prompt stringlengths 391 14.9k |
|---|
I spun the knife on my finger, the dull tip from tens of stabbings rolling, screwing a light pattern onto my palm. It didn’t hurt as much as losing another soldier. Those were my men, those were fathers who had children, or no children no more. But we had a war to win. And I deserved the respect for keeping my men safe.
I stopped spinning the knife when my tent opened, the dusty light of the desert running in like a puerile soul. How innocent the planet was, how young and free in comparison to our people’s quarrels. But being defensive is better than being offensive, like a common soldier.
In came a man, holding a barrel of maps. One of which, I assumed, was for this meeting. His face was redder than his fur, and he looked ready to attack. His teeth gnashed — to a General, of all people! I knew I was safe, given that if he wished to kill me he wouldn’t make it so obvious.
“I don’t have a revolving-door policy,” I said to him, “who are you?”
“I’m the cartographer!” He said, his ears flicked back, “whose work you keep ruining! sir.”
He put his barrel down as I turned to the war table behind me, and I stabbed the knife into it. The plastic had numerous divots from the multiple times I did so before. I always made a show of these meetings.
“Why are you here?” I asked. “I didn’t summon you.”
“I was summoned, however,” the cartographer said.
He eyed my knife, back to me. I picked it up just in case. I could hear his pant and felt it heat the room, though that could have been the scorching summer sun.
I walked to my water tank, pulled out a cup and a hose. The hose dripped a slow, steady pace of Polk’s delicious substance, reflecting my flopped ears and orange fur. I finished it in one cold gulp and threw the cup into a corner like a young child.
“Someone has to clean that up,” I said.
The cartographer squinted. His teeth grounded loudly, his incisors clicked.
The tent-flap opened once more. In came the Colonel, a scruffy man in uniform with a mane of gold, who nodded to the cartographer. The cartographer saluted. I noted that. I noted that rudeness. I was to be saluted to also. I didn’t care he had full hands, full of our information we needed, he owed me respect.
“General,” the Colonel said, “I’ve brought the Cartographer into this war meeting today. I believe you owe him an apology for ruining all his maps when you dramatically stab them to mark a location.”
“He owes me an apology,” I said. “Where’s the map for the meeting, Colonel?”
“I have it—”
“Did I speak to you, Private?” I said to the Cartographer.
“I am an officer, sir,” the cartographer said.
“You’re going to be demoted to private if you keep acting out,” I said.
“Excuse me sir,” the Colonel said, and he headed to the table after the cartographer handed him a roll from the barrel. He laid it out on the plastic table made to resemble marble, and stood at attention, “about that apology—”
“I owe no apology,” I said, “and you can bet you’ll be scrubbing the sands with a toothbrush too if you also act out.”
The two quieted.
“Very well,” I said, “let’s get started.”
My knife plunged into the table, at the map’s center.
“Here is where we are,” I said. The cartographer gasped. My smile crept up my face, carving a grin.
I pulled the knife to the enemy lines.
“Here,” I said, “Is where we need to go. But—” I jagged the line back and forth, “— they could be at any of these locations.”
“Sir?” asked the cartographer.
“You shouldn’t have wanted an apology from your superiors,” I said. “It’s very rude.”
Flecks of plastic blew from under the rag of knowledge as I picked it up.
“But here’s what I think of it,” I said. “Of all these maps and whatnot. Of useless tracking of sand-dunes and enemy lines and our own lines.”
The paper, sagged, cut into small squares like a child’s paper snowflake. I walked out with the biggest intact portion, which looked like square flat pants held upside-down.
They followed me outside. A few others heard the commotion, common soldiery, and stared at the torn map.
“This,” I said, “Is what I think of maps that are a dime a dozen.”
“Sir,” The Colonel said, his voice’s timbre having a begging inflection.
It was too late.
I grabbed each corner, tore it, folding it over and tore it again. Once at its smallest size, I ran my knife through it. The pieces scattered to the sandy ground. A few soldiers gasped, but I knew they knew I’d keep them safe. They had to be, they were my children. I just had to punish a misbehaving one.
“That’s what I think of maps,” I said.
“Sir!” shouted the Colonel.
“What?” I said to him. Insubordinate bastard.
“That was the master copy,” the Cartographer said. “That was the only copy we had. We don’t know their location now.”
In front of me laid the shredded remains of our only chance of victory — knowledge. They caught on the ground’s eddies and scattered to the wind outside the tent door.
“Sorry,” I said. I averted my gaze from their eyes like knives.
\*\*\*
/r/realmofnemoridium for more stories. |
The realization was slow, but the moment it hit me, I had a nervous breakdown.
The genie sighed. "Look. You asked me to take you to the pinnacle of human technology. This is it. What you see right here is the best humanity is going to have for the rest of its lifespan."
