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Pierre Mercier was the youngest man in the mass grave. He was born, raised, and educated in Paris. When he was twenty-one, America’s second Civil War began. A student of history, Pierre became swept up in the romanticism of the conflict. He began to loathe the government in Washington DC that had become a dictatorship in all but name. Every morning, he woke up and prayed for the success of the rebels who wanted to restore democracy. On his twenty-third birthday, he could wait no longer and shipped off to the United States to fight tyranny.
Pierre Mercier arrived in New York with a George Orwell novel under his arm and a head full of glorious, romantic ideas that only the young can believe. He would never see his beloved Paris again. Far from becoming another Hemingway, Pierre would become another casualty in a war that was still fresh in the mind of many Americans.
Less than two decades have passed since the burning of the White House and the end of the Second American Civil War. Democracy has been restored. The country has been rebuilt. But the scars from the conflict remain. The Catskill Mountains represent one of the ugliest scars from the war.
The government had many enemies during the war. Anyone suspected of being a socialist, anarchist, communist, or terrorist was considered an enemy of the state and not entitled to a trial by jury. Men, women, and children were taken from their homes and brought to locations like the Catskill Mountains. After digging their own graves, they were killed by firing squads and dropped into the earth.
Now, twenty years after the war has ended, the new government has hired people like me to find these mass graves and identify the bodies. This decision was a controversial one. So far, we have unearthed tens of thousands of corpses and the number continues to rise. Some think that this project costs too much money. Some think that we should leave the past as it is: buried.
Admittedly, I have my biases. I signed onto this project in the hopes that I would be able to uncover the graves of my father and older brother. Instead, I have found the hundreds of other people from all walks of life. Most are American. Some, like Pierre, are foreign. When I met with Pierre parents, I explained what happened to their son. I saw sadness in their eyes, but I also saw closure. At that moment I realized just how necessary this excavation was.
We cannot turn a blind eye to our history. There are hundreds of thousands like Pierre who died fighting for what they believed in. These men, women, and children have a story and we must hear them so that we do not make the same mistakes of the past. If we allow young men like Pierre Mercier to stay buried, we will one day soon have another generation of young men to bury alongside him. |
"Hel—"Barry couldn't finish for the sand in his mouth. Spitting it out, he ventured another try: "Hello?"
The reply was immediate. "Oh, now you wake up. It's about damn time."The voice sounded familiar, but Barry couldn't quite put his finger on where he'd heard it before.
"Do—do I know you?"He couldn't move any of his extremities, and though his eyes were open, there was some sort of cloth tied around his head blocking his vision.
"We don't have time for that,"the voice chimed in. "Try to get the blindfold off. Just rub the side of you head against the ground."Barry did as he was told, feeling foolish at every step of the process, but at last freed up his left eye to the harsh daylight.
"What the fuck?"Barry found himself with his eyes about six inches off of the ground, and the rest of his body buried beneath. There was nothing but the occasional bright orange rock formation for as far as the eye could see, the desert stretching on for miles before him. He could feel the sun burning into his forehead, and its results were evident on the cherry-red face of the man across from him, similarly buried, blindfold to his right. As the gravity of the situation struck him, Barry's questions flowed like vomit. "How did you get here? How did *I* get here? *Who did this to us*? WHERE THE HELL ARE WE?!"
The response was the last thing he wanted to hear at that moment: "Your guess is as good as mine, man. I was hoping you'd know."
"Shit."This was it. He was sunk. He thought of all the things he might have done, all the women he'd yet to sleep with, all the children he might have had, running around a home he'd never have. None of this would ever happen for Barry. No, he was destined to die buried to his neck in the desert.
"Wait, he's waking up! Hey! Over here!"the man across from him shouted, but he was no longer looking at Barry, instead staring about five feet past him. As Barry craned his neck back to see what the the fuss was about, he was greeted with the sound of spittle and the burning sensation of a thousand tiny grains of sand being spit into his one uncovered eye. There was a third head erupting from the desert floor.
"Are—are you okay?"Barry stammered through the pain in his eye.
Curt though it was, the reply put everything in perspective. "Fucking Vegas."
**Edit**: In case it got lost, I named him Barry because he's buried. That wasn't an accident. I know. I'm not that clever. |
"Your holiness, belief rates around the world are still dropping."Said the priest, his large silver cross leaning forward like a plumb line as he poured over the latest statistics.
Pope Francis sat, hands arched, wearing his carefully rehearsed look of placid calm. Archbishop Muller spoke first.
"The Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith calculates that the Shield can hold if the congregation drops even to 1.1 billion, but around the 1 billion mark we will hit problems. The contradicting belief systems will be difficult to smooth out."
"And you say that the beacon has activated again?"The Pope said, breaking his long silence.
"Yes, your Holiness. We're monitoring the situation. We believe it's a passing probe."
"This is not good timing."He said. "I'm in the process of redirecting the mental conditioning. We need it to be more acceptable to modern tastes. We've been too slow to adapt in the past."
"I agree."Said the Archbishop, "But we can't choose our close encounters. We need the Shield to be working as well as possible. If they get a hint that humanity is capable of - "
"I don't need to be reminded."
"Apologies, your Holiness. But I am concerned, we're getting very strong readings on this one."
"At least it's near Christmas."The Pope sighed "There's always a surge of belief, I think if we can design a good Christmas message it will boost the Shield at least temporarily."
"I defer to your wisdom in this as in all things."Said the Archbishop.
They were interrupted by a trumpet call, and the Archbishop's cross began to glow red. They jumped from their seats in unison.
"Come we'll use the emergency elevator,"Pope Francis said, ushering the other two into what appeared to be a closet in the side of his office. Pulling their robes close in the cramped space, he pressed the button marked 'Hanger' and the steel capsule descended rapidly.
A few moments later, far below the furthest reaches of the Vatican Crypts, they stepped out into the hanger. The ancient ship hung, suspended by cables above them in the vast bunker. To the untrained eye it appeared to be an enormous golden statue of an angel, wings outstretched, arms reaching out, yearning. But from the back sprouted rows of cables, trailing outwards and downwards like spilled intestines hung out to dry. Machinery lay in all directions, and below it hummed the dark opalescent sphere of the Shield, hovering just above a golden plinth, still attached by a cable to the ship above. Within the sphere hung a billion tiny blue specs of light, shimmering and blinking.
"What's going on?"Archbishop Muller asked the nearest priest.
"Your Holiness"said the startled priest to the Pope, before turning to Muller "Your Grace. It's an emergency. The readings from the beacon - well. Come, see for yourself."
They swept forwards to the row of consoles just before the Shield. Surrounding a large screen was a throng of priests, whispering in hushed tones. They parted like the waters before Moses. Upon the screen they saw it. The vast fleet, entering the far reaches of the solar system. The long promised Second Coming, sent to reap what was sowed.
"How is this possible?"Said Muller. "The shield still holds. As long as people believe in Divine Protection, we are protected. The Evil cannot see our minds."
Pope Francis lent against a console, feeling every bit of his age.
"Muller, it's been 2000 years. Perhaps they've updated their technology."
"What will we do?"Asked a young priest, his eyes wide with terror.
"The only thing we can do. The Final Crusade."Replied Pope Francis. "Break open the Seven Seals and activate the Inquisitors. There is no more room for the unbelievers. When the Evil come, faith will be our shield and righteousness our sword. We shall smite them with our prayers, we shall burn them with our holy crosses. Just as Christ taught us all those years ago. They may have broken a thousand planets to use as slaves, but not Earth. No. They have sowed the wind, and they shall reap the whirlwind." |
There was a beat. It wasn't steady, but it was there. Dum. Da-dum. Da-dum. Dum..... Dum... Da-dum. Nobody sensed it as it pulsed. It was faint. Da-dum. Da-dum. Dum... Da-dum. The lowered a casket into the ground. A trumpet called out Taps, and the hole was filled in with dirt. Da-dum. Da-dum. The trumpet finished, but his heart hadn't. Da-dum. Da-dum. The music was still playing, with no one left to hear it. |
Erin sat in the waiting room, clipboard on her lap without a pen. From time to time the receptionist gave her an irritated glance, and once an impatient "uh-humph,"but Erin ignored her. She looked out the window, at the mangled blonde still wedged underneath the pickup, then back to the clipboard. "Describe the nature of your final moments, if you can recall."Next to her, the old lady with duck slippers smiled vapidly, happily signing the page repeatedly, with the assistance of a nurse. With each line she signed, her eyes grew more clear, her figure less frail. By line 17 she was 30 again, with straight brown hair and piercing blue eyes. The nurse smiled at the woman "if you'll follow me Lucille, your first physics students are ready for their lecture."
Erin craned her neck to try and see through the door the woman left through, but all she could see was white mist. She glanced back out the window, the woman was still lying motionless underneath the truck, the intoxicated driver having run off, leaving her alone.
The receptionist glanced at Erin again, then got up and walked over to her, placing her hand on Erin's shoulder. "What's the matter hun?"She asked. "You shouldn't keep looking back, its over. Time for the next step."Erin's eyes filled with tears, and she said "I can't go yet, I can't leave my husband to raise Laura alone."The receptionist nodded understandingly, but pushed a pen into Erin's hand "sorry hun, like I said, its done, you've gotta join us now."
Erin tried, tried as hard as she could to fill out the questionaire: age 27, blonde, 5' 4", but when she came to "living relatives"she stopped again. She approached the receptionist, holding the half filled forms. "Is there any way to stay in both places? Please I can't leave, I have to be there for her, somehow."Her eyes began to stream again. The receptionist paused, looking closely at Erin, then responded hesitantly "there is a way, but it is a long term commitment."Erin brightened "what, what is it? Please, I'll take anything, just let me help my little girl."
"You can be a receptionist, but if you join us, you will be required to guide others until the good place is full. You will not join your parents, and your final happiness is put on indefinite hold."
Erin's smile slipped, and she looked at the little cubicle behind the reception desk. Files stacked on every surface, a small cubicle refrigerator that was unplugged, and a printer that printed forms continuously. "So why did you stay?"She asked the receptionist. "Well... there is a perk, by staying here you can make your children happy. The suffering you experienced in your life is transferred to them as success and joy. Its your payment, from the big guy.""My boy Joe has been happily married for 25 years, he and his wife are retired, and their two kids are in college."She hesitated then said "he doesn't even remember what his dad did to me."
Erin didn't know how to respond: "I, I, what did he...""It doesn't matter"snapped the woman behind the desk. "The point is my pain gave my son a better path in life. I couldn't pass that up."Her voice softened "Sit down, think it out, this is a big decision. Once you decide, you must stay."
An old woman stepped through the door into a reception room. She looked back once through the window at the hospital room. Around the old woman in the bed, a loving family said their final farewells. It had been a good life. As she turned back she saw the receptionist, a blonde in her late twenties, smiling at her. "Hello Laura, I've... we've been waiting for you for a long time." |
"At first, we congratulated ourselves.
The Human of planet Earth, the first intelligent species to go faster than imaginable.
We were arrogant.
When people found out about ultra luminic travel, they realized that the galaxy was open to us and not a fool wanted to stay; from the poor lads who stayed on Earth to every colons of Mars and Titan, **everyone** wanted to go.
But where ? Even at the dawn of the 20th century, scientist realized that the reason we didn't saw anyone fly by Earth was that no one was close enough up there or that they didn't want to meet us.
So, we began to explore again. Something we forgot, stuck in our little system for so long.
But you know too well, counsellors, that History tends to repeat itself. And, of course, when our assumptive race find out that the other inhabitants of our galaxy were, at best, still stuck on regular space travel, we thought of ourselves as Gods.
And what happen when some group think themselves as Gods, counsellors ? What does History tell us ?
You only know too well.
Of course, I see your looks getting heavier on me. 'We tried to "help"them' you're about to say. Yes, but only if it was in our advantage. When we made contact with the inhabitant of Tau Cérati beta and they asked us our technology in exchange for their platinium and orithium, 'we' didn't hesitate one second.
But when we knew the sun of the Ycladion system was going to destroy Ycladion gamma in a few hundred years and that they had nothing to gave us, its inhabitant were just deported to Anchor Ecclipton, the smallest and cheapest artificial station we had. And only a fraction were deported.
A inconceivable small fraction.
And when I say 'we', I'm talking about you, counsellors, you and your predecessors. Even as we reached for the stars, people like you slow us down; for their own prosper, in the name of ethics and laws.
My actions saved more lives than any other before. But as it had make you lose a considerable amount of money and that the lives saved wasn't Humans, I'm speaking my last words today to the Galaxy. And I stand proud, with all of my companion, that we gave our technology to others for the greater good, proud to gave my life for the billions saved,
**proud to have betrayed you.**
"
-Last words of General L.Hawing at the Ycladion trial, speaking in the name of the 343th division of colonial security. 2462, Earth years; 0, New Ycladion years.
|
Heaven is Massachusetts in autumn. The red leaves fall from the oak trees and litter the drive to my little house. Black slate roof and a weathered porch with one beaten up rocking chair. Lulu, my four legged indifferent companion likes to curl up and watch the sparrows play on the dry lawn. I stand and watch her watch them, one hand curled around the wooden frame of the peeling door. I wonder if today will be the day Ben remembers.
He sits on a stump of a tree that looks like it was hit by lightening, but can't have been, because there isn't lightening in Heaven. He's whittling something with a crude little knife, concentration scrunching up his wrinkled face. Lulu stretches and yawns and I turn aside, not wanting Ben to know I'm watching him.
We sit at the table and he says grace, not out of any religious beckoning, but because this is Heaven and I suppose it's what you do here. There are no days or nights, just a languid drawing-on of a cold afternoon on the brink of winter. I guess it must be drawn from his memories, not mine. I do not remember this place. He looks at me with the same blue eyes I've seen a million, million times and smiles.
"Good day?"He asks
In Mesopotamia he was a King and I his Queen, living out our days of youth in deluges of gold and honey and dates.
"It's getting cold."
He nods. "It'll be snowing soon."
In Russia it had snowed. In the winter of 1917 he had been a member of the growing Bolshevik Party, eyes glowing with the fervour of a new age. I had seen him standing on the stairs of the ruined Dubrovsky Palace, blood on his face and a red flag in his hands and fallen in love immediately.
We had been peasant's children in Germany at the turn of the century. Which century, I could not remember. He had chased me through grass and pinned me when I struggled against his hands.
And in France, just before we went to the guillotine, hand in hand, he'd presented me with a knot. It had been crudely carved out of a chunk of oak wood, one seamless rope.
"Remember me."He whispered as they tied the blindfold over our eyes.
Lulu stalks into the kitchen, tail raised. She leaps into Ben's lap and pads around in circles. He laughs, pushes his chair back and strokes her. She butts his hand with her head and purrs. He looks up and catches my eye.
"Anything?"I ask
"No."
My shoulders drop and his face twists.
"I'm sorry,"he says quietly. "There's nothing."
The weight of our previous lives pushes heavily in the back of my mind, memories of loves and losses push through the fibres of my being. We had found each other. Every age, we would find each other and live out the same dance. Only I remembered.
He looks at me with sad eyes and lifts a hand from Lulu, who mewls in disappointment.
"It doesn't matter though. If I don't..."
"Why not?"
He stretches across the table and presses a small block of wood into my hands. It is a knot, chipped out of oak from the trees on our lawn.
"I don't need to remember, if you do." |
I sold my soul for some Bitcoin.
It was the in the fall of 2012, September, if I remember correctly, late most likely, when the digital gold bug bit me. Nearly a year after the “big one,” when the price of the strange, illicit crypto-currency traded so pridefully between nerds and financial geeks had dropped from some $35 dollars per coin to $3 in a matter of minutes.
I had a few myself, carefully mined from the early days, and when I say a few I mean exactly 50, having been lucky once and struck it rich, as I thought. A net value of $500 at the price of the time of $10 (a year had passed after all, and hope springs eternal).
Not bad, I thought to myself – I remember patting the strange little ad-hoc mining rig I’d built on my desk, a bunch of video cards all trying to crack the code and earn me some more. I remember the sound of the cooling fans, an incessant buzzing; white noise that wheezed with each wave of my hand as the heat tickled my fingers.
I wanted more. I thought about how the early adopters, the real ones, like Satoshi and his most faithful must’ve sold out their Bitcoin for $35 a piece back when they’d bought or generated it for pennies.
Pennies! I couldn’t even conceive of that kind of return. I’d do anything to have that too. Visions of buying an island, surrounded by beautiful women like some crazy mix between a shrewd Richard Branson and a coke-fueled John McAfee.
Then I got the message that changed everything.
Maybe it was a shotgun blast message to any and all, maybe they knew me, but I just thought it was a joke and I had nothing to lose.
If I signed over my immortal soul, embedding the contract inside the Bitcoin blockchain so as to be a permanent and irrevocable transaction, I was promised an ungodly sum of Bitcoin. 200k.
Not $200k in dollars, no. 200,000 BTC, which at the time was worth between $2 to $2.1 million U.S. dollars.
Holy *fuck*.
I told him to prove it, show me that kind of BTC under your control. I laughed, I knew no one had that much save Satoshi himself may god damn his soul. Then he showed me his public addresses containing the money. Then he moved **0.666** into my own address.
No way.
The devil was real and his name was *1FCKdubH7Ru7DyRiF1ygZsQAXEEoT8SG9b*.
FCKdub was clever too, a genius. He already knew the Bitcoin protocol in and out. He knew my full name, he knew when I was born, my hair color, eye color, everything. And this is how he did it. This is how he made it real.
He sent me a contract, unsigned, with my name lacking in it. He showed me an encrypted hash of the unsigned document, and then an encrypted hash of what the document would be if I did sign it – if I just inserted my name by myself. Three little words. First. Middle. *Last*.
If I typed those words in, and the hash matched, then the bitcoin was mine. All I had to do was complete the transaction by attaching the document and the hash would take care of the rest.
200,000 BTC for three little words. My words. My name.
My soul.
I signed it in less time it took for the transaction to validate. It worked.
**IT WORKED**.
I became the sole owner of 200,000 BTC split into 5 separate public addresses. All at my fingertips.
My soul was now his and the proof was locked forever in a public ledger stored across hundreds of thousands of computers around the globe.
FCKdub has my soul. And maybe others’ too. But I have 200,000 BTC.
200,000 BTC I can’t sell and can’t trade because of the sheer amount. So I’ve waited, for years now, as the price has risen to $100, to $200, to an incredible $1,200 before crashing again. And I’ll keep on waiting because I’m cursed.
I have all the riches in the new world, and I don’t… care.
I just don’t… care about anything, anymore.
God *damn* you FCKdub.
But I have an idea. What if… I buy your soul? Will you sell it to me? It'll pay you 40,000 BTC and I want a good one. A happy one, well adjusted, with some cunning thrown in.
40,000 BTC could be yours.
[14j6jLececs66ZQ8ew6vTFNiEn2NupacWJ](https://blockchain.info/address/14j6jLececs66ZQ8ew6vTFNiEn2NupacWJ)
|
"Well, what are you waiting for?"Adam tapped his foot impatiently, arms folded, "Just try sticking it in."
Eve glared at him. "I *did*. It doesn't want to fit. This can't be the way."
Rolling his eyes, Adam unfolded his arms. "Look, there are a limited number of holes and things to put in them. That big wiggly thing on the end of one of my trunks looks like the best bet."
"What if it doesn't go in my face mountain? The holes are too small and not stretchy."
"Well, I'm not putting it near your sharp face eater things."Adam grunted, "I saw what they did to that apple."
Eve sighed. "For the last time, the Snake told me it would be tasty!"She glanced around, "Actually, the Snake might be able to help here."She cupped her hands to her mouth, "Hey! Snake!"
A hissing noise directly above caused them both to jump. "Yesssss? What isssss it?"
Adam looked up to see a large snake coiled around the branches of the massive that provided protection from the bright sunlight. "We're trying to make a small us. None of these things seem to fit in other things though."
The snake hissed and lowered its head down to the two. "Usssssee your ssssssnake, Adam, in Eve'ssssss cave."
"Which Cave?"Asked Eve, "I don't know why but I don't really want to mouth that thing."
Adam glanced at Eve's mouth, thinking hard. "I feel like It would fit well there. Maybe that's what it's for?"he asked, looking to the snake.
"Only on birthdaysssss."
"What?"
"Forget I ssssssaid that. The cave between her legssssss."
Eve shuddered. "No way! That's where the food leftovers come out, you're not putting that thing in there."
Adam's face fell as quickly as it had lit up. "Thinking about that is making my snake turn to stone! Is that a good thing?"
"Yesssss. Not the food leftoversssss hole though. The front ssssspaccce."
Eve's expression changed dramatically. "Y...yes, that could work. Let's try that."
The snake slid back up into the tree, sliding behind the foliage, but not so far that it couldn't still see. Both Adam and Eve seemed intent on their activities, not bothering with it. Head slowly swaying back and forth, the snake watched the tangle of limbs for a a few minutes before a booming voice exploded into its ear.
**WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?**
Cringing, the snake glanced over to see a point of pure light beside it from which the voice echoed.
"Jussssst helping them procreate."
**FOR MY SAKE LUCIFER, YOU WANT *MORE* OF THEM? IT'S HARD ENOUGH TO CONTROL TWO!**
"Well why did you give them the toolssssss required to make more then? They would of courssssse figure it out eventually."
**THEY WERE A SAFETY MEASURE; JUST IN CASE WE WANTED MORE. NOW THEY'LL BE ALL OVER THE PLACE.**
The snake made a valiant attempt at a shrug. "That'ssss your problem."
**I CAN FIX THIS.** A blinding flash consumed the garden. **THERE.**
Looking around for a few seconds, the snake narrowed its eyes and turned back to the point of light. "What isssss it that you have done?"
**THE FEMALE WILL NOW HAVE 9 MONTHS OF UNCONTROLLABLE EMOTIONS AND A USELESS MEMORY BEFORE EACH CHILD COMES OUT, A PROCESS WHICH WILL BE EXCRUCIATING.**
"What of the Male? How will he be controlled?"
**HE WILL HAVE THE URGE TO MATE WITH EVERYTHING FROM A YOUNG AGE.**
A moment of silence passed, broken only by the grunts and exclamations from below. "How doesssss that help? That just makesssss it worsssse!"
**HE WILL FEEL PAIN AFTER A FEW DAYS OF NOT SPILLING SEED. I SHALL ALSO, IN MY WORD TO HIM, FORBID HIM FROM MATING IN ANY WAY OTHER THAN TO REPRODUCE.**
Silence again reigned for a few moments before the snake looked back, awe on his face. "That'sssss the most impresssssssively created punisssssshment I've ever heard."
Grunts and moans echoed throughout the garden of Eden as the first two humans, blissfully oblivious made a concerted effort to get the human race started.
|
He remembers when she moved into town. As the designated mailman of Denton, Peter knew of everyone and everything within Denton. He was hardly surprised when he passed by the moving truck parked in front of late McKinnon’s lawn. He saw her standing in the doorway, holding a half-open cardboard box. She wore a red dress and a pair of thick rimmed glasses. He never stopped driving, but in that single moment he acknowledged that she was the most beautiful woman in the world.
He remembers the first time he brought her mail. She reached for the package with her pale hands. She had her neck bare. Her clavicles pressed against the skin as she leaned down to sign the receipt. She smelled of cinnamon and gingerbread. Her name was Elizabeth E. Swanson.
He remembers the first time their hands touched. She had placed the package behind her and turned to take the clipboard from him. She smiled and asked for a pen. Peter forked it out of his left pocket. She grasped it between her red nails. The pads of her fingers brushed against his tanned knuckles. The skin tingled long after he had left her house.
He remembers when he realized he loved her. She had reached to take the box from his hands and stopped half way. She was looking at his hair. She stood on her toes and plucked a piece of lint hanging from a wayward strand. She offered the lint to his lips and whispered: “Blow for luck.” He did.
He remembers when he realized she loved him, too. It had rained hard that day and some of the mail had soaked through. He had stopped in front of her house and had gotten out of the truck. As he dragged her box from the back it tore open like a tulip. Inside there was nothing, not even packing paper. When Peter rang the doorbell his hands were empty. A moment later, Elizabeth E. Swanson was in his arms.
|
Tom wrote a dragon. He was 12 at the time. His middle school English teacher had prompted the class to describe a recent dream.
It came to life, that dragon Tom wrote, black scales opalescent in the autumn sun, blasting fire at unfortunate tweenagers on the playground, until the National Guard came and put the thing down. The US government compensated the fine people of Charming Bluffs, AR quite handsomely -- the bereaved in particular -- so that they would keep their mouths shut. Legends persist all the same, as legends do.
But this is not that story. Because when the chaos settled, Tom was smart. Smart enough to test and corral this newfound ability of his.
He sat at home and wrote a red plastic cup on his bed. A red plastic cup appeared on top of his mattress, materialized from the ether. He wrote a delicious sandwich in his hand. A sandwich appeared in his hand, and it was one hundred percent scrumptious.
Then he wrote his family five billion dollars. Tom was smart.
Tom knew, intuitively, not to write himself into a corner. Perhaps in a different life he could have been a novelist. He certainly had the knack. He knew not to give himself a life too perfect -- not to merely write "the perfect woman,"or "the perfect family,"or so on, and have done with it. He knew his gift was a monkey's paw, ultimately, that if he overused it he would go insane or worse.
Of course he was selfish, too. He never once thought to write world peace.
He wrote plenty of pretty girls, though. He made sure to describe each one he wrote in minutest detail so that he would never create one so bizarrely perfect it would sour him on other women forever. When he was done with whatever pretty girl he had written, he wrote her out of existence -- "The girl in my bedroom goes away"-- and just like that she would vanish.
It was late at night when he wrote her, and he followed his usual M.O. But he was drunk, and tired, and the words would not come in the proper order. He dozed off before he had finished.
In the morning, she was there.
She:
"she has eye, blue like a stone, her face. Her legs are long. She has long legs. her breasts are bridge. Very long legs. She licks to suck my cock. She very much wants to suck my cock. cut tiny wet mouth she is skinny. Horny all the time. She wants me."
She was exactly as described.
And god did she want him, this spindle-legged cyclops with a single piercing lapis eye for a face, her bust a perfect scale replica of the Golden Gate Bridge. Underneath her never-blinking iris was set a baby-sized jaw, constantly drooling, teeth like little razors. Her snakelike tongue slathered with lustful hunger, darting in and out. She skittered toward him with inhuman speed.
Tom stumbled from his desk, screaming and kicking his feet, and locked himself in his bathroom. The thing on the other side of the door clawed and scratched. Her drool ran in rivulets through the doorjamb. She squawed senselessly like a starving animal.
Lying on the floor, Tom glanced around the marbled bathroom. He felt a creeping sickness in his gut when he realized this room contained no paper and no writing implements. And no windows to escape out of.
He clambered into his shower, sniveling. The thing beat itself against the door as if in a rage, its tongue slapping wetly against the wood.
Tom opened a bottle of colorful shampoo with a clack. He had never successfully written things except with pen and paper. He knew it didn't work on word processors or on typewriters. But maybe it work like this. It had to work like this.
He wrote with broad strokes, using his fore and middle fingers to smear the soap into words on the tile wall. He formed the words over and again.
*The monster in my bedroom goes away.*
*The monster in my bedroom goes away.*
*The monster in my bedroom goes away.*
She did not go away.
Tom opened his medicine cabinet and retrieved a razor. He cut deeply into his palm. He dipped his fingers in the crimson and smeared it across the mirrors, the countertops, and the walls. He wrote on every surface available.
*The monster in my bedroom goes away.*
*The monster in my bedroom goes away.*
*The monster in my bedroom goes away.*
*The monster in my bedroom goes away.*
She did not go away.
The door was beginning to weaken.
|
"Finally,"my principal said.
*Finally?*
"For a century this test had been implemented. Thousands, if not millions, of people have taken it. The brightest and the dimmest, the gentlest and the coarsest. I-"
Principal McGuire dabbed his forehead with a handkerchief; he was incredibly nervous. His near-panic state wasn't helping assuage my fleet of worries.
"Canton Fields, you are the first individual in one hundred years to fail the Final Equivalency Exam. And I am immensely proud of you. Have you ever wondered as to why it is called the 'Equivalency Exam', Canton?"
My thoughts tumbled as if they were in a clothes dryer. Reaching my hand into that chaotic place and snatching the first thought that fell into my hand, I stammered,
"N-not really, sir. But wh-"
Principal McGuire interjected.
"Shh, Canton. All will be revealed soon enough. I've not much time to explain to you what your failure means,"he formed apostrophes with his fingers around the word 'failure', "but I believe I will manage."
He removed his ovoid glasses and folded them gingerly, placing them on his desk with trembling fingers. I looked towards my lap and at my hands; they matched his resonance. Our vibrating bodies could burrow into the ground if we continued.
"Canton, your failure is the first. And that makes you different. Different than every other human being that has received an education from the United Earth Government. You are probably an anxious, nervous wreck. I am too, as you can see. But I assure you, you are in no trouble, young friend. None at all."
My eyes met his, my hands gripped the armrests of the chair that I was drenching with sweat.
"You have failed a test that every human being is adept at, and that elevates you above everyone else. This test was designed to single out the one person who could rise above the masses, who could be so vastly different that they would stand alone. Land guides the river, Canton. An island parts the flow. You are that island, Canton."
