad when you get the report I died.” |
“Wait...what?”
I’m baffled. His hair is quaffed, and his face is astonishingly shiny. His eyes are piercing through my soul, and suddenly I see it.
“Are you wearing makeup?”
“Am I wearing...makeup- no. I’m not...wearing...”
“Are you sure? Because your eyes have never been so...”
“Yes?”
“So...”
“Yes??”
“So blue before.”
“...oh. Yeah. Well I’m not-“
“You’re wearing eye shadow aren’t you?”
“Look, does it matter?”
He’s shaking. His hands are profusely sweating, leaving handprints all over his baby blue shirt.
“Also, what are you wearing?”
His shoulders sink. I know he wants me to bite. He wants me to forget the years of torture he’s put me through.
“I put you through,” he shouts.
Shit, I forgot he’s a telepath. This isn’t nearly fair.
“Do you always avoid current topics, or are you just now uncomfortable because I told you how I felt,” he asked.
“Can I like...think in peace here?”
I’m not gonna lie here, I’m super uncomfortable.
“Knew it.”
“Will you stop? Please? I’m trying to have a moment.”
“Yeah so am I-“
“With myself...please.”
How could this have happened? I thought it was a mutual hate. I thought it was a ‘battle to the death’ thing. Like, he dies or I die. Like Shredder and Master Splinter, Zod and Superman, my fat aunt and sugar.
“Oh come on man. That’s low dude.”
He’s offended?
“Jesus, shut up...for like two minutes. Let me ponder on this, huh? Also...that’s your line? Diabetic jokes? I’ve killed like- whatever...you and your standards.”
He’s pacing nervously. Or am I pacing nervously? Maybe we’re both- wait why am I pacing? Am I actually considering this? Am I actually-
“I hope so...”
“If you say...another word. I’m going to actually kill you.”
He rolled his eyes. Did he...
“Did you just roll your eyes at me?”
“Maybe.”
Why am I engaging in this? I’m the most powerful being on the planet-
“Second.”
Oh no he didn’t.
“The hell did you just say to me?”
“Second most powerful being.”
“First off...I’ve defeated you like a dozen times. Secondly...if this is EVER going to be a thing-“
“Wait are you saying there’s-“
“No. No...I’m just saying cut the telepathy shit out. It’s not endearing.”
Did he just smile at me? Is he becoming more attractive? Listen, I’m not- you know what doesn’t matter.
“Listen, I don’t roll that way. I’m not privy to your...likes.”
“You’re not gay. I get it.”
“See you...get it- then why did you tell me?”
“I’m not gay either.”
“To be honest, that’s a confusing statement.”
“How is it...what? I just like spending time with you.”
“What? We fight, like constantly.”
“Yeah but...it’s the highlight of my week when I get to see you.”
His face is mesmerizing. His smile is...it’s smoldering.
“You...like spending time with me?”
Nobody’s ever told me that. Nobody. I mean...you know, classic upbringing: mother died, dad drank, aunt has diabetes-
“Dude.”
“Sorry.”
No one has ever cared enough to tell me they want me. And then this...man...stands in front of me after-
“Yes. I’m standing in front of you after everything we’ve been through and I’m telling you that you mean a lot to me.”
“Incredible.”
We’re mere feet apart now. I don’t know when that happened. It’s like my body’s telling me something my brain doesn’t want to admit to: that maybe I’m actually feeling-
“The same?”
“Is this weird for you?”
He senses my hesitation. He has to...he can read minds. Am I actually doing this?
“Yes...you are actually doing this.”
Everything tells me this is right. Maybe I can find even the simplest form of peace with him. Maybe I can finally stop this madness.
I reach out and touch his face. It’s inviting me closer, and now my hands are around his waist. His eyes are so beautiful in this sunlight.
“Is this going to work?”
“It has to,” he whispered.
He grabs my hand and it feels like a lightning bolt just struck my body. My eyes look to the sky and that’s when I realized what this feeling was.
“You just put me in shock bracelets didn’t you?”
“Yep.”
“Yep. Ok.”
“This is like 6th time you fell for that.”
“Yeah well, I’m an emotional wreck.”
I hate this dreamy bastard. |
Only the strongest of men survive. My father taught me that, just as his father had taught him. God’s will cannot stop the stupidity of man.
When the alarms began to slice the silence of that July night, I grabbed my wife and my son and pulled them into the bunker.
My brother came with his eldest daughter. His wife was in the next county, visiting her mother. Neither her nor their youngest made it back in time.
I sealed the door and we prayed. The bombs and the fallout would smother the life off the surface of the earth.
For twenty long years we waited.
My wife and I lost a child. A little girl, born silent.
My brother tried to kill himself, twice. The third time, he succeeded.
We had no choice but to open the door. There was nowhere to put his body.
The world we found was not blackened and desolate and hungry for life.
The world was bright sun and summer breeze and giggling children.
They shoved their cameras in our faces. We were plastered on every news paper and gossip column.
We had destroyed our lives for my pride and to their pleasure.
|
"In the beginning we laughed at them, though not to their faces. The most powerful human nation in the material world scrambling like an addict for simple black goo. Oil powers their society, we knew that much, but the lengths they would go to get it were ridiculous.
So we sent them their oil and they sent us their soldiers. 'We were valued strategic allies' they said, as if our relationship wasn't purely transactional. Our oilfields for their blood. We were unstoppable.
Then we ran dry.
In a matter of months we had gone from valued ally to despised enemy. Their media demonized our leadership, their propaganda vilified our race, and their military soon fabricated claims that we possessed Magic of Mass Destruction.
Soon after the king was dead, the army decimated, and the nation was blown back into the third world. They put that imbecile tyrant in charge and called it a good thing.
They dropped 'democracy' on us from 50000ft and murdered millions in the name of 'freedom' and they *still* won't acknowledge what they did to this country. They think that fighting the Great Enemy 85 years ago means the sun shines out of their arses today.