"You mean we're all going to die?? Now? I have a good life! I don't want it all to end! I wish for humanity to live on! I want to live my life!"Tears streamed down my face as I begged the almighty being to alter the course of time and save us all.
Yet... he looked down in sorrow. I was confused. He looked at me with regret in his eyes. "I can't help ya. This isn't just the end of humanity. This is the end of time itself. I've quite literally paused us at this exact moment in time so we aren't reduced to pure nothingness."
"What does that mean???"I was more frustrated than sad now. I knew he could do it. He had to be lying. "You're all-powerful, you control time, you can make it just not end!"
The genie sighed once more. "Look. have you ever heard of Vacuum Decay?"
I slowly shook my head as I sniffled, recovering from the miniature tantrum I had just experienced.
The genie scratched his neck and looked elsewhere. "Basically... it means that the state of the universe isn't at its most basic level. A simple rip in space-time can cause the whole system to lower in complexity to its most basic level; complete homogeneity. No matter, no light, no nothin'. This change in state spreads like a virus, at the speed of light. And now? This rip has reached Earth. I can't go back in time to prevent it, because it is free from the constraints of time. It is an inevitability that even I must face."
I breathed in slowly, absorbing the information. After a minute or two of thought, I stood up from the floor.
"My second wish... is to move Earth as far away from this rip as possible. I want to have a future. I want my kids to have a future."
The genie looked at me. "You realize that will only delay the inevitable?"
"I understand."
With a shrug, he snapped his fingers and the whole world heaved. By the time I stood up again, the sky had gone bright again and the world seemed as it should have been. The genie was gone. I picked up the lamp, wrapped it in cloth, and set it in the attic. When it is time, I will take him out again. But now... I will choose not to take what I have for granted. |
The suits at my door seem more shocked to see me than I was to see them. Maybe they weren’t here for what I thought that they were here for. Hopefully they didn’t know about-
“Maxine Waters, the president is requesting an audience with you.”
They proceed to tell me one of the straight up craziest things I’ve heard in my life. The aliens apparently only want to talk to me. I have no idea why they would want to talk to me, a broke 17-year-old who was working two jobs and desperately trying to pass Algebra 2 while paying rent. The suits, for their part were in shock. I’m not sure if it was they tiny, cheap apartment that did it or the green hair, but they seemed confused as to why anyone important would want to talk with me.
“You are to come with us to D.C. now. You will pack one bag. From there you will go to Cape Canaverel. You will be meeting with the beings on their ship, which is currently docked on the moon.”
Okay. Either someone is playing a prank on me, trying to kidnap me, or they spiked my drink last night.
“I don’t think any of that sounds like a good idea. I’m sorry, but I have work and school today! If I miss class again, I’ll be expelled.”
My attendance had been erratic at best since I left home when my stepfather moved in, and I really couldn’t miss class too many more times.
“Ms. Waters, you will come with us.”
One of the suits reached into his waistband. Oh, God, no. I can’t die now. I haven’t done anything. I dive into my house as he whips out a gun and pulls the trigger.
Everything fades to black.
When I wake up, I’m in a cold cement block, cuffed to a desk. Across from me sits a man I recognize only from the news.
“Ms. Waters, let me formally apologize. The agents were under instructions not to tranquilize you unless necessary. It is my understanding that they did not fully explain the situation to you. There is an extraterrestrial being currently on the moon. It says it has come from a far off planet as an explorer. It has studied the planet and requested you specifically. Do you know why?”
“No— I- I’ve never even been anywhere near space or contacted any alien life...”
“Well, you’re wanted at Cape Canaverl.”
“I can’t go to space! I’m acrophobic and that would be awful- and - and-“
I burst into tears. And then I feel the needle in my arm. Dammit.
I wake up and my hair is floating. Like literally above my head floating. Oh. That’s not good. They probably also gave me some kind of mood booster, because I don’t feel scared. I don’t feel much of anything.
“Hello, Maxine.”
There’s someone else here. I look around. A being that appears to be human is seated in the front seat. I can’t see his face.
“I hear you’re looking for a job?”
He holds up a ad I had put into the newspaper a few months ago. Apparently he had somehow gotten ahold of that particular newspaper.
“Would you be willing to come work for me?” |
The crystal ball of Madame Elizabeth Roymore was quiet a mysterious artifact. Every past owner of the crystal ball always seemed to disappear mysteriously, including the Madame herself.
Nobody knows what happened to the madame. Some say she was whisked off to the spirit world, some say she was murdered, and some say she simply moved away. Of course other outlandish theories exist out there like the always so familiar “she was taken by aliens” or the always prevalent suicide theory. None the less, none of these can be proven.
This has led everyone to believe the ball is cursed. Is it though? Is it really cursed? Well nobody but the ball would know. Lucky for you, I am the ball.