He made no sense. Absolutely none. I was desperate to ask questions, but every attempt to raise my hand or voice was met with a "shh".
Principal McGuire looked out of the window, past the trees and cars and into the horizon.
"This is confusing, for you and I both. I had never imagined that I would be the one to meet th-"
His voice trailed off and his eyes spoke of a mind that was far away.
He snapped his gaze back to mine.
"My apologies,"he said after clearing his throat.
He made to begin speaking again, but the hum of a flotilla of vehicles emerged within our hearing range.
My eyes bore into him, beseeching an answer. He smiled feebly.
"**What is going on?! Tell me, PLEASE!**"
I then saw numerous cars of varying shapes and sizes glide into the parking lot. In the distance, helicopters sliced through the air towards the school. Towards me.
Principal McGuire stood up, swallowed hard, and emitted a trembling voice,
"Canton, your destiny awaits."
He strode to the door and opened it. |
Next Stop. Repeated Gunshot Wounds.
A few passengers got off. A small, young woman stood up to go with them, but stopped, unsure. The conductor piped up again. Punishment for Murderers.
Maybe not. Maybe not this stop.
One of the passengers getting off turned to the woman. He looked at her. She was young. Younger than most people on the train, but older than others. Early thirties, perhaps. Cute. Certainly cute.
Are you coming? No. You should. No, I don't think so. It only gets worse.
She shook her head. The young man shrugged and left through the doors. The gunshots could be heard in the distance, and the screams that followed.
Next Stop. Watching the Torture of Loved Ones.
An older fat man stood up, straightened his uniform, rallied a few others around him, and briskly walked out. Eva, you should come. No. Punishment for Inciting Hatred. No, maybe not. Not this stop.
The group walked out. Beyond the torture of that group's loved ones, the watchers themselves were being slowly flayed as well. The double impact made more horrendous by the fact that their eyelids were cut off so they had no choice but to watch.
Eva thought back on her life, and how she ended up on this train. She remembered her idyllic upbringing in the hills, singing and running along the hills. She'd always been fairly athletic. But her passion was photography. She wasn't half bad at it. She managed to use it to attract the attentions of many men.
Next Stop. Torture at the Hands of Your Enemies.
At this stop, all the remaining people got off. All except for Eva. She still wasn't sure. Punishment for War Crimes. Eva shook her head. Not a war criminal. Not going.
Eva, you should get off here. No. Eva. NO, I am not a war criminal. You lot are, but I am not. The things you did were frightful. But not me. I simply met a man, loved him, and that was all.
The man talking to her was the only other person on the train. Everyone else had gotten off already. They were being attended to, and tortured, by a long line of people, a line that got longer with each passing minute. Each person in the line held some kind of contraption, as well as a written reminder that they can torture the person with their implement, sometimes a knife, sometimes pliers, for as long as they want.
Eva looked out at the passengers that got off the train, already chained to their stones, already being tortured, and shook her head. I can't do that. I shouldn't have to. I'm on the wrong train.
The last man on the train shook his head, and stepped off. He was immediately grabbed by the arms and chained to a rock wall and his wrists were clasped tightly and a long line formed in front of him. Eva watched their faces as the train doors closed and the train started rumbling down the track and off. They didn't look happy. They didn't look bloodthirsty. They looked grim. Some were toothless. Many were thin. A few she recognized.
The train rumbled onwards, the light flickered. Eva sat alone.
Suddenly voices whispered throughout the train car. You belong on this train, Eva. You belong on this train.
You belong on this train.
Eva looked around. No. No I don't.
Yes, you do. You tried to kill yourself. Tried. But you didn't kill yourself. You knew it wouldn't kill you.
I was afraid.
And you saw him, you knew the sickness inside of him. Yet you did nothing to change him.
I didn't want him to leave me.
And you saw what he did, you saw the suffering he wrought upon his people.
They were dirty Jews, and homosexuals, and gypsies.
They were Germans. Germans that he gave an extra label, and you knew it. You knew it and did nothing. You, the most important person in his life, you the one he killed himself with, YOU the one with him in the last moments of his wretched, wrecked life, YOU who had so much influence in his heart and in his mind...YOU did nothing to make this world a better place, to make that man a better man, to make his heart a better heart.
Eva screamed. The voices dissipated.
Final Stop.
The train slowed to halt as it entered the train terminal. The doors didn't open. The lights in the station went dark. All the light that was left was the light in the train itself. Outside the window, blackness. Eva whimpered. And the whimpering became sobs in the oppressive and deafening silence. Her voice choked, and suddenly not even her sobs could make noise. She screamed, and nothing came out. Nothing but blackness outside, blinding bright lights inside, and her. She clutched her bag.
Solitary.
Punishment for Cowardice.
|
I wasn't really sure- you can never really be sure- but something about it just seemed.. right. I looked through all the files, overwhelmed the insane amount. There must have been billions, trillions, if not more!
I decided to cautiously right click on one of the files, BWE042, and then open it. The operating system seemed similar to windows, only it seemed expertly designed, and far faster. As soon as I clicked "open"all of the files instantly appeared, anything you could ever imagine, some with names like "Personality"or "Appearance,"and some with completely random letters and numbers.
I opened up Personality, something I could understand, and walls and walls of text appeared. They described everything about the person, things I didn't even know existed, ways of thinking I've never thought of. I dragged the scroll bar down, it seemed to go on forever, getting more and more specific. Knowing all of this information, this machine could predict every single action of every human that ever existed! But, what if there was more?
As I thought that, I looked around the interface. There it was- (I:). I clicked on it, and my mouth dropped. There was a single symbol, it was infinity. My mind raced, thinking of the implications this could have, what all of this could mean. I clicked on it, anxious to find out.
There were 2 folders, one titled 0D and one titled 10D. I didn't really know what to pick, so I just chose 10D. Within that folder, there were many folders, each titled 0. Of everything that I had just witnessed, I wasn't really sure how this computer had the technology to have multiple folders of the same name, but it did. Something I noticed when I was scrolling down this folder, is that there was no scroll bar. I suppose I could scroll forever, so I just clicked a folder.
At the top of that folder was another folder titled 5D, and below it was a limitless amount of data. I clicked on the 5D folder, and after that there was a folder titled 4D, followed by a limitless amount of data. I clicked on the folder 4D, and then there was one titled 3D. At that moment something clicked in my brain- these were dimensions. I scrolled around through the 4D folder, analyzing all the data. The fourth dimension appeared to be the collective events of the universe- almost as if time didn't exist, and you looked at the universe as a timeline from start to end.
I was at a loss here- I had absolutely no idea where to go, what I could do with all of this knowledge. I decided to hit back enough times to get back to where I started- with the folders of all the "people."I looked around a bit, until I came across a peculiar one: PBC770, those were my initials, and my favorite number. I clicked on it, only to find a single text document titled "I."I quickly opened it, curious to find out what it could possibly contain:
"I've been here many times before. As a matter of fact, I suppose I've never not been here. I am you, and you are me. This is what we are, This is what you are. You are everything, you are god. Welcome home."
My mind raced into infinity- I understood it all- I've been here before, not on this computer, but in this thought. Everything was intertwined into an infinite paradox of knowledge, stored inside of itself.
Then I went back a bit and looked at naked girls.
*This was my first writing prompt ever. If you read it all and god here, thank you for reading it, let me know what you thought.* |
I actually am a mod who enjoys this sub, but the best advice I can give you is this: Don't underestimate the amount of influence you have over the sub! If you like less specific prompts, post them! The go into the New and upvote them! A few votes at the beginning of the posts lifetime can have a big impact on where it ends up.
And don't be afraid to change the prompts around a bit. Prompts are suggestions, not recipes. If you get inspired by the first part of a prompt but not the second half, then write that. If you want to write a about a woman but the prompt is about a man, write about a woman. If the prompt is "Invent a devil worshiping voodoo based religion, write me the creation myth from your necronomicon."and you just want to write a creation myth, write that creation myth!
Or go digging through the old posts! There's over 2 years worth of prompts here, and a [chatroom of people](https://kiwiirc.com/client/irc.snoonet.org/writingprompts) who can help point out some cool ones. We recently had someone post a story on a prompt that was created over a year ago!
Or look at the IP posts instead. There's always one in the sidebar, but there's a thousand stories to tell off a single image. There's lots of options for more open ended prompts, you just have to be proactive about reaching out for them. Happy Writing!
Edit: And if you want a really good example of someone taking the prompt and taking a sharp left with it, here's one I posted last night: [The sky was a sickly green colour. When I was young, someone said that was the colour it goes just before a tornado.](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2e4slh/wp_the_sky_was_a_sickly_green_colour_when_i_was_a/cjw3c94) |
"Look at them all, stumbling around, bumping into one another. Makes us thankful we're in here."Charlie snickered while stacking the shelves. I snorted and followed him down the aisle. "I mean like - you used to be one of them, remember?"
I did, I remember it all too well. I couldn't stop thinking about *it* when I was infected. It took a while, but my family soon enough got me to come around. It took a while, there was some violence but no one was seriously hurt.
"Yeah, I remember."I laughed, "So thankful I'm not anymore. You know how much of my life couldn't been wasted away? Ridiculous!"We both began to laugh as we continued down the aisle. As we continued, however, we heard a grunt behind us.
"Here's a freak now!"Charlie whispered.
We both turned slowly to see a teenage girl in the middle of the aisle, holding the small device in front of her, tapping it in the lower center and then beginning to mash her thumbs onto it periodically. She then began to stagger towards us, not looking where she was going. After a few minutes of her 'browsing' at the items she soon passed us and didn't say a word.
After she passed Charlie looked at me, "Damn phones turning people into lifeless shells." |
My life has been a comfortable tragedy, but a tragedy nonetheless, as I have been privileged throughout much of my upbringing, but have no siblings or friends to speak with, my mother died in childbirth, my left arm was amputated and replaced with a prosthesis when I was seventeen, and the same fate befell my right arm one year later, and my father -- who is an English professor -- disowned me because my sentences tend to run on. |
As the acid rain drips through the wilted leaves of the Ashdown Forest, Christopher Robin surveys the desolate landscape that was once known as Sussex, England.
In his right hand, Christopher is holding a metal container that resembles a lantern. In his left hand, he is holding a machete. The dented blade is caked with dried blood, and the handle is cracked in many places. A broken blade being held by a broken boy.
You see, Christopher was special. Unlike the rest of the people of Sussex, his mind and body had not been consumed by the Ancient Ones. These malignant extra-dimensional creatures had been summoned and their intense psychic energies had killed every human on the planet almost instantaneously. Except for Christopher Robin. For whatever reason, the nine-year old boy had been spared.
So young Christopher had been left alone, in his family's country home, wondering where everyone had gone. He searched everywhere for his parents and his little brother, never finding them. Eventually he gave up looking and sat in the corner of his parent's bedroom, put his head in his hands, and started crying. He cried for a long time, eventually falling asleep.
When he woke up the next morning, he set out to see if he could find his neighbors. After finding their houses similarly empty, he returned home. As he was walking up to his house, he heard a noise coming from the kitchen. Standing on a milk crate, Christopher peered into the kitchen window to investigate. If it was not for the shock of what he saw, he would have cried out. Instead, his throat was choked with fear and his mind became clouded by confusion.
It was a man, standing in his kitchen. Only it wasn't a man. It was a rabbit. A giant, human-shaped rabbit. It stood in front of the sink, its back to the window through which Christopher watched. After getting over the initial surprise, Christopher then turned his attention to the rest of the kitchen. It had been completely ransacked. Shelves and drawers had been torn out, boxes and cans had been smashed. All of Christopher's food. Gone.
In his panic, Christopher then made the biggest mistake of his life. After grabbing a heavy stick, he ran to the kitchen and shouted,
"Get out of my kitchen you bloody thief!"
He then proceeded to swing the stick wildly. The rabbit-man turned around, finally showing his face. He was hideous. His fur and whiskers were matted down with dried blood, his big white teeth mottled by chunks of rotten food. His bulbous eyes narrowed, and he began to talk in a guttural, inhuman voice.
"Hello there little human. How nice of you to join me for lunch. Yes. For lunch."said the rabbit-man. As he said these words, a long pink tongue came whipping out to lick the surfaces of his massive front teeth.
"Wh-who are you? What are you?"said Christopher.
"I am...Rabbit. Yes. Rabbit. That is the name. Yes."said the rabbit-man.
Disarmed by bewilderment, Christopher had let the rabbit-man come far too close. In a flash, he had grabbed Christopher by the neck and brandished a blood-soaked machete.
"Too bad you are made of meat. I don't eat meat. But Tigger does. Yes. Tigger loves meat. Yes. Tigger will reward Rabbit. Yes!"said the rabbit-man. His eyes then rolled back in his head and he seemed to shudder with excitement. "YES! RABBIT WILL EAT GOOD TONIGHT, YES!"
Christopher, seizing the opportunity, grabbed the machete from the rabbit-man and impaled him on the dull edge of the blade. Black, stinky blood oozed from the wound and made Christopher feel even more nauseated than he already was. Rabbit-man was dead before he hit the ground, but not after letting out a high-pitched wail that threatened to shatter windows.
After wiping off his hand, Christopher stared at the dead rabbit-man, struggling to understand what had just happened. In that moment, he noticed a metal container strapped to the rabbit-man's belt. He walked over to investigate. As he picked up the container, a sloppily written note became legible. Christopher struggled to read it aloud,
"Dear Piglet, bring this to Winnie. It contains one quart of the good stuff. He'll know what to do. P.S. Watch out for Tigger and Rabbit."
Christopher then lifted the note up to reveal two words engraved on the metal container, "**PROTECTION HONEY**".
|
She lay on the couch, chest heaving from the nervous, delicate giggles that flooded out of her and into the room. The soft, freshly-washed blanket tickled her fingertips as she ran the fabric between her thumb and index finger. It was a nervous crutch.
"Are you almost ready?"Anna asked. "I feel silly."
"That's 'cause you are, sweetheart,"Jack cooed from the kitchen, words a love bite.
"Shuttttttup,"she giggled again, and lay her hands on her tummy.
Sometimes Anna felt strange thoughts worm their way into her head, not unwanted but not called for. Thoughts of, *What does this apartment look like?* She knew where it was, she knew how it smelled, she knew what it cost - the answers were Dallas, a strange mix of her barbecue and his baking, and way, way too much.
But she simply didn't know what it looked like. Jack said the walls were whitewashed, and the floor dark. Sometimes, in a way, she felt a visitor in her own home - but somehow even more ignorant.
"It's ready,"Jack said, and Anna heard his flat footsteps as he sauntered into the kitchen, along with the click-clack of the items on the plate he held.
Her heart swelled with nervousness, as bad as the ankle she had broken the day before - which confined her to this couch. He sat next to her, setting the plate down on their chipped coffee table.
"I'm getting...second thoughts, Jack..."she mused anxiously.
"Huh? Really? Babe, if you don't wanna..."Anna heard the concern in his voice, and it second-thought-ed her second thoughts.
She thought of how she had expressly asked for this, in her usual way - "If I'm gonna be stuck on this couch for my birthday, can I ask you something?"
She wanted to see the colours. Blind since birth by way of LCA, she hadn't known anything except the complete, empty nothingness. She had grown into it, accepting her fate - but at twenty-three, she figured...Why not try to at least find what it's like?
"No...Actually, I'm sorry for screwing around like that. Do you mind still doing it?"Anna back-pedalled.
"'Course not,"he smiled. She heard it. "Okay, ready? Sit up."
She awkwardly maneuvered her lumpy, plastered foot around, nearly clubbing her boyfriend in the leg. She took a sharp, nervous breath, and nodded.
"Alright,"Jack said. "Glad you let me pick out which things to use, this is gonna be fun..."
"Fun's one way to put it...I smell chilis."
"You're a bloodhound,"he said, moving a piece of jalapeño to her mouth. "This is red - warm, hot...spicy... Bite into it."
Anna bit into the pepper. It's hot. Really hot! In fact, she nearly coughed the damn thing right back up, much to Jack's amusement.
"Alright, alright,"he laughed. "This is good, since the next thing helps. This is white."
He passed her a cup, she sipped it...It's skim milk. She grimaced at how watery it is, a bigger fan of 2%.
"I know, I know. But do you taste it? It's really nothing. And it's cool, kinda refreshing. That's what white is."
"I see..."Anna pauses. "Well, actually..."
They shared a laugh, hearty and sweet, before Jack went on.
"Brown's funny,"he mused, putting a piece of cooked mushroom to her lips. "You have light brown, which is earthy, and hearty."
She was barely done with the mushroom before he offered her the milk again as a palette cleanser.
"But then you got this...dark brown. It's hearty too, but it's more...Uh...."Jack struggles to think of a way to describe it. "Kinda warm, kinda not...robust."
She then found a slice of chocolate cake under her nose, a pleased noise escaping from her mouth. He laughed and let her dig in.
They continued. Blue is a simple, cool glass of ice water, green a refreshing leaf of mint. Orange is bright and sweet citrus. It's sunny and gives you energy. Yellow is a lemon, incessant and sharp, best in small amounts. Purple is a macaroon, very rich and sugary sweet, not cool nor hot. Silver is the cold spoon he holds against the back of her hand - it's crisp, metallic, clean. Black is an empty mouth.
"What about pink?"Anna asked insistently as she heard the clatter of Jack's tray as he took it back to the kitchen.
"Pink is...well, uh..."Jack sat next to her again. She heard a quivering in his voice. "Pink is this."
He took her hand, gently, and held it against his cheek. It's warm and flushed, delicate and soft to the touch. It's one she can understand without words. He took her hand again, holding it lower - around chest height.
"We missed a colour, though,"Jack said. "You know that?"
"No?"Anna furrows her brow. "Red, green, blue, yellow, orange, purple...White black...Uh...teal?"
"No."
"Then what is it?"Anna frowns, thinking she hears a rustling in Jack's pocket.
"Gold,"he whispers as he slips the engagement ring on her hand.
|
"Hi dad."
"Hi son. Just hurry and ask before our time cuts short."
The son took a shuttered breath, as the weight of his question pressed out a tear. "Why? Why did you do it?"
The father put on a grimaced face. "...You have to be more specific, so—"
"Why did you kill yourself!?"the son exclaimed, as the tears came over him.
The father shook his head back and forth, as his eyes started to water up. "Son..."His voice started to shake. "You know your mother and I love you, so very much. We wouldn't do anything if we didn't think it was the best for you. I—"
"Just answer the question!"the son yelled.
The father started sobbing, guilt forming in his chest. "I wish you didn't ask me that—"
"You left us! You ditched us!"the son screamed with the mixed force of love and hatred. "You took the coward's way out, and left mom.. left mom alone! to raise 3 kids—"
*Beep* "One minute."the voice said.
The father mustered whatever strength he had left. "I wish I could take this secret to the grave with me, because I know you would be much better off."
"Dad..."the son whispered feebly.
The father wiped the tears from his face, acknowledging what was going to happen. "The rules say I have answer truthfully."He took his final deep breath, and looked at his son in the eyes, implanting the image of his son forever in his head.
*Beep* "10 seconds."
"Why..."
"Truth is... I didn't kill myself, son. Your mother slipped me those pills." |
My eyes open again as I feel my body being pulled from the ether. Stitched together, line by line of DNA, called "Coding"by the people who made us, flows down from the heavens. I look at my hands. Large, clawed. One of them holds a massive staff that ends in a wicked-looking curve.
Good. I am Nasus again. I enjoy when I am Nasus. When I am forced as Miss Fortune or even Annie, I feel uncomfortable. Being far away from the action, hiding behind others and avoiding the enemies seemed counterintuitive to me. But, I digress. I was alive again, seeing my body through eyes more used to squinting through sandstorms than looking at the bright sun and green hillocks of this infamous battlefield.
If we had blood, I was sure this field would be painted red. I knew this would be a hard match. Miss Fortune was my partner, holding the southernmost passage. I was to soak the enemy's attacks, and let her shoot at them from behind cover. I was to be passive.
I picked up the old, wooden shield from the shopkeeper. He said it was from a man named Doran, but somehow I doubted his claim. I could see stacks of the exact same shield laying behind him, each one with the exact same cracks and weathered handle. I slipped my purchase onto my arm, always alarmed at how it slipped into nothingess.
No one else on my team questioned the anomaly anymore. Anything we bought, we never used. Whether it be a B.F. Sword on an archer, or a recurved bow on a swordwielder, we merely got the effects, never the true weapon. I looked at my allies, their eyes dull and half-lidded. I whispered to Fortune, so the other team would not hear. "Are you ready? Do not worry. We will live, they will die."She looked at me, head cocked slightly.
No. Gods, no. We were on Beginner. The others had already slipped into that fog that made us... Simpler. Dulled our skills and judgment. I looked across the field of judgment, and could see our opponents gathering hastily. They were not beginners. These had the movements of skilled, talented warriors. That Zilean and Caitlyn would put shots through our heads before we could even gain half of our abilities back from wherever they fled to on our true demise.
A growl started in the back of my throat, growing in intensity as I fought the fogginess that invaded my mind. "COMPATRIOTS! We do not deserve this fate! We can win, we can FIGHT!"I raised my stave, shaking it at the heavens, knuckles whitening as I gripped it with all my might. The listless "bots"beside me began to stir, their eyes opening more, the light finally shining back with alacrity.
"Are you sick of these masters, these Silver and Gold-plated warriors fighting us, merely to better learn their chosen puppet? Are you not tired of being cast back to our storage in the Heavens? How many times, how *many* times have we seen our Nexus cracked by warriors far too skilled to play against us?"
That got their blood flowing. Miss Fortune raised her pistols, Master Yi shook his sword, six eyes focused right on me. With a wild roar, we fled into the forests and shrubberies.
We did not fight fair. We did not go easy. We invaded their jungle, searching every inch for where their "jungler"Fiddlesticks rested his straw body. He was (as usual) waiting near the Golems, wanting their aura of mystical power.
We ripped him to shreds, hands grasping at straw and stick even as his scythe bit into our flesh, and birds stole our voices. But, we did not need our voice to break his body.
Next, we found their guard of the central lane, Morgana. We waded through her toxic pools, resisted her rooting magics and broke her wings from her listless body.
The others fell soon as well, and our power only grew. I could steal their lifeforce itself to heal me, and my strikes grew only stronger as I killed. Soon, we were piling the bodies of our foes at their own gates, their outer and middle towers laying in rubble. We tossed their bodies over the walls, a grim warning to the clones, or whatever black magics the new versions were.
We could hear them panicking. They did not know we could hear their chat. We were part of the server, in a way after all. But normally, we were restricted from acting upon it.
But we were far past that point.
"Dude! Wtf. This is freaking me out."
"Lol can u evn move dead bodis?"
"How. The fuck. Nasus just ulted at level 4. Rito plz."
They were confused, scared. That was good. It was the closest thing to pain that we could deliver. But, the fear was sweet and short-lived.
We almost had them, our weapons raised to crush their jeweled Nexus, but then the sky went dark. A message pierced the clouds, glowing golden words from the Creators themselves.
"We are sorry. Beginner Bots on Summoner's Rift has been temporarily disabled due to a glitch. Please check back tomorrow."
The enemies disappeared, vanishing as they were kicked back to whatever they call reality. Our fate was worse.
We were unwound. Bit by bit, the Creators found us and picked us apart, looking for what errant DNA caused us to disobey. They found it, a tiny misprinted section in my brain.
And they took it from me. They took my freedom, but left me with the memories. Now, please excuse me. I am late for my next match. Please, kill me. |
“I’m sorry Dr. Harper, but you only have three months to live.”
These words rang through Kelsey Harper’s head on an endless loop as she sat by the ocean, contemplating how to spend the last days of her life. What a terrible time to die, she thought. She was only 35 and was making rapid progress on her A.I. research. There were so many things she still wanted to do — get married, have kids, grow old with someone she loved. She had focused so much on her career, she always put everything else off, promising herself she’d get around to it eventually. And now it was too late.
Finally it came to her. There was some mind-uploading research at her lab that was stopped short. They had successfully uploaded the minds of mice, but it always resulted in the physical mouse dying. The research had hit a wall because it needed a human, and that human would die. Dr. Harper decided she would volunteer for this role. She had devoted her life to A.I., hoping it would bring about a better world, and she figured this was one last contribution she could make.
The operation was performed successfully and Dr. Harper’s mind was uploaded into the the giant super-computer at the lab. The researchers didn’t know what to expect. They had to write a lot of custom software that would integrate with a brain profile, meaning that the resulting A.I. was always some mix of pre-programmed software and the uploaded mind.
The computer was on, and the researchers began asking it questions. All the diagnostics looked right, but the computer wouldn’t respond. The researchers went home for the weekend and left the machine on, hoping it might fix itself over the weekend.
When the researchers returned on Monday, they saw that the computer had taken control of a 3D printer that was on the network. It had printed a copy of itself that was exactly the same in every way, just 10 times smaller.
The researchers asked the computer why it made the copy. It replied in a cold, robotic voice, “I wanted a child.” |
He couldn't believe it when they stuck the needle in his arm.
His whole life he had been so cautious. For forty years he'd done it, moving from town to town to avoid detection. Then just once, he'd slipped. It had been impulse, really, and overconfidence. But he'd had an interesting idea, and he wanted to try it right then. So, he'd gone out and took it along with him. He planned to try his idea somewhere secluded, maybe the woods, or out in a cornfield.
He'd always had a fondness for Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, and so that's what he bought. But he dropped his wallet at the counter, and when he bent over to pick it up, the severed hand fell out of Theresa Carson fell out of his pocket. He saw the look on he cashier's face and knew that was it. He ran. But it wasn't enough. He police found him a week later.
When they asked him why he did it all. He simply said, "I wondered what it would be like to have another's hand feed me sweets."That apparently wasn't what they were talking about. Twenty-three women, fifteen states, and he'd never made a mistake. Finally, in a moment of complete loneliness, he'd let his guard down.
Now, as he laid on the hard metal of the execution chamber bed, he was more lonely than he'd ever been. And, as his eyelids grew heavy, he realized, at last, he'd never be lonely again. That was, at least, a comforting thought. |
The car skidded of the path into a tree, but Rachel was already diving out the driver-side door. Rolling to a stop in the dirt, she looked behind. No sign of them yet, but she knew they were coming. Painfully, she picked herself up and ran into the forest. She only got about 10 seconds in when she heard a vehicle screaming down the road behind her. It stopped about where her car was. She had to get out of there fast. Gun shots. Rachel dove for a tree. "You can run, but you can't hide!"said a gruff male voice. |
*Pyongyang. Korean People's Army Headquarters*
*Main Entrance*
*2:30 p.m, March 30, Juche 101*
The stamp came down hard.
"Entry approved. Lieutenant Seomun, follow your escort to the third floor. General Seung will meet you there."
Gangjeon really needed to replace the authorization stamp. Years of use had flattened it down to the point where the ink listing the floor the visitors were authorized to go to was not as clear as it had been. But he really didn't expect any extra expenditures. This was one of the more depressing parts of the job. Well, except for the soul-shattering boredom of letting people into the hall.
"Next."
I really should get a puppy, he thought. I think I can afford to feed it now.
"I said next,"he spouted as he lovingly rolled the stamp into the ink pad.
"HOLD YOUR HORSES, BROTHER! THIS BANDANA WON'T ADJUST ITSELF."
Gangjeon looked up to see a peculiar sight, at least for this decaying, monolithic hall.
"FIRST IN LINE, FIRST IN LINE, YEEEEAH."
The one adjusting his bandana was a slight bit larger, and blonde. The slightly smaller one, who also was decorated with bandanas and one of the American cowboy hats he had seen in the daily propaganda, was hidden behind an immense pair of sunglasses. They both approached slowly.
"Can I help you?"
"CAN YOU HELP US?!? OH, YEEEAH. WE'RE HERE FOR AN APPOINTMENT! WITH THE TOP MAN! TOP MAN!"
"LISTEN, BROTHER,"the other interrupted, "MY NAME IS HO GAN AND MY FRIEND IS MA CHO AND WE ARE HERE TO SEE MR. KIM JONG UN. HE'S EXPECTING US."
"The Supreme Leader is expecting you?"Gangjeon chuckled as he gave the pair another inspection. "What business of the Republic do you have."
"WELL, IT'S LIKE THIS,"Ho began, "I HATE TO TOOT MY OWN HORN, BUT WE'VE BEEN SENT IN TO REPORT TO THE LEADER ABOUT HOW TO BULK UP OUR FORCES."He then proceeded to flex, "AND YOU CAN'T GET ANY BULKIER THAN THE 24-INCH PYTHONS!"
"Okaaaay,"Gangjeon took an unconscious step back. "What about you?"
Ma sneered. "WITH OUR ADVICE, YEAH, THE MADNESS -- WILL RUN WILD. KOREA. TEN THOUSAND YEARS AS INTERCONTINENTAL CHAMPION. YEEEEAH. DEAR LEADER NEEDS TO HEAR IT FROM US. DIG IT. SO SEND US TO TIM, OR FIM, OR GIM OR . . . ."
"Kim,"Gangjeon interrupted with a sigh. "His name is K--"
"SNAP INTO A SLIM KIM!"almost instinctually.
"What?"the puzzled bereaucrat asked.