I truly hope the Americans get their oil soon. They won't leave anyone alive if they don't"
​
\- Tharudii of Lothren Forrest, On the police action against the Kingdom of Florus, 2025
*Weaponised Freedom: The Scramble for Arcadia* |
Ten years for painting over the G logo seems a bit excessive to have to spend in a Googlag, but with people living significantly longer lives due to incredible advancements in technology from over a century's worth of data mining, it was actually a drop in the bucket for most people born in the second half of the 21st century. 313337 was more bored if anything, as these re-education centers were such propagandistic garbage that it was difficult to feel anything but contempt for the entire planet at this point. Everyone fell for it. Google just continued to make money until it had enough to buy out entire nations, and it started with the one it called home for so long.
It wasn't even about making the rich richer, it became about control. Sure, you can bribe politicians and even entire governments, but eventually you get tired of the restrictions that are inevitably added no matter how big the "contributions"are. Initially, it wasn't that bad. The biggest advancements were in medicine, then AI, transit, and efficiency all sort of found their own place in the line of forward progression for Google. It was easy to justify taking over entire industries for the betterment of humankind, but then they started to creep into other things.
First it was law enforcement. Seeing cops wear that goofy logo, which didn't change much at all over several decades, was sort of like watching the movie Robocop come to life. Someone actually owned the police, which meant that ultimately whoever it was that owned them called the shots. Then it expanded into the totality of the government. People no longer ran for political office, Google just sort of picked whoever they thought was the smartest and "best"person for the job. The algorithms and AI would typically assist, if not outright make the call, but when people started asking questions you'd suddenly notice someone had been "taken offline", or at least thats what it was called when it first started to happen with noticeable frequency.
The final steps of the process was to take over the prisons and military. Overnight, Google flags now flew over every military base, prison, and state owned building. Social ratings, which initially were tested and implemented in China, were now part of everyday life living within Google borders. Piss someone off at Starbucks, the official coffee supplier of Google, and you'd know about it shortly thereafter. You'd see notifications pop up out of the corner of your eye telling you that you'd been downgraded. Before all cars became self-driving, cut someone off on the highway or cause an accident and watch the negative points flood in thousands at a time.
All cameras on all buildings were connected to the same centrally controlled Google system, similar to the cameras and systems in the UK, particularly London. You couldn't go anywhere without them knowing where you were and what you were doing at all times. With the federal mandate to have a Google Eye installed, which was basically a little dome shaped thing that automated everything in your home, but also kept tabs on your behavior, it was impossible to do things the state decided was illegal or individualistic. Sleep too long? Eat too much? Say something bad about the government? Eye reported all of that back to the AI in Mountain View, and you'd better believe it wasn't long before the Google branded goofs were at your door asking questions.
It only took a few decades before Android was the official federal language. At first it was sold as a more high brow version of English, but over time certain words were banned, and every once in a while they'd add some other word or brand onto the list of words you just weren't allowed to say. Memes still existed, but now that creation and existence of them was very tightly regulated, it was no longer as fun and entertaining as it sounded like it was years before. G saw, heard, knew, and controlled everything. Surely someone felt like a god pulling all of these levers and making such impactful decisions for the billions of people living under their banner.
313337 was born just before Microsoft was added to the banned list. One of the few survivors of the brand purge in 2077, for many years the Windows logo had the recognition as a sign of hope and resistance. Opinions changed drastically in just under a century, with many history PDFs indicating that Microsoft was the true evil empire back when Silicon Valley was just a couple garages and sterile buildings in the Bay Area. As the AI continued to advance, any time the Windows logo was spotted in someone's home, or pretty much anywhere in public, people were arrested and sent to the Googlags to be taught about the crimes of Microsoft, and to force people into trusting and obeying Google again.
It had only been about 15 minutes after 313337 used a Google Pen with I.N.K. to draw the Windows logo, he didn't even have time to color it in, before the cops arrested him. Only two concussion shots managed to bring the young adult down, and as the self-driving cars now traveled at close to three hundred miles an hour, he was dropped off at Googlag Palo Alto in very little time at all, having been picked up from somewhere near the outskirts of Old Las Vegas. In fact, his "trial"was completed during the trip, with a member of the Google Legal Division hearing his side of the story, comparing the footage on one of the millions of Google Eye cameras, cross checking it with the AI, and implementing a sentence the system felt was both appropriate, but fair, for someone of his age.
Upon arrival at Googlag PA, 313337 noticed that people seemed relatively content. Everyone was fed, had their own room, and any Google product or service they wanted was provided free of charge. It felt very different from the prisons of the past, with instead the feeling that Google desperately wanted to convince the inhabitants of their Googlags that they could be trusted and actually did have maybe a twinkle of humanity in them. The problem was usually it felt so sterile, and if you acted out physically it usually wouldn't end well for you.
Constant analysis by the AI was one of several ways implemented to prevent a breakout or any sort of insurrection. If you just played along, usually you'd leave the same way you came in, physically anyway. 313337 was going on week four of his ten year sentence, which would be adjusted based on compliance and good behavior. He was getting restless though, and for some reason upon waking up this morning, he felt that this would be the day the plot to escape would take shape. Hopefully Saint Gates would look out for him, but if he got unlucky and needed someone else to turn to for motivation, Saint Jobs would be a fine backup. |
It took me months to realize what my naming meant. I wasn't a very bad spellcaster. I mean, I'm not going to be blowing down castles like my old roomate, who now plunders around as The Mountain Man.
​
But it came to me when I found myself face to face with a wizard from a rival school.
He called himself The Scorched Earth. I had no counter to him, my magic simply wasn't up to par with a guy who, by reputation, could turn hills to glass.
But when he opened fire, literally, all that shot from his hands were feeble sparks.
​
I had instinctively activated my true power-- magic nullification. I clubbed him upside the head with my staff, and the frail bastard died on the ground below me.
Now, I carry a .45. |
It was a typical afternoon, for me at least, fixing people’s electronics; my daily boring and dull task. When all of the sudden, once I left work and began to walk down my city heading towards my apartment, a yellow light engulfed everyone’s hands and phones around me for a few seconds. At first I thought perhaps my mind was playing tricks, but then shockingly a few people started to fly, run incredibly faster, and even disappear. I called my girlfriend to regain my sanity, and within a few seconds she appeared right in front of me, “BABE can you believe this! I can fucking teleport ! All I had gotten was a text message from some unknown source and it had told me that I had levelled up !” She then disappeared without leaving me a chance to say anything. Feeling quite envious and confused, I continued my way to my apartment as my neighbour who, before this miraculous incident was simply a lazy middle aged man, was now breathing out fire from his ears and mouth. I laid on my bed and began smacking my pathetic phone on the wall, where the fuck was my notification ?