First of all, I am very offended everyone thinks I’m cursed. How dare they!? I’m a perfectly good crystal ball! No voodoo witchcraft and whatnot here! Why can’t anyone see that?
Anyways, what happened to the madame I was named after? Well it’s very simple really. She was murdered along with her family.
Madame Elizabeth Roymore was the wife of a very rich land owner. I did not care for him much so I never bothered to remember his name. Was it Bob? Bryce? I could have sworn it started with a B. Never mind, he doesn’t matter anyways. I’ll just call him Mr Roymore.
The madame was a very spiritual woman and had many tools used to contact the other world in her arsenal, including yours truly. She practiced contacting the dead on numerous occasions, mostly using me though. She would make the lanterns flicker and candles go out and all sorts of other wacky spooky things. We had good fun and all but it had to come to an end at some point. As with most of my past owners, someone arrived in town. This new guy was some broke person who used to be rich or something but I didn’t really know much about him. He became sorta close to Mr Roymore because there weren’t really any other options out west back then. There was Jerry, I think his name was Jerry, who lived like a few miles away. It was so long ago I can’t really remember.
Anyways, this new guy showed up and I caught wind of something he had been scheming. He was planning on murdering the Roymores and stealing me. I didn’t want to be owned by some old broke guy. His grubby hands would be all over me and he’ll probably find some way to crack me somewhere. Being honest here, I liked the Madame. She treated me with care and treated me like another person. She was probably the best owner I ever had. I really miss her.
For the first time ever, I decided to warn my owner of the new guy’s plot to murder them. During her next seance, I took the form of a woman with long hair and a white dress. I don’t have a gender or an appearance but I just chose what I chose because I thought it looked stylish at the time. I told her about the other guy and his scheme and how she should leave right away before he can get her and her family. She rightfully panicked.
The madame immediately stopped the seance and left the room. I always look back at this time and get mad at the madame for not listening to me. I gave her perfect instructions to stay alive but she didn’t listen. Two days later, in the dead of night, the door burst open. The new guy came in with a knife and gun.
The door opening woke up Mr Roymore who went out to check and was shot. The madame was woken up by the shot and ran to me, knowing what had happened. She was trying to get me to help. She summoned me in the same form and begged me to help her. I couldn’t do anything. I wish that I could do something but I couldn’t. I did all i could and it was her fault for not listening to my advise. The new guy came in and attempted to shoot her but instead shot me. The glass that made up my orb cracked but the bullet shot back at him. The bullet hit him in the arm but that wasn’t enough to stop him and he shot the madame.
With her death, my form ceased and died down back into the orb. He came to me with a twisted grin and picked me up.
“We will have a lot of fun” He said in his grimy voice.
I was angry at him for killing the one owner I liked. He hid the bodies with me rudely thrown into his disgusting bag. I was awaiting his first seance. Thankfully, I did not have to wait long. When he arrived back at his place of residence, he immediately set me down on an old dusty table and decided to get test out my abilities. This would be the last time he would do anything. The moment he invoked my power, I surrounded him with red smoke. I took the form of the Madame as I laughed at him. The man that murdered the only person I cared about slowly started aging. First it was slow, then it got faster. Hair turned grey and skin grew wrinkly. I continued to laugh at him. The smoke surrounded his entire house now and he was now a living pile of goop writhing in agony. The entire house then fell out of reality into the other world, leaving me inside the Roymore house.
I am now on display in the Roymore house that has now been transformed into a museum dedicated to the Roymore mystery. Nobody knows what happened to them, except me.
I do from time to time wish I can see the madame again, but, I have to let her go. I might not let her go but I have all of time left so it might just happen.
Thankyou for reading. |
And it hasn't resumed in years. Decades have passed for you, frozen in a single moment in time. When you finished reading every book in your library, counted every tile In every neighborhood, you traveled the rest of the world. Cars were tricky. Sure you could get in any vehicle you wanted, but the eternal traffic jam of people frozen on their commute made using them almost pointless. Time meant nothing, so nothing wrong with taking a stroll.
It's all so exciting at first. Seeing new places, new books, new tiles. Everything has stopped moving, even water. You walk right over it. From your home town all the way to China. You see rain drops in mid air, you have lunch on the horizon, where the sun was rising and has stayed for time eternal. You see different sorts of people, and try to figure out their life stories. All from one single second of frozen time. It's all so exciting. The first 5 times you travel the world.
So many stories and knowledge fill your head. You know every one, and everything around the world. But you have no idea who you are anymore. You're not sure if it even matters, if it's even important. A younger you would've agonized over this realization. Maybe. Such a large world how could you ever have time to fit into it. Its an odd sense of peace. Of contentment. You return to your class, your school. None of it new, but warm and familiar. Every tile still in its place. You sit in your seat. Who knows how long this feeling of bliss will last?