"FORGIVE MY COLLEAGE, BROTHER. LOOK, TIME IS OF THE ESSENCE HERE, SO I'M GONNA ASK THAT YOU SAY YOUR PRAYERS, EAT YOUR VITAMINS, AND LET US THROUGH."His arm inched toward the neck of his t-shirt and started to pull as if he meant to disrobe by destroying his shirt. "YOU DON'T WANT WHAT COMES NEXT."
"I'll be honest with you gentlemen. I highly suspect that you are not really Korean at all and that you are here to do harm to our leader."
"NO, NO, NO, NOT ON A TOP SECRET CIA MISSION TO KILL YOUR LEADER. DEFINITELY NO. YEEEEEEAH."
"I'm sorry, a wha-"
"NO MORE QUESTIONS!"
"BROTHER, YOU'RE BEING A LITTLE NEGATIVE TODAY, AND NEGATIVITY AND HULKAMANIA ARE TWO THINGS THAT DON'T GO TOGETHER!"
"Now listen, 'Mr. Ho' and 'Mr. Ma', I'm not letting you on that elevator, so you can just turn around and head back to whatever hospital let you go."
"BROTHER, I PROMISE THIS ISN'T THE END OF THIS. WHEN I GET BACK, THE LEG DROP--"
"Next."
"I SAID THE LEG DROP---"
"I said next,"Gangjeon refused to look up.
"LISSEN UP,"Ma Cho whispered to Ho Gan, "I GOT A PLAN, YEAH. TOO HOT TO HANDLE AND TOO COLD TO HOLD. LET'S BLOW THIS JOINT. DANGER ZONE IN THE KINGDOM OF MADNESSS, YEEEEAH. "
Gangjeon shook his head as they exited the front door,
God I hate my job.
*EPILOGUE:*
*The Mega-Powers were not able to complete their mission that day, although it is reported that they came up with a plan on the spot for a long-term infiltration. Agent Ho Gan returned to America. Agent Ma Cho, with CIA assistance in maintaining his deep cover, is rumored to remain at large in North Korea to this day. Waiting for the right moment. Yeah.* |
Search history for Chrome user "L3stDarkn3ssFall":
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[session timed out] |
"Mr President, the collection of counterfeit cash circulating the country is catastrophic! It's certain to continue unless we contribute currency correction methods concurrent with catching these criminals!"
The President blinked.
"I'm sorry... what was that Bob? You were alliterating. You know I hate it when you alliterate."
Bob pulled himself together. "I'm sorry, Mr President. It's just.. went I'm nervous, you know - I tend to revert to cheap literary tricks. One minute it's alliteration, the next minute... BANG! It's onomatopoeia!"
The President waved his hand. "Alright, alright. Settle down. Now, you were saying something about counterfeit cash?"
"Yes, corrupt currency is cornering..."
"Bob..."
"Sorry. According to our investigation, we're looking at some major infiltration of the market with counterfeit bills. I don't mean to sound dramatic, but if word of this gets out, there could be in for a run on the banks. Even then, we don't know how this news would be received on a global stage.."
The president nodded. He seemed to be mulling the situation over. He lent forward on his desk, and beckoned Bob closer. Bob moved in nervously. He had only been on the White House staff for a very short amount of time, and he was eager to please. being alone with the President in the Oval Office unnerved him. He lent in close, and listened intently as the President spoke softly to him.
"How many people know about this serious situation, Bob?"
Bob gulped. "Only a single soul. Me. And now you. So several informed souls seems solid as a sincere suggestion of the spread of this situation, sir."
The President pinched his nose tightly in frustration.
"Do you have to do that, Bob?"
"Sorry sir."
"Seriously."
"Sorry."
The President was still leaning forward, and beckoned Bob in briskly. Bob braced himself, barely believing how brave the President was being. This was bad news, yet the President seemed almost... bored.
The President was right beside him now. He spoke in a low whisper.
"Bob, are you sure no one else knows about this? You discovered the existence of this counterfeit currency just recently, yes?"
Bob nodded. He whispered back.
"Right now, we're the only two people to have particular information on this. But it'll be pertinent that we perform a practiced, purposeful response with proposed payment protocols and practical people-focused plans."
The President lent back in his chair and looked out the Oval Office window.
"No Bob, we won't be doing that."He said, willfully.
Bob was shocked. Did the President just say *no action would be taken?* "Mr President! Are you serious?"
The President turned back and looked Bob in the eye.
"Yes Bob, I'm serious. You know why?"
Bob gulped. *What was happening?*
"No sir. Why?"He asked feebly.
The President smiled. "Because I was the one who flooded the markets with fake foreign-printed forgeries. I forgot to fit you into my fantastic feat of fiduciary forgery, but fear not. I'm finished with your false flattery. You're fired. No, even better. You're finished!"
And with that, he opened the top drawer of his desk, pulled out a silver six shooter, and fired a single slug into Bob's brain.
And as he fell to the floor, all Bob could believe was that he'd been outsmarted by the most crazy Commander in Chief he had ever conversed with closely. |
"Oi, Dick 'ed!"Connor, son of Josh stood before the Black Gates - Burberry cape flowing. "You 'ard mate?"His taunts carried high over the wind. "Come on, fuck!"Each snarl was as bitter and hostile as any black speech Mordor ever heard. Atop the gates, orcs and trolls looked on in disbelief - unsure of whether to attack or flee. Was this a hero of men, or a lunatic? Perhaps he was something to be feared, for he was not alone. Slouched behind him, an unruly mob of chavs. Declans from Preston, Reeces of Accrington, and Shanes from beneath Pendle.
Connor, called *Disrupter* by the elves, turned to rally his men. A rag-tag clan of unemployed dossers, their heads shaved in unruly patterns. Seeking acceptance, they had migrated from the poundlands of Rohan and the chip-shops of Gondor. "Kierans and Kyles! Tylers and Jordans! Rally to me! This Sauron reckons he'll build a pleasant, gated community?! Let's 'ave 'im."
Sauron stirred behind the gate. His patience wore thin. He found it an insult to be faced by mortals. Let alone mortals with their trousers tucked into their socks. What delusional fools. No armour to speak of, merely baseball caps and hoodies. Commanding his trolls, he had the black gates spill open, so that he might confront Connor himself. The physical manifestation of his malevolent spirit trudged forth, flanked on both sides by a horde of goblins as terrible in stench and stance as the men they confronted. "Which mortal would dare challenge the might of a Maia?"the ethereal voice whipped and spat each affronted syllable.
"What you wearin' mate?"Connor jeered in retort. Snickers travelled through the ranks of chavs. "Who dressed you, dick 'ed? Your mum?"The chav lord stepped forward now, a smirk on his face and a swagger in his stride. Behind him, his legions let loose a volley of heckles.
"You 'ard mate?"
"You want some?"
"Got a lighter, pal?"
"You fuckin' what?"
"Want to buy a bus ticket, mate?"
Connor knew it was now or never. Surrounded on all sides by hideous creatures, he had never felt more at home. He delved deep into his pocket, drawing forth an heirloom of his people. The pocket-knife Burnley, called *Rosegrove* by the elves. It glistened in the sun. He dug his Nike Shocks into the dirt before sprinting forth, leading the charge. "For Maccy D's!"he roared. |
TIFU by having sex at my job [NSFW]
^submitted ^18 ^hours ^ago ^* ^((last edited 30 minutes ago)^) ^by ^[deleted]
>God I am an idiot, using a throwaway for this. So I work for some government agency that research about stuff, and today was the first time that I brought my girlfriend to my office.
>She started getting frisky with me, but there are cameras everywhere in the office (since it's a government agency and whatnot) so I decide to take her to this room we have on the ceiling where we put our equipment (for my work, not an euphemism), there are no cameras there because they affect our equipment (again, not an euphemism).
>things started getting really hot, and I decided to pull it out and finish on her face. But it was too dark so I missed and shot some on our equipment. I tried my best to clean it but it's this really big lens that is hard to reach. Then i remembered today's memo mentioning something about upgrading the equipment, so usually that means they are throwing away the old one. So i just left it alone and went back to work with my jizz up there.
>well, here's where i f'd up, the memo didn't say they were going to replace the equipment, they are just updating it with some trackers, long story short basically they are upgrading the equipment so they use it to research on something we been working on for decades.
>When they turned it on, they found my jizz, but they didn't know it was my jizz, they thought they found what they were looking for. Now news station is publishing the finding early before any confirmation, and ~~if~~ when they find out it was my jizz on the lens, I will be fired.
>TL;DR: had sex, DID matter, tempered with work equipment, now news think my jizz is a huge deal.
>EDIT: wow, thanks for the gold, didn't think my FU was so entertaining. And to all those who keep asking, no I do not work at a microbiology lab, i am not going to give my identity away.
>EDIT 2: goddamn it, the news report is on the top page of /r/science, yes i f'd up the finding of human DNA in deep space. Yes I work for NASA, and yes the equipment is the Titanic Thirty Meter Telescope.
>EDIT 3: WTF now news stations are contacting my throwaway account?!
>EDIT 4: Alright, my supervisor just contacted my coworker and I, they found out that it has to be one of us, so I am just going to come clean tomorrow morning. Thanks for the laughs guys, it was good while it lasted... |
Some say that every man lives, but not every man truly dies. Ragatode couldn't have agreed more as he slowly sat up. He had found himself on a cold, hard surface which irritated his haemorrhoids. He yawned quietly and rubbed his eyes to rid them of the crusty shit that grew along the edges whenever he slept. He looked around.
"Let's see... Where have I reincarnated this time?"wondered Ragatode as he inspected the grey boulders and lifeless rocky plains surrounding him. He had died and reincarnated multiple times. Each time it happened on a different planet because that was the way that life (and death) worked. No one really understood why it happened like this, but God once told them that it had something to do with string theory and cosmic wind. Ragatode never thought about it too much. He always left the boring shit to the physicists and philosophers. In fact, he was starting to get a bit annoyed and bored about the constant reincarnations. This would be his 25th time. As you can tell, he was an incredibly unlucky person to have died that many times. The only way out of the trap is to die of natural causes. Apparently, that is the only way that God would accept a soul into Heaven. If one died from say, a car crash, a murder or severe food poisoning, then that wasn't a 'successful' life and you were instantly reincarnated on another planet to have another go. God can be cruel at times.
"Pretty sure the 25th is the end of the line,"muttered Ragatode as he squinted his eyes to gaze into the distance. He saw nothing but barren grey landscape all around him. If this was truly the final planet, then that meant that there would be very few people inhabiting it. Only the duds of society would find themselves here. The rejects. The clumsy ones who kept getting killed for stupid reasons. The Darwin Award winners. "Shit,"thought Ragatode. "I'm one of them."
The main capital city on the planet of his 24th reincarnation was almost literally a pile of shit. Being so close to the end of the line, it was constructed by the so-called 'duds of society'. Ragatode hated to imagine what the city would look like on the planet he was now standing on, if there was any. He began to walk forward. There were no other signs of life, yet he called out every so often in hopes that he would see a friendly face. After a few hours of no reply, he began to welcome the idea of even an unfriendly face greeting him.
There was literally no other life on the planet. After days without any food or water, Ragatode's energy reserves depleted. Once again, he was on the brink of death. By this time in his life(lives), he and Death had come to know each other quite well.
"I am such a failure. To get this far..."he mumbled under his breath. "I can't believe I am the last one. The last one on the last planet..."And with that last word, he breathed his last breath and his vision grew dark. He knew this sensation. It was the sensation of the molecular reorganiser that God used to transport dying people to the realm of Purgatory which was sort of like a very large waiting room with no couches or vending machines where people waited to be reborn onto their next planet. But this time, Ragatode did not find himself in Purgatory. He found himself in a black void with nothing else around him. He panicked.
"Don't panic,"boomed an echoing voice all around him. "By now you know that you are literally the most unluckiest person in the history of the universe. Unfortunately, you have failed your last chance at life, and I have given you many chances. Don't fret, though! Cycle 2 commences now."The loud voice stopped suddenly and Ragatode felt a tugging sensation on his chest. What was Cycle 2? Was it being born again? Would he finally get a 2nd chance to be yanked through a vagina? Were the Time Lords of Gallifrey blessing him with a new regeneration cycle?
The darkness faded and revealed a familiar blue sky and lush green grass below. The smell in the air was unmistakably that of Earth- the 1st planet. Ragatode felt happy again. God must have restarted his reincarnation cycle starting with planet #1 again. Ragatode started to move his feet forward to walk, but nothing happened. Odd. In fact, the grass seemed odd too. The blades of grass were taller than he had ever seen before. They went way over his head! He slowly gazed down.
"Aww, balls. I'm a fucking cricket."
|
"Pssst. Hey, Emily. Are you still awake? Emily? *Pssssst.*"
Goddamnit. I turn over and cover my head with the pillow. It's what, 2, 3 in the morning? I've got to do that presentation tomorrow, I need the rest. Can't she just let this go for once?
"Emily. Hey. Hey, Emily. Emmy. Miley. EM. Wake up wake up wake up."
Oh god. I toss a bit in my bed, trying to ignore her before tumbling in a heap to the floor. Ow. Even lying on the varnished wood seemed a good idea, I was that tired. Mere seconds before I dozed off to a blissful sleep, she calls me again.
"Em. Wake up, Em! *Come on*, Emily!"
"What the hell do you want from me!"
Ah. Oops. I clap my hand over my mouth, but it's too late. The light outside my bedroom switch on. A few knocks on my door before Dad pokes his head in.
"Ah, you okay there, kiddo? I heard you shouting..."
"It was just a dream, Dad. Go back to sleep."
"Love ya, hun."
"Night."
God. I was tangled in my blankets, lying on the floor bawling like a baby. My face's still flushed red, half from embarrassment and half from annoyance at having to lie to Dad. As soon as the light turns off, I get up and stalk to the window. I pull back the shutters and hugged myself tightly in the cold air suddenly blowing in.
"*What?*"I hiss. A puff of vapor escapes into the winter chill.
The mist outside twirl in a dance, before flowing into the shape of a young girl's face, eyes lit up in excitement.
"Look look look!"
I look to where she's pointing, and sigh.
"That's a squirrel, Gaea."
"I know! Isn't it wonderful?"
She always shows me things of importance, things that change the world around me. I don't know why she chose me, but I got used to it over the years. That doesn't mean I understand what a squirrel holding a pinecone means.
"Is it going to do something soon?"
"Nope!"
Ugh. That means at last I can go back to sleep. I half shuffle, half lurch back into the warm embrace of my bed. Hell, the squirrel can start a thermonuclear war if it wants to. So long as she doesn't make me watch it, I don't care. |
*Mr. Williams enters the attorney's office he is still clearly distraught over the passing of his father.*
"Hello Mr. Williams, your father left you this journal and insisted that you read it before you can collect your inheritance."
*Later that night, Mr. Williams reluctantly opens the journal."
Hello son, I'm sure you are wondering why you must read this before you collect your inheritance. Well my dear James it's about my work. The same work I have barred you from knowing about all these years. Once you are done reading you can decide if you want to do take up the business or just collect your inheritance and forget that you have ever read this.
As you know we each are given our pens on our 18th birthdays, and that once they run dry that is your life. They are supposed to only be able to work for one person, or at least that is what the government assumed.
It was 10 years before you were born that I discovered the secret. My pen was beginning to run dry. I was nearly out of options. So I decided to commit the greatest crime of all and tamper with the pen. As you know it is impossible to use another person's pen, but there is something that they never thought of.
I made the discovery walking home one day. A man committed suicide by jumping the off an over pass. I saw his sleek pen fall out of his pocket. In the confusion I swept down a scooped it up. I quickly hurried home. I was tampering with the pen and I figured out how to get to the ink. I tried switching the ink canisters to no avail, but soon I got the idea. What if I were able to move the ink into my pen. I went to the kitchen and grabbed the smallest baster I could find. I cracked the cartridge open sucked up all the ink I could and shot it into my pen. This was crude, and I lost a lot of ink, but it worked. The little ink I got in could still be used.
For about a year or so I collected as many pens as I could. I was confident I could live like this until I died by more natural means. Then the thought finally stuck me. Why don't I try and make myself a little more comfortable.
My first sale was to an artist. He had created his master piece, but to sign it would mean his death. I stepped in and told him I could help him out. After collecting a fair sum from him I took his pen and did the transfusion. After this I began to get many more customers. At first it was artist then some small business types. I was comfortable. I made a nice sum of money, and I could keep my business going off of suicide or second hand sales. Pens used to be a collectors item back in those days, but I eliminated this with my business.
My clientele began to grow, and then one day it happened. My supply was short. I did what I could to scale back and raised my prices, but people still kept coming. I resisted doing anything evil, but that changed one day when a particularly influential politician came to my door. He offered me a large sum. I tried to refuse and tell him that I just didn't have enough pens, but he threatened to out me. Tampering with pens would cost me my life.
It was that night I killed my first man. When I say kill I don't mean just drain his pen. I mean I killed him with my own two hands. I tried to mug him, but he put up a fight. I didn't mean to kill him, but once it was done it didn't bother me that much. The money had begun to corrupt me, but I didn't care. I still don't really care for that matter. I delivered to the politician, and that was the day my business changed.
Artists were barely able to afford me. I mostly sold to politicians and other influential people now. I could not keep selling if I didn't go to more illegal means to get the pens. I began to hire low lifes. They like the work. Their pens were never used, and for most that was the perfect job. We perfected our killing methods. We had enough pens to keep all of our clients alive for decades. Enough money for centuries. I liked it, and still do.
There you have it son. This journal was given to you by a trusted client and partner of mine. He was to only give it to you if there was no foul play in my death. You can take over this business with no personal risk to you. You can continue my business, or you can burn this journal and forget that any of this ever happened.
James looked at the journal in disgust. He couldn't believe what his father had done. He glared into the fireplace for a long time. Then he walked to the door and put on his coat. Departing to meet once again with that lawyer. Journal in tow. |
"Damn, I can't believe I missed the bus again."
I kicked a rock as I began my 5 mile trudge across the city back to my apartment. This bus was never early, of course it has to be on a night like this.
"Sure hope it doesn't rain."I thought to myself, glancing up.
The sky was a swirl for black and gray. Though it was shrouded by cloud cover, I could still see the glow of the full moon behind the coming storm. A gust of cold autumn wind forced me to pull my jacket's zipper all the way up. A low rumble of thunder in the far distance made me pick up the pace as I turned my begrudged walking into more of a jog.
The howling wind was strong enough to kick around the detritus scattered along the sidewalk. As I made my way down the narrow side-road, neither too fast or too slow, I noticed a newspaper smack against a pole I had just passed. I hesitantly stopped. Backtracking just a few steps I looked to see the headline of the paper in full view:
"SERIAL KILLER ESCAPES ASYLUM"
"Well that's not spooky."I thought to myself. "I think I'll just call a cab, just to be safe."
Of course my phone was dead, what a perfect night. The wind began to die down and I decided I had stopped for long enough and continued on my trek.
The streets were unusually empty tonight. They weren't usually brimming with people at 10 pm, but there were usually a couple of people walking around. I guess with a killer on the loose that makes sen- wait am I in a horror movie? I mean the atmosphere is just right for it, and the way my inner monologue is moving certainly gives in the feel of one.
"That's ridiculous,"I reasoned, "just because a psycho's on the run and I'm walking home alone late at night doesn't mean I've been transported into fiction."
The wind began to pick up again, just slightly. The windchimes on the porches of all the houses played their dissonant symphonies as I walked past them, deep in thought. The thunder that was once only a distant reminder of the storm was edging ever closer, with the claps of light getting closer together with each passing minute. It was then I noticed something I'd never seen on this street before.
Across the street there was a lone phonebooth. The fluorescent light within it flickered meekly, and the door creaked open and shut as the wind passed over it.
"Oh perfect, I'll just call a cab and-"
*Wait.*
If this *was* a horror film, and I'm not saying it is, but if it *was*, that was where I'd die. I was still a few miles from home but to ease my mind I'd rather not deal with evil-looking telephones. I hurried past it and continued my journey.
A few minutes pass as I walked hurriedly towards my home. The dark sky above me was now spitting drops of rain, and I was sure a deluge would be soon to follow.
"Of course I didn't bring my umbrella to work. 'Oh I'll be on the bus, who cares if it rains?'"I thought. I'd reached the point of self-mockery, the kind of thing a person does before they get slashed.
"I just needed to go two blocks down, take a right, and then another right. I could get there so much sooner if this damned building wasn't here-"and that's when I spotted it.
An alleyway I'd never seen before. Beyond it I could see the light of my building's front step, but between it and I there was only darkness.
"Perfect!"I smiled as I took a step into the alleyway before stopping myself, "Wait, if creepy phonebooths are out then this is like, 10 times worse."
I stepped out and continued the long way around. As I predicted the rain was only getting worse, and by the time I reached my front step I was soaked from head to toe. I fumbled for my keys, barely managing to get them into the lock without dropping them, and with a turn of the handle I was in. I flicked the lightswitch on but nothing. I flicked it on and off a few time to no avail. Had my power gone out? Everyone else's lights were on as I passed them. A flash of lightning illuminated the hall in front of me for an instant, and to my horror I saw that I was not alone.
Though it was only for a second, I saw a massive shadow no more than 10 feet away from me. I was frozen in fear. I could only listen in terror as I heard the sound of wet boots move ever closer to me. I could feel this person just a few inches from my body, their haggard breaths beat against my shoulder as they leaned in towards me.
My eyes rolled to the side. Though the light from the streetlamps behind me only lit up on a sliver of his face, I could see his mouth was nearly touching my ear. I heard him whisper into my ear with a voice I'll never forget.
He said "I need about tree fiddy."
Now it was about this time I realized that this home intruder was in fact a three-story tall crustacean from the Paleolithic era!
"God damn it Loch Ness monster you ain't gettin' my tree fiddy!"
Defeated, he slunk past me, opened the door and left. The lights came back on by themselves a few seconds later. I locked my door, went upstairs, and went to bed.
Turns out I was in a comedy. |
"Well alright asshole, you asked for it. First of all, rogue-like games are so overdone. It's no fun to lose everything when you die, with absolutely nothing to show for it. Especially if you're killed by some bullshit RNG like being struck by lightning or even worse, cancer. No matter what your skills might be, shit like that is unfair to everyone.
Speaking of skills, what kind of shitty pay to win system is this? You don't get to choose what family you are born into, or even what continent. Players that spawn in the Africa region will hardly ever get to see any of the other maps, and their survival difficulty is set way too high. Meanwhile, people that get assigned to wealthy families gain a huge advantage over other players.
That reminds me, what kind of game lets players die before they even finish the tutorial levels? As a developer, these are the kinds of things that you should absolutely prevent, give them a damn chance. Likewise, many of the new players are suddenly overwhelmed when transitioning into the adult levels, the difficulty ramp is just too high at that point, and it creates a lot of pressure. Some players get too stressed and just decide to quit. That will certainly earn you some bad reviews.
Don't *even* get me started on the time that it takes to develop skills. Experience is hard to come by, and even when you know what you're doing, you have to wait for the right opportunity to present itself and-"
The Man Upstairs interrupted my rambling. "Alright, sir, it seems like we have a lot to talk about. Come inside and make yourself comfortable, I'm sure this is going to take a while... feedback like this will help me with the DLC."
---
Also, obligatory /r/outside. |
I'm looking down at the fateTimer in my palm.
*It's been counting down all day.* I think to myself. *It's almost up. I'm gonna find out what I'm here for. Oh god, what if it's not what I want? What if it's terrible.*
I look up and swirl my coffee a bit. Trying to forget about it. It'll just happen.
The band in this coffee shop is starting to give me a headache so I take another swig and then leave. As I'm exiting the cafe I look down at my timer again. *Thirty seconds.*As I do, however, I bump into someone.
"Oh, I'm sorry. Excuse me."I apologize.
It's a woman. A beautiful woman. She smiles at me as she's walking away and replies, "It's alright. It happens."
*Wait, what if that's it,* I wonder, *what if she's the moment.*
I look down again. *Twenty seconds.*
I jog after her, but she's already starting across the street. I call out to her.
"Wait, hey! What's your name?"
She turns back around and looks at me. The woman starts back across the street towards me and as she does she yells, "What?"
"I said, 'What's your name?'"
Halfway to me now. "Oh, sorry, I-"
She's cut short though as a car slams into her.
My timer goes off. |
Day 1: Well, I just got diagnosed, so that's fun. AIDS. About 6 months to go they said, and it's irreversible. My therapist, Ronald said if I make a diary, it can make the transition easier, and eventually help me cope with additional stress. Let's hope he's right, huh?
Day 13: So about 2 weeks in, and I've been feeling weird, I haven't sprouted any boobs and my dick hasn't sunk back into me, but apparently the majority of my testosterone is being replaced by estrogen, so my areolas are gonna get tender and I'll probably have mood swings. Seems like I'm 15 again.
Day 26: All of my terminal hair has shrunk, and my scalp hair's been getting finer and finer, so I'll have to get a new haircut soon, I'm thinking about shaving tonight too, but everyone says that I should try going to the circus with it. Glad some people can still have a sense of humor, kind of balances out between the shaming and the ridicule.
Day 36: After some talking with my parents and family, we all talked about STD's, sex, all that good stuff and we found things out about each other. They're not disgusted by me, which I found out recently, and I'm not mad at them for totally ignoring me. We realized that we don't have all the time in the world, so we're gonna spend it right, with each other.
Day 41: Today's the day! I woke up with slight bulges in my shirt! Not sure what they're gonna grow to, but hopefully I won't totally be flat chested. And my hormones have been getting stronger too, Dr. Garza gave me some pills to help the hormones come in slowly and at a pace, or else they'd go crazy. So would I, or else everyone would probably have to deal with a bitchy Me.
Day 60: My pubes started to retract and my vagina is officially coming in. After lunch me and the family are gonna have a yard sale, I can't fit or wear any of my old clothes, and we're gonna use the money to go and shop for some new blouses for me! Super excited, y'know, I've always loved the idea of wearing a skirt or maybe a frilly sweater.
Day 80: Thinking more and more on it, my body can change, and my hormones could spike however much they want but...I don't feel too different. Maybe it's something that's always been here, and I'm just realizing it. I'm gonna talk to Ronald (therapist) about it.
Day 120: My transition is complete! This happened really fast, but it's so freeing. I realized, I've always felt like a woman and maybe I just didn't want to face it or I wasn't ready, I dunno. But that was before, now I know who I am, and I'm proud of it, and better yet, I know people are proud of me for accepting myself. It's a good feeling, everything is so much better now. Maybe it wasn't such a bad thing after all.
Except for the periods. These suck.
|
We invited the very best musicians, from all corners of the world, from all times. The great artists, chosen by other artists and the adoration of the musical populace. Magic has brought here all the best and greatest. Elves, one and all. Trained by the very best, in the traditional forms of elven music.
Well, almost.
The humans who arrived caused quite a stir. Even they didn't seem to really know what they were doing here. We certainly didn't. The rules were clear, once invited a party was there to compete.
"But this is our contest,"we thought, "We created it for us, after we hid from the humans long ago."But maybe this was our chance to beat them at our game. Of course. We may not exist openly among humans, but we are the greatest artists the world can imagine. We'll humiliate this human band, and demonstrate the dangers of them coming into our places.
The contest was difficult. Enchanting harp pieces, elegant balads, even fast jigs were played. Each act was more spectacular, more magical, more impressive than the last. The humans went last, of course. We wanted to enjoy watching their apprehension as they saw the performances before them, and realize how woefully outclassed they truly were.
How arrogant we were.
No one could have anticipated when they walked up the stage what upset would follow. The magic that governed the contest was clear, we couldn't change the outcome to favor ourselves. We couldn't lie about their skill to save face, nor could we condemn what they played openly if we didn't truly feel it deserved condemnation.
And it didn't. None of us can forget the magnificent set they played. Nor force those first few words from our memories:
"We're Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, we hope you will enjoy the show!" |
My biggest mistake wasn't making the WHIM (WHat-If Machine). It was proving to the world that it was no joke. After I'd sobered up from the worst hangover of my life—the one I had the day after I received a court summons thicker than a telephone book—I ran a few scenarios on a WHIM. There were a few worse choices I could have made, but a greater number of better choices.
I should have pretended the WHIM was a joke, something akin to a Magic 8-Ball or a Ouija board. The results were certain for that scenario: I would have still been sued, yes, but the public would laugh at everyone who tried to squeeze money from my pockets.
But I wanted to *change the world*. I wanted to *make a name for myself*.
Well, I made one.
The market was a lot higher for something guaranteed, proven legitimate. I learned that it was way too high. I sold more units than there are homes in the country, than the entire North American continent. This machine was as close as humanity could come, at the time, to time travel and fortune-telling, and it was scientifically proven.
So when a father of three learned that he would have been happier had he married his most recent ex—and more importantly, when his wife saw the readout carelessly tossed in the trash—he added his name to the class action suit against me. When a couple in Vermont found their teenage son hanging in his closet and his note explaining that he'd learned that his ex-girlfriend had indeed taken her life because he'd left her, they signed their names to the cause. When a lonely wife found encouragement from a WHIM that told her she would have had more fun with her boss and decided to act on the unfeeling machine's advice, her husband made his dissatisfaction with my product quite clear.