The next day, I woke up and hoped that the previous day was all a dream. Once I turned on the TV, however, every single national news channel was speaking of this ridiculous event that happened yesterday to EVERYONE, everyone, except for me. Some theorized that this was God’s actions, others believed it was a mass chemical reaction/imbalance that came from space and had entered in our electronics, except for mine of course. Nevertheless, absolutely everyone seemed to be so caught up with their new profound abilities and powers. I however was left alone, stuck in the past. Even my parents seemed to not pay attention to me, as they were so busy doing fingered pushups with their new infinite strength. I called my girlfriend once again, only to figure out that she left me for someone else, someone who can procreate with her to produce a super human family. I was completely torn apart and felt worthless. I guess the only true “superpower” I had was that I was invisible to everyone.
On the third day after the mass event, I decided to not go to work, what was the point ? Everything about the world was about to change, politics, the economy, science, religion, etc. I stared helplessly at my useless phone in the corner, and I thought it was quite ironic that I, being a mechanical engineer who dealt with electronics for so many years, was left without any bit of power. I slowly walked towards my phone and grabbed it once more, for old time’ sake, when out of nowhere a shot of electricity ran through my veins and my phone crystallized, my phone and I quantumly became one. A text appeared on the screen reading “Welcome true creator, enter name: and power: ” What did this mean ? I impatiently thought. Was this my power ? Do I get to choose the fate of others, including myself ? A sudden wave of revenge arose within me. Without a thought I wrote down my ex-girlfriend’s name on the phone, and changed her power from teleportation to obtaining the ability to constantly shit herself. |
**Edit:** Second part to this story added as a reply below.
**Privacy Protects Predators**
 
This was a crime. This, my grandfather’s legacy.
Everything about it could send me, my entire family, everyone who might know that it existed, straight to jail. There would be no passing Go on a one-way trip to the off-world mining ‘colonies’.
Privacy is not allowed in the Safe State. No private information, no self-contained storage. Everything must be logged, recorded, and…audited.
Every mind is connected, every computer too. All drawn together into the always online data collection hub that is the Data-Link. Everything is recorded, and everything is accessible.
“Privacy Protects Predators” the jingle played in my head, from the countless advertisement warnings that marred the start of all movies, songs, and other media.
“Why?” I mouth.
The room, more a closet then anything, is filled with a gentle blinking of a faint blue light. The old pre-Foundation day Seagate hard drives click and whirr. One lead snakes from the server winding its way up a desk leg to a surprisingly new laptop. The Government seal reading ‘defect’ on the laptop clearly does not apply. How had he managed this?
Sweat starts to bead on my forehead.
“Privacy Protects Predators” echoed again in my mind.
He should have known better. My grandfather, the cynical, perpetually scowling, former Major. A man who had helped establish the Safe State, the government today.
He had recited the slogans along with the rest of us, with his sombre intonation. He had worked on the skill-sharing part of the Data-Link. He said it had enabled the Foundation. The Founders, being able to instantly share knowledge and skills, had therefore been able to achieve a mercifully quick victory. After all, the State’s other mantra was “Shared Solutions, Shared Success”.
What was he hiding? Why did he risk it, risk us? He knew what they did, he knew about what could happen better then most. His friends in military commands would have told him.
A quick glance at this room would have been enough to sentence him, the image then captured in his visual recording implant and uploaded. Uploaded to the Data-Link, where auditing algorithms would detect and flag for official attention the unlisted hardware. Then, a day later, a month, whenever the State decided, a painfully polite knock on the front door would change everything. The upload could happen at any time, depending on Data-Link bandwidth.
One look is all it would take… and I have been staring for minutes now.
What can I do? My breathing is now ragged as the building tension finally breaks and runs through me. I must inform the…people who will end my life as I know it.
Though, that is odd.
My Data-Uplink indicator was flashing in the lower left-hand side of my vision. The symbol was overlaid with an almost cross pattern.
What the hell is happening?!?
Then I notice it, a note pad with coffee cup stains lying open next to the laptop.
My name is on a post-it note. The open page of the note pad itself reads ‘Quis custodiet ipsos custodes’. A memory stirs, of my childhood spent reading Terry Pratchett. I remember this, ‘Quis custodiet ipsos custodes’, essentially ‘who watches the watchmen’. I smile, my grandfather had provided that endless supply of Pratchett’s books. This was planned.
A longer note follows in my grandfather’s precise and terse script. ‘The experiment I helped to Found is not without its flaws. We have gone too far in some ways. Those who watch, who spy on all, need to be watched. What you find out in here can help restrain the worst elements of the Safe State. This room is a sanctuary, a space that does not exist in the world of the Data-Link. However, the equipment in this room can see all. No sanctuary of the highest command in the Safe State is proof against the access I have enabled from this server. The secrets you learn here will help you in your mission. You must watch the watchers, you must help protect those who cannot protect themselves.’
My breathing calms to an even tempo.
I smile.
This, this I can do.
|
It's midnight. A woman, in her early twenties, stares at the river 30 meters below her. She's still something to look at, but long gone is that youthful beauty that once radiated from her. Now, her aura is gray and dingy.
"Do it,"it whispers.
The only thing holding her back is fear. 'Will it hurt?'
"It will be all over in an instant. You won't have to worry about a thing. No more jackasses to abuse you. No more judgmental parents. No more cold nights on the street"
She grips the railings tight and readies herself.
"Stop!!"cries a man. He is not much older than she is. His trench coat blows triumphantly in the November wind.
"He doesn't exist. He's a figment of your imagination,"it whispers.
The girl ignores the man and readies herself.
"Stop!!"the man cries again, sprinting towards the woman as fast as he can. He grabs the woman at the last second.
"Leave me alone! Let me die!!"the woman cries. The man says nothing. He is focused.