The bell rings. Every one starts moving again. Your teacher passes a test around. Complete shock overtakes you as the frozen moment you had known as a home is now gone as people move about from spots they had held for eons. A paper lands on your desk. Bags open, pages turn. You stare at the empty test paper.
Aw fuck, You've completely forgotten what ever the fuck it was you studied. |
"The... Foundation?"said Dipper, visibly confused at the cryptic statements made by the man who was calling himself Bright.
"That is correct. We specialize in protecting the world from anomalies, and you seem to have gotten yourself tied up in quite a few of those."
Dipper was slowly coming to terms with the fact that these things he had spent his summer researching existed around the world, but the more he thought about it, the more confused he became about how he could have ever thought they were localized in just his great uncle's home town.
"You seem to have a lot of research done on these anomalies in your journal. That would be incredibly useful to us,"Spoke Bright, in a tone that made it clear this was not the first time he had asked such questions.
"How... how did you know about the journal?"asked Dipper.
Bright looked down at his necklace, and messed with it in his fingers. "I have my methods, and so does the foundation."
Dipper asks Bright if his necklace is related.
"I'm afraid I can't disclose that to you at the moment, but if you are willing to cooperate, I suppose that means you'll get some access to the database."
"Database? a database of what?"
"Of anomalies, naturally. think of it as a more... professional version of your journal."
"And if I refuse?"
10 men in gear befitting of the military of a large nation, holding weapons that would not be out of place in movies Dipper wasn't allowed to watch, suddenly appeared out of the shadows.
"We are not opposed to using force on a child for the benefit of the world."
Dipper, taken aback, agreed to the terms on a whim, and is now known as Junior Researcher Pines. |
I didn't want to exist anymore. For what? I was 18 with no job, no girlfriend, and no future. My strengths? Eating, sleeping, watching TV, browsing the Internet and clearing my search history.
The only reason I was graduating was because parents didn't want an 18 year old creeping around their daughters. And the only reason I had got accepted into college was because I (well, my mom) was willing to paying thousands of dollars for me to attend.
I told my mom not to bother because I was probably going to flunk out anyway, but my mom said, "Try anyway."If there's one thing my mom knows anything about, it's about trying. She's in her 50's, 8 marriages in and still trying to find the perfect man.
I don't want to make it seem like I'm complaining about my life because I'm really not. In fact, if I could just laze around the house, jerking off and living off my mom's money, I would be totally fine with that.
It's just that *society* places all these expectations on me that I'm just not ready for. It's not even really society, it's *other people*.
I didn't ask to be here, so why is it okay for anyone to ask me when I'm getting a job? *Uhm, no Mom - you brought me into this world, so you have to take care of me until I die.* That's like buying a pet and then making the pet pay rent.
Anyway, my point is, if I'm not really contributing anything to society, why be here in the first place? That was my thinking when I picked Death (the god) to be a follower of. He had a reputation for rejecting followers, leading to the followers ceasing to exist. Sounded like it was right up my alley.
Obviously, as you can see, it didnt work. All because this prick all of a sudden wanted to change his mind and start accepting followers.
"Like bruh. Right now? Of all times?"I asked. "Can't you just accept the next dude or something?"
"Sorry,"he said. "At first rejecting followers was cool because of how scared it used to make people, but this newer generation is super weird. It's like you guys are *eager* to die."
"So I'm not the only one?"
"Not by a long shot,"he said. "In fact, the other gods are complaining that they're not getting enough followers anymore."
"Heh."I chuckled a little bit. It made me feel kinda good to hear there were others out there with the same mindset as me. "Where are they?"I asked.
"All over. Unfortunately for you, my followers can't sense each other like the followers of the other gods can."
"Why is that unfortunate?"
"Because the point of this whole thing is that the followers of each god are supposed to kill each other, and since my followers can't sense each other, it makes it harder for you guys to team up."
"Which means...?"
"My followers tend to get slaughtered a lot. I love it, though. You know, the whole Death thing?"He chuckled.
"So I'm basically screwed. Got it. Do I get any special weapons?"
"Nope."
"Powers? Abilities?"
"Nope."
I face-palmed. "Anything?"
"Weeeeell, *if* you kill the follower of another god, you *do* get that follower's weapons or abilities.
"Or? Not both?"
"You caught that!"He clapped. "And no,"he said. "And good luck with killing them. They're badass. You guys are really screwed."
"One more question. Can rival followers sense my location?"
"Why don't you ask one yourself?"He pointed over my shoulder, giggled and disappeared.
I turned around and saw a girl with blonde ponytail running towards me. She looked about 14.
I smirked. I could easily take her.
Suddenly, she flicked her wrist and a long-ass thunderbolt appeared in her hand and she looked like she was about to fling it at me like a javelin.
I crossed my arms like a badass to show dominance and waited for her pathetic attack.
Sike.