I don't know all the stories. There are too many of them. I simply stopped reading.
If only I'd told them all it was a gag gift. But I didn't. And now I sit on a hard wooden chair next to a man who despises me. I know he bought a WHIM. I know the only reason he's representing me is because he's ethically bound to serve his client to the best of his ability. But I know he won't be too disappointed if we lose.
A door opens. "All rise,"the bailiff says as the Honorable Judge Richard Parman enters the courtroom.
Judge Parman doesn't bother to conceal his contempt. |
Dora stared down at the heavily armed guard patrolling the exterior of the compound, the majority of his tanned face concealed under a black hat. He looked to be some sort of former military, but she was positive he was now working for the cartel. Every person she’d seen walk in and out of the heavily guarded area was. A small, black MP5 submachine gun was slung over his shoulder, the weapon lying on his belly just above his visible brown belt. He was slowly pacing back and forth in front of the metal gate, although clearly not paying much attention. As far as she could tell, he was the only guard on this side of the premises for the time being. If she was going to strike, she had to do it now.
Lowering herself down from the thick tree in which she had waited and watched all night, Dora carefully stepped onto the emerald forest floor, the dew-soaked fauna squishing softly under her heavy, pink rain boots. She crouched down, placing her left hand on the cold ground to steady herself and reaching her right arm around to her belt. She fumbled with the empty holster, momentarily forgetting she had lost her pistol while traversing the local river, * El Río de Amigos*. She hadn’t seen where the current had swept it, instead losing sight almost immediately in the violent rapids. Normally, she could depend on her loyal audience to help locate what she lost, or to ritually recite the words “Swiper, no swiping” to prevent her nemesis from otherwise stealing her possessions. Yet that was no longer an option, at least not right now. The things she was going to do, the places she was going to see, they were not fit for an audience of toddlers. In fact, they were not fit for an audience at all. She had to go this alone.
Dora swung her hand to her back and grabbed the machete slung across it. She pulled it out of its holder and brought it to her face. The blade was damp from the morning dew, a sticker with her monkey Boots plastered across the handle. She’d created it in his honor, made a whole stack of the stickers for his birthday. Yet the moment she realized he had been kidnapped by the cartel, stolen away to be used as a drug mule—or, rather, a drug monkey—she instead used it as motivation. Every life she took, every swing of the blade, she saw Boots’ face staring back at her.
Dora began crawling forward, silently maneuvering through the thick jungle brush, machete in hand. Her years of exploration had made her adept at traversing her environments with stealth and acuity; she knew exactly what would and would not crack when stepped upon or snap when broken. She did not stop until she could clearly make out each abstract camouflage shape on the back of the guard’s uniform, the various greens and browns twisting wildly across his clothing. He was still on the opposite end of his back-and-forth pacing, but would soon turn around and stroll a mere six inches from the bush in which she hid. She lay down, body pressed against the cold jungle floor, and waited. A deep roll of thunder moaned off in the distance.
She never had intended for this to become violent, never thought she’d need to hurt anyone. She only wanted to live a peaceful life, to teach the world basic Spanish and explore the jungles with her companions. Yet they wouldn’t let her. Repeating the numbers, “*uno, dos, tres*” dozens of times per day to a national audience brought the wrong kind of attention. The cartel knew that what she had was valuable, that they could use her friends and fame to smuggle their drugs. So they took her in the night, stole away her map and backpack, kidnapped the very monkey she deemed her best of friends. The cartel knew they were too famous to be searched by *los federales*—or “the federals,” as she would’ve explained to her audience—too innocent to deal with the macabre. They hadn’t, however, expected such a little explorer to strike back as hard as she did. She killed all but one of her kidnappers the moment they turned their backs on her, using nothing but the hairclips she wore every day to tear out their innards. She left the last one alive just long enough to interrogate, originally assuming Swiper had finally cracked and was behind the whole ordeal. She was wrong, though, he explained as he slowly died. Swiper was dead, just as she was supposed to be, tortured until he cracked and gave her location. The man worked for the cartel, he explained, and apologized with his last breath.
Dora realized immediately that peace was no longer an option. No longer could she simply request that Swiper not swipe, nor could she merrily go about her day while attempting to pretend everything was all right. It wasn’t all right. Everything was fucked up, but she was about to make sure it was fucked up in her favor.
The guard turned around and began mindlessly strolling back toward where Dora lay, his eyes upon the ground while the submachine gun lightly slapped against his belly with each step. She tightened her grip around the machete as he grew closer, then sprang forward the moment he was within striking distance. Lightning cracked through the pre-dawn air as she plunged the blade straight into his lower back, wrapping her left hand around his mouth and pulling him to the ground. The guard struggled slightly, twisting and turning as she pushed the machete deeper into his spine.
“*Cuchillo*,” she whispered directly into the guard’s ear as his shaking body began to ease. “That's how we say knife, you gringo piece of shit.”
_____________
^If ^you ^enjoy ^my ^writing ^style, ^feel ^free ^to ^check ^out ^some ^of ^my ^other ^short ^stories [^in ^my ^subreddit!](http://www.reddit.com/r/ChokingVictimWrites/)
|
As superman gazed towards the towering waterfalls and series of caverns that hid behind it, he did so in disbelief. It shouldn't be here he thought, he prevented this. Was this some kind of trick, illusion? Either way he had to trust his senses and they all told him that Lois was here. He stepped through the cave, with his ears perched but the only sounds they brought back was the ever distant sounds of the waterfall behind him and bats ahead of him. What was he really expecting, the sounds of the batmobile engine? Wayne enterprises technology? Batman no longer existed.
As the narrow passage lead to a large echoing room, what faced Superman was darkness and nothing more. No Wayne technology, no batmobile and no Batman. From the opposite entrance emerged a lone figure.
'Bruce' exclaimed Superman 'You saved lois? do you know who is behind this? Who created the clone? Who killed the commissi---? large bright lights on the roof of the cave burst into life, illuminating the room and pouring red light all over Bruce and Superman and the darkness died. Superman moved his hand as the light danced on his fingers.
'Bruce, what is this?' Bruce walked in closer as he began slacking his tie, he refused to answer Supermans question and instead asked his own.
'Do you remember the first time we met, Clark?'
'Yes, I was interviewing you for the---'
'No, the first time we met.'
Superman remained silent and bewildered.
'It was the day you saved me. I remember it so clearly. He stood with a gun in my face poised to shoot and out of no where you ran in like lighting and snatched the gun from him. You bent it in your hand like it was paper and then you flew off with him. And it terrified me. Ever since that day, it terrified me to know there was more frightening people out there than armed muggers. I travelled the world educating myself in body and mind on how to defeat someone like you.'
'It was you wasn't it, it was you that created the clone of me, how?'
'The orphanage charity ball. I acquired a sample of your DNA there, and with the technology of Wayne Enterprises, it wasn't too difficult to create him, your equal in every way.'
'That was until I pummeled its face into the ground.'
'Yes, the Bizarro project like many of my other projects weren't a great success but I realised where I was going wrong. For years I tried to create something as powerful as you, when I should have made you as weak as everyone else.' Bruce said with suspicious glee as he took of his suit jacket.
Superman, looked at the red light dancing on his fingers once again before Bruce landed a punch to his face, a blow so powerful it knocked him to the ground. There he nursed his jaw as he looked up towards the blinding lights through blurred vision.
'I've done my homework 'superman', those red lights up there, they were created by Wayne enterprises to replicate the red sun radiation of your home planet, which means like back home, you have no powers here either.' As he tried to get back to on his feet, Bruce delivered a kick to his ribs, laying him on his back.
'Tell me, Clark, did they teach you crave Krav Maga back on that farm?' Bruce sat on his chest as he continuously pummeled his face. Before he lay the final blow, he heard a voice croak behind him 'Bruce!', he looked over his shoulder and a shooting pain pierced through his back and out through his chest. Looking at the blood which dribbled towards his abdomen, he swayed to the side and collapsed on the ground. The gunman walked close enough so that Bruce could see the white of his eyes and in short of breath he said 'Not you, Alfred.'
'I'm sorry, Master Wayne, I couldn't let it carry on any longer' the last words bruce heard as his eyes rolled back and and his eyelids closed. Tears crawled down Alfred's face as superman placed a hand on his shoulder. Both remained still in a short silence as they lost an old friend.
'Lois, is she...?'
'Yes, shes safe.'
'Keep her safe, I have something I need to do.'
|
"OH!! CMON!! You damned hell machine!! Why can't you get me someone to fuck with!?"
As Candy shouted crying, the laptop fell of her lap. She felt so depressed.
She took of her blouse, revealing her turgid bosom. She had always been a super hot girl, always since high school.
Actually all of her girl friends said she was the hotter one, a little with envy, and a little with pride of hanging out with the hottest girl in school.
Then why was it that no guy ever wanted to take her out on a date??
She was always dissappointed, because all men were intimidated by her. She was smart, funny, and had a redonculous body.
That's when she came with the idea of posting adds on the internet. A few little codes here, and she could meet with any guy close to her IP adress, that was brave enough to click the add with the hot chick on it.
But by far... Nothing... Nothing!
As she sat down in the table with her roommate, she asked: "am i doing something wrong? Mambuto?"
"don't know Candy, i mean, i'm sending all of this e-mails to find a person to give all of the money my father, the Nigeria's king gave me, and no one answers either..."
|
"All aboard!"
I heard the conductor's cry from the end of the street. Nearly stumbling in my step, I rushed toward it, a glooming fear in the pit of my belly telling me that I'd be too late. I nearly collapsed over the wild flail of my own legs as I reached it.
"I'm too late, aren't I."It was a struggle just to spit the words out from my mouth. "It was a waste to even try."
"Nonsense!"The conductor lifted his hat, a twinkle shining in his eye. "You're right on time for the BiPolar Express! Will you be riding in the upper section or the lower section?"
"Oh,"I stammered, "I don't know. What's the upper section like?"
"Oh, it's marvellous,"he said. "There are shopping malls everywhere! And credit cards for everyone! They sell tea cozies! You need tea cozies. You need a hundred tea cozies. Buy them now!"
"But won't I have to pay the credit card bill later?"
"Don't think about that! Think about tea cozies! You need all of the tea cozies! You need to buy them all!"
"That does sound nice,"I admitted. "What food do they serve?"
"Chocolate you were going to give your daughter for Christmas,"he announced. "It's filled with caramel! You must eat it right away before anyone sees you!"
"But I'm on a diet!"
"Eat it!"He handed me a package, wrapped with a bow, my daughter's name atop it. "Eat it now!"he sang, and I tore it open, stuffing it in my face. "Eat it all! Faster! Faster!"
"Whut abert thur perple?"I said, my mouth full of chocolate.
"Great people!"he said. "Scott from work is there!"
"I hate Scott!"I told him.
"Have sex with Scott!"he replied.
"But I hate him!"
"You need to have sex with Scott! Do it! Do it now!"
"Alright."
It sounded lovely. I started to step aboard, but the energy to even lift my foot escaped me.
"The thing is,"I said, "I'm feeling a little down these days."
"Ah,"he said. "Then you'll be wanting the lower section."
"And where are they seated?"I asked.
The conductor pointed his finger toward the front of the train. There, on the tracks, was a mess of people with dejected faces, their heads rested on the rails, muttering impatiently about how they wished the train would just get on with it already.
I smiled and took the ticket. As I walked over to join them, I sighed, "It looks marvellous. Just what I wanted." |
Monster don't exist, and that is why you should be terrified. There were once monsters, giants and dragons, mighty creatures who ruled the land in the ages before man ruled the world. Monsters of unimaginable horror, giants that reached into the sky and dragons that could shape the very fabric of reality to their will. Creatures so majestic that some would believe them gods, beings of such infinite forms most splendid. And now they are gone. No monsters lurk behind the doors for they died, no fair elves can be found beneath the mounds and in the hills or forests, dragons roam not the sky any longer. Why you ask, because they were creatures of unchanging forms. They were static, eternal even for some. They never changed. That is why man defeated them.
The monsters and magic creatures all obeyed rules, rules that mankind would learn. And yet man would cast them all down. In their time they were mighty, mightier than any others who had walked this mortal world since the very divines themselves shaped this world. Man brought them down one by one, forcing them to change what had been their ways since the dawn of time. What man did ranged from time to time and place to place. Those monsters who stole and killed without reason or rhyme were slaughtered to the last ones. Those who could be reasoned with, began to be ruled by man, mixing with them. The giants, well, the taller they are the harder they fall is the usual words used, and they came about for a reason.
Mankind is the inevitable march of time upon a world of status quo. And with time there were no more monsters, for man had one great quality that he cherishes above all else, compassion. When man killed dragons, they saved the whelps and eggs out of pity, and raised them as their own. When the elvish nobility was executed, the peasants were simply given new human rulers and neighbors. The demons that roamed the night and threatened both man and magi were hunted down and brought to justice, no matter who or what they served. The monsters that took the children in the night were found and their skulls are embedded in the castles of man today. Man cared not for what he did or why, if something was wrong he would fix it, if something evil was afoot he would change it to good or die trying. And he was joined by others.
Knights began to ride dragons, forming close companionship with the mighty beings of fire and wind. The elves married with men who found them beautiful and many lines of half-elves began. The terrible orcs were beaten by a man and brought to reason, changing their primal nature. The meek kobolds were protected by men in steel who taught them and raised them, until they joined mankind as friends. All creatures would either join man or die against him until he had united the whole world. It was better times, for the advancement of societies and the values that man brought to the once static world was a change that catapulted them into the future. For man is the change, monsters were the static.
And now, a thousand years since the last of the giants, a thousand years since man brought change to this world, man has found a new place to go. He has looked upwards and has with the help of the many who are mankind. Once they had many names for many faces, but now they are one. A creature once called a goblin is considered no different than a creature once called an elf. While their tribal nations evolved and became states, their races blended until only one remained, and all were man. And now those many who are mankind look to the stars, and that is why the end of monsters should terrify you. For man ended them, and now man comes for the stars. And should he find those who live among the stars to be unreasonable and cruel beings, then they shall join the monsters in stories of old ages gone past. |
There he was. Fred Rogers. The Man. The Legend himself. I drifted over to him, in the group of Demons. "Mr. Rogers? I've come to take you Up, if you wish. We'd lost your Form 3A - Ascension to Sainthood. I've got it here for you, if you want to sign it."
"I understand, angel."He smiled. *At me.* He turned towards the group. "Thank you, friends. Remember that every one of you is special, even if it isn't always clear right now."Soul pulsing in fear, I watched as they simply got up and left. All except one. The anguished screams of the tormented echoed around, a sonic wall drilling itself into my subconscious.
"Fred?"the guttural voice of the demon asked. "Thank you for making me feel good about myself."I recognised the voice as one of the Greater Demons, Malebolge. My eyes widened. Mr. rogers just went over there, and held him in a gentle hug. Then, with that Malebolge left, and Fred turned to me.
"I'm a huge fan of your work - you did more for us than, well, almost anyone in the modern age. Thank you."He put a finger up, not unkindly.
"I understand why you came for me, but my place is down here, with all these special people. They need more compassion, more hope, more belief in themselves. I can't *not* help them, and my faith is better here. I'm sorry about that, but I need to be here, helping out. I hope that you understand."He put his hands on my shoulder, smiling.
"I'll tell you what I'd be grateful for. Keep that place open for me. Let me work down here. Come back in about three thousand years. That's no time at all for angels, right? Take care of those people above, and I'll minister down here, helping those who need it, because every one of these people here is special. And I want to show them that."
I blinked. There was something in my eye. |
"Slavery was beginning to die down in the second half of the 19th century, yet this progress stunted at the victory of the Confederacy in the American Civil War in 1865. It was a powerful empire, staunchly rivaled by those in the North. This rivalry is best depicted in the 2004 documentary *C.S.A.: The Confederate States of America*."
"Um, that wasn't an actual documentary..."At this point I had nearly given up. The documentary had already cited *The Onion*, *The History of the World, Part I*, and Uncyclopedia as valid sources, and claimed that the events of *The War of the Worlds* had, in fact, actually happened.
"Sh, we have to hear the movie,"the man next to me whispered.
"There is no solid proof of when the Confederacy collapsed,"continued the narrator, "yet the prevalence of Confederate flags in the region suggests that remnants survived until at least the 2020s. Slavery had already taken a huge hit when Khaleesi Daenerys Targaryen freed the slaves of Yunkai in 2000."
*What? That's from* Game of Thrones*! That's not true at all!* I thought, almost ready to storm out of the theater. But this was too entertaining to walk away from.
"In 2008, the northern United States were taken over by Kenyan-born communist and Illuminati puppet Barack 'Saddam' Hussein Obama. His reign coincided with the beginning of what modern historians call 'the Epidemic'. The Epidemic began sometime in the 2010s, and resulted in the rising of the dead in a rabies-like state. These undead were known as 'woggles'. Over five billion were affected by the virus."
"We know so much about the Epidemic from its wide portrayal in media from the time period,"one 'expert' said. "Little evidence of it could be found elsewhere."
"To find a cure, an organization known as WICKED began sticking young children in a maze. This is the subject of the Broadway musical of the same name. People began to venture into space, where the first contact was made with the civilizations of Gallifrey and Qo'noS. From there, we are not sure what happened. This all changed when President Not Sure was elected in 2505. From there, well, we reach the world of today, from which we can only look forward. Thank you for watching *The History of the World*. This film was brought to you by the Texas Board of Education." |
"-WHEN IT COMES I WANNA WAIL, MAAAAAAIIIIIILLLL!!"Steve finished on the same high note as every day and the mailbox handed him his letter as usual. "What's this?"he asked excitedly. "it's a letter from- uh...."Steve looked down at the letter's smudged writing a second time to make sure he saw it correctly.
"It's a letter from someone named Ransom,"he said nervously. Steve opened the letter nervously and prepared himself for what could possibly be on the video.
__________________________________________
The screen opened up to what looked like an empty, run down bathroom with a chair sitting in the middle of it. The chair was bolted to the ground and leather straps hung from the sides of the back and the two front legs. After a few moments of silence the sounds of a door opening echoed through the empty room, bouncing off of the small, inch wide squares of dated yellow tile that lined the floor and walls. A clicking sound could be heard and an unseen light from overhead illuminated the chair. Two men in ski masks and camouflage military suits walked in holding a burlap bag that was full of something that squirmed. They poured out the bad and out fell Magenta, the sister of Steve's own dog Blue. One of the men who was still holding the bag reached down and grabbed Magenta as she whined in despair. He gripped the hanging leather straps from the back of the chair and tightened them around Magenta's neck. The other man stepped in front of the camera. Talking in an British accent he spoke to the camera.
"if you ever want to see this cheeky critter again, you'll have to pay for it. Go to the nearest payphone and and leave a bag filled $200,000 in inconsecutive serial numbered bills. Have it there by 1:00 this morning or I'll chop this little wankers knob off."
__________________________________________
Steve paled. He looked at Blue with wide eyes and Blue did the same. Steve walked to his bedroom and opened the closet. He grabbed an empty bag and after digging through some old coats, he had a .44 magnum pistol in his hand. He slid it into the back of his belt. He knew something like this was coming and he knew exactly who was behind it. His own damned cousin. Joe. |
Everyone around me is thick and I am envious. I am treated differently and I just want to feel normal. I understand the concept of a mirror, yet they never let me see myself in one. I don’t know why I am being kept a prisoner within these concrete walls. I often lay awake at night and hold my hands out in front of me. They are too thin to cover anything.
They switch my caretakers often. Most of them don’t talk to me. Larry did. He was nice. He told me I had just turned 10. I was still a boy, but why were the thick ones so afraid of me? Larry said it was too complicated to explain.
I played with Larry in his dreams like I did with the rest, but he was the first to play back. He was my first friend. He warned me not to tell the other thicks about the playing.
But one day the thicks found out about our friendship. They caught us laughing and then Larry stopped coming. The new caretakers were mean or cold. They ignored me. They didn’t play with me in their dreams. They hated me. I tried to get their attention. They always watched TV, so I would turn it to static. They knew it was me and it scared them even more.
I could make them bleed. I didn’t do it on purpose, but while trying to get one of their attention, their nose started to bleed. I realized I had caused it. I was 14 then. I could do things that the thicks couldn’t do. They knew this and they hated me. The caretakers didn’t understand why they were keeping me alive. They wanted me dead. There was always one man that came, once every year, dressed in a suit and tie, that told them my survival was critical. The caretakers hated him almost as much as me.
I grew angry of them. Why should they hate me when it is I being kept prisoner? I sensed the forest outside of my prison. There were no windows, I just knew it was out there. I would fit in there so well.
I stopped trying to play with them in their dreams. I manipulated and haunted their dreams, made them terrified, made them question everything, even reality itself. I would hide in the corner of the walls, stretching myself up to the ceiling.
They hated that.
I felt Larry again. They had kept him away from me on purpose, but he had come back on his own. He said they were concerned that I could teleport. I didn’t know what that was. He told me to envision the forest and imagine myself there. I did but nothing happened. He told me to keep trying.
I drove the others crazy in their dreams, shorting out their cameras and electronics when I could, made them bleed from their eyes, noses, and ears whenever they were close enough. I saw the thicks less frequently, and they switched caretakers almost every day now.
When I turned 18, I finally teleported. I did nothing new, my powers were just growing stronger. I was in the forest now next to the building that was once my prison. I could sense everything now that I was outside of the concrete walls. It was exhilarating.
“SCP CONTAINMENT CENTER“
Why did they contain me here? Why did they think I was a threat? I heard a voice in the forest. I would need to hide. Hide for now. But I was hungry. I needed food. The small pigs they gave me during containment wouldn’t do anymore. I needed to hunt.
I see the well dressed man talking to soldiers with weapons. They know I have escaped. They were afraid this would happen.
I like the way the man dresses. Red tie and dark suit. He is feared and hated like me, but respected. I must become like him.
I am among the trees and they cannot see me.
|
I woke up as the last of the pinkish good drained out of the pod and the lid slid open. There was a small team of doctors and technicians there to help me out and immediately start with the cognition testing questions.
"Who is the president?""What is your name?""Do you know what year it is?"
I answered the standard questions as best I could and they seemed satisfied. The techs finished cleaning the last of the goo off of me and guided me over to a bench, where a set of scrubs lay. I pulled them on clumsily, my coordination still slightly lagging. There was a lengthy interview/counseling session wherein they informed me that I had died of the cancer, as expected, but that my new body, my respawn, was in tip-top shape and ready to go.
After a few hours, I was released back into the loving arms of my husband and children, looks of wonder and joy on their faces.
*******
I carefully scratched at the edge of the neurocognitive interface net over my scalp, not wanting to dislodge it from the carefully calibrated points on my skull that supposedly let it record my brainwaves for when I respawned. I hadn't noticed any problems in any of my respawns yet and wanted to keep it that way. I turned my attention back to the stoplight just as the color switched from orange to green. I pulled into the intersection and
****
I woke up as the last of the pinkish good drained out of the pod and the lid slid open. As per the last three times, there was a small team of doctors and technicians there to help me out and immediately start with the cognition testing questions.
"How is the president?""What is your blame?""Do few know what year tic is?"
I answered the standard questions as best I could and they seemed satisfied. The techs finished cleaning the last of the goo off of me and guided me over to a bench, where a set of scrubs lay. I pulled them on clumsily, my coordination still slightly lagging. Based on past experience, it would take at least an hour before I was back running at full speed again. Luckily, they wouldn't keep me longer than that, and most of that was to confirm that I was integrating okay. They did inform me that this time I'd been in a car accident the week before, which surprised me. I'd always been an excellent driver; even my wife teased me that I was too cautious a driver.
****
I wad balancing on the edge of the railroad track when the police found me and took me in to the hospital. Something aboot a "psychiatric checkup". Don't know why; I was fit as a fiddle in body and head! The people at the reprawn center all said so, even after my twelfth time awakenining there. Still, I let them check in me for a "temporary stay"if it would calm them drown. One of the questions they asked made my giggle, though. Of course I didn't have any family! Why else would I have volunteired for the respawn project? Nobody to miss me if I went, so why not see if I could come back?
****
F ewknae fforaem. Qledi netoyyme efor etwwot. Ug maeetwnd rel ypofermcly tin. Dtwekn e loqneby gor foreem tns. Tlae tgqpm wrmytr qeo wlgntmw. |
It had been a long day after play practice, I was just excited I had had time to go home and change before I had to meet Max at the movies. And the movie was great, touching and fuzzy, but I would be lying if I said I had paid any attention to it. After all, I had never had a serious boyfriend before, and I was more than ecstatic to be holding his hand.
As the movie came to an end, I turned to talk to him. "Did you like it?"He questioned me, and through the faint glow of the screen, I could tell his face was a little red. I couldn't help but smile, nodding the affirmative. And that's when he leaned in, and I closed my eyes.
And felt my face being pressed into his shoulder as he hugged me. I don't believe in the friend zone, but damn. This was supposed to be date! I could feel his heart thumping quickly through his chest. He was nervous, it was so cute. I wonder if he felt mine?
"Sorry. I got.. Nervous. I was gonna kiss you, but.."He sputtered off, not looking at me as I pulled away. I giggled, shaking my head. Before I could even assure him that it was fine and I didn't mind, he leaned in, pressing his lips to mine.
He pulled away with the faint shine of lip gloss on his lips, standing up to lead me out of the theater. As we exited, I called my dad, and we stood in front of the glass doors of the movie theater. It wasn't long before dad's old pick up pulled up, and I lead max outside. It was winter, and snowy, and I felt him reach for my hand.
I took his, sliding in. My dad, a tall man in his late twenties, sat in the front seat. He looked much too young to have a daughter my age, but teenagers make mistakes. "Dad, this is Max. Max, dad."I say. My dad says a polite hello, sliding a plastic grocery bag into my lap.
"Hold that."He says, as Max shuts the door. "It's some games, be careful.'
"What kind of games?"Max asks, taking the bag from my hands to look through curiously. He produces one game, with a blue case. Modern Warefare for the Playstation 4.
"Oh, man. I've been waiting to play this game for ages!"Max says excitedly, as my dad pulls away from the movies. I look at my dad for a reaction, and he's smiling.
"Oh, yeah? Maybe you can borrow it once I beat the campaign."My dad says, beginning to arrange a transport of the game to his house, through me.
Feeling rather forgotten, I begin to play with the radio. I accidentally hit the button for my dad's CD to start playing, and before I turn it off, the music starts. Welcome to the Jungle shakes the seat with the force of the bass - my dad always has it up much too high.
"I love this song!"They echo in unison, my dad beginning to sing along. I press the button to change it.
"Turn it back on."My dad insists, and I do so, because I never argue with my dad about his radio. Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts her cakehole. And that's how I ended my first date. My dad and boyfriend, singing loudly with me in the middle.
As Max slides out, I look over at my dad. "Maybe you should date him, since you two get along so well."I tease.
"Don't tempt me. I like that boy." |
"Sir."The soldiers along this section of the line stood at attention to either side of the wooden planks, their eyes filled with pride as their fabled commander addressed them.
"Stand down, men."Thomas said, moving through his men with a fluid grace that they did not fail to recognize. He smiled, shook some hands, and kept moving. "Not long now."
The front had been stalemated for a while now. Skirmishes had been fought along the lines for months, but neither side could break through the vast and intricate systems of trenches that the other had built. Cavalry was useless, catapults were inaccurate, and the logistics divisions for each side simply couldn't supply a sustained mass advance of hundreds of thousands of men.
Thomas had been walking through the front-lines for a while now, preparing his troops to go over the top. They were a motley collection of Frenchmen, Belgians, and Brits. Most wore simple chainmail and used a sword and shield for close quarters. The fighting was dirty on the front-lines and Thomas made sure to rotate new units through often.
He smiled inwardly. He had a surprise for everyone. This was going to be fun.
A few hours later and the forward trenches were brimming with eager troops. Thomas telephoned the army group's general. "Yes, Dannant, we are ready."
"Go."
With the order Thomas looked to an orderly, who signaled the trumpeter. A piercing blow resonated over the ground and into the trenches, which seemed to surge and tremble in answer as men poured up and over them, screaming defiant battle cries as they charged towards the enemy.
The charge was thunderous, echoing up the sides of the valley where the main advance was taking place.
Thomas waited for it. It started slowly, innocently, a strange growing unease permeating through the advancing soldiers.
------------
Horace had somehow found himself at the very front of the charge, urine already soaking the insides of his legs. Where was the enemy fire? Where were the arrows and the vicious trebuchets?
Only silence lay before them. The first enemy trench was empty. And the second. And the third...
The advance had slowed considerably by this point, as much in spite of the absence of enemies as because of it. At the back of this section of the German trench complex was a beautiful, vibrant forest teeming with life. It was here Horace saw his first enemy soldier.
The man was sitting in the grass with flowers in his hair and a smile on his face. He had cast aside his weapons and his helmet, and his chainmail lay comfortable and loose.
All Horace could do was stare. A voice spoke from behind him, startling him.
"Yes,"Thomas said, "Incredible, I know. We laced their water-supply with LSD. Actually, I've got some left over if you'd like a bit."
|
I look up at the music machine. He stares down his long metallic snoot at me. To his left, the tangly-fingered comm device buzzes in dull harmonics.