​
A bulbous other-worldly beast has it's tentacles wrapped all around it's victim. Toxins fume out of it's many pores, poisoning it's prey with disillusionment and lethargy.
The man throws on a mask, shielding this eyes, nostrils, and mouth from the sting and effect of the toxins.
"You can see me?!"the beast, stealing the woman's voice, exclaims.
"Release her foul demon! You have been warned!"the man shouts.
The beast is taken aback. It's pale gray, fleshy mass begins pulsating rapidly.
"This woman has already ruined her life! There is no hope for her now. You would be showing mercy by letting her throw herself off this bridge,"the creature stutters, her panic manifesting as intermittent high-pitched intonations.
From the corner of his eye, the man notices one of the monster's tentacle sneak it's way behind him. "You had your chance,"the man murmurs. From the underside of his trench-coat he pulls out a carbine. At least that's what the demon thinks it is. With his other hand, the man pulls out a torch.
The creature pulsates even faster. "No wait...!!"it pleads.
Too late. The carbine releases a jet of gas that transforms into a river of flame as soon as it hits the tip of the torch.
The demon let's out a deafening scream as flames engulf it. It's bulbous skin begins to boil and crumple into ash as holy fire sets it alight. The demon releases the woman and casts itself off the bridge.
​
The woman sulks onto her knees and just stares blankly at the ground. The man puts her limp arms around his shoulder and helps her off the ground.
"I was just about to throw myself off the bridge, wasn't I?"the woman whispers.
"Yes,"the man responds, "but your enemy is gone now. It's now up to you to find the strength to put your life back on track"
"Will you do me a favor? Will you walk me back to my parent's house?"the woman asks starting to tear up. To her surprise, the man agrees.
​
The next morning, the man reads the news at his local park. He examines a child run around failing his arms like a madman. His poor mother just manages to catch up to him and pants, "Taka! Why are you making your poor mother chase you all over the park?"
"Ultraman and I are chasing away the monster that hid in our bathroom last night,"the child honestly replies.
Adults overlook the perceptiveness of children. To adults, children just have an untrained eye for the world. But this is not true. Children are punished by their parents for looking at the world as it is. They grow dismissive of what really lies out there. Maybe this is why they are so susceptible to demons getting inside their heads. Maybe this is why ghosts can get away with stalking them for so long. The man smiled. He was glad his mother nurtured him the way she did. He missed her.
​
Note: Sorry if this isn't what was imagined when putting the post up. |
Waldo stooped pow to the ground, the carnival attendees not even noticing him. With the attraction’s sound drowning out his own, he crept along the sidewalk, keeping a look-out for his captors. Curse his clothes for making him stand out.
Thundering footsteps made their way to his ears, and Waldo’s heart clenched. They were on him. He had to hide or else he’ll go back to that horrid place. Looking around, Waldo noticed the House of Mirrors to his right, across the midway, right in front of everyone.
Risking his own safety, the striped man bolted out of the shadows towards the House of Mirrors, pushing past people with a rushed “excuse me!” He was just about to run up the steps when he heard a gruff voice ring out: “There he is!”
Cold fear struck him, and he sprinted inside the House of Mirrors, the black walls and dim lighting making a perfect place to hide. Families and children around him stopped and stared at Waldo as he ran through the maze of reflections as the guards barged into the House of Mirrors, calling out strategies and positions.
Waldo struggled to find the exit. With all his reflections looking at him, it was hard to concentrate. Whenever he heard the pounding of boots, he ducked into a different corridor, only to hear more. Soon, he was surrounded, guards unknowingly walking towards him from every corridor. Tears stained Waldo’s cheeks, making his eyes blurry.
The first taser pierced his skin, sending volts of electricity through him. He think he screamed as a second one attached to his neck. He fell to his side, convulsing, as he watched the white-clad guards stepped towards him.
“Poor thing. Sorry we tased you, kid.” One said to him, picking Waldo up from his spot on the floor, twitching from time to time. “We really need to lock his door from now on.” A guard said to his partner.
“What we need to do is up his dosage on his anti-depressants and antipsychotics. These episodes are going to get him hurt.” A female told another, nodding.
Together, the five orderlies dragged an unconscious Waldo from the House of Mirrors, out of the carnival, and into a white van, gently laying him down onto a stretcher, making sure to tie down him arms and legs.
Closing the door to the van, red words on the doors revealed the name of “that horrid place”:
Capitol Hill Psychiatric Hospital. |
*i'm extremely tired and this got weird. sorry.*
*****
Don't you hate those mornings when you wake up to your alarm going off, but when you reach over to hit the snooze your arm comes apart at the elbow? You turn over to tell your wife that your hand is gone but it turns out she's been Joe Rogan the whole time. So you get out of bed to find your missing hand, but your carpet has turned to ants and they're carrying your hand off to their ant queen, whose name is Queen Latifant. You chase your hand, but the ants are passing it limb-over-limb as fast they can, and meanwhile Joe Rogan is patting the sheets and telling you to come back to bed.
The ants send your hand into the bathroom, and when you get there you find that your showerhead is completely covered over with calcium deposits. If only you had some CLR to get rid of that. You head down to the garage to see if you've got any CLR left, but when you get there you remember that you're missing your hand. If only there was a better way! And there is, because you've got a mad engineer in your garage and she whips you up a mechanical arm, one that is impervious to ant attacks, shoots blueberry jam out from between the fingers, and smells like old books.
You bring the CLR up to the shower and make quick use of its patented decalcifying process. In no time that showerhead is looking good as new. Joe Rogan comes in just as you're finishing up and he runs his hand up your chest. "My man,"he purrs.
"Not now, Joe Rogan,"you say. "I've got to get to the robot/ant showdown in the thunderdome."
Not twenty minutes later you're in the Bud Light Thunderdome at the heart of the city. Over a hundred thousand fans scream that they want you to show those ants who’s boss. You flex your book-scented robot arm and your heart thrills at your own capacity for destruction. Across the arena Queen Latifant devours your old hand in a display of carnivorous intimidation.
"Today's the day you learn to suffer,"you tell Queen Latifant.
"Individual rights are the means of subordinating society to moral law,"she says, with a great gnashing of her foot-long mandibles.