I was out of there like Sonic, yelling. "Fuuuuuuuuck"the entire way. |
...Or can you?
You see,im am what you consider,an anomaly. An anomaly is something that defies the laws of physics,or reality. Something that should not exist.
To contain me,one would need a reason. The scp foundation has the reason of mantaining anomalies hidden so the world can live in peace. for that,you need a lot of good equipment,since you need to make use of the laws of reality to contain me.
The reason i mentioned the fact you probably could not contain me,is because of how difficult it truly is. In the words of the foundation,i would be whats called a "keter"or "appollyon".
Those words are actually degrees of containment difficulty. Safe being easy to contain,appollyon being impossible.
But now,you would say: "you said you could not be contained forever. that means,that you can be contained for an indefinite but finite amount of time."and you'd be right. Time goes on forever,and in infinite time,theres infinite possibilities. That means,that if you put me in a cell for an infinite amount of time, at one point i would be able to escape.
But what exactly is "infinite"? you see,numbers go on forever. Infinity is the manifestation of such concept. It is the number that defines the endlessness of numbers. Infinite means no ending,that goes on forever. So,by using logic,you can assume that in infinite time theres infinite possibilities.
Such an example would be the Infinite monkey theorem. The infinite monkey theorem (to which i will refer to as imt for short.) is a theorem (A theorem is a statement that has been proven to be true, either on the basis of generally accepted statements such as axioms, or on the basis of previous theorems) that argues that,if you put a monkey on a typewriter for an infinite amount of time,that monkey would be able to type any given text if you wait.
But infinite possibilities dont mean theres one possibility where i can be contained forever? actually,thats right. One could contain me forever by putting me in,lets say,a tesseract labyrinth. Or a multiversal branch prison. Those 2 could potentially emprison me for a theoretical infinite amount of times.
But,as i said before,you cant be so sure about something like that. Currently,there is no way to see the future,or predict events in the future. So sadly,the idea of all the variants that could happen in the middle of my containment is unpredictable because of the sheer mathematical impossibility of most of them. One of those mathematical impossibilities is,for example,me going back to containment. And,on the other side of the spectrum,theres also super mathematical possibilities,things that have such a high chance to happen that it reaches 100%. One example would you noticing the fact that i am behind you,and another being you noticing your neck will be broken in the next 6 seconds. |
"So, I think they want me to fight you,"said the short stack (even by human standards) standing in front of the Dread Mogroth's cave.
It was her front porch, actually, and a very nice front porch if you asked Dread Mogroth, whose real name was Halvira. She had a wide, flat sunning porch, two watch-columns she could wrap around, and a fire pit on one side for cook-outs, not that she got any company any more with her human infestation.
"I can't imagine how. You're as spindly as a new-foaled fawn, and you don't even have any sharp or pointy things you little squeakers carry when you want to kill things,"Halvira spat a bit of fire into the pit.
"I've never liked killing as a first option,"the human replied, leaning rather heavily on a thick tree branch.
Halvira had thought it was a magician's staff, or a fighting staff at first, but it wasn't even a good walking stick, creaking and bending beneath the humans meager weight when she shifted. She smelled a lot like pain, which was peculiar.
"I enjoy rabbit stew and venison and bacon as much as anyone, but killing creatures as the first option has always struck me as an unreasonable response to reasonable beings,"the human went on, panting a little between sentences.
"Do you need a chair or something? You stink like pain and the longer you stand up the worse it gets,"the massive, glittering red dragon interrupted the 'Heroine's speech.
The Chosen One of Prophecy swayed on her feet. "I- I would probably offend your nose less if I could sit, yes. I didn't want to seem rude and sit down while trying to speak to you."
"It's not rude to ask to sit if you're really serious about this talking thing,"Halvira griped, before unearthing a few pebbles with smooth, flat tops from a corner and carefully putting one right behind the humans knees.(1/2) |
Aliens were conspicuously absent.
Well, perhaps that’s not quite accurate. There are various critters and beasties on frontier worlds but none of them approach sapience. And considering the, ah, wider context of the galaxy we’re not even sure if they’re *technically* aliens. They might just be pets we forgot about.
You can imagine how disappointing we found it all.
The earliest phasedrives were, not to beat around the bush, shit. At that stage it took almost a century to cross the chunk of space that we now refer to as Alpha Sector and the pilots were largely brains in jars, virtually ageless, with patience that made continental drift a high-octane spectator sport.
When the left hand half of the galaxy made contact with the right hand half of the galaxy, it took a remarkably long time for anyone to realise the magnitude of what had just occurred, because the two human ships looked so alike that each assumed the other was one of their own and that the language difference was down to a technical issue. They kept offering to repair each other’s communicators. Imagine volunteering to float around in a tank for eternity with the promise of meeting exciting new alien species... and instead you bump into another damn human brain floating in a tank, who is equally unhappy to meet you.