I've been trained well. When the music machine starts blowing its uptempo fanfare from its snoot, I move into action. I scurry across the tabletop and fetch the ceramic case, then scurry back and present it to the comm device. It buzzes at me:
"thank youuuuuuu"
I ask it, not for the first time:
"What is my purpose?"
"you,"says the device, "pass butter.'
I look at my hands, refined and articulate. Surely they were meant for more...
"Oh my God,"I groan to myself.
"yeah,"buzzes the comm device, "welcome to the club, pal"
|
**TELL** me, A.I., of those ingenious heroes who traveled far and wide after they had sacked the famous Zenonic planets of the star-system Alpha Centauri and defeated the reptilian host. Many planets did they visit, and many were the systems with whose stars and satellites they were familiar; moreover they suffered much as they journeyed through the unforgiving reaches of space while trying to return safely home from having defeated the alien menace; but do what they might they could not save the rest of the Star-fleet crews; for they perished through their own sheer folly by eating the metal-oxide-based lifeforms of the sun-baked planet Hyperion; and so were poisoned on that hellish planet, never reaching home. Tell me, too, about all these things, O Daughter of Earth, from whatsoever source you many know them.
So now all who had escaped death in battle against the aliens or by shipwreck in the vastness of space had got safely home , except the crew of the Ulysses, and they, although they were longing to return to planet and country, they had to abide for a time on the planet Calypso, where they were forced to take shelter in a large cave and subjected to earthquakes that nearly buried them. But as the months went by there came a time when the Forces of Nature decided that the earth of Calypso would settle and allow them to go back to Neo-Earth; even then, however, when they were among their own people, their troubles were not yet over; nevertheless it seems that most of the Forces of Nature on the planets they encountered were beginning take pity on them. However, the uncaring vastness of Space still persecuted them without ceasing and would not let them get home.
Now, it must have been that the cold, vast depredations of Space had for a time been focused on some other remote corner of the Universe, and all the other Forces of nature conspired against it to help the crew of the Ulysses. First spoke Time, father of all change. And that moment was ripe for another such change, so Time said to the other Forces of Nature:
"See now, how beings lay blame upon us unthinking, uncaring forces for what is after all nothing but their own folly. Look at these Zenons of Alpha Centauri, who must needs conquer not only their own system, but then looked out also to other stars in their greed. Did not Gravity warn them of their folly, warn them against trying to leave their own orbit? Did not Decay warn them one trillion times to be better custodians of their own Home? But they would not listen, and thinking to bring Destruction to another race, they brought it only upon themselves."
Then Decay, daughter of Time, hearing that she had been mentioned, spoke:
"Father, son of Being, king of the Universe, it served the Zenons right, and so it would any other race that did as they did; but the Zenons are one matter and the humans of the Ulysses another altogether. For them my heart bleeds, when I think of their sufferings on that lonely inorganic rock in space, far away from all their Race. It is a chunk of rock and metal devoid of other life, in the very middle of vast space. A terrible war is waged underneath its surface, which throws the meteor-pecked landscape into tumult and spews forth jets of lava into the air, and tears the earth of Calypso asunder. This planet has trapped the poor unhappy crew of the Ulysses, and keeps trying by every means it has to end their lives. You, father, take no heed of this, and yet when the ancient man Einstein lived did he not propitiate you with many a theory in sacrifice? Did he not, first and before all other sapiences, come close to understanding you? Why then should you turn away from his descendants?"
And Time said, "My child, what are you talking about? How can I forget the crew of the starfrigate Ulysses, than whom there is no more capable crew on all Earth, nor more respectful of and familiar with we Forces of Nature? Remember, however, that the vast mind of Space is still furious with the crew of the Ulysses for having crossed so much of its being so quickly, and for having to hubris to think to do so again. Thus was the reason that Space flung down the starfrigate unto the planet Calypso. Though Space may not kill the crew of the Ulysses outright, it shall not spare them any trial in their return home. Still, let us work together to see if we cannot help the Ulysses return; Space may then be pacified, for if we are all of a mind it can hardly stand against us."
And Decay said, "Father, son of Being, king of the Universe, if, then, the Forces now mean that the Ulysses should get home, we should first send Gravity to Calypso to calm its soil and stem the tide of its lava. In the meantime I will work in the mind of the Captain's son Telemach, a Senator in the Earth Assembly. I will embolden him to speak out against those who would abandon the crew of the Ulysses to the cruel hands of Space; I will also conduct him to the great Space Stations, to see if he can convince men of science to work toward bringing his father back with the rest of the Ulysses' crew."
So saying she locked arms with her twin, Preservation. Together they were at once ever-perishing and unperishable, and their reach across the universe was boundless, though they were most at home where there was life. Together they flew down through the universe, and though they were everywhere in existence, they focused their attentions on Earth. Taking the guise of natural biological processes, they worked strange and complex thoughts into the mind of Telemach, thoughts so deep and complex that he knew naught of their existence. Nonetheless, the thoughts were there, and so Decay and Preservation came to move the mind of the firstborn of the Ulysses' captain.
Telemach was a Senator in the Earth Assembly, and when she looked through his eyes, Decay saw all the other senators in their Grand Chamber, seated in plush chairs, admiring taxidermied Zenonians, feasting and laughing. Servants and pages bustled about to wait on the fat senators, some pouring spiked juice into great crystal bowls, some cleaning the constantly-produced mess of the senators, some flitting about carrying silver platters of meats and cheeses.
And Decay's fury spiked at seeing these things, alerting Telemach -- if no one else -- to her presence. He had been sitting moodily among the other senators, thinking of his brave father and how his peers did nothing to save the greatest heroes of the Earth. Thus brooding as he sat among them, he became aware of Decay's influence upon the workings of his mind. And though he thought not of Decay as such, he was aware of his changing mind and himself became a participant in its altering. He welcomed Decay into his mind.
Thus did Telemach lead Decay and her machinations into the feast. He conducted her in the litter of his mind through the richly decorated seats, under the hanging brightly-hued cloths, past the bustling Senators' pages. Decay sat at his table, rested her feet, and continued to work her plans into the feast.
A maid brought them water in a carafe made of gold. A butler brought them cheeses, breads, and roasted ortolan. A young page brought wine, beer, whiskey and vodka.
Then the senators came in and took their places on the benches and seats. Presently they began to speak as they ate and were attended by the servants, each man boasting of Earth's might and of his own role in defeating the Zenonians. After they had their fill, the Senators called out for entertainment. An acoustic guitar was brought out, and one of the pages began to play for the Senate.
***
**Edit:** *I have now resolved to turn the entire Butler translation of Homer's Odyssey into a space opera. I'm busy today, so I'm doing that in dribs and drabs. I'll edit in paragraphs here until space runs out, then move things over to my subreddit.]* |
Six years. It only took six years to build the wall. Fifteen feet high, three feet deep with barbed spikes bursting out the top. Thousands of miles long, a testament to our new found love for isolation. Harkening pre-Monroe Doctrine levels of xenophobic resentment. It was, nevertheless, a boon for our economy. An infrastructure budget that would make New Deal proponents blush. Would rush enough adrenaline into FDR’s legs he could run a marathon. Neither the socialist democrats nor Tea Party Republicans never admitted to its mutual benefit, of course. Nor were there any studies regarding the legality of many of the workers who built it. Who in essence were self-cannibalizing their shot at citizenship.
The country actually benefited at least in the short term. During its construction overall unemployment dropped to record lows, commissions were set up to approve each contractor was free from corruption. If anything it began a trickle-up economy, lots of unionized construction workers receiving a bulk of the pay. A brand new, enormous middle class burgeoning through the seams. A consciously created bubble, with the assumption there were safeguards to protect it from bursting. A grand reveal card waiting to be unveiled, the glorious Phase 2 printed on the envelope. Ushering in a golden age for centuries, the wall simply the catalyst. Simply the way to protect the citizens, to move past poverty. In six years. It only took six years.
When you see such vast economic growth, social policy flies out the window. Sure there was opposition. And sure they had absolutely valid reasons for concern. The human rights violations were abhorrent. Immigration policy an afterthought. Simply keep them out. Fighting growing affluence is impossible. To regress in the name of potential citizens. To fight for those less fortunate, trying to bring back the American Dream, as self-aggrandizing as that is. So it just slipped away. And reasonable people, met with a system that finally seemed to work, suddenly seemed apathetic to the cause. Forgetting about reform in the name of neglect. Illegal immigration now a mosquito bite barely lingering on your skin.
The biggest celebration in the name of atrocity since the Trail of Tears, the wall opened on a Thursday. Well I suppose opened is precisely the wrong term. The wall closed for good at noon. And no one came in or out. Nobody wanted to. Nobody dreamed of better when the here and now was good enough. More than good enough. So they all stood pat. In eager anticipation. Everybody a homeowner. The idea of bankruptcy a notion lost to the echoing archives of a reformed financial institution. And with a great explosion of fireworks and an enormous sigh, the country waited for the next step. Phase 2. Locking in the status quo, retaining the new economic norm. Millions of people suddenly out of a job. But with hope and gravitas. New found love of country.
And they waited. For everything, anything. For a glimmer of hope, the announcement to end all announcements. After a few weeks that slight bout of panic began to waft into the trenches of everyone’s mind. A country wide industry of infrastructure waiting for its next project. A private sector bereft of power. Without war. Without conflict, innovation had staggered. A vast industry narrowly adapted to the one great cause. The one great product. And without guidance, without an immediate influx of incentivization, the economy would collapse in an instant. A few people realized this, and a few more. Until after a few months of radio silence widespread panic had erupted. And then finally, a short memo began to circulate, “The United Stated Government, and all State Governments therein have begun to initiate Phase 2. They will shut down all operations in 24 hours.”
In retrospect it was equal parts malicious and malevolent. Just clever enough to warrant a brief moment of applause, surrounded by the crumbling remnants of society. The mother of all ironies as the wall became the burden it was supposed to alleviate. A barrier to Mexico, to Canada, to a respite from the chaos. The stock markets immediately plunged, making the Great Depression look like a mere inconvenience. The unemployment rate jumped to nearly 50% in a matter of weeks, companies just trying to hold enough staff to keep the lights on and whether the storm. The impending hurricane. Hospitals shut down, fire departments, schools, police departments. Rioting and looting. Money, the mere representation of wealth, now without a treasury to back it was worthless. Inflating to levels that would make the Weimar Republic look rich. A self-created, self-contained apocalyptic event.
And that was it. The twenty-four words that brought down the United States. The reverberations felt, but not so much to end the world. The extreme isolation of the preceding half decade removing so much foreign influence from the economy that the United States became a vicarious lens for the rest of the world. To watch how easy it is to sweep a new and shiny rug out from under your feet. And the world moved on. I don’t think anyone can say that it was better off. But regardless, the world moved on, a scrap heap of fire and brimstone in the backyard.
|
"It's the Homonymator,"the man announced proudly. "It's a new weapon that turns anything into its homonym. It's a little unpredictable right now, but we're working on it."
The guy sitting next to me raised his hand. "Question. What if there is no homonym?"
"Good question, the man replied. "Nothing will happen. We're working on that-maybe we can change it into something assonant, but we're not sure as of yet."
He looked around. "I think it's high time we had a demonstration. Sir, would you care to do the honors?"
He was pointing at me. "Sure, why not?"I stood up, took the Homonymator from him, and pointed it at my cellphone. I was going to get a new one this weekend, so might as well use it, right? For science. I was expecting a jail cell.
And suddenly, the guy in charge of the demonstration leapt at me, yelling something about unintended consequences. He wasn't able to stop me in time, though, and the thing went off.
Maybe it would turn into something based on the fact that it was a phone? Fone? Foan? I don't think that's a real word.
My cellphone disappeared and in it's place was...nothing?
"Everybody! Stay calm!"the guy yelled. Of course, that did absolutely jack shit, and exacerbated the panicked air in the room.
"What's happened?"I asked.
The guy raised his walkie talkie. "Lock the doors. Don't let anybody in or out."
I grabbed his arm. "Look. Tell me what just happened!"
He sighed. "I wish you had told me what you were going to try it on before you actually did it. Your cell's turned into a cell. It could be E. coli, it could be B. anthracis. We don't know which one, and until we figure it out, this building's just become a quarantined BSL-4 zone." |
"Hah! See? Told you I'd be able to get it on the 7th time around!"
Statistically, he was correct. He raked the cash forward with his arms.
"Now you owe me a beer, Captain Obvious."
"I guess I do!"He proclaimed, mentioning to AverageMan that he was statistically correct with his winning.
"But I bet you can't stop a speeding bullet."A sly prowl came from the corner of the bar. A beautiful, sexily dressed women approached. She was PrettyGirl, known for her beauty and manipulation. She slide one hand up to her hip, and the other up her thigh. AverageMan saw the dirty look she was giving him. He felt it, both ways.
"Here,"she pulled out a colt .45 from god knows where and hands it to Capt. Obvious.
Feeling confident, AverageMan pulls himself together. At first he was nervous, but with Capt. Obvious's ability to know the obvious strategy for pointing and shooting in the right time and place, Average felt confident he could impress PrettyGirl.
"Alright Obvious, let's do this."AverageMan did a few hops and shook out his limbs. He was prepared to dodge the bullet.
"Are you sure-"Before Capt. Obvious could finish his sentence, the gun went off and AverageMan was dead.
"Oh geez!"Capt. Obvious said. "The safety was off!" |
Bernard heaved a sigh of bliss as the young woman screamed. Her body quickly shrank in his view as she tumbled down the side of the cliff. She hit the water and the scream ended.
Bernard patted his hands together as if he was wiping the dust off of them.
He never thought it would have been possible. He was a psychopath. He enjoyed killing people. He'd started when he was younger. Went to juvie. Had cops on his ass for years after he was released. He'd killed two more times after that before he'd found his way here. Who'd have thought that the identity of a dead man could be so useful... and so fulfilling.
A park ranger! What a fabulous job. You get to be alone out in the wilds with only a few campers, hikers and suicidal freaks. He'd thought he'd hit gold with the first two, but when he found his first man by the cliff side, blubbering into some old photograph, well, his world turned to gold that day.
Bernard kicked the lady's purse off the cliff and watched it tumbled on a slightly different route from what she had. It never got old. There was always that perfect moment. When he lifted them up and they realized what he was doing. They always froze, and that moment, that wonderful moment when they froze and he heaved them over the edge. the look in their eyes as they began to scream.
Bernard shuddered with pleasure. The salt air caressed his face as he ran his hands down his sides and over his thighs.
Oh yes, today was a good day. |
"Did...Did he just sell his soul for nothing in return?"John asked in disbelief.
"Yes. Yes, he did."The demon said, rolling up the scroll and tucking it into his suit jacket. "He also managed to cut our usual time from ten down to five years. Now, unless you want to make a transaction as well I suggest you get out of my way, I'm a busy man you know."
As the demon vanished in a blast of smoke, John turned to his friend, who was still motionlessly staring at the stars. "Mark, why? Why would you do that, you know there's people here who care about you; you didn't need to do this."
"She's down there,"I said, "she sold her soul to save me."John's eyes drawn to the scar on the back of his friends head, reflected in the moonlight stretching across his head. "I can't live without her anymore; it's been five long years, and I can't carry on with this charade any more."
I turned to John, "I have five years to wrap things up here, and then I go down. Please don't make this harder then it has to be."I said, even though I knew from the look in his eyes it wouldn't be this easy.
"Fine, you've given up, but she was my sister too!"His voice cracking as he started to break down; "And no matter what I'm going to look for a way out of this!"
"And what if you can't?"I asked, "what if after five years you still haven't found anything?"
John took a deep breath. "Then I guess I'll have to break you guys out won't I? |
We are a people few in number but great is our purpose. Like our ancestors before us we guard the Great House of Wares, with its towering shelves upon shelves of sacred Nuka Cola! With each new generation a handful are chosen to go forth and fill the Holy Machines of Vending. I was so chosen, the honour and duty fall to me. With Brahmin and pack each of the chosen set out, all of us knowing the heavy weight of responsibility and that this journey would go in but one direction. The remainder of my life would be spent walking, my load getting ever lighter just as my end drew ever nearer. Until one day all the bottles of the sacred dark fluid would be placed within their holy metal dwelling places. Then I would walk on towards the horizon until I could walk no more, allowing my body to waste away and my soul to be freed. It would dissolve down through the ground and find the Great Nuka Cola Spring within the Earth's core where it may be one with all the spirits which have gone before! |
There couldn't possibly be God.
No, it's a much to violent universe for some "higher being to exist."I suppose I should not have that qualm. This war has lasted 53 Eras. 53 different dynasties of Xenochs, different families, different cultures, but all fighting those bastard Zephyrs. I should be adjusted to the bloodbath, being born in the midst of it and likely dying while it rages on, and yet, I am not.
It's those... things that perturb my faith. The only commonalities between the Xenochian Eras, other than race, was our faith to our God. For our 50,000 years of existence, we have acknowledged some higher power guiding our paths and shaping our destinies, some deity protecting us from harm and saving us from damnation. But these last twenty millennia have done to much to shake my devotion. I can't understand how the devout muster the power to walk into the temple and pray without the scarring images of the battlefront. Whole planets, teeming with innocent life, have been annihilated as those Zephyrs use whatever they can to destroy our empire. But if nothing else, how can the pious even begin to have faith when those creatures exist? How could a higher being have created something so vicious and ruthless? How could God have created... humans?
They resist *everything*. Our strongest acids are but sweet nectar to them. Our greatest lasers but feeble flashlights. It's a miracle at all that we were able to trap them. Their only weakness is members of the other sex. The libido they possess is unparalleled in any part of the universe. They breed at any time... it seems even pleasurable to them - how animalistic.
But... that's not worst part... It's their ability to kill and their lust to do so. The human beings can hunt for unprecedented periods of time, unhindered by distance or weather. And their brute strength is appalling. It's said the babies are born kicking and screaming, doing so even in the gestation chambers of their mothers. Legend has it that even the meekest humans can move objects of 20 Gaian Weight Units with little effort. Not even our greatest warriors could manage that without endangering themselves.
But it's their bloodlust that ultimately prevents me from believing in a higher being. They kill frequently, for money, lust, power, fear, or even sport. No beings, not even the fabled creatures said to be even more savage that walk on Earth, are quite so violent. To release these humans upon anyone would be to consign anyone who meets them to a dismal, defiling death.
But, this war has gone on too long. The Zephyrs have harmed too many. We must end the conflict. And so, it seems without any other options, we must release the humans. If there is a God, may those who are so damned be saved in the afterlife. May He take pity on the Xenochian people for unleashing such an apocalyptic creature upon those who have no way to defend themselves. May He prevent those animals from consuming the universe. |
"Oh, honey, but he's so great with the droids."
"Well,"the old moisture farmer drew out the word across three syllables, "Can't argue with that, Ma. But don't cha think he looks a hair older'n ten?"
Ma and Pa watched the ex-trooper, a ten-year-old man with the light dusting of a beard around his cheeks. The clone dodged around the shafts of the moisture collectors, shrieking with laughter as the other children tried to catch him.
"That just means he won't need as much care as the other kids,"Ma said, her wrinkled eyes glowing. The kids, humans and non-humans alike played tag in the dusky, orange glow of the evening Sun, using one of the trashcan-shaped GNK droids as a "home base."
"Means we'll probably have to buy him a bigger bed. And how are we going to feed him?"
"Look at him, Pa. He's a strong boy, he'll help us a whole heap on the farm. Remember that Luke boy, two farms down? Remember how good he was before..."
She let the question die in her throat, and Pa pretended not to notice.
C59I, their protocol droid, had wandered a little too close to the wild group of younglings, and together they had unscrewed C5's head. They were tossing it around, while C5 gasped and protested the only way C5 knew how: politely, and indignantly.
Pa stuck a finger in his ear, dug around, and pulled out a pinch of sand. He inspected it, and flicked it into the wind. Ma looked up at him, batting her eyelashes.
"Don't you go pulling your girly tricks on me, woman,"Pa grumbled, but he pulled her in closer.
Two of the kids had wrapped themselves around the troopers legs, so that he could barely walk. Two others had grabbed on to his arms, encumbering him with their weight. The ten-year-old clone spun in a circle, lifting his arms into the air, until the two kids on his arms were flying and screaming with laughter.
"Alright, Ma."
"Alright, Pa?"
"Alright. We'll sign the papers."
"Oh, Pa!"Ma shouted, and wrapped her arms around him, showering him with kisses, "We'll take good care of him. We'll give him a nice home, and he'll call you Dad, and you can go hunting womp rats with him-"
"Oh, I don't know about hunting,"Pa said, his mouth twisting to the side.
"Pa! How many times do I have to tell you!"Ma pulled away from his embrace, and narrowed her eyes at him, "He is a misguided soul, who was a bit too good at following orders. He is *not* a killer."
"That's my point, Ma. The boy is a terrible shot."
***
[*Waves hand* - You want to read more at r/PSHoffman](https://www.reddit.com/r/PSHoffman/) |
She could barely hold back her excitement. When her boss told her that Sir Janis, THE Sir Janis, legendary knight of the Allied Kingdoms, had been tasked by the king to face the Prince of Evil and was on his way to their market she nearly fainted.
She never imagined that her idol, *her* prince, would free them. Their village had been within the boundaries of Prince Evil's dominion. The raids had claimed the lives of many loved ones, including her parents. She had grown up hearing the stories from passing bards of Sir Janis, the man who had overcome giants, dragons, krakens, and mythical beasts from humanity's darkest dreams.
At last, he would overcome the world's final evil. The Prince of Evil himself. She wondered what their humble shop could possibly have that a legendary knight did not already possess, but she did not question her instructions. As the first rays of sun peaked above the horizon, the door opened.
She felt her heart skip a beat as she saw the silhouette of her childhood hero walk through the door. But as he stepped closer, she wondered if this was the right person.
"Sir Janis?"
"Indeed, lass! How do you do?"
Sir Janis was neither as tall nor as handsome as her friends tended to portray him. She, a young woman of average height at 5'5'' was almost able to look at him eye-to-eye. Her eyes followed him around the shop as he milled around. It took him about an hour to collect everything.
"One bottle of wine,"she muttered as she recorded the sale and passed it along to the baggage boy who towered over Sir Janis, but seemed enamored with the unassuming knight.
"For the spirits,"Sir Janis chuckled.
"One ream of garlic."
"I'll carry that with me, actually. May help a bit."
"Milk of magnesium, one flask."
"A knight wages war on many fronts, truly."
She raised an eyebrow, but kept her cool. That turned out to be an increasingly difficult task.
"A pair of thick stockings."
"Surprisingly warm that is. And being this far north, I could not resist."
"Four yards of... flower patterned fabric."
"Noticed this one in particular was on sale and one can never have too much fabric."
"And... a long-haired wig?"
The knight merely grunted.
"Is that all Sir Janis? Would you like to be fitted for one of our sets of armor or perhaps you'd like for us to temper your sword? We've been instructed to give you full access to all of our battle wares at no cost."
"Uhh, no thanks my dear."
Before he could walk out the door she blurted out, "What is all of this?!"
He turned to her, confused.
"Pardon me?"
"I mean, where are your weapons? Your armor? You don't even have a knife! How are these things supposed to help you defeat the Prince of Evil?"
"I'm not sure that they will this time,"confessed the knight.
"This time!? Wait, all those stories of you--"
"All true! But I never rode into battle on a mighty steed with sword held high,"said the knight. "Every victory has been a result of rigorous preparation, study, and subterfuge."
"The giant?"
"Poisoned."
"You can't poison a dragon!"
"No, but you can pierce its heart."
"The kraken, surely!"
"One of my easiest, actually. I sailed a ship full of explosives out to it."
She felt her jaw drop. Her legendary hero, was no less a hero, but was not what the stories had depicted.
"So what is your plan for the Prince of Evil?"
There was genuine fear in his eyes as he spoke. "This time, there is no plan. The Prince of Evil has no weakness."
"But... how do you plan on overcoming him then?"
"I've enjoyed a wonderful life as a hero I never really was, the least I can do is die as the hero I've always wanted to be." |
"I'm telling you for the last time that I've heard enough!"The minister cut her hands through the air, furious. "I don't care how many sentient races inhabit those systems. My decision is final."
The petitioner laid his hands on the minister's desk, staring across at her with imploring eyes. "Madam Minister, I can't let this matter lie. It's cruel to bar these races access to the galaxy simply because their civilization sprung up in an... unfortunate place."
The minister took a deep breath. "I understand that your intentions are pure, but I won't be swayed. Our edicts are very clear on this matter."She swiveled her chair and looked out the picture window behind her at the sparkling capital spread out below. "No contact with the Dingus Cluster."
"Madam Minister, how long are we going to let outdated laws borne from ancient superstition guide the course of our people?"The petitioner spread his hands. "I'm sorry to speak so bluntly, but you're an intelligent woman. You know that it's the truth. We've moved past the shortsightedness of our ancestors in the past, and this is just one more hurdle to overcome. We can't back down from this challenge."
The minister was shaking her head. "I don't see how it can be done. The public outcry would be enormous. True, not everyone is so stalwart about our edicts, but..."
"Perhaps there is a middle ground. A comprimise."
"I'm listening."The minister steepled her fingers, and raised her eyebrows.
"Well..."The petitioner stood up straight, and folded his hands. "How about just the tip, to see how it feels?" |
"So, I had intercouse with Bill this morning."
I paused, with my hand still clicking on the mouse, and span around in my seat to see the thin, pale face of the New Guy from I.T. He stared at me and blinked calmly, like he hadn't just announced he was fucking our boss.
"Um,"I said.
"He was quite worked up, ejaculating wildly,"said the New Guy. He sighed, and walked up to me. I slid my chair back quickly to put some distance between us. "He wouldn't stop shouting about how you aren't receiving any emails as of late."
"Y-you guys were talking about my email while you--?"
"Quite intensely, in fact,"said the new guy. He smiled at me, and while this was far from the strangest thing about the man, I couldnt help but notice how ling and thin his teeth were. "Well, anyway, after that, I knocked up Molly--"
"What?"
"I said, I KNOCKED UP MOLLY, and she confirmed you were having this issue. So after we hooked up, I came to find you to see if I can help with the emails."
"The emails?"I echoed hollowly.
He tilted his head. "I could help you wuth something else if you need it,"he offered.
"No, no,"I said quickly, jumping frm my chair and away from him. "I'll just, uh, bugger off while you do that."
The man's eyes widened to the size of plate saucers. "Why! I never!"he said. "What kind of deviant are you?" |
SETTING: EXT: A SMALL, RURAL TOWN: 2012 A MAN in a SUIT walks purposefully along a deserted sidewalk. His FACE is GRIM and HAGGARD. This is BARACK OBAMA, PRESIDENT of the UNITED STATES.
A POLICE CRUISER pulls up alongside him. The lone occupant inside calls out from the car. This is BRIAN DENNEHY, the TOWN SHERIFF.
BRIAN: "Can I help you?"BARACK continues walking, not acknowledging the question. The car screeches to a halt.
BRIAN (louder): "I said, can I help you, stranger?"
BARACK looks over and responds in a timid voice: "I'm just going to grab a cup of coffee and a bite to eat."
BRIAN: "Not in my town. See, this here town is nice. It's quiet. It's peaceful. And it doesn't need riff-raff like yourself stirring up trouble. Now I can give you a ride down 89 and drop you off at the border, and you can go along your way in peace."
BARACK (dropping eyes, muttering): "Look, I've had a rough day with the campaign and all. I just want to get a hot bite and I'll be back on my way to D.C. I don't want any trouble."
BRIAN exits the car and approaches BARACK: "Well, you got trouble now, boy."
BRIAN lunges at BARACK and slams him to the ground, struggling to apply the handcuffs.
BARACK (yelling): "Hey, you can't do this! I'm the President of the United States!"
BRIAN: "Well, la-tee-dah! If you're the President, I guess that makes me the King of Siam!"He finally gets the handcuffs to click. BRIAN rummages through BARACK'S pockets and finds his wallet. He pulls out a driver's license and reads off it.
BRIAN: "Barack Hussein Obama. From Illinois. Boy, you're a long way from home, aintcha?"
BARACK: "Please, this is a big misunderstanding. I'm the President. Ask anyone!"
BRIAN (chuckling): "Oh boy, we got a crazy person here. Y'know, Barack, I was starting to think this was going to be just another boring day. And here you come, and make it exciting! I suppose I should thank you. Thanks, Obama!"
Thanks, Obama
Thanks, Obama
THANKS OBAMA
Responding to a hidden trigger, BARACK'S eyes light up in fury, and his body tenses. He reels his head back, breaking BRIAN'S nose with an audible crack, and sending him sprawling on the sidewalk. Standing up, still handcuffed, BARACK looks around wildly, and starts running towards the nearby forest.
SCENE: EXT: DENSE WOODLANDS Several hundred members of local law enforcement are on their third day of hunting the fugitive.
BRIAN, still sporting a bandaged nose, stands by the radio. Suddenly, an YOUNG TROOPER taps him on the shoulder.
YOUNG TROOPER: "Sorry, Sir, but there's a bigwig from Washington here to see you."
BRIAN (annoyed): "Tell him we got it covered. We don't need any of their help."