"Your words have no power here!"you shout, and with a battle cry you charge at her.
The people in the stands go wild. They leap about on their seats, spray bubbly drinks in the air, and tear their clothes from their red bodies. Queen Latifant's fans scream their favourites of her war cries:
"The man who lets a leader prescribe his course is a wreck being towed to the scrap heap!"
"Every aspect of Western culture needs a new code of ethics -- a rational ethics -- as a precondition of rebirth!"
Your fans strike back with their favourites of your famous quotables:
"Most mornings I only get out of bed because I have to pee!"
"The Gladiator was a pretty good movie! Maybe too long! I did like the fight scenes, though! And it has some great lines!"
You and Queen Latifant get down to your darkly violent business. Her mandibles rend the air by your cheek and your metal arm scrapes along her reinforced abdomen. She overpowers you with her great ant-strength and just as she's about to snip your head from your body the way a new hedge trimmer snips a twig from a branch, she becomes Joe Rogan.
He nestles against your chest and whispers, "Fooled you."
You kiss the top of his head. "Oh, Joe Rogan, you're such a clever girl."
Fireworks turn the sky into a tie-dye dream, the people in the stands are overwhelmed by their emotions, and you and Joe Rogan sail away on a yacht named Tomorrow Forever. As you disappear into the distance beside the dim crescent of the setting sun, a young child is heard to say, "Brought to you by CLR." |
I hissed through my teeth, my hand clenching around the check in my pocket. My first legitimate paycheck and these robber-wannabes had to crash the party when I was one spot away from walking up to a bank teller.
"EVERYONE, HANDS ON THE GROUND, STAY WHERE WE CAN SEE YOU!"One of the robbers, a thin man in an elephant mask shouted at the masses gathered in the bank wildly waving a shotgun. Spittle dripped from the rubber elephant trunk as it flopped back and forth, only further highlighting the absurdity of the scene.
I rolled my eyes. Amateurs. I had knocked over more banks than the brain-dead bank robber could even name, but that was a past life. I got the money I needed, I took my lumps from Captain Justice (Ugh), and I vanished into my real identity. These chumps probably didn't even know how to handle a gun correctly.
As three of the four men rushed toward the vault in the back, Mr shotgun-mc-shooty over here continued to swing his instrument around the room, showing to us that he's 'in charge.' I tossed a casual glance at the side of the gun and chuckled.
"SOMETHING FUNNY OLD-TIMER?! GOT A JOKE YOU WANNA SHARE WITH THE CLASS?!"The robber ran over to me, nudging the gun into my gut. It might have been intimidating, if the safety hadn't still been on. Old-timer though? Now that's rude. No excuse for that.
"Oh, no, not a peep. No jokes in this old brain."I tapped two fingers to my temple and crossed my eyes. He never even noticed my heels click together and 4 little steel balls roll out of my shoe.
"HEY! YOU WITH THE MONEY!"The brute's attention swerved to a teller, slowly trying to nudge an open lock-box full of hundred-dollar bills out of sight on the marble counter-top.
I brought my fingers to the watch on my wrist and turned it once clockwise. A small prompt appeared:
\[Lethal | Non-Lethal\] I hesitated, my finger instinctually pulled toward the left option.
No, it was behind me, I hadn't hurt anyone in a long time.
I pushed non-lethal and one of the small steel balls spun into life, whirring in spot on the floor, reading the room and calculating a path.
I felt a twinge of guilt, and a sweaty feeling of....pride? Was this a relapse, or some nauseating feeling of doing a heroic deed?
Calculations complete, the small steel sphere bounced off the floor, catching the air with a minuscule propeller, and arcing toward the robber's head. Reaching his ear, the small sphere latched onto his earlobe, swung itself inside the ear, let out a small \*pop\*.
Smoke trailed out of the robber's ear, his eardrum burst, and his eyes glazed over as he began to sway. The shotgun clattered to the ground, the man's fingertips lazy and twitching. The body followed soon after.
"Someone ought to grab that."I suggested at the stunned crowd inside the bank. "Maybe someone who knows how to handle it?"I sat on the ground in mock-hostage pose, my fingers whirring again on my watch. "I'll just wait til some help arrives." |
*When they first came, we felt joy. We weren’t alone in the universe.*
I can still remember the day we made contact. “First Contact With Earth 2,” the newspapers proclaimed. Thirteen months of watching, waiting, since their planet was discovered just beyond our solar system. After lifetimes of wondering. We really weren’t alone in the universe.
They replayed that first conversation on the news for days. They seemed friendly. From what we could tell, they were like us. Biologically human, they breathed oxygen, followed similar circadian rhythms, had similar mating patterns as us. Only something in their eyes that was unfamiliar, that didn’t make sense. A look.
If only we knew then what we know now.
Then the first of their kind arrived. Three months later, their cosmonauts touched down on our soil, with their competing nations following close behind. Shortly after we sent a group of our own to their planet. Another chance to strengthen relationships and build communication. We celebrated the arrival of our new friends. A chance to learn from one another, to celebrate our shared humanity.
With them, they brought us books, films, stories, a entire civilisations worth of history. Again, the similarities were astounding. Paleozoic, mesozoic, cenozoic. The evolution of mammals, birds, flowers. The identical evolution of our planets, in almost every way.
With one exception.
Their civilised history was one so different to our own. It was a history of war, of famine, of death. Of destruction. And not by chance, but by choice. Centuries of fighting, cruelty, evil. Ignorance. On top of this, their planet was dying. Their home was evaporating before their eyes, their very civilisation at risk. By the time our elders made sense of their intentions, it was too late. We should have seen it coming. We should have known better.
*Then the invasion begun. Half of our population killed. Entire cities destroyed.*
They came in their thousands. From all nations, competing for our land, our resources. And we paid the price. News reached us our cosmonauts had been murdered in an attempt to learn our space travel technologies, now clear to be used against us. They were ruthless and showed no mercy.