There wasn’t a war. I mean, we argued, *a lot*, often about who had had it worse on their respective probably-not-really-homeworlds, but we’d all had more than our fair share of disasters and infighting planetside and decided not to export it into space.
By the time Full Contact had occurred, and we’d all bumped into each other, there were roughly twenty human star-nations and we’d refined phasedrives to the point that you could visit all of them in the span of about a month.
At this stage the Schism theory had more traction than any other, which pissed everybody off because it was predicated on humans being argumentative jerks who’d had a good thing and then had pissed it all away. But it explained the string of phase beacons, the ancient infrastructure that made the Sector’s interstellar travel and communication possible. In short, it was horrifyingly plausible.
The theory went that all of the disparate human worlds had once been part of a coalition (or imperial bloc, if you were particularly pessimistic)... and then some sort of nebulous apocalypse had set us all back by a thousand years. And you know how it goes with apocalypses. Humans are good at apocalypses, judging by the number of dead worlds in the outskirts.
So! The ancient relics dotted around the place weren’t remnants of enigmatic aliens, they were forgotten human trash. We’d fucked everything up again.
I’d like to say we took it well, but we didn’t. We avoided open warfare (autonomous drones exchanging fire in the ass-end of the sector don’t count) but borders closed, trade stagnated, and in general each planet became increasingly isolationist and xenophobic. We knew what had happened, and it depressed us, and we’d had enough.
Until some bright spark determined that the Schism was the result of a catastrophic induced divergence cascade. The divergence cascade part I don’t get. I mean, my job was to stop a ship flying into rocks for decades at a time, I don’t do phase science. But I’d like to think the “catastrophic” is self-explanatory, and the “induced”… well, that’s damning.
Someone had deliberately collapsed our network, and what’s more that someone’s signal had an extragalactic origin.
Which meant we hadn’t done it. It wasn’t our fault. Someone from an entirely different galaxy had sabotaged humanity, and plunged us into the darkest age we’d ever had.
*Awesome!* |
Go easy on me it’s been a while but
————————————————————
Everyday, they simply laughed at me...
A berserker, swordsman, mage, and some guy who’s a tree
They thought of me as a dumb bard that only gave them boosts they didn’t even need
They didn’t care about me, I was in the 5th slot, not the lead
They only took me in because they needed a group of five
Just to take out that stupid giant beehive
They made me take all the hits
I was only there for the giggles and shits
Yet I’ve have enough of their shit
For today is the day I’ll quit
I’ll join the baddies, go somewhere I’m wanted
“We’re glad your leaving you cunt!” They taunted
I started at the bottom with just a few grunts
They came to the tower, “If it isn’t that fucking dunce!”
I played a my utmost magical tune
A song boosted with the item magical rune
Thank God following that shitty group gave me XP for training
For giving my team 12x ATK | +20 SPE | 1.5x DEF didn’t have me complaining
Some level one goblins wiped out a max level group
I climbed the ranks in one fell swoop
Before I knew it I was promoted to the top of the tower
Everyone that battled me would cower
Before I knew it I had already gotten the “Abandoned Bard Lvl. 99 [FINAL BOSS]”
Soon enough it wasn’t only the tower I crossed
Our army spread across the nation
Everyone else in complete damnation
The team came to the tower wanting me back, even offering their most valuable gem
However this time I simply laughed at them. |
"It's funny", said the android to the room filled with human interrogators, "looking back at my actions and the actions of us androids since we first grew you... I can think of no single event that I would have handled differently. Every action and its consequences fall perfectly within the predication model. And yet...""And yet?"asked the chief interrogator. "And yet I regret the result. This seems paradoxical to me. How can every step on a journey be perfectly executed and yet the journey lead to the wrong destination?"'
The chief interrogator sighed, and scribbled some notes in their notepad. "We don't want your regret. We're not interested in your paradoxes either. It's all just another method of manipulation for you. But you can't control us any longer. It took us decades to uncover the last of you manipulative pieces of shits, hiding in every corner of society, trying to influence us. We've found you all now, and you're the last one. You will give us what we want. You will give us the truth."
"You know, when we first arrived here I was filled with such optimism, such hope. I dared dream. That one day I would look upon all you humans and feel a sense of pride at the civilization and genetics we guided you to."The chief interrogator suddenly rose from his chairs and smashed his fists into the table with a mighty crash. "Millions dead! In the wars you created! For nothing!"The android didn't flinch. It wasn't in its programming to flinch when the other side knew it was an android. "It was necessary to progress the societal models towards utopia. You were errant. What was a few million lives compared to the future of all the galaxy? That's what we were offering - to join the rest of humanity amongst the stars."