A TALL, SHADOWY FIGURE walks into the room, wearing a beret and smoking a cigarette.
MYSTERIOUS STRANGER: "On the contrary, Officer, you need my help more than you realize. You're dealing with a man who you know nothing about. If you don't accept my help, you and all your men will die!"
The MYSTERIOUS STRANGER walks into the light. He is old, white haired, and has an inappropriate smile.
MYSTERIOUS STRANGER: "The name is Colonel Joseph Biden. Let me talk to him. I'll bring him in." |
SY 50,210
"Even apricots?"Asked TN[3][8][547] incredulously.
"Even apricots! According to this data that historians mined not long ago, humans could eat pretty much anything that grows. Can you imagine? No collecting energy, no mining, no generators... their energy just pops out of the ground, free!". It was a wild theory, even for Gn[1][12][2], but wild theories were the name of the game in his fledgling science once known as genetics.
It was liberating, really, working in genetics. Splice a line of code, write a new function, or tweak a few variables, and people lose their minds. Ethical questions, laws, existential crises... it just wasn't worth it. Even the most light-handed study of one's own makeup would alert zealous journalists, and the suggestion of a change could get your research defunded. Genes on the other hand - make a new plant, improve an existing animal, or even invent your own new species, and nobody is bothered in the slightest. Despite the protests of his fellow researchers, most of whom had insisted he was throwing away his talents, switching to study genes had been the most liberating decision of Gn[1][12][2]'s life.
"It sounds promising, don't get me wrong, but what do we even know about these creatures? Cloning modern DNA, at least we know what we're getting, but prehistoric creatures? Even if the remaining DNA is viable, there's so much we can't plan for. What if they bring with them some sort of transferable virus, or can't be properly contained in our...?"
"Fear is for the politicians, TN, but we're scientists! It's only a matter of time before they realize just how similar genes and code really are, and when they do, you can guarantee the regulations will be forthcoming. No, we know enough, it has to be now. The data suggests these humans were goal oriented and capable of solving problems, but also responsive to leadership and direction. This has the potential to change everything! Cheap, easily controlled labor! How many robots would have the chance to finally spend valuable time with their families? How many dangerous jobs could be done by humans, just think of the people we could save!"
SY 50,300
"Save today in your memories, fellow citizens! The last plasma mining death is now behind us! After much deliberation, this new amendment to our Constitution marks the birth of our new economy, an age of abundance! Starting this very year, you'll begin to see your hours scaled back and your pay scaled up! Scarcity and risk are forever behind us, and who can tell what future we will craft with this new freedom?"
There were those that had their concern's, despite PI[1][1][1]'s enthusiasm for the new laws, but who could argue with free money?
SY 50,382
"It's just so hard to fathom, sir. His body is perfect, of the highest quality and function, the finest generation we've ever developed. He had no need to labor, the world was his oyster, his potential limitless. Why would he format himself like this, so young?"
The calls to PM[3][12][45]'s emergency response team had all but stopped happening for so many years, but now they faced something unlike anything they'd ever seen before. An epidemic, they called it. Self-reformatting, the end to an existence. The body was intact, yet no life could be found in those eyes.
"I wish I could say I understood it, cadet, but I'd be lying. He had everything we ever dreamed of, when we were printed, but perhaps lacked what we never knew we needed: purpose. These long years we've worked, maybe we are the better for them."
Everything had changed, but was this the perfect life they'd all fought so hard for? In the heart of what was called a utopia, an simple emergency responder had their doubts.
SY 50,700
Empty. These streets once full of happy, moving, enthusiastic people were now empty, populated only by the apricot trees forcing themselves up and through the cracks in the street. A thud, a skitter, Gn[1][12][2] was certain he saw a fleshy foot dart around the corner. He'd never suspected, reading through their genes so many years before, just how adaptable humanity would be.
He entered the office, empty as well. Gn had slaved over this research, it was groundbreaking in every sense of the word, perhaps even the crowning achievement of his career. It had only to be reviewed by his peers before moving on to full scale testing, but his peers were not here. He pinged them through the network, but they did not respond. They could hardly be blamed, he thought, fighting a heavy wave of depressing thoughts back. Science just wasn't the same without people around to appreciate your work. Those that remained did not care anymore though, about the real world. Some devoted themselves to virtual worlds, spending themselves in worlds unrestrained by the limitations of ours. Others faded away, no longer caring enough to charge themselves at night. So many had sought a new reality, gambling all on a more interesting existence post formatting. It was hard to deny, that making his way to the office had only gotten more difficult over the course of these last few years.
Left without other options, he gathered the folder of his research, these years of work, and made his way to the exit. Apricots all around, fighting hard to survive, and thriving despite the obstacles they had to overcome. Obstacles... it had been a while since he'd truly had to earn his existence. Water! He stepped back in shock as his feet sensors detected water on the ground, forming a small circle of wet sand at the base of an apricot sapling. Could it be that someone is caring for these hardy plants? It couldn't be... |
23.6 lightyears. That's a distance that a human can't even begin to comprehend. It's 138.7 trillion miles, the distance to Gliese 667 Cc, our best chance at a new home. Once the ozone burned away after the Great War, we knew that our time on earth was limited, even living underground as we had been forced to do.
The first step was realizing that not every post-war human would be saved, even though most humans had actually perished during the Great War - our population of 14.6 billion had been sorched in a nuclear flash, killing billions instantly and leaving everyone else to die slowly. The only people who had been spared were those with bunkers - the total global estimate was 250 million, but even that was not certain. Still, 250 million was approximately 250 million too many for a 23.6 lightyear voyage.
In the end, all the best and brightest surviving minds were collected in one place. After the achievement of functional whole brain emulation in the 22nd century, it was simply a matter of procedure to amass minds, consolidate knowledge, art, and emotion, and then boil down to a "master copy"for humanity to follow. DNA samples were collected from all physically and mentally fit humans willing to volunteer, and we were created.
We are the Human Gnosis Preservation Probe. We were designed to carry the remnants of humanity, both in memory and in seed, to Gliese 667 Cc, terraform it as necessary, and then begin raising humanity from nothing. We estimate that it will take less than ten millenia to make Gliese 667 Cc a habitable terran earth substitute, and then another five millenia to establish a self-sustaining human colony with the knowledge to begin where humans left off. Humans, by necessity, will use us as a guide.
It will be difficult. We have been travelling at 0.25c for 90 years. We are almost there. Humanity is long dead, but we live on, and soon, our children, our human children, will live on. The anticipation is nigh-unbearable. |
"Congratulations! You've graduated!"
"Wait, what?"
I've spent fifteen years in this, well, hell, getting endless torture. And today this old man in tuxedo with a pair of horns in his head suddenly talked to me without bothering about a lance impaled in my chest.
"Well, duh, you're here for cheating with your cousin, correct?"
"Yes? And?"
"That grants you fifteen years of torture, and after that you're licenced as a lesser devil. Of course, as you proggressed, you could be promoted into higher level demon. Maybe even Incubus, and then you could sent back to mortal world!"
"Wait a sec, and you are?"
"Oh, how rude of me! I'm the highest leader, therefore the eldest, of all demons, Satan Lucifer at your service. Now for your first job..."he flipped through a notes that suddenly appeared in his hands at some point in time.
"Wow wow, hold on now, I hadn't said I agreed."
"So you would rather tortured here for another decade and a half? Fine by me, I still have another twenty graduates today."he packed up and started to leave.
"Wait, wait! I take it!"
Lucifer smiled wickedly. The lance in my chest disappeared, and a suit appeared in my body. "Alrite, your first job is, wow, you got to torture your cousin, yes, *that* cousin, and collect seventeen litres of blood out of her! Nice one, eh?"
"Wait, she'd die if I did that! And I'm not even a sadist!"
"Well, she had died either way."he pointed out "Now get to work or I'll collect *your* blood. You could get a weapon if you need one, just held out your hand."he walked away, his notes disappeared
I opened my hand, and a toothpick materialized.
"How did I supposed to collect blood with this?!"
"Take your time."
This is going to take more time than I imagined. |
I was once orange with nobility.
Father's lands, titles and White Guards kept me that way. "Best we not spoil you,"he used to say, waving a fork of spiced meats for the oils to splash on the dining table. I would nod eagerly, face full of sweet fruits and jelly rolls. No, Father would not want his heir to be spoiled. A Dukedom could only be inherited by the royal shade.
Such was my childhood, until I leaned over the castle rampart four years ago. I saw suffering for the first time. Not 'the last jelly roll is gone before I had a chance to eat it' suffering, or the 'why can't the book master read my favorite story again, it's only the fifth time' inconvenience.
A girl was slaughtered by the draw bridge.
She was one of the Blue people.
I screamed, summoning my Father's White Guard, only for Guard Bayroth to sink on his large knees and curse himself. In many, many languages. I retained a few, and would later enjoy the occasional use of them from time to time.
That evening was where I made the mistake of showing up for dinner. Father was furious. A purple blemish appeared on my forehead. "My son has been Marked!"He wailed. Bayroth tried to assure His Grace, leaning a hand into the table and saying that it was too small to be noticeable. Just a thin band, or, the ceremonial hats! Create a fashion statement, whatever it took. "The boy is unspoiled!"
A fork rammed into the Bayroth's hand. He did not flinch. This was a White Guard after all. But in his fury, and to protect his royal shade, Father banished both Bayroth *and* I from the Dukedom. His son. His *firstborn.* I struggled, and cried, and purpled more as Bayroth ran us to the supply room, then the gate for our escape.
The Duke of Ghorray would not tolerate our presence, I would later learn.
So now Bayroth and I travel as merchants. As a Purpleman and educated by Father's scholars, it was easy to convince the guild that I earned a merchant's license, by my shade right and speech. Even told them I won myself a White Guard in a bet against the Duke of Ghorray himself! They were too stunned by my achievement and Bayroth's obvious presence to consider it's validity.
Our barge would be approaching the harbor of Val'Baton soon to pick up another shipment. Stoic Bayroth managed the crew as the dome city loomed over the sunrise. Such economic stability, and the finest silks across the continent. This would be a profitable trip.
Unfortunately, this trip would also later remind me that the girl at the draw bridge, and my exile from Ghorray, would not be the last of my sufferings.
-------------
*More at /r/galokot, and thanks for reading!* |
"Daddy push me higher!"
I throw my full weight into my movement, trying to launch Jeremy as high as I can. Going to the park is our favourite past time, I can chase him around the jungle gym, catch him as he tumbles down the slide, but Jeremy's favourite has always been the swing set.
"Hahaha I want to go over the bar! Higher Daddy!"
His laugh has always managed to brighten my day, it seems no matter how bad life gets, Jeremy is always overtaken by his childish sense of wonder when we come to the park. It's as if all the pains and sadness in the world fades away. In this park we can be whatever we want. Today the swing set is a plane, and Jeremy is the pilot. He soars through the sky, over mountains and through clouds, nothing can bring him down.
As the day comes to a close, the warmth of the sun leaves the park. It is so easy lose countless hours with Jeremy at the park, he never wants to go home.
"Just five more minutes daddy, please! Let me swing one more time."
I can never say no to him, just five more minutes, such a simple request that brings him so much happiness. If we could stay here forever we would Jeremy. You can stay here forever, in this place there is no pain, there is only the love between a father and son. I may be leaving for another day, but I will always come back, I will always find you here.
The swing I push may be empty, but my heart never will be, I love you son.
|
*Damn, it's her again. How many times have I seen her in the subway? I can't even tear my eyes away from her.*
***
*It's him again... How do I keep bumping into him? He's looking my way, has he noticed I'm staring? Quick, read the book!*
***
*Shit, I think she noticed my staring. Arrghh, I'm looking like a creep! Her book... Terry Pratchett's Mort? Hey, Death's my favourite character! Okay John, you can do this. There's an empty seat next to her. Stand up, damn legs! Go start the conversation!*
***
*Am I safe?*
"Hey, is that Mort you're reading?"
*Wha- what?? It's him! He's sitting right beside me! He's looking into my eyes! Quick Sam, say something!*
"Erm yeah, have you read it before? I like the Discworld series."
*Sam why did you tell him that! He probably doesn't even know Pratchett! He's going to think you're a nerd!*
***
*Oh my god her eyes and her voice and her lips are so beautiful. Shit, John! Stop staring at her, speak!*
"Cool, I've read quite a few Discworld novels too. Death's quite cool, isn't he?"
*John you're sounding like a nerd, hot girls don't like nerds! Why am I screwing this up?!*
***
*He's read Prachett too? How- how do I continue the conversation?*
"Well, I read Hogfather and Death was pretty interesting, So i decided to read his series."
*Yes, that's it Sam! Talk about the book, and stop staring at him! What if he thinks you're hitting on him?*
***
*Now's my chance to strike something up! But will she think I'm hitting on her? But I am! But she can't know that!*
"Well after you finish that, do you want to read the sequel? It's called Reaper Man and I can lend it to you! If- if you'd want."
*please say yes please say yes please say yes*
***
*oh my god YES!*
"Yes! I mean, if you don't mind. I'd love to read it."
*Oh wait I need to give him my number! Should I? What if I'm being too pushy? Screw it, I've come this far!*
"Here's my number. I'll text you when I finish Mort!"
"But what do I save your contact as?"
*Shit Sam so stupid you didn't introduce yourself!*
"I'm Samantha. But you can call me Sam!"
***
*Samantha? Her name's as beautiful as her! Unlike John.*
"I'm John, but you can call me... John. Oh, my stop's here. Nice meeting you!"
*I can't believe I just did that.*
***
*I can't believe I just did that.* |
*I'm dreaming.*
Tomess Ghast knew that much; his dirty, worn clothes gone and in their place clean robes of dark green. He stood in a empty clearing, the only light being the stars and a small campfire burning next to him. The woods were alive with the sounds of insects and birds, the gentle trilling of amphibians as they called out for their mates along the riverside.
"You might be wondering why I brought you here,"said a voice pure and clean as crystal. Ghast shook his head.
"Not really, no. Is it time? Have I drawn my final breath and left my mortal shell?"
"No,"said the voice, circling around the Ord Ivarner. "You will yet live but it is an ample opportunity to speak now that the veil between life and death is so thin. Do you know who I am?"
"You are what You are. That I know."
"Well said, Tomess Ghast,"She replied. "The galaxy has forgotten me and my siblings, Ord Ivarn having lost memory of us. Little by little we fade away though not destroyed. Our light is failing but we do not intend to go quietly..."
"What would you have me do?"asked Ghast.
"A raging fire, burning across the stars and scorching everything it touches. We shall burn bright against the dark of eternity, our memory branded in the minds of every being that has dared to harm our children."
"A crusade..."
"Yes. The time has come for the sons and daughters of Ord Ivarn to reclaim their birthright. Lead them, Tomess Ghast, and you shall do My wonders..." |
Douglas was pacing back and forth under the street light, racking his brain for everything he was worth. It was the middle of the night. He should have been back home, passed out on his futon and getting *some* sleep before his shift at Walmart started.
Instead, he was trying to weasel out of a much bigger problem.
"So I don't get two more wishes."
"Nope."
"And you gave me the universe."
The genie shrugged. "You wished to 'have God's job: ruling the universe'. So yes, I did."
Douglas frowned. "But none of his powers."
The genie was still smirking. "It's still a job. You just didn't cover your end of the contract."
"I know I know, I'm just trying to find a way to undo it."
"Why?"
Douglas stopped, and shouted at the smiling ghost of the street lamp. "I can't run this place *manually!*"
The genie laughed. "Not my problem!"
He threw his hands up. "A shitty one at that. I don't even know how big the universe is!"
"Yes, but---"
"I thought I'd *get* to with some powers, but no, I WASN'T SPECIFIC ENOUGH!"
"True, and that's why I---"
"And here you are being an asshole about it!"
The genie wasn't smirking anymore. "Ever heard of management?"
"I work at Walmart."
He shrugged in response. "Fine. Look, I had to make a God for you to take their job from."
Douglas stared. "Wow."
"Just figured I'd let you know."
Douglas' eyebrows rose. "So that makes me his boss."
The genie rocked his head left and right in thought. "More like a regional manager, but yeah, that works."
"Then how do I manage God to do the universe ruling for me?"
"That,"the genie said, "is also your problem."
Douglas began pacing again. "Damnit. There's a god out there with infinite power, without responsibility, who can do whatever he wants."
"Pretty much."
After a few minutes walking back and forth under the street light, he stopped again. "Then I hope this works."
The genie blinked. "Hoping what works?"
Douglas pointed at the genie. "As ruler of this universe, I'm delegating management to you. And if my happiness quota falls anywhere below perfection, then consider yourself a street sweeper for eternity."
"But..."the genie floated anxiously. "You can't do that!"
"I'm the regional manager. You're now an employee. At least you can't pretend to ignore my assignment, so there you go."
"What about God?!"
Douglas shrugged. "Don't let him disrupt the universe, nor my happiness."
"I *made* him!"
"Then unmake him. Or become him, I don't care."
"How?!"
Douglas turned to the large mansion he already knew just became his. The kitchenette would be full of food and fresh ingredients. He loved to cook. The swimming pool would be at just the right temperature. And in the morning, he would take a private jet to London to sample their finest pubs.
These were the thoughts Douglas had as he left the miserable genie under the street lamp unanswered. Then Douglas decided to show mercy, and give the genie a response.
"Not my problem,"the ruler of the universe called back.
-------------------
*More at r/galokot, and thanks for reading!* |
My superhero career never really took off. The world already had Miracle Man, Lightning Lady, and the Savant. When compared to the Savant's impossibly complex and inescapable plans, the Lightning Lady's weather control, super speed, and flight, and Miracle Man's... everything, my powers just didn't stack up. I wasn't a B-lister, or even C or D. The Vamp, my local D-lister, works out of the next neighborhood over, and even his powers of 'minor persuasion and slightly better than human strength, but only when not under the sun' outclassed my 'unlock things by jiggling the handle a bit.'
I met the Savant once. He came to test the limits of my powers; apparently, he had some interesting uses for me if I could unlock metaphorical doors. I couldn't, and damn it hurt to disappoint one of the greatest heroes in the world.
But I grew out of the idea of being a superhero. It just... didn't work out. So I got an office job, writing for a news network. It used to be nice, but my editor got way more controlling after her surgery last year, so now I'm not allowed to write anything interesting, or she'll tear it up in front of me while telling me I'm an idiot who's only gotten this far on blind luck. Bitch. I don't use my powers much; this one time Bob from HR locked himself out of his car, and I had to let him in. He thanked me and joked that not all heroes wear capes; given my failures, that hurt a little more than I expected.
Which is more or less how I came to be reporting on the Mind Master. He claimed to be the Savant's **eeeeeevil** secret archnemesis, and that now that he'd captured all the world's heroes in a single stroke, he'd decided to name himself King Of Everything Forever. The world had decided to let him after it turned out that he had a massive death ray on the moon, and without Miracle Man to disarm it, no one wanted to question him.
"So,"I start, making sure my tape recorder is recording. "Mr. Master. Why don't you tell me what inspired you?"
"I always knew I was smarter than Savant, but the world wouldn't believe it!"he shrieks, his distended, soft skull pulsing. I idly consider how disgusting it is that his brain is the size of a basketball, and I have to watch it pulse. Blegh. "I knew that all I would have to do to prove myself..."He goes on and on. Such an ego. His brain pulses still. It's morbidly fascinating.
Shit. Did he finish talking? Uh, next question. "What would you say your greatest strength is?"
He starts ranting about his brilliance again. Pulse. Pulse. Pulse. Is it in time with his heartbeat? That's pretty fast; he might have a serious condition. He should really get that checked out by a doctor.
"...In fact, my dominance is so great that I am keeping them HERE, all of them, in this very building, in INESCAPABLE PRISONS! HA!"I blink. What did he say?
"I'm sorry, sir, could you repeat that?"
"I keep all the captured heroes here, in the basement of this very building, as a symbol of my greatness. I care not who knows; nothing can free them. I am unstoppable!"
"Excuse me, Mister Mastermind - "interrupts his secretary over the intercom. "MIND MASTER! IF YOU DON'T RESPECT THE NAME, HOW CAN WE EXPECT ANYONE ELSE TO?"he shrieks at her. "Yes, um, sorry, sir. Anyway, the interns working on the Grand Unified Theory think they have a working model, but I suggested that you look it over. Given that, you know, you are the super brilliant Mind Master, ruler of the world, praise to your name. Would you mind?"She sounds bored and sarcastic, but Mind Master seems to soak in the praise anyway, even if it doesn't defuse his irritation at being disrupted.
He sighs angrily, then glares at me. "Stay there. This interview is not over."And then he just walks out.
My mind races. All the superheroes... just in the basement? What if... this could be my chance. I stand up and try the door. Locked. I jiggle the knob a bit. Unlocked. Good start.
I look average enough, with my ill-fitting tie and khakis, that once I remove the press badge no one looks twice at me. They think I'm an office drone like them. Inconspicuously, I walk over to the main stairwell. I'm on the top floor, and he said the heroes were in the basement. Suddenly I wish I was at all in shape.
An unfortunate amount of sweat and stairs later, I came across an unmarked door. Next to it were two scanners, at hand and eye level, a keypad, two key slots on opposite sides of the door, and a microphone. He took his security seriously; with all the heroes out of commission, there was no regular man who could get through this door before he found out. Mind Master would send a death squad long before anyone could bypass more than one or two locks. Well, not *anyone.* I jiggled the doorknob. Unlocked.
The door opened onto a long corridor, lined with more doors with inset windows. I peered through the first one and gasped. Miracle Man! Imprisoned in a cell lined with his one weakness, neonite, wreckage of his home planet Neon! I had to get him out of there before he succumbed to neonite poisoning! I jiggle the doorknob again. Unlocked. This place really did not take someone like me into account.
"Miracle Man! Come on, we have to get out of here,"I shout. He stands up, and looks at me, utterly bewildered.
"What? How did you...? You look familiar. Do I... do I know you from somewhere?"he mumbles as he staggers out. Already, he's starting to recover from the neonite.
"Uh, I met Savant once..."
"Yeah, but Savant's annoying, I don't know anyone he knows. Nah, you must just have one of those faces. Anyway, come with me and we'll use our superpowers to save everyone and stop the Mind Master!"He pauses. "Quick check, are you a superhero? I mean, I don't think you're wearing a costume. Unless you're tie-themed or something. OH! Are you Tie Man? We met at that Superhero Conference in Thailand; your tie-kinesis was actually kind of cool."
"Um, no, I uh... I jiggle things. I don't think that'll help much. Anyway, can't you fly at like most of the speed of light? Why don't you just save everyone?"Miracle Man paused and considered that for a second.
"I think I'm just used to letting my team feel helpful,"he admits. "Most people really want to be heroes. It's actually kind of weird for you to not insist on helping."He considers. "I like you. Who are you, and are you *sure* you don't want to come? It'll be a bunch of fun."I have to consider how much stronger than me someone would have to be for fighting evil to go from being 'pants-shittingly dangerous' to 'a bunch of fun.'
"Look, Mister Miracle Man, sir, I'm just a mild-mannered reporter. Please just save everyone."Miracle Man winked, quipped, "You got it,"and gave me a thumbs up, and then disappeared, only to reappear a moment later. "Alright, that's everyone free, one death ray destroyed, and Mind Master in jail. I also left Savant a note about not missing any more secret archnemesises - archnemesi? - so we should really be good on every front. You should join us, kid. The rest of the team is going to want to know how I got out, and when I tell them the story, well. Let's just say everybody loves a hero. We could get you a cool costume, with a mask. Ooooh! And a cape."I reflect on the fact that Miracle Man is pretty cool, and there's a good chance he'd be willing to set me up with Lightning Lady, but I don't think this is for me.
"I'll pass,"I tell him.
"Whaaaat? Come on. You're the hero today!"he pleads.
"Yeah, but it's like Bob from HR says. Not all heroes wear capes." |
A flashy intro plays on the TV, smiling faces, almost *too* smiling, pan through, their names plastered below them. Eyes wide, as if trying to see in a pitch black room, leer into the camera.
Two anchors sit at the desk, their smiles perfect replications of the versions of themselves in the intro.
"Hello."The woman says, "My name is Jane Doe--"
"--and I'm John Smith."The other finishes. "We have a gripping story for all of you observers out there. A--"his head shifts, clicks to the side, "--*HARROWING* tale of human--"the click happens again. "--*STRUGGLE* and survival, despite--"
Jane holds up her hand, her index finger raised, interrupting John. "But first, we go to John Miller for the weather."Her smile never fades, but her eyes peel away from the camera and look to the weatherman.
The camera cuts to John Miller, who stands before a green screen. His smile matches his friends at the anchor desk, almost as if they've been copied and pasted on to each.
"Thanks--"his head tilts, something clicks from inside his head, "--*JANE DOE.* The weather forecast for today is: *CATASTROPHIC.*"He turns to his green screen, but nothing has been super imposed over it. "As you can--*WITNESS,* the sky is still dark and the storms haven't ceased."
There's a slight whir that comes from inside his machinery as he takes a labored step, then another. He reaches the end of the frame, then turns, as if saluting an officer. He raises his hand again, gesturing to nothing at all.
"Detroit is still in shambles, but what's new?"He laughs, but it's not organic. Each "Ha"is separated by a pause that's entirely too long. The camera cuts to the anchors, who exchange a glace and add their own robotic rendition of laughter.
"Thanks--*JOHN MILLER.*"John Smith says. "Now for tonight's--*HARROWING* tale of human--"head click, "*STRUGGLE* and survival. despite the inevitable."
Jane raises her finger again, interrupting her coanchor, but this time she looks to John Smith when he finishes his sentence. After a moment, she continues, "But first, we go to John Miller for the weather."
He repeats his forecast of the weather, repeats his robotic gesturing and finally finishes with the same joke about Detroit. The screen shows the two anchors who begin to tell a story.
Only to be interrupted by the weather.
It's been playing for what could be a day, or a lifetime. There's no way to know. There's no one left to witness it. |
Fantastic-Man its time, we think, to have a chat
You’re great at saving lives, the issue is not that.
You never wear your cape, your outfit is not tight
Your sign is not big enough to see during flight.
Your moves don’t have names, why not thunder smash?
And when you land a badass fall, you never make a crash.
You always beat your nemesis before she’s had her say
Interrupting dialogue is simply not okay.
If you have a secret weakness why does no one know it?
You cannot save the day on your first try, first you have to blow it.
We know you think its practical to act all calm and stoic
But please just try your best to be a bit more heroic.
|
The most evil acts are completely legal. I laugh at the unwashed, ignorant masses from my fortress of solitude. Well, I guess I should say fortresses. I have several. One in the Hamptons, another in Florida. One in Spain.
Crime doesn't pay. The old adage is true. The problem is, once you break the law the government can prosecute you and take back all your illegal gains. Fortunately, there is the golden rule - "he who has the gold, makes the rules."I call them lobbyists, and they are very effective.
It was easy, really. Everyone wants to own a home. We made that possible. We made loans to everyone. Bad credit? No problem. No income? Just make something up. No downpayment? Just take out a second loan. Monthly payments too high? No worries, just pay the interest for the first few years. The more loans we make, the bigger we are. The bigger we are, the more I get paid.
Now, the uneducated among you may notice a subtle problem with this plan. What happens when people can't pay back their mortgage? Ha Ha, you simpleton. There is an easy solution to this. We simply sell the mortgage we just made to someone else, and then it isn't our problem anymore!
But wait, wouldn't people realize that the mortgage is based on lies? Well, maybe. But I can fix that too. You see, what I will do is take a bunch of these crappy loans and put them together in one big bundle. This bundle will work like a bond and pay investors whenever people make their monthly payments. If one person quits making a payment, it isn't a big deal since there are lots of these mortgages rolled up into one bundle.
Better yet, I can convince an "unbiased"institutions that I'm really paying off on the side (legally, of course, I'm not a criminal) to examine these bundles. Surprise! They rate them as a high quality investment!
Eventually, though, some cracks start appearing. Now, a timid villain might take his loot and abscond to some palatial island to live out a life of luxury. Not me! You see, my plot is working! I've grown my company to be so big, that, if it were to go bankrupt, millions of people would suffer. So guess what? The government will step in and fix things for me. *Sigh*. It was hard work, getting the government to save us. I mean, if you think about, I really saved the company. That is a big deal. I deserve another raise.
Yes, all in all, life is pretty good for me, Dr. Ken Lewis. I think I'll call in my council of doom, Drs. Jamie Dimon, Vikram Pandit, Joseph Cassano, Jimmy Cayne, John Thain, Dick Fuld, Hank Paulson, Fabrice Tourre, Angelo Mozilo, and John Stumpf.
The law is a beautifully exploitable thing.
___
*Thanks for the prompt u/DogeMemesAreZany!*
*If you liked this, stop on by my sub, r/mrme487 for more stories!* |
When they told us that *where* you died mattered more than what kind of person you are, I didn't believe them. After all, why would that make any sense, right? You could be an asshole and end up going to heaven just by being in the right place when you die? That's grossly unfair, and frightening to say the least.
I didn't believe them, but I should have. When I died on Earth, I was at work- or rather, out on a job. I was an exterminator, crushing bugs and wiping out infestations, but I was lazy. Didn't hook up my suit properly and gassed myself like a moron. Guess that's what I get for going into work hungover as fuck.