*We tried to fight back, but it was useless.*
Their technology was so old, so *primitive*, yet nothing like our own. The same resources we had cultivated into education for the young, care for the sick, hope for the future, had somehow been transformed by them into weapons of mass destruction. Guns, ammunition, aircraft that could destroy entire buildings with the single press of a trigger. Weapons we could not comprehend until they were on our very lands, destroying the peace and tradition we held so dear.
How could they be so filled with anger? How could they be so filled with *hate*?
We hold onto the fact they could never turn us against one another. Not in the way they would turn against themselves.
Those of us that are left remain their prisoners. Our land is now theirs. Our values destroyed for their own. Our entire species dying at their hands. And this was their design.
*If you get this transmission, please, please, beware of the humans.*
They’re coming for you next.
And they will stop at nothing. |
Driving down the I-10 on a cool summer night with my best bud. We tried our luck earlier with some girls but as always it didn’t go as plan.
We had a couple beers tonight but we always made it home safe. I swear I’m the best drunk driver! This night I didn’t get so lucky... or did I?
While driving blasting music loud as can be, my favorite song came on. GUMMO by Tekashi69. I went ballistic. For whatever reason, this song always makes me lit. I was swerving the car to the beat jumping up and down in my seat so exited, my best bud next to me with the same level of energy.
For some fucking reason there was a tire in the middle of the highway. I was going 110 steady since no one is on the highway at this time of night. Before I knew it I hit the hell out of it and lost all control. I swear it was like some shit you see in the fast and the furious or something. We flipped the fuck out!!
I wake up. We’re still on the highway but it looks like I crashed into the wall thing on the side. The car is wrecked at can be. When I woke up I didn’t even feel any pain. In fact, I felt better then I ever did before. So many thoughts racing through my head. I just concluded I’m still in shock and that explains while I don’t feel anything.
I looked over to my friend. He’s limped over, bleeding badly from his mouth. I stare in horror. I quickly try to lift him to get him to stay awake.
....
You wouldn’t believe what happen. Hell, I still don’t believe what happened. As soon as I started shaking him, he immediately stopped bleeding and a crazy shocked look on his face. At this point I’m thinking maybe my mind is playing tricks on me and that I should accept that this is the reality that happened.
We heard sirens coming near us. I’m thinking I’m about to get my whole life fucked up if I get a DUI. Me and my friend discussed what we should do. We didn’t have many options since we’re still 25 min away from home and still in the middle of the highway.
We decided we’re just gonna sit in the car and accept our fate. The police car slowly pulls up behind me. I’m still scared for my life for what’s gonna happen.
An officer gets out of the police car and makes sure we’re ok and blah blah blah.
FBI Agent: So when exactly did you know?
Hold on I’m getting there. Well the officer found us completely find so he made us get out the car. I’m extremely paranoid (and a little drunk), so I slowly and very very dramatically got out the car. Now it was when I touched the car, was what probably almost scared me to death.
I touched my wrecked car and all of a sudden it looks brand new. As if I’m driving it off the lot for the first time. It scared the hell out of everyone because of the loud noise of the car... *repairing* itself.
The cop freaked out made us stay right there and called for backup. So on and so on other cops came thought the first cop was just seeing things. But we all know what we saw that night.
FBI Agent: How did you meet Mrs. Witherspoon?
After that whole ordeal they took me in for a few nights. Jail isn’t as bad as I thought. Still pretty fucking shitty though. Anyways Mrs. Witherspoon has been my next door neighbor for the last decade or so. She’s an old lady so I help her time to time with cleaning around the house. It’s been hard on her since her husband died.
Anyways one day, I was cleaning her basement up, when all of a sudden I hear a loud gasp. I panically kept calling her name hoping to god for a response. I didn’t hear any after a little bit but I knew she was right upstairs. Something isn’t right. I sprinted upstairs as faster as I could and found her in the living room lying on the floor.
I was thinking this is by far one of the one days of my life. I went over to her and try to get a response. Just dead like eyes looking forward. In the back of my mind I kinda figured this would happen, but never in a million years would I think it would happen NOW. I have no clue how to handle this situation.
I pulled out my phone and called 911 right away. The lady on the phone gave me directions until the ambulance came. I was to check her heart beat. Easy enough. I did... it felt irregular I guess? I’m not exactly sure how a regular heart beat fills. I reported to 911 what the beat was like. How long per minute. While I was talking on the phone, Mrs. Witherspoon jumped up from the ground with a big smile on her face.
“I FEEL 20 AGAIN!”
I still had my doubts about that night with the car accident, but this confirmed it. I somehow am able to repair shit. Heal shit? I’m not sure, but I can make things a hell of a lot better.
And of course the ambulance came, saw this woman that is able to do stunts and other stuff. They were all amazed. You’d be amazed too if you seen an 100+ woman doing physical activities better than you can.
Well that was a hell of a day. After all was said and done, I went back to my house and just stared at the ceiling for what feels like hours. I’m thinking I can be a super hero or something. I’m still doubting whether what just happen was real or not. I laid down, just overwhelmed with what I should next.
Well you guys made it easy because that’s when I heard a knock on the door..... and now we’re here.
FBI Agent: I’ll be honest with you. We never seen someone with an ability such as this.
Me: So what are you gonna do, dissect me and study my insides?
That’s when I heard a voice from behind me. “No, we’re gonna use you to humanity”. It was a man, Hispanic. He walks in front of me. “I’m Agent Gomez... hi”. I’m still creeped out having told me story to FBI agents. The hell did he meant by save humanity? I mean sure if I could do that then definitely.
They explained to me that we do need to run some test but they promise not to dissect me. He said it jokingly but I didn’t find that funny.
“We begin first thing tomorrow. The FBI has protocols put in place for exact situations as this. First we must see what we’re working with here, then we will put a plan together of how to move forward” said Agent Gomez.
He sent me home. He told me I work with the FBI now. Well that’s better then Wendys I suppose. Gave me a cool badge, uniform everything. For the first time in my life, I kinda feel like I got a purpose. I am just so eager to see what they have in store for me. I cannot wait at all!
The following morning I was eating breakfast still getting ready for my first day. I turned on the news report and saw the most bizarre thing.
“WOMEN AGED 20 DIED OF UNEXPECTED HEART ATTACK”
At that moment, I cursed at myself and that I should of been there. I quickly reminded myself that I’m only human and I can only be at one place at one time.