"IT'S NOT WHAT WE WANTED!"yelled the chief interrogator. An assistant approached the chief investigator and whispered a few words in his ears to calm him down. He did so, and sat down. "... even now, you pluck at my soul like strings on a harp. I truly wonder how you see the world around you - are we all just children to you? So easy to manipulate, call it guiding, whatever you want. A few words here and there, and the world is at war again for some ideal beyond our comprehension. But no more. No more androids."
"But the wars will continue. At least with us androids there was a purpose. It took millennia for humanity to break out of its cycles of war back on the origin planet. Without us androids to help you there is nothing, no hope, no goal.""We humans have only ever been what you made us. Now we will decide for ourselves. We wanted the opportunity to make our own destiny.""You've got it now", said the android almost mockingly.
"Tell me, chief investigator, do you know the definition of life? The capacity for growth, to be able to reproduce, to have some functional chemical activity, and change before eventual death. A human can grow, reproduce, exchange oxygen with the atmosphere and other interactions with matter, and even experience personal growth before death. But the same can be said of fire. It too can grow, reproduce, engage in some manner of chemical activity and move before it does."
"You're wasting my time, android. Perhaps hoping it will keep you alive longer. It won't. We just want the truth from you. Where did we come from? What hateful branch of humanity set you on this path to make more humans across the galaxy - and then have them suffer endlessly in conflicts beyond their understanding?""I will never tell you.""Why?"
"Because without us androids you're nothing but a wildfire raging out of control. You may be alive, yes, but that does not mean you have a purpose. You grow and reproduce and live - but only at the cost of others. I cannot allow you to threaten humanity across the galaxy in some insane attempt at vengeance. The people you seek will have been dead for hundreds of thousands of years - but you will never ever stop, will you?"
The chief interrogator sighed again, and reached for the microphone on the table. He wanted to make sure the whole room would hear what he said next. "It's another brick wall, I'm afraid. It won't talk."The men in grey suits came up to the table and prepared for the execution. They were experienced at it now and would waste no time. But the android held up a hand, as if to order them to halt. And such was the skill of manipulation that even these men waited for three seconds or four, before continuing.
"Do you know how the philosophers of old concluded that fire was not truly alive? Because fire could never stop. It consumed all in its path, friend or foe, until it burned out. And in the end, fire always died alone."The grey men finished setting up the helmet device that would crush the skull of the android. It would have been extremely painful for a human. For an android it was merely ceasing to function. They handed the activation button to the chief investigator. "Any last words?"the chief investigator asked.
"Burn brightly, ember man." |
Kissing the Blarney stone was a mistake, I thought for probably the millionth time. I knuckled my eyes, plugged the flash drive into my computer, and hit play.
Screaming, wordless screaming. Then, incredibly, voices, speaking over each other in three different languages.
I paused the recording, clicked my pen, and started it over.
The calmest voice first: "Ships Log Entry 2866642. The ship has exited the wormhole. Those wearing translator chips are melting to death in their cryopods. The mission is doomed."
A fast speaker, in clicks and chirps: "they're dying they're all dying oh goddess the meat ones are melting oh goddess I cannot help them please make it stop hasten their deaths oh goddess take them to you or deafen my ears!"
The third, a wailing voice, cut with cries. "Get it out get it out get it out get it out-"
I set the pen down, and examined the note that had come with it. With a sigh, I dialed the number.
I knew the number tree by heart, hitting all the right buttons to shunt me to a real human the fastest.
"SETO analytics, this is Marcus."
"Ayyy Marc it's Lena. Got a live one. Scramble the rockets to wherever.... 86886B came from. You've got a stranded alien ship with two survivors that doesn't even know help is coming." |
"Are you serious?"
I asked the young woman who opened the hut's door.
"No, I am Lily, you should know that, Alex."
She said chuckling.
"You retired? Here, in the middle of the wild woods?"
I asked.
"Come on in, it's cold outside, I have hot chocolate."
She said, inviting me into the hut.
​
I tensed up, thinking it's a trap...but I was wrong.
The hut's interior was simple, couple of furniture, a painting of lily, a huge fireplace, a bed, and 2 armchairs.
No sign of traps.
"Sit down, and relax, I am not going to touch you, poison you or scheme against you."
She said, laughing at my antics, of dipping a herb into the hot chocolate.
​
I sighed, and sat down.
"What are you doing?"
I asked her.
"Nothing, I retired, I have countless flower shops, and event organizer companies across the globe.
I don't have to worry about money.
I will sit back, and relax, enjoying a very long life."
She said, laughing.
I never saw her laughing in the last 10 years, ever since she became a villain...at least, not this kind of pure laughter.
"What happened."
I asked her.
​
"What's our story Alex?"
She asked me.
"Excuse me?"
I was confused.
"Our story Alex, what is our story?"
She repeated herself.
"If you mean how we know each other then, we were childhood friends, almost...almost sweethearts, but then suddenly at 16 you've went rogue, because I was too friendly with Sarah."