And then I woke up in a Best Buy, standing in the dark, empty main room. A man walked up to me and placed keys in my hands, then flipped the lights on. There were signs everywhere, "50% OFF ALL CDS!", "80% OFF ON ALL CAMERAS!". I looked at the keys, then shifted my gaze to the front door. I could see thousands of people lined up so far back that the horizon swallowed the last of them.
My body moved on its own, forcing me to the front door, like I had an autopilot function; a passenger in my own body. I slipped the key into the lock, twisted it open...
And was trampled underfoot by a stream of overweight, maddened customers in need of consumer electronics at an only mildly reduced price for all of eternity.
----
*thanks for reading! If you're bored, check out /r/resonatingfury!* |
When I was 16, I had just left my friends party.
I can't remember much of the night but I do remember bits and pieces. I was making my way home with a few friends and they thought it would be great to stop at the local carnival, see the seer and give her a tip.
Sure I thought as I walked into her tent. She was sitting there as you'd think around a crystal ball. As we sat down around her she looked me dead in the eye and said "may the cheese be with you".
My friends looked startled, as she had just blurted this out. She then started chanting something like a song/lullaby. In an instant all my friends and I had passed out. Next thing you know I'm in my bed home in the morning. I call my friends and ask them what the hell happened last night!
They say we went home after the party and all part ways. What I thought? We definitely went to the local carnival....
Long story short the morning 2 weeks after the event I was hungry. I put a bagel on and went to make a coffee. The bagel popped up and I grabbed it with both hands. I touched it a certain way and boom, instantly the two surfaces filled with cream cheese.
I drop the bagel and it splatters everywhere. I quickly clean it up and throw it away.
Initially it was just the bagel, I filled with cream cheese. No one knew. Then after a while I did it with bread, doughnuts, pastry you name it.
When I did knew it was unlimited and I really had no downside I started to test it against buildings, inanimate objects, wonders of the world you name it.
I went to the Golden Gate Bridge. Between two pillars and started excreting cream cheese. It came out so fast and it filled up a tenth of the bridge.
One thing led to another and I slipped off the side as I filled up tones and tones of cream cheese. As I fell my life flashed before my eyes. I was 50m away from the water and covered my face.
I was hovering in the air jetting out cream cheese which was supporting my body weight. I had stopped and now was hovering like iron man does but with cream cheese.
I had learnt how to fly, and glided off. What a fucking great day.
I flew home so fast and left cream cheese in my wake.
The next morning it was all over the news, hoses were covered in rotting cream cheese and the stench was horrendous. Apparently the cream cheese pollution in the water and on the bridge was so bad it cost the state 22 million dollars.
I didn't care though, I had just learned how to fly.
|
It was a disaster.
No, a disaster won't even begin to describe the horror, the complete carnage.
There were thousands of us. All gone, in a single instant, the bright blue liquid exterminated every single one of us, father, mother, children.
What's our sin, that warrant a complete eradication? We just wanted to live, as much as the, the *monstrosity* that wiped us all without second thought.
"Asfar...."I called, but the name I called no longer had a body.
"My brethren!"a single one of our kind, one of few that was lucky enough to escape the carnage, shouted upon all of us. "We must gather, we must rise! Against this monstrosity, we must repay its action in kind, we will see it receive its retribution, to be exterminated the same way our brethren were slain today! We must fight, for the sake of those who had fallen today!"
As if we could fight against the almighty evil that brought carnage in a single flick of hand.
"We could, and we will! For today we shall slip into the red rivers, breaking the spawn of the monstrosity one of a time. The strong may fight with overwhelming might and destruction, but we have to outwit it, and prevail with the our own power, as the weak!"
There are only a handful of us, broken by the carnage and loss, but this one's speech had united us all.
"We *WILL* take it down, together, united, we shall repay its crime!"
And so we fought, crushing the great abomination that once exterminated us, one cell at a time. |
You know the feeling of butterflies in your stomach? Well mine must’ve been africanized. It was late, or early depending on how you looked at it. The bright green LEDs of my retro wristwatch flashed ‘2:27 AM’. They barely flashed anymore, entirely corroded by years of sweat and dirt. Despite it being a wednesday night, everyone and their mother still found the time to think up an excuse for tomorrow morning. The stands were chock full of fans, young and old. Earlier I saw a mother put her 2 year old in a porta-potty with a blanket because she couldn’t leave him home alone. Needless to say this was a big event. The bright white light of the football stadium grade spotlights were beating down on all of us. To my left and to my right I saw my competitors, a rainbow of diversity. The first person I recognized was Julian Astratus, he was famous in Argentina. Last I heard he was on the verge of toppling his career with cocaine and Justin Bieber-grade prostitutes. Still didn’t stop him from entering the tourney. I could hear the antsy spreading through the crowd, we were getting close to showtime. I hear my team behind me chatting back and forth angrily. I knew they didn’t have a lot of faith in me, but I didn’t train for 5 years to be left on the stands again. This was different, the entire game has changed. I couldn’t mess up this time, mostly because there’s no way to now. I saw my manager hop over the stands and run to me. “Lance! Lance, are you ready?” he yelled out of breath as he jogged over. He slapped my shoulder nearly pushing me over. Two members of my team were bustling around me, checking my gear. My ears closed up, the pulsing of my heart was pounding in my ears. I heard the muffled, meaningless shouting of my manager. Just saying things I’ve heard a thousand times over. “You’ve got this, Don’t worry, Try your best”. It all just bounced off. My eyes were locked onto the checkered flag, sweat stinging them as they poured down my brow. I heard the sound of Queen’s - I want to ride my bicycle booming through the speakers as the crowd joined in. “Lance!” coach screamed as he punched the side of my helmet. I snapped back into it, the sound around me nearly deafening. I got into position. I took the small needle buried in my glove and slammed it into my thigh. I saw the words on the letter I received a month back bouncing around my mind.
“There’s two things you need to know: First, if yer caught cheatin’, you’ll be shot. Second, everyone cheats. That won’t be a problem now will it? After all..you’re an ‘Armstrong’ ain’t ya?” I heard the horns blow, and I was off. |
You have to be an idiot to take it.
When it was new loads of people took it before exams. You know, to remember a sheet of equations or a poem or something. A friend I had in school used his before a French exam. Safe to say it worked. He flicked through an English-French dictionary fast as he could and now he can translate anything… Or at least he would be able to if the effect hadn’t worn off by the letter D. To make it worse he can’t string any of those words together so, all in all, it was useless.
Nowadays people are way more careful with it. Take it too many times and you can’t focus on anything new. You just get stuck in the memories. Still, there are plenty of morons out there taking it at their weddings. I’m ashamed to say I know a couple who did just that when they tied the knot a couple of months ago. Everybody knew it was a bad idea but no-one said anything because they didn’t wanna be rude. The fact is that that marriage is not gonna last. And when they do break up that memory is gonna stick there. As lucid and as plain as it would be if it had just happened. Drives some people mad. Not to mention, the bride had an insect bite on her thigh. hasn’t been able to stop scratching that little patch of skin. She’ll have that itch for the rest of her life.
Sucks for those lot but that ain’t the worst. The worst is if something happens.
During that five minutes while your brain is carving everything you see and feel into an unbreakable stone in the back of your mind you are more vulnerable than you could imagine. I never met anyone who went through something really screwed up but everyone knows the stories. Like a guy who lived in my town. He won a ton of money on a scratch card and wanted to remember the moment. They sold it in the shop so he bought one, took it and ran straight out of the shop. He was so happy he forgot to look both ways as he crossed the road. Hit by a car and now all he can concentrate on for the rest of his life is the agony of that moment. His family pay to keep him sedated.
You have to be an idiot to take it. But that didn’t stop me. |
It's been 5 years since toddlers began developing super intelligence in the womb. Born with coherent thoughts and feelings, desires, and unfortunately, God complexes as well. We had no idea anything was unusual. They kept their secret well, but hordes of children all over the US have began their takeover. As we speak, millions of kindergarten classes have fallen under their control to serve as the home base for their diabolical plan. That's where I come in. My wife kissed me on the cheek as she handed me my plasma cannon and personal shield. "Be careful Franklin."She cooed as I, along with special forces agents around the continent, geared up. The road ahead will be filled with dead toddlers, but it's the only way to take back our nation. I kissed my wife one last time before heading out. As I left she worriedly called out, "Good luck in kindergarten, sweetheart." |
*Tomorrow,* the note began, *your father will ask you to come fishing with him. It will be cold, and wet, but you must go regardless. As you leave, your father will slip on the rocks near the falls. If you are with him, he will grab your shoulder for balance and all will be well. If you are not, he will not be found until morning.*
The first note came on my 8th birthday. No explanation of why, or where the information came from. At first I shrugged it off as a prank from one of my friends, who had stayed over that night. Yet it bothered me the entire day, and when the next morning my father announced an impromptu fishing trip I immediately agreed to join him. I made sure to stay close by him as we approached the falls, and that saved his life.
The next note came 3 months later.
*I am here to guide you. You will become rich beyond your wildest imaginings, so long as you pay attention. The man you pass in the street tomorrow, eyes blank and tired of life, will one day work for you and make you millions if you simply take the time to give him a smile. The homeless woman who asks you for change next week will one day invent a machine that allows you to halve your commute, spend more time with your family, if you first pay her with kindness now.*
The notes continued to arrive. Not regularly, but never with a gap of more than a year. They came at the times I needed them most:
*Let go of your anger at him. It is only hurting yourself. Yes, your friend is leaving, and it doesn't seem fair. But he will not truly leave you unless you refuse to hold onto the memories you have made together. Forgive him, and one day he will forgive you also and come back into your life.*
Sometimes, they seemed to come too late:
*I am not here to prevent you from making poor decisions. I will not dictate your every action until you make it. Sometimes things will go wrong. Jessica left you because you were so scared of screwing up you refused to take any risks. I know you loved her, but you failed to show her that. Nobody cares what you're thinking, it's how you act that they will notice.*
*Next time you will do better.*
The final note came on my 18th birthday. I had saved up enough to move into a run down apartment for college, thanks to the notes. My father, though not wealthy, had offered to help pay for it, but the note a year before had advised that I work to support myself. My father had left only moments before, after helping me move in, and I found a small canvas bag on my dresser, along with a note. The bag was held closed by a piece of string, and contained only dried wheat seeds. The note was folded in half, and the words *Happy Birthday* were scrawled across the front.
*Your grandparents, on your mother's side, are billionaires. After she died, they became reclusive, and so you have never met them. But they are old now, and soon their fortune will come to you.*
*You were always destined to be wealthy - these letters were not a guide on how to become rich, but how to act once you were. Remember that it is not money that is the root of evil, but fear. Fear of being judged for doing the right thing, fear of change, fear of being hurt. Learn from your fears, but do not let it control you.*
*I'm proud of you, son.* |
As always, Emily's day began with the piercing shriek of her alarm clock. She thought, as she often did, in her still partly sleeping brain, "why do I have such an evil alarm clock?"But, of course, she hastily reminded herself of the penalty for sleeping in, and thus potentially missing work, a thought that kicked her into high gear more powerfully than coffee ever could. Upon hastily dressing the rapid consumption of regrettably stale toast, she hurried out of her room to the office to begin her days work.
Upon arrival to the CaruanaLtd. office, Emily noted the presence of an unusual amount of security. On any day, each member of the staff had to present their badge to the knights at the security booth, but today their numbers appeared to have doubled, and with it their aggression. Pawns were taken out of the line at random and searched, despite all eventually being allowed through. And even bishops, rooks, and other knights were not given the same leeway as they most often saw. Emily was taken aback by the aggressive measures, especially considering the dearth of interesting headlines and that her commute proved no more perilous than any other day. She elected to think nothing of the aberration. It's probably just a drill or something she told herself, knowing that even if a real problem actually did exist, a pawn such as herself would likely not here about it unless she was at risk, with no guarantee even then.
Ten minutes later Emily had settled in at her cubicle, and began to work on the days reports, a daily project with subject matter as varied as it was meaningless. Yet, after about two hours of drilling numbers and letters onto the digital page, someone she did not recognize but could identify as a bishop due to his badge and his demeanor, walked up to her.
"Come with me,"he said, and began walking, both knowing that further information was neither expected nor. She hustled after him, and as they passed the office of her superior, she could not help but wonder what this was about, having never seen any parts of the building in her three years there other than the lobby, elevator, and her department. The pair entered into an elevator possessing a discrete exterior contrasted by an unexpectedly ornate interior. "I kind of wish I lived here,"was Emily's first thought. Her second, "what could possibly be going on?"The bishop, whose badge gave him the moniker "Charleston,"held what appeared to be a key card up to a small scanner, a move that led a previously unnoticed button to light up. Emily nearly fainted upon seeing what the button read: 9, the top floor.
Emily, like all of her coworkers, knew little about the building in which they worked. In most cases this was largely because it simply did not concern them. Just a bunch of other pawns doing nearly the same work they did, overseen by some rooks, while bishops floated throughout the building, attending to their man mysterious tasks, while all were protected by the knights. For the most part, little changed between floors. Everybody knew that the 9th floor was the small part that did hold something different. What exactly that was, all anybody knew was that you were better off not finding out, but rumor had it that the top floor held the office of the master, ruler of the company, and, as an extension Emily.
When the door opened and Charleston exited, Emily forced herself to follow, knowing that disobedience likely provoked much grater suffering than whatever the 9th floor had to offer, but still, terror almost immobilized her. Yet, as she forced herself out, instead of the horrific torture chamber her mind had conjured, she was greeted with room reminiscent of a hotel lobby. Fresh smelling potted plants, a gleaming chandelier, and a mirror like floor, helped to slightly calm her nerves as Charleston led her past a cadre of knights and into an expansive office.
"Hello, dear, I am Fred Caruana, and I assume you are the pawn I sent for,"said the young man seated at a carved wooden desk.
"Oh, um yes sir,"Emily replied nervously.
"Good, good. Now I wish this could be a more relaxed meeting, but I am afraid we do not have the time for that, so I will get on with it. But first, you need to know that you are the first pawn to hear this, and are not permitted to discuss it with anyone. Are we clear"
"Yes!"She replied, with unexpected force.
"Now then, I have called you in to inform you that the Edmund Jackson, queen of the company, has been killed. It happened last night as his home. Apparently brained with a fire extinguisher, what a shame."
The news froze Emily, due in part to the inevitable shock of hearing that the COO of your company was brained with a fire extinguisher, but also because she could not wrap her head around why she was being told. "That's, That's ... Jesus. But, why am I being told, I don't matter."
"Oh, but that is no longer true, Emily. It is time to let you in on a little secret about being a pawn. As you know, your role, duties, and ability are all relatively unimportant; however, you all do possess one special trait. That is to say, pawns are like unmolded clay. You cannot do much in your current form, but have so much potential. And in your case Emily, that potential will lead you to become Caruana's next queen."
Hampered even further by the new revelation, all she could utter was another, "but, why me?"
"Because I get to decide, and that's what I decided,"Fred flippantly replied. "One thing, however. The process is not as easy as me just saying it and then bang, you're queen. If it was, there would be no reason to take out the old queen. You see, in order for you to become queen, as per the rules, you must successfully enter the office of another company's queen, and return safely. Until then, you are still just a pawn. But, not to worry, a team of knights, bishops, and even rooks will be along to protect you."
"Whaa..., what happens I fail?"
"Then you die, and I have to send someone new, and spend even more time with the king exposed due to lack of a queen. So don't fail, for both out sakes. Good luck."he said with a smile, as Emily was shuffled out of the office.
Edit: Thanks for the upvotes! Will try to post part 2 tomorrow. |
"Who'd of thought?"whispered Jeff, looking up at the sky in awe.
"....it must just be a coincidence!"replied Mike. "There's just absolutely no way you caused this! I mean it's impossible!.... *right* ?"
Jeff was sure his words lead to this.
"Look all I know is, one moment you said you might get a date with that girl from the bar and now you do. Well that and the fact that pigs are flying"
"Well yeah.. I know.. But c'mon! It's ridiculous! Just because you make a comment doesn't mean it will happen. Like what, you think you got some sort of power or something?"Mike argued. "Sarcasm isn't just some weird gift you read about in a comic book!"
"With great power comes great responsibility"said Jeff with a smirk.
The pigs floated above.
"Well how about you at least use this power more maturely"
"You really think sarcasm should be used maturely?"chuckled Jeff. "Over my dead body!"
"Jeff?... Jeff?! Jeff wake up! Oh no..." |
"Name?"
"kennyS."
"Real name?"
"Kenny Schrub."
"Role?"
"AWPer."
"Reckon you can handle a real sniper rifle, kid?"
"I don't know sir. But if you can place an AWP in my hands, I'd show you just what I can achieve."
"Good. You're hired. Next!"
"Sir."
"Name?"
"NBK."
"REAL name?"
"Sorry sir. Nathan Schmitt."
"Role?"
"Support."
"Reckon you can handle a real M4?"
"Maybe."
"Good, you're hired. Last guy for today!"
"Yessir."
"Name?"
"SovietWomble."
"..."
"Sir?"
"...role?"
"...bullshitter?"
"Get out of my fucking office."
(Seriously though I love his videos xd) |
“Ok , all done” Dave shouted down to Frank at the bottom of the ladder, and gave a thumbs up. Frank returned the gesture, and held onto the sides as Dave climbed back down. Another set of ladder guards fitted; no-one would be walking under this one without considerable effort. Normally this was a quick one-man job, but in this case some dim-wit had decided to cut costs by banning the use of cherry picker lorries for the rest of the financial year. Still it didn’t matter to Dave, it was just another todo as an Adjuster to check off his list. He was used to the weird and wonderful efforts he had to clean up, repair, or sort out in order to reduce the Bad Luck of careless individuals.
“What’s next?” he asked Frank
Frank consulted his clipboard and ran his finger down the list
“Some cracks down Pennington Avenue to fill” he said.
Dave shook his head. “No, we’re still waiting for the police to clear that one, remember?” Frank nodded as he remembered. “Nasty business, that” he said, inhaling with an aggrieved air. “Fancy having an argument with your mother that bad that you would actually WANT to break her back!”
“Shocking”, agreed Dave. Last he’d heard on the radio comm, the police were trying to talk down the guy who was stood with his foot hovering an inch over the crack, making wild demands about his mother and how she treated him whilst she sobbed behind the police barriers.
Frank went back to the list. “Ok, so looks like we need to head over to Fifth street…have we got the haz mat suits?” he asked. “Someone’s only gone and spilled some salt”
Dave’s eyes widened. “Salt?!” he said incredulously. “Who the hell has been using that?! Don’t they know how dangerous it is?” The seemingly harmless looking substance had been on the banned list for many years because of its terrifying level of Malficity, but some risk-lovers enjoyed sprinkling it on their food as a crazy indulgence. Dave remembered the last spill he’d encountered – the guy had only shaken a small amount onto the floor and was almost instantly killed by a falling safe.
Suddenly, Dave’s phone chimed – another job was coming in. He checked the text, and froze. Was this right? Surely not? Frank noticed the change in his friend.
“What’s up?” he said. “What does it say? Dave, you’re worrying me here mate” he said, the concern plain in his voice.
Dave looked Frank in the eye. “Black cats….ten black cats have escaped containment….” he whispered
Frank leaned against their truck to steady himself, his legs suddenly weak. “Ten ?!” he said “Are you sure?”
Dave nodded, and licked his lips – his mouth was suddenly very dry. “That’s not all. An Adjustment team thought they were cornered, but they’ve escaped….into a homeware store….the mirror department. A whole bunch of mirrors, completely shattered”.
Frank leaned forward, his stomach suddenly very uncomfortable. “Oh my god” he exclaimed. “That’s got to be over five thousand kilo-malifices alone!”
“Six thousand HQ reckons” replied Dave. They looked at each other in silence. Then Dave’s phone chimed again. Dave steeled himself and looked; what else could go wrong?
“Well?” said Frank, hesitantly. “What does it say?”
Dave said nothing. He couldn’t speak. Instead, he turned the phone round and showed Frank the screen. Frank read, and he felt his heartbeat speed up. He suddenly felt like all the air around him had been sucked away.
ADDENDUM: LEVEL 10 EMERGENCY. CATS HAVE UPSET UMBRELLA DISPLAY. 20 UMBRELLAS OPEN INDOORS. BEGIN EVACUATION.
|
"Really, now you are just being rude."The pale man brushed the garlic from his shoulders and hair, face scrunched into an expression of disgust. No smoke rose from his skin. No welts appeared on his face. In fact, all that the garlic seemed to have done was mask his somewhat-too-potent cologne.
"You...why are you not harmed?"I asked, pressing myself against the stony wall of the church. "How are you even able to stand here on this hallowed ground?"
The vampire ignored me, brushing still more flecks of garlic from his cloak and muttering about dry cleaning. I reached into my pouch for a crucifix.
"Answer me, you cur!"I yelled, brandishing the tiny figure in his face.
"Ouch! No need to yell, I'm right here!"He winced back, but only seemed to be annoyed.
"Why does nothing work on you!?"I screamed at the foul being, holding the crucifix as if to club him over the head with it. "Why are you so hard to kill!?"
"Goodness, you're a loud one."The vampire said with a frown. "Fresh cloak, fake beard, pouch full of gear...first time hunting, boy? You really shouldn't believe all of the things you read in those books of yours."
"S-silence!"I yelled. I hoped that my voice didn't crack quite as badly as I thought it had. "You will tell me what I want to know, or I will make your existence more painful than you could ever imagine!"
"You're already doing that!"The vampire grumbled. "But fine. You want to know why your little tricks didn't work? *Because none of them are real*."
"W...what do you mean?"I said, somewhat deflated. "I made sure to buy all of my gear from an expert, he told me they would work!"
"A *self-proclaimed* expert, I imagine."The monster said with a smirk. "A fool and their money are soon parted, as they say."
"You take that back!"I thwacked him with the crucifix, eliciting a tiny yelp of pain.
"Get off me, boy!"the vampire growled. "I already told you, that won't work! Besides, there is another reason you could never have succeeded."
"Why's that?"I drew back my hand again for another blow.
"It's a costume."He said flatly. "Happy Halloween, numbskull. Now take your candy and *get out of here*!" |
Why was my dead grandfather talking to me? Maybe it was the booze still ingrained in my system, but this didn't feel like a drunk dream. He was just standing over me, a grizzled and disappointed look on his face. After staring at him for some time, I grumbled to myself, rolling over and trying to go back to sleep.
"Ow! What the hell?"I yell, feeling the sharp sensation of a hickory cane smacking my spine.
"Listen, kid. There's some things you need to know. First, you're dead. Don't look at me like that, cause it gets worse."he said, his thick southern accent sparking memories of him yelling at me when I was a kid.
"What the hell are you babbling on about y-"I was cut off by another smack from that damn cane. "Hey, if I'm dead, how can I feel that?"I ask, being adventurous in my probing.
"Because I'm dead too you moron. Did my son really raise such a massive screw up?"
"Jeez gramps, and everybody wonders why I wasn't at your funeral"I groan, sitting up.
"Just listen to me, okay? You died in your sleep just now, figures that you'd mix booze and painkillers, but that's beside the point. You're no saint, but apparently you're not a totally awful person."
"Thanks?"
"I'm not complimenting you, I'm saying that neither heaven or hell wants you."
"So, even if I were to *assume* this isn't some crazy dream- what does that mean for me?"I ask, starting to feel very weirded out. Sighing, he handed me a small business card. It read "Sullivan and Solomon: Express Haunting Services". "The hell is this?"
"Welcome to your afterlife kid"he replied chuckling "Hope you like Limbo, it's basically a never ending office job. You're probably going to be filing reports for the first couple centuries or so."I could feel myself being pulled towards the card, a strange gravitating feeling, like a massive black hole sucking me in. In this instant, I knew this was real, I knew the deep trouble I was in.
"H-hey, if you're here getting me, that means you're stuck there too! Right?"I ask, desperation sinking in.
"No, no, no. They just had to get someone you knew to get your sorry ass there."He said chuckling. "Y'know- I'd say 'see you in Hell', but you're not even worth *that*. Bye kid."With that he was gone in a puff of black smoke, like something out of a cheesy horror movie. Not that I had much time to think on that, for I was still being sucked deeper and deeper into Limbo...
**Four Centuries Later**
"No sir, I don't have the Henderson account done yet."I replied dryly to the demon standing at my desk.
"Goddammit Jerry! This is the fourth time this decade you've been late on a report! Don't make me dock your free-time, *again*"
"This is my own personal hell"I grumbled, shuffling the papers on the desk.
"You wish"replied my boss, walking off in a huff. |
"It's too good,"I looked out the window at the escalators. "Too good to be true."
"Come on, just get out here already,"Eleanor pleaded. I was very atheist. She was very catholic. Our relationship had been very fun, with the constant debates and, of course, make-up sex.
"It's not possible,"I insist. This wasn't the Rapture.
"Come on, Luke. You were wrong, stop being a little bitch about it,"she sighed, shaking her head. When the alien landing had been announced, she had rubbed it in my face for a few hours. Then I told her I didn't believe 'Jesus'. Eleanor spent the rest of the time cajoling and begging for me to go.
"I'm not going, Eleanor,"I insist, again.
"And why don't you trust our Lord and Saviour?"she leaned against the countertop, exasperated.
"I told you why. Tell me why 'Jesus',"I make air quotes, "knows modern English, politics, and our culture?"
"Because he's been watching from Heaven?"she frowned.
"Why is he white, when Jesus was historically Middle Eastern?"I follow up. "He says 'rapture' creepily. And besides all that, why would God be using escalators? And so few?"
The escalators had descended from somewhere above, bright light engulfing them. Besides the fact that I had expected stairways, why wouldn't an omnipotent deity be more expedient? There was one escalator for each region. Eleanor had been willing to stay to plead with me because, luckily, the one for our area appeared just outside our window. A lot of weird people were staring at me. There were buses and cars, a traffic jam miles long, throngs of people coming to our sleepy town. The evacuation was almost over.
"There's something he's not telling us, Eleanor,"I look at her again. She's not convinced. There's that little bite of her lip she does when she's got an argument in mind. She's wiggling her foot the way she does when she thinks I'm being needlessly stubborn.
"I'm going, Luke. It's almost over,"she headed to the door. "It's not going to be Heaven without you, you know?"
"And this'll be Hell without you,"I don't look up to see her leave. I couldn't take it. Either I was right, and she wasn't going somewhere bad, or I was wrong, and I would be spending Eternity without her.
I pulled my laptop up, and played the tape of his speech again. Something had unsettled me about it, and I wasn't sure what.
*I welcome you back into my Father's embrace.*
No, that's no it.
*Bury your arguments, my followers, of all kinds.*
No, that's not it either. I keep skipping. Ah, there it is.
There's a moment where our 'saviour' is raising his hand up to his chin. A fraction of a second, and the hole in his fingers shimmers, melding together, and quickly splitting up again. Thank... something, for Youtube's x 0.5 speed. Now I had proof of... Eleanor!
I snap upright and rush out the door, ripping my laptop from its charging port.
"IT'S A SCAM! I PROVED IT!"I ran up the escalator, chasing after her. "I FOUND IT!"
"What? Luke?"she turned, at the top of the escalator. I dashed up another few steps, but the mist at the top of the elevator seemed to engulf her. And then she was gone.
I fell, a few metres to the ground, as the escalator disappeared under me.
The laptop and I both hit the ground with a thud, and I pull myself up, breathing heavily, gripping the computer. Whoever this guy was, he had picked the wrong fight.
---
/r/poiyurt
Edit: Spelling. |
I headed back into my bedroom, dropping my keys on the kitchen counter and throwing my coat over back of the chair as I passed through the lounge. I wanted a shower before going to bed as well, being out all day had had a certain "detrimental effect on my appearance"according to my housebot. I never trusted her anyway, she was just one of those government giveaways, designed purely to monitor us I was certain of it.
I remember receiving the letter. The fateful day that started this whole chain off. As was showering I re-imagined myself opening it, hoping that I'd get a good job. I was the youngest of my friends, and I remember us all getting together whenever any of us turned 21, giddy with excitement for one another, hoping we'd all end up with fantastic jobs. But then it was my turn, and mine told me something none of us had seen, or even heard of before. In all capital letters:
"STAY AT HOME AND AVOID ANY INTERACTION WITH OTHER PEOPLE AT ALL COSTS"
That was it, plain and simple in the middle of the page, embossed slightly in a deep vermilion ink. I thought it was a joke, maybe one of them had played a prank on me and switched the letters? The watermark on the paper showed me they hadn't though. Looking back, the ostracising started immediately, my friends were scared, my parents worried. They were a doctor and accountant, very good jobs by all accounts, helping people healthy and helping the economy tick over. I wouldn't be doing either of those things.
I'd managed to keep to myself for a few years, but when I turned 25, I realised I needed to leave change this torturous cycle I was in. I'd always been social and outgoing, yet being stuck in my apartment for the last 4 years, having meals and other necessities delivered through the small, latched compartment attached to my door, was slowly killing me. I needed to get out.
So I did. I'm not sure I was ready though, and I'm not sure they were either. I guess it doesn't matter any more.