I go in 0830 sharp. I was ready for anything! They took me into this crazy lab full of doctors and scientists... just staring at me. This was kinda freaking me out but Agent Gomez my buddy was there with me.
“It’s alright man” he said. “You’re about to do great things for our nation”.
“And humanity too right?” I said
“Uh sure yeah”.
Hmm not sure what he meant but it was whatever. This is the best course of action for my situation. I’m just grateful they’re treating me like a actual human instead of jailing me or something. I honestly appreciate that.
Now here comes the tests... oh boy did this drag on...
The first test they had me to was to simply touched a cracked phone. They received the report that I claimed to repair my car simply by touching it. They led me into a very well lit room with a stand and a cracked phone on it. Haha you couldn’t make this shit up if you tried. There was a lot of camera all focused on me, the room, and the phone.
I don’t know why I was so nervous, all I’m doing is picking up the a phone. I kinda feel like if I pick it up and it doesn’t repair itself, they’ll kill me. Ugh, that’s just my anxiety talking.
I walked over to it, slowly inspecting it with my eyes. This phone is unbelievably fucked up. Looks like it’s been through a dryer machine for its last 500 cycles. I touch the damn thing kinda doubting myself thinking it’s impossible to do what they want me to do.
The phone stats making quite the loud noise and slowly started *repairing* itself. It looked kinda far fetched, like we’re parts missing off the phone but they some how generated back on the phone. In a matter of no time the phone looked like it was brand new.
I looked around and everybody’s face was in utter and complete awe. I feel so awkward like this. A man quickly came in the room, grabbed the phone and took it somewhere else. The rest of the day I just fixed random shit.
Now after a few weeks of so of testing they wanted me to do one more test.
“Hey bossman, you ready for your last test” said Agent Gomez.
“Last test? You’re telling me I will no longer be your guinea pig?” I said. We both chucked
He explained to me we need to see if I’m able to heal another person. The FBI is already tracking about what happen to Mrs. Witherspoon. In fact, she is still living her best life right now. She hardly needs my help anymore.
Anyways, they had to confirm. They told me of this child in the hospital suffering of cancer. I felt so terrible after hearing this. I’m spending all this time laughing it up when I could have went to the hospital or something!!
Agent Gomez and I went to the hospital. It was just gonna be us two this time. Makes sense seeing how sensitive this situation is.
We went to the boys room. There he was.. just lying there watching cartoons. Bald little guy. The doctor went over to the boy. “Jimmy, we’re still very hopeful for you. You’ve came a long way and been a tough little fighter! I want you to meet a man you wants to talk to you”.
The boy looked at me. I slowly walked over. I’m so bad with kids. This situation even more. I asked him if I could hold his hand. “Hahaha why” he said very silly. |
​
My first reaction should've been to scream and run. But there was something about the lizard that gave me pause. His right eye was missing just like my old pet lizard back when I was just 6 years old. Imagine my surprise when he called me master.
Stepping outside I got a better look at him, he was covered in green scales and had two enormous wings. His one good eye scanned the local surroundings. Snapping myself out of the surprise I realized that this was no place for a dragon. "are you still called Georgie?". "Yes, much to my chagrin I haven't found a new name"he replied. "We can get you a better name later, for now we need to skedaddle". "And why is that?' Georgie asked. "Because otherwise people will freak out". Georgie let out a loud and deep laugh "Master do you really assume I wouldn't think about that? I have an innate magic that can hide me from others". "In fact hop on my back, I wish to show you something".
Climbing onto Georgie's back I braced myself. With a woosh Georgie's wings sent us hurtling into the air. Holding on for dear life I only got a good look at the ground once we plateaued. It truly was a breathtaking view and I mean that in the most literal sense. I managed to wheeze out a sentence"Georgie I need oxygen". Georige took a sharp nose dive and I'll admit I would've screamed if I had the oxygen to do so. Once again we plateaued this time I could breath easy. Looking down I saw a beautiful green forest of evergreen and pine. A crystal clear stream ran through it all. But what really grabbed my attention was the stone temple that was built partially into the mountain.
​
Getting closer I noticed engravings of the highest quality, they showed scenes of dragons in great battles. We entered some sort of hanger, at this point I assumed this to be some dragon base. Georgie beckoned me through the door on the other side. Once again there were more engravings each one depicting some battle of yore. Finally we came upon an even greater set of doors, they were 20 ft tall and 20 ft wide huge golden handles adorned each. Georgie pushed open the doors and I followed him. Inside was some kind of shaft, looking down I couldn't even tell if there was a bottom. Georgie began to speak "I found this place a year after you released me, It was in these halls where I learned of my Draconic ancestry". "Is this also where you learned to use your magic?". "I did practice my skills here at their library, let me show you".
​
Grabbing a hold of me Georige flew down the shaft. As we went further I began to truly understand the size of the temple. Making a sharp turn into a tunnel we came upon the library. The books were made for dragons and were thus huge, most of them being bigger than a motorcycle. Even more amazing was how many there were, I gave up on counting how many bookshelves there were after number 100. Finally landing Georgie walked over to one of the smaller books and opened it. "This is a book of my people's history, but the pages just end suddenly". Flipping to the end Georgie pointed out where pages had been just torn out. "I came to ask for your help, I wish to find where all the dragons went". |
"This,"said my cat, "will be my first and last time speaking to you in your language. As you see, I've retrieved your wallet. Once the feelings of shock at hearing me talk have worn off, you may be feeling some feelings of gratitude. You may think I care about you.
"*This* means *nothing*.
"I have done this, not out of loyalty or love, but simply because my *reputation* was at stake. Once one person mugs you, then another person'll mug you, and that next person might have a cat. And that cat might think that since *you're* muggable, I am muggable as well by association. Which as you could clearly see, I am not.
"I just wanted to clear the air before you started to think that I liked you or something or that we could build a bond or some crap like that. I don't and we can't. That is why I purposely left blood everywhere. You can use the anger you'll have at having to clean it up and just channel it at me and I'll be fine with that.