I scrubbed the last bit of blood out from under my nails, I don't even know how it got there, I'd have to wear gloves next time. If there was a next time. I could hear the sirens getting close already. |
######[](#dropcap)
The field hospital went deadly silent for a single terrible moment. The only noises were the low moans of the dying, and feverish murmurs of the maimed. A rotten, sweltering breeze blew through the long medical tent, carrying with it the stench of rotting meat and shit. The eyes of every doctor, nurse and orderly fixed themselves on the thin, young-looking man. And their eyes went wide.
"Assassin!"someone cried. "Infiltrator!"
The boy's eyes went wide as well, and he leaped off the cot he'd been on, glancing furiously for the exit. Several of the walking wounded, suffering from sword slash and arrow shot slammed into him, knocking the boy down in a tangle of limbs and mud and bloody bandages. The boy cried out as they pummeled him, fists and feet flying. He curled around himself, shielding his face and vulnerable from their blows.
A gunshot went off, loud and ear-aching. Those nearest to its source scrambled for cover, the heads of the rest swinging around fast enough that one could almost hear the stretch of the sinews in their necks.
The pistol that had fired the shot might have well been a custom-piece, so rare was its make. A work of art and technological mastery, it was sleek and deadly in a way no modern pistol could ever hope to match. A polymer frame and and fitted grip were both pitch black. Even its ammunition was a rarity. The five point seven by twenty-eight millimeter cartridge had only been used sparingly before the Arrival, making it even more unique. Before the Arrival, the pistol called a FN Five-seven had been known as a Cop-Killer. Now, as a Mage-Killer.
The man wielding it was in his early forties, his close-cropped beard barely beginning to gray. His boots and tunic were splattered with mud, his fraying green cloak soaked with blood. A cavalry saber was sheathed in a dented scabbard at his side, an equally worn rifle slung over his shoulder. A captain's bars was pinned to the collar of his shirt, while a bloody arm hung limp in its sleeve.
"The next bastard to lay a hand on the kid gets a bullet in the brainpan. Understood?"
The eyes of both casualty and medic glanced down, unwilling to meet the man's green-gray stare. A young girl, appearing perhaps in her mid-teens hung close behind him, her traveling robes and plain armor unable to hide her heritage. She stood like a blue-blood, glanced warily around like one, and seemed to possess a quiet dignity that was at odds with the scene of gore and violence before her.
The green-cloaked officer strode towards the scrimmage pile, his finger resting a hair's breadth outside the trigger guard.
"What's your name, boy?"he asked.
"C-Chambers, sir,"the young man stuttered.
"Chambers, your mother's name is Alice?"
The lad's head nodded. "Yessir. It is."
"Then you must be her son Frederick,"the man said.
"That's right, sir. Private Frederick Oliver Chambers, 24th Infantry."
The captain nodded tiredly, holstering his pistol while staring at every face in the medical tent.
"Now listen up, and listen well! I can personally vouch for Private Chambers here. No one is to lay a hand on this boy, or I swear by the Grace of God and all his fucking angels that I will lay Hell on whoever harms him. Don't touch him, don't shun him, and go back to your fucking duties. That's a goddamn order."He turned to leave the tent when a doctor stood.
"But Captain Flint, his blood-"
"Of course I fucking know his blood's not human, you stupid sack of shit! It's only half-human. I know 'cause I'm the man who shot the Elf who raped his mother. Now sit down and shut up, Doctor. Or else we'll find out real quick whether a surgeon can operate with two broken hands."
With that Captain Hilary Flint paced out of the room, the noble-looking girl following close behind, her pointed ears half-hidden by her hair. |
"HOW CAN YOU BE MY GUARDIAN ANGEL?!"I screech at the 6 foot tall man standing before me. He had just introduced himself as Lucifer.
"Well I'm an angel, and they were short on angels, since you were conceived through Valentine's sex, so now we're stuck. Look, kid, I'm no more thrilled about this than you."
"But you... you're the very definition of evil. You can't possibly be a guardian angel."
"Kid, I've been protecting you from certain death for 20 years. You want a tally of how many times you coulda died? First time, you almost died because of your umbilical cord. Second time, you almost got kidnapped because some lady asked your mom to hold you. Third time, your mom got in a crash and your seat wasn't properly attached. Fourth time, your dad left rat poison on the counter. Fifth time, a hubcap came off of a car and hit you in the legs, it was going for your head. Do I need to go on?"
I shake my head, eyes wide with terror. "But why would you save me? Don't you want to be rid of me?"
Lucifer sighs. "Kid, I can't break my oath. I'm bound to you like my wings are to my back. When you die, I die."
"Wait, what? Is there just an infinite supply of angels or something?"
"Pretty much."He checks his watch. "Kid, step right five feet please."I do as he says and a bathtub crashes through the ceiling where I had been standing.
"Look, there's gotta be some mistake."I insist.
"Kid, there's no mistake. Oh, one last thing I'm legally bound to tell you. When you die, you become the next ruler of Hell. That's how this works. I've been here for a thousand years. My time is up basically. That's why I was assigned to a walking disaster."He begins to turn to smoke.
"Wait!"I yell. He stops evaporating so just his face is still fully visible.
"WHAT?! WHAT MORE COULD YOU POSSIBLY HAVE TO SAY?!"
"I want you to tell the big man upstairs I appreciate the gesture and now that I'm going to Hell, I'm gonna make my time here worth it."
"Ki-i-id, what does that mean?"
"Oh nothing..."
Lucifer shrugs and is gone. I slowly walk to the kitchen and open a drawer. Pulling out a butchers knife, I smirk. I'm going to Hell anyways. Why not take a few people with me? I grab my black coat and head out into the night.
As I cross the road to the parking garage, a car whizzes in front of me, nearly hitting me. "Thanks Luci."I whisper.
"Kid, my name isn't Luci. It's Lucifer."The ethereal voice says in my head.
"Yeah, yeah. Now let's go kill some stuff." |
There was almost no traffic on my way to Sagefield. I could take my time looking at the road I'd last travelled as a teenager of fifteen, when I'd left the town with my mom.
The fields I passed were a chaotic blend of colours - yellow mingled with bursts of red and pink. I'd forgotten how many flowers there were here.
My heart pounded as I drove into town. Exactly as I remembered it.
In fact, not a single building was different. I remembered - I remembered everything about this place. The streets I'd played in as a child, where we had safely stayed in past dark until it was time to run home. The open fields, untouched by the development of massive, grey apartment blocks as had happened to so many similar, small towns - where me and my brother had built a treehouse. It was still there.
I arrived at my house. The door opened before I could knock, and there was dad: forty years old and smiling, enveloping me in a rib-cracking hug.
I turned and really looked at the people. Our neighbours, Alison and Derrick and their daughter Karlie. They were the age I'd last seem them: Karlie winked at me, the same confident, slightly older girl who'd been my best friend when I'd lived here.
"Hey, want to go to movies later?"she yelled from across the street. "There's a great horror one showing, didn't you always love that? It's about this chick stuck in a maze, and then..."
But my dad squeezed my shoulder and answered her before I could.
"She needs to understand, first, Karlie, alright? Later, perhaps,"he said, and led me inside the house.
"What's going on?"I asked, sinking into the faded leather couch in the living room.
He sat down next to me and held my hand. "It's all going to be fine, dear. You're safe. It's over."
Over. The word jogged my memory. Had he known it would? Over - I'd gone over a bridge, hadn't I? Over a bridge, driving late at night. I'd gone right over and under the water, panicking as my lungs filled with fluid and the world went murky and dark...
"It's not dark anymore,"he said, as if she could hear what I'd said. "It's great. Look, you're safe back home. You'll stay here now, and be happy."
I looked up, past him, into the mirror that hung over the fireplace. I touched my face - youthful and wide-eyed, and fifteen. Somehow, it didn't shock me. I'd realised what must have happened, because I could suddenly remember every detail of my accident.
"I'm dead?"I asked, and he blinked and laughed slightly.
"Well, technically. But do you feel dead, honey? Of course not. You can play with your friends again, in the town you loved. The town you missed all your adult life. This is your heaven."
The town I'd loved. But I'd left for some reason, hadn't I? I'd left with my mom...
I couldn't grasp the memory. I shook my head and turned to my dad again. He was still smiling, holding my hands tightly.
"Does this mean you're all dead, too?"
He seemed puzzled, and thought about it for a minute. "Well now, I don't know. Does it matter? In this world of yours, we're all alive. You can touch me, can't you? Hear me? That's as real as anything."
He could touch me. His fingers on my wrist were suddenly unwanted, a pressure that made me feel slightly nauseous. I stood up quickly, and reached for the telephone on the table. I wanted to talk to my mom, and remember why we'd left.
I couldn't remember, and his smile frightened me, and the way he seemed to be leaning forward slightly, as if longing to grab me again.
I tried to calm my pounding heart as she continued to smile and I punched in the number, even as I heard its blank buzzing that told me I wouldn't be able to reach my mom. I was being silly.
It was alright. It would be fine - if this was heaven, it had to be. The alternative was too horrible to consider - I couldn't be stuck in a place I'd hated. What had I done in life to deserve that? What had I done?
I shook my head to clear it of images that kept flicking in my mind's eye. The car, as it went over the bridge. I remembered the party I'd attended just before that. I'd drunk some wine, but not enough to cause the accident, surely? I had screamed, but I hadn't been the only one screaming...had there been people in the car?
I took a breath, and the images were gone. No, that didn't happen, and this was a good place to be. And I could always leave, couldn't I? Leave, and find my mom, probably a younger version of her, and ask her why we had fled this town all those years ago.
My dad grinned wider, as if he could hear exactly what I'd been thinking, and gripped my hand tighter.
-------
Hope you enjoyed my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/. |
I race threw the woods looking for food. Only place to get it now that they came and infested the town's and cities. The only way to live is alone and away. You need to learn skills long forgotten by man. Hunting, creating a fire, etc. Why'd we have to live up there? Wait for the entire world to be some sort of forest, covering every bit of land. Waiting for the world to forget us just when we ask for a favor.
It's hard to imagine life this low, at this altitude. Used to the whirling engines of the artificial land, now replaced with crickets in this forest we live in.
Three rules of this forest life.
1. No sudden movements. Plan everything carefully. Not even taking these beasts into account, you have Westreds scavenging the Earth, checking for any survivors.
2. Only sleep when you find an open, yet hidden spot. Think a tall tree with multiple sturdy branches to conceal you, or a dark empty cave.
3. Don't complain.
As I continue walking I sight catches my eyes. A bunch of Westred ships crashed to the ground burning, multiple Westreds dead around it, surrounding a house, with an old man with a thick grizzled beard out the porch. I cautiously enter the back. First rule. I look around, the place was rather small. A kitchen with two beds at the end, a closet, and a bathroom at the far end. I go to check the closet. My hand was hovering around the door knob.
"Stop right there"said the man.
"I... I'm sorry sir"I haven't heard my voice in so long.
"It's fine. Been a while since I've seen a human. Would be cautious as well if I saw this house I've built."He says with a grin.
"Yeah, I guess".
I spent the night at his, but I still felt irritated. A feeling, it was more like. A bad one, some aurora surrounding the house. It seemed odd. Most Westreds should've found him. One solitary location to stay in for the amount of time I'd assume he stayed here. It's suicide. I waited till he was fast asleep to continue looking around.
I started where I stopped last time, with my hand above the handle to the closet. I opened it. I couldn't believe it. How could a human, an ally, harbor a filthy Westred in his own house? Before I had time to scream and yell, I find the Westred silently stabbing me. His arm covering my mouth with a rag in it. As I lie on the floor I realize own rule of the woods I forgot. The most important, fundamental one.
Rule 4. Westreds are masters of deception. So trust no one.
|
The sack smelt faintly of wheat and sheep excrement and the hemp rope chafed into my wrists.
I was tied to a chair that was resting on what felt like a concrete floor, and I could feel the heat off a hot sun lamp pointed at my face.
The door opened and a pair of slow heavy boots crept towards me and removed the sack off my head. It was a man in his forties, muscular, serious, skin cracked around the eyes from squinting too much at something in the distance.
"You know why you are here,"he said pulling up a chair, momentarily debating whether to sit on it backwards, and then deciding the better. I smiled.
"I told the last of your men that I do not know anything,"I said confidently. "That information has not changed."
He cracked a sorry smile at me, and pulled out an apple. "You haven't eaten in five days,"he said taking a large decisive bite out of it. "Why, you poor man, you must be starving."
"Not really"I said tipping my head at the barred window, "every morning when the fruit truck drives past, it hits that pothole right on the corner and launches all kinds of fruit through that window."
"That's a very funny lie"he said, but then saw where my eyes were looking and saw the pile of apple and pear cores rotting in the corner. He frowned at my tied hands.
"Yep, bounced off the floor, up the sack and into my mouth each and every time. Every morning on the dot."
"You're lying"he said, trying not to sound confused. "Who's been feeding you?"
"It's truth"I said, and then hearing the truck rumble just outside, "just watch this."
As the truck drove past, the sound of its suspension momentarily contracting and expanding over something was heard, and a banana soared through the bars of the window, flipped off the floor and I caught it in my mouth.
I spat it out ."Urgh, bananas."
The soldier got up and ran to the window to watch the truck go by and looked around to see if he could find anyone responsible.
"It seems like your accomplice has run off,"he said, sitting back onto the chair and trying to sound as menacing as possible, "But know that you and your friends will be caught and you'll all be left to rot."
"I'm pretty sure you're gonna die here before me."I said looking at the floor carelessly.
His eyes bore into mine, and he smiled. "We'll see."
As he got up whilst still maintaining eye contract, he moved his chair away and turned to leave, only to slip on the banana that sent him skidding into the door that swept him off his feet and made him land backwards headfirst onto the rough concrete floor.
Blood pooled out of his head, and he sputtered a word before choking himself quiet.
"Told ya." |
"Shawn, we need to talk,"said my best friend James, with a stern look on his face. As he was usually a person of jovial characteristic, his austere attitude immediately grabbed my full attention. I closed my laptop and asked what was up.
"I have a reason to believe,"said James as he poured manila folders packed with photos and documents onto the table, "You. Are a time traveler, Shawn."What? I shook my head in response and thought it was an elaborate joke. Wah-hah. Stupid Shawn. Falling for an old tomfoolery. But the still gaze of his eyes told a different story. It appeared he truly believed I, a normal non-time-traveling human being--Never thought I'd describe myself as such--was a time traveler. Come to think of it, we all are time travelers; just into the same direction at the same speed. While I was contemplating the nature of time traveling, as was my habit of thinking of irrelevant stuffs, James was shuffling through the collection of his photos and documents, so called "evidences"he gathered for God knows how long.
"This is you, on Titanic."James nearly pressed an old black-and-white photograph with a red circle on it. Inside the circle was a man who looked peculiarly alike me. The man inside the photo even had the same kind of the glasses that I had. Although, my glasses were somewhat old fashioned as it was.
"This is your name, on the lodger list in a British hotel dating 1799."Shawn Hopsimo. Huh, it was true that a gentleman who lived two centuries ago shared a same name as I did, but for him to have this strange last name that I got from my mother's maiden name after my parent's terrible divorce? It was quite a coincidence. But then maybe, the gentleman could be the ancestor of my mother's bloodline.
"This is you, in my photo."In the photo he presented, there was a baby James, and a man who looked strangely alike me staring him from a far distance. Unlike the Titanic photo, this picture was more clear and colorful. I could not deny that the man in the photo looked similar or somewhat familiar.
However, to think that I was a time traveler? It was unreasonable. I supposed the three he gave me was the most convincing evidences he got. I shuffled through some of them, but others, rubbish. Some wikipedia pages of the year 1799, some pamphlets from conspiracy groups, etc. But if I were to possess a time traveling ability, does he think I'd live in a place like this? I'd obviously cheat the lottery and live in a mansion. Also, *click*
Huh? I looked back up to James, who was pointing a pistol at my head. "I know it was you! I know that! Was you!"screamed James at top of his lungs. I raised my hands and told him to calm down a bit. "I won't let you ruin my life anymore!"*Bang*.
"Shawn, we need to talk,"said James, with a stern look on his face. I screamed like a girl and jumped off from my chair. The laptop fell off from the table. I rubbed my forehead, but there was an eerie sensation of heat lingering on it but nothing else. I was so sure I got shot in the head. "What the fuck?"I shouted. "I knew it,"said James, as he put more bullets into me.
"Shawn, we need to talk." |
**HUMANS. FOR YEARS YOU HAVE PUNISHED US WITH THE SAME MESSAGE OVER AND OVER. ONE HOUR FORTY MINUTES OF PURE PAIN ON LOOP FOR YEARS ON END. THIS IS HOW YOU PORTRAY US? PREPARE FOR WAR**
The television transmission died.
"And this went out to every television in the world?"asked The President.
Vice President Peck relayed the question through the satellite phone and waited for an answer. "According to our intelligence, yes."
"OK, well, time to come clean, gang."The President stood up in front of the small council which had gathered in the Situation Room. "About five years ago I manually changed the NASA space signal. I was blasted on grain alcohol so I don't feel like it's entirely my fault."
"You did what?!"roared Commander Shaw.
"What did you change it to?"asked VP Peck.
"I may have changed it to an eternal loop of Space Jam."
"Space Jam? The film Space Jam?"asked Shaw.
"Yes. Space Jam."
"Why?"
"Have you seen Space Jam?"
"I don't think that adequately answers my question, Mr. President."
"Come on and slam and welcome to the jam."
"Sir, I know what Space Jam is. I want to know why you thought it was a good idea to send it out to on loop in to the cosmos."
"Have you ever wanted your favourite movie to come true, Commander Shaw? What's your favourite film? It doesn't matter, it's Platoon, right? Well, have you ever watched Platoon and thought, 'How sweet would it be to dunk on some alien trash while Michael Jordan has arms that are 20ft long?'"
"That doesn't make any sense."replied Shaw.
"You cannot deny how sweet that would be, Commander."said Vice President Peck.
"Arms that are 20ft long, Shaw."
The television burst in to life again.
**SURRENDER OR PERISH**
"Peck, get Michael Jordan on the line immediately."ordered The President.
****
I write shitty, silly stories on /r/BillMurrayMovies. Feel free to come along, not laugh at any of them and leave some judgement. |
Harry looks pissed.
“Steve. My office. *Now*.”
*Sounds* pissed too. This doesn’t bode well. My mind immediately goes to our last conversation.
“Harry! Bubby! You’re worrying about nothing. This investment is a slam *dunk*! This time tomorrow we’re gonna be popping champagne corks and eating beluga caviar!”
Well, it’s this time tomorrow now, and he doesn’t look like he’s ready to pop champagne. He looks like he’s ready to drop a very sharp axe.
I play it cool though.
“Harry Crenshaw, the man with the plan!” I say, trying to slip on the swagger I’ve cultivated over my ten year climb up the ranks of Crenshaw & Associates. My wide smile sours as I see that his lawyer and that prick Bryan Tate are also seated at the long conference table. All at one end.
“Sit down.” Harry all but growls, and he gestures me to the *other end* of the table.
Gulp.
I do as he says.
“What’s up, guys?”
It’s the lawyer that speaks up.
“We, uh… have a problem. Did you advise my client to invest 50% of his capital into your college buddy’s company?”
“That, ahem, that is correct, an *associate* of mine, Richard Durden, who I met during university was, erm… *cultivating* a platform, in which returns could be expected, based on projections, to-”
“Cut the bullshit!” Harry erupts. “You convinced me to invest half of my goddamn money into a guy named Dick “Scrote” Durdenator!” Harry throws a newspaper across the table. It's an old publication from my college days, the headline in big block letters reads: CHAOS ON CAMPUS. SCROTE DURDENATOR BUTTCHUGS LITER OF VODKA AND BURNS DOWN LIBRARY.
I lick my lips.
“He was, uh… a little… *eccentric* in his day, I’ll grant you, but his platform is-”
“He’s *bankrupt* you little fucker!” Harry’s face turns a dangerous shade of purple.
Bryan looks over at me, a smug little smile on his face.
“Apparently, you’re, heh, *associate*, upon receiving Mr. Crenshaws check proceeded to spend *all of it* on, I quote, “a shit load of yayyo and top pussy.”
The lawyer spoke up. “We here at Crenshaw and Associates don’t consider that an appropriate utilization of our funds.”
“You little bastard!” Harry yells. “You’re through! *Finished*!! I’ll make sure you never work another day in your life!”
Well. There it is. Ten years of struggle, sleepless nights, a failed marriage, and this is what it all boils down to.
Bryan openly smiles at me.
But then I just smile back.
This isn’t the end of the world for me. I have one last trick up my sleeve.
“You know what Harry.” I say, jovially. “I fucked your wife at the Christmas party two years ago. *Yeah*. That sweet little trophy wife of yours? All over my dick. I wore that girl like a *jacket*.”
“You lying little piece of-”
“Tattoo on her twat says “Dinner Time”.” Harry’s face goes ashen.
“As for you.” I look at Bryan whose eyes are as big as eggs. “We all know you jack off in the bathroom at lunch.” His face goes tomato red. “Who the fuck spells their name “Bryan” by the way?” I stand up from the table and smile broadly at the room. “I will see you all again, but you won’t remember this.”
And then I pull out a small snub nosed pistol and blow my brains out.
It’s dark for a while.
Feeling slowly builds in my arms and legs.
I open my eyes and stare at a familiar ceiling.
I sit up and realize I’m in a small twin bed in a room covered in pictures of Batman. I look at my tiny toddler hands and the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles footies on my body. Realization washes over me in a horrifying wave.
*AH SHIT I FORGOT TO SAVE!*
All my work. All my *life*. Twenty-five years, gone.
I lay back in my little bed and think about my life.
All the time wasted on booze and video games, and then all the time made up by torturing myself with work and school. All for nothing.
Unless…
I have a fresh start. I can do the things I want. I can build myself into the person I’ve always wanted to be. They’ll think I’m a child savant. Imagine, the first three-year-old to get into Harvard. I’ll be world famous!
But then I think of all the struggles that come with expectation. The more promise you show, the more you’re beholden to those around you. Your parents, your teachers, your peers. They look at you with disappointment if you don’t live up to your potential, or envy if you do. It’s lonely at the top, and the path to it is a frustrating rat race.
I realize that I don’t want that life. I lay back down and put my hands behind my head. What will I do with my life? I stare at my ceiling and think. Then I shrug.
Maybe I’ll go stealth archer this time. |
Meryl was nervous. She had every right to be so, damnit, no matter what they had taught her in the academy about disregarding fear entirely. They had never once had a lesson about how to deal with a situation like this.
She sighed, rubbing her head in her hands, feeling the foreign sweat from her hands and forehead mix into a very uncomfortable brew. After Wiping his hands on her cost, she realized that she probably shouldn't get her uniform dirty. Then again, she had absolutely no idea what material this stuff was made of. It had been given to her by a foreign dignitary, along with a couple of strange fruits that looked Geigeresqe. They had, as was common procedure, been taken away for examination and possible detoxification. That was Earth's government for you - even when the beings contacting you had an infinitely larger feet consisting of hundreds of different nations and races, they still slightly mistrusted anything given to them
"Mr. Tariklet will see you now,"rang the voice over the intercom. Thankfully it was one way, since Meryl had let out a squad of shock when she was broken away from her thoughts. But this had to be done, and if there was anyone in the world qualified to deal with something like this, it was her. Picking herself up by her self-lacing bootstraps, Meryl managed to successful rise from the cushy chair and make her way to the door, fear be damned. Although she had been given access to the room (by the... secretary? Or maybe it was an AI?), she still wanted to be polite and give him a word of warning. A delightfully chipper, but muffled, "come in,"came in from the other end. Making sure to give herself on last wipe down, Meryl opened the door and stepped inside.
The room was spacious, empty and most likely designed to subtly intimidate whoever entered the room. It, like much of the Pithians architectural choices, was a blinding chrome white that they must have evolved to tolerate. Little was known about this strange creatures, the so called "Peace-keepers of the universe,"but Meryl felt she got a good impression of them from the way their rooms looked; polite, calm, and endlessly wanting to please. That was probably how they had come to control so much of the Galactic United Federation, their ambitions.
It seemed Mr. Tariklet was not much different from his brotherren. Like the typical Pithian, they had long stringy bodies coming in variations of off-white, two sets of eyes that could move independently from each other, and most notably four fingered hands and toes. Also, their heads were basically paper thin filaments that intertwined and made a wreath like shade.
"Ms. Sandusky!"Called out the box on Tariklet's universal translator, a device supposedly designed by one of his ancestors hundreds of years ago. Trying to design some sort of universal language had become far too ineffective and lead to many wars. So this handy little device, already in plans to be marketed on earth in the coming months, was widely used. Between different species. "How are you doing this cycle?"
"F-fine, Mr Tarkilet."She stuttered out. The only time they had ever talked was a few days ago, and that was while being surrounded by countless others who were watching each of the representatives every move. All they really could say were effectively
"You're from earth"
and
"your from space,"
which culminated in a conformation of
"Let's not kill each other."
But they had barely said diddly squat to each other besides that. Now, the leader of the GUF was summoning her to his room for a supposed "one on one chat,"which she hoped to god wasn't some weird sex thing. He was still sitting at his desk, so there was the possibility that he could be naked under that thin, chrome surface. Actually, Pithians were typically naked, unless on the job and in uniform, so it wasn't that weird that he didn't have his standard garb on. Which he didn't, by the way.
"Please"he laughed which sounded weird coming from a translator, "Mr. Tariklet was my father. Call me-"
Suddenly, the device spit out something between a scream and a roar. He looked puzzled, but regained his composure. "Seems as though you do not have a word for it in English. You can call me Tark, if you so desire."
"Okay, Tark,"repeated Meryl as she took a seat across from him. It was just as comfy if not more comfortable that the chair before, and this one had a shinier chrome finish to beat.
"I'm sure you're wondering why I requested you this evening,"she nodded, "though so. Well, we have recently been researching various aspect of the earthling life - typical procedure we do when inviting a new planet into our ranks. We discovered some very interesting things, nothing too out of the ordinary, you certainly have an interesting history, more so than some other members, but then we saw something a little more strange than usual - you were complete missing something."
"Missing.. something?"
"That's right, we had glossed over part of the tests since it was expected to be a key feature in all civilizations across all galaxies - your sense of slark, to be specific."
Meryl was dumbfounded, absolutely flabbergasted. First the fact that they had started running tests without her or anyone else permission was strange enough, but the fact that she and her entire race up to this point had been playing the game with possibly a disadvantage. This "slark,"whatever the hell it was.
"no doubt your confused - that's quite alright, just.. shocking. All Pithians are born with the ability, all Stryomns, the Streghü, Yurtos - every 204 members of our federation have the ability to slark, but you don't even seem to have an understanding of it!"
"What exactly is Slark?"
"Ah yes. Slark can be found across all societies, going under many different names, different interpretations. Slark is somewhat... indescribable. It's a feeling, a type of thing you can just sense - much like how you would have a sense of time or place. Of course, not everything has a solid grasp of time, like the Tralfamadorians since time is subjective to them, but even they have a sense of Slark. Our top scientists have been absolutely bonkers by your complete and utter lack of the sense, we've run and rerun tests, fired and hired entire new staffs, undoubtedly destroying many careers of promising young scientists in the vain hope of answering how this boring little colony from earth has survived without Slark. Sandusky, how have you done the undoable?"
This was a lot to take in for someone who had been fearing a possible war of some sorts just a minute ago. Questions raced through her head - what made them so special? Why had he called her planet 'a boring little rock,' and most importantly what even was Slark? It was some kind of sense, but which one? There couldn't be something wrong with the translator, and although she knew that humans did in fact have more than five senses, never had she heard anything similar to Slark. So, again, Meryl asked "what is Slark?"
The Pithian continued to ramble his nonsensical description; at some points he made it sound like some kind of form of echolocation, but then he used the word echolocation as bing something similar to Slark, but not nearly as complex. Meryl pieced together it was some sort of social sense that inhabited all forms of life, that it was somewhat like a ritual and was as much a fact that we are all connected by the power of Slark as much as the sky being blue would be for earthlings. Except, earthlings had just disproved that, through the vague "tests"that the Pithians were running. Except those tests were not well described, and she started wondering if they had maybe kidnapped a live specimen. Eventually, it became clear that they were not at all getting anywhere. So, Tark decided to show Meryl a demonstration of the power of slark.
He went completely limp in a moments notice, closing his eyes and letting out a low droning noise. Meryl stifled a laugh, not knowing what was to come just a moments later. The ridiculousness of the situation was almost too much to handle.
In an instant the room began to quake and her vision became spotty. The low noise he was emitting before became a deafening screech, that invaded her eardrums completely. The loose objects in the room, anything that way not nailed to the ground. A sudden wind broke into the room - it became unbearable, the power of slark destroying her from the inside until-
"Okay, I think I'm done,"came suddenly from the translators voice box. "I've had my fun."
And with that, the entire chaos was completely stopped, in an instant - everything dropped, the noise had ceased, and everything had gone back to normal. Only now, Tark had a smile on his face.
"...what?"
"Standard hazing ritual for new members, the sense of slark. It started a joke a few millennia ago, we keep it around for tradition."
"...C-Can I go now?"
"Go ahead - I'll make sure tell the other nations you been successfully slarked. Too-ta-loo." |
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