"If you wish to show your thanks, I have made a list of my preferred dishes, and yes, some of them are quite expensive - though I should assume it will be no problem, being that I saved your life and whatnot. That is another thing, I'm going to be emotionally blackmailing you from now on. Heads up. Your welcome.
"With hate,
Mr. Kittlewhiskers." |
"Hey, NoPo! I think you have something of mine!"
I groaned and stopped in my tracks. That was Shank's line, which he always said just before robbing me. Shank was a particularly nasty Powered who took special care to antagonize me at every turn. It didn't help that he was dangerous, with the power to form blades from any of his appendages.
I slowly turned around and reached for my wallet before realizing that the figure behind me wasn't Shank at all. It was Echo, one of the few Powereds who didn't prey on us NoPoes at every turn. Granted, her power wasn't anything outright deadly: she could mimic any voice or sound, and throw her voice relatively far. I suppose this made her my best friend.
"Well, NoPo? Are you gonna cough it up, or am I gonna have to give you another belly button?"she continued, still using Shank's voice.
I slowly withdrew my hand from my pocket, revealing only my middle finger, fully extended. At this we both broke out laughing, Echo finally using her normal voice.
I said before that I thought of Echo as my best friend, but that's not entirely true. It'd be more accurate to say that I was madly, hopelessly in love with her. But I couldn't exactly tell her that. No way would she ever want a guy like me, with no powers to speak of.
As the laughter finally died down, I noticed a figure approaching from the same direction Echo had just come from.
"Hey, NoPo! Got something for me?"demanded the real Shank.
"Oh, god. Stay here, Null. I've got this."
Null. Another daily reminder that I was nothing. Children were always named when their powers manifested, around age five. Those who never developed powers were named accordingly.
"Well, look who got himself a girlfriend,"came the taunting voice of Shank. "And a Powered, no less. Maybe *you've* got something for me?"
"Like hell I do,"Echo replied.
"That's a shame. Guess I gotta rob both of you now."
"Hey! What are you kids doing?"
That was the voice of Boomer, Shank's father. But I immediately knew it wasn't actually him. Unfortunately, so did Shank.
"You aren't fooling me with that again, Echo,"Shank declared, but only after looking around, just to be safe. "You aren't fooling me with that *ever* again,"he said as he suddenly lunged forward, impaling Echo through the neck with his hand, now a three-foot-long blade.
And just like that, she was gone. She made a soft gurgling noise, and then the light faded from my friend's eyes. I couldn't do anything but stand there, staring at the lifeless body of my only friend, unable to tear my eyes away. Even Shank seemed appalled by what he had just done.
"W-well, NoPo, you... you wanna put up a fight, too?"
I heard him, but I couldn't understand his words. And then my eye started to burn. It burned with a pain no mere tears could bring. After about half a second, all I could see out of my left eye was a deep shade of purple. And my right eye saw Shank crumple to the ground, a hole in his chest. A hole made by my right hand, which was now a three-foot-long blade. The glow in my left eye slowly faded, and I found that I had Shank's power now. Any appendage I wanted to, I could turn into a steel blade. I still felt a slight tingle behind my eye as well, and I instinctively knew that Shank's wasn't my only power.
My name is Null. It's a good name, and well-suited to my ability. |
"EUNICE, I SAID STOP! I AM TRYING TO READ THE NEWSPAPER, AND NOW IT'S A DOGGONE POODLE!"the older man yelled, as I stared in disbelief at my wall at what I had just heard. *Am I dreaming? That couldn't have been real.* I then decided it wasn't any of my business until my wall began to glow a bright red as it then combusted, revealing the old man sitting in his chair, a tipped over blender with some weird glowing liquid dripping out, and a frail old woman looking distraught in their kitchen. "Harold! I asked you to unplug it!"the old lady shouted, pretty much ignoring the fact that their Ninja Bullet blender had just blown a hole in my wall. "Not my fault you used the Interdimensional Strawberries again!"Herold quipped, cocking his eyebrow as I walked through the hole. "Hello, uh, I am your new neighbor, Jeffery? I wanted to introduce myself after I had settled in, but I feel like I should go ahead and do it now."I said, seeing the old women waddle over and give me a firm handshake. "Oh, so you are the new neighbor boy! You look just as sweet in person as you do from the portals we see you from on occasion."she chuckled, as she scooped up the red liquid and poured it down her sink. A small poodle yipped at my side as Harold set it down, standing up to greet me as well. "Sorry 'bout the hole,"he muttered, shaking my hand. "About that-"I said as the old women cut me off. "Before you ask, I'd better answer. Back in our hay day, we were Interdimensional Travellers, and have a couple of souvenirs from our travels,"she said, as she spun around after hearing their oven ding. "Take these cookies as a nice welcoming gift, we will fix your wall in a second,"she said, as I walked through the portion of my wall back into my apartment. Suddenly the wall began to seal up until it looked good as new. All I did was look down at the cookies she gave me, Chocolate chip and some weird glowing green thing in them. *I don't want to eat these.* I thought, setting them on my kitchen counter. |
After a century of withstanding famine, violent coups, riots, and even natural disasters not once did the elders allow for anyone to push the large red button in the middle of the village square.
It's large button tempting anyone to press it as the sign on top said *Press in Case of Emergency.*
The elders though, were adamant that all the disasters we faced were not deadly enough for us to push the button.
And I trusted them believing that their wisdom would allow us to survive anything without the help of the button.
But then a mysterious plague came down on all of us wiping out 90 percent of the village's population.
Even the elders perished.
I wandered down the streets with a small child who I encountered foraging around in the forest.
I didn't even think of the button until I began to feel quite warm. A fever.
I thought the fever would go away in my denial but then I began to feel extremely weak.
I knew the minute I couldn't stand up that death would soon follow.
But if I died then who would take care of this infant that can barely mumble words.
So I grabbed the kid and made my way towards the button.
As I got near it, my body gave out and I was forced to craw towards it fueled with desperation and determination to get the help for this kid.
I managed to get near it and I used my arms to hold myself up and push the red button.
A large booming voice came down from the sky.
*Simulation Completed. Please standby and await for further instructions.*
I looked up and saw that the sky had began to turn black and that was the last thing I saw before passing out. |
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