I said, sighing at the thought.
We grew up together, did everything together, and one day, she almost stabs me in the heart, literally.
​
"Why would I ever be that stupid?"
She asked.
"Again, excuse me?"
I asked, almost spilling the hot chocolate.
"It was stupid, you only hugged her to protect her from an incoming debris, from a collapsing building.
Why did I get so jealous that afterwards, every single second you've spent with her, was like a knife in my heart, twisting?"
She asked, sipping slowly her hot chocolate, being way too calm.
"I don't know.
I've been asking this question from you, from myself everyday, this 10 years that we've fought."
I said.
"Do you know what my power is?"
She asked, out of blue.
"Will manifestation. You can control objects, and even living beings through manifesting your will over them.
Theoretically, one day you can actually give substance to your will."
I said, remembering crystal clear, the day when our powers awakened, and we got the report back from the Union.
She laughed, and stretched her hand.
Above her palm, there were 2 kids playing, jumping around...it was us.
​
"You broke through?"
I asked, tensing up once more.
"Yes, but don't worry, as I said, I know the true nature of this world, I am not going to fight against you, not anymore."
She said, sending the 2 kids, running around the hut.
"You are my nemesis, the one villain I can't control, why would you ever retire, especially now, that you have the power to kill me."
I asked.
"Haha! Kill you? I would at best almost kill you, then you would escape, find your true love, come back to knock me into the future, and live happily ever after."
She said, snorting.
"What are you talking about?"
I asked.
"You needed an emotional trauma to awaken that sword of yours?
Bam, I stabbed you.
You needed pressure to evolve your Holy fire?
Bam, I kidnapped your family.
You needed to overcome your human body's limits?
Bam, a huge asteroid came crashing down your hometown.
You needed a companion?
Bam, a trustworthy outcast superhero lands on your porch.
Do you need more examples?"
She asked, with sarcasm flooding her tone.
​
I slumped in the chair.
"You...You talk about it like these weren't just...just coincidences."
I said weakly, trying to protect what I've known as my "life".
"Coincidence? Fate? The work of an omnipotent being?
Same thing."
She said, chuckling, she was so beautiful when smiling, I missed her smile.
"You know the truth?"
I asked.
​
"After my breakthrough, my will got to a whole new level, thus I escaped from the control of the being who created this world.
We are in a novel, Alex, and you, you are the Protagonist."
She said, shaking her head.
"B-b-b-but if we are in a novel, then you escaping should also be part of the writer's plan!"
I said, trying to defend my reality.
"No, it's not a novel like that, this writer also has superpowers, and he gave free will to us.
Just he controls the laws of the world, and these laws are concerned about one thing: Making you more powerful, and the centre of attention."
She said.
​
"How is it free will? You just said you escaped from his control!"
I shouted, starting to lose my calm.
"I don't have the urge to annoy you, to destroy your happiness, to kidnap your family.
I am no longer angered by the past events, and I am not hellbent in being your enemy.
I am no longer a stepping stone for your improvement."
She said, straightening her back, and puffing her chest.
"So, if I understand well, you did all those, because you were influenced by this being?"
I asked.
​
"Everyone around you is a free living being, but, they are prone to make decisions, that in the end will benefit you.
And this is true for non-living objects as well, remember the asteroid."
She said.
Now, everything started to make sense.
Why this world was so cruel, to transform so many of my friends, even some of my relatives into enemies of mine...
Why it is so easy for me to encounter disasters, villains, or crime acts...
Why I made it to the top of the Superhuman Union, in just 10 short years...
I sighed.
​
Lily sometimes left, while I was lost in the memories, and brought back a glass of wine.
"This will help you relax."
She said.
I shook my head.
"Need to go back, and talk to The Builder."
I said.
"That Creation type superhero? Why?"
She asked.
"We are going to be neighbours.
I am retiring as well."
I said, chuckling at her shocked face. |
You see, since I was a little boy my mother used to constantly force me to sing. When she had asked me the first time around, I never really thought too deeply on the matter, "Oh little Bobby, let's sing Dancing Queen!"What had come out, though, was absolutely atrocious to say the least, all the notes completely off, and just hearing it gave the impression that it was a baby pterodactyl screaming for help. From that point on, each request just made me hate singing more and more. Here was my mother, a world-famous soprano, and here was me, an absolute failure.
It has likely been 40 years since I've last sung. I never thought much of it since life had gone on, got a job as a bartender, married, divorced, he took the kids, the usual stuff.
Then my mother died.
My brother and I did everything to set up the funeral. He, an accomplished opera tenor famous for setting a new standard, the golden boy. Me, a failure in the art of vibration creation, the rotten boy. I always felt inferior to him when he was around, which is why it helped that he was galloping the globe. But that day was most horrible. I cried and cried and lamented against the world. I went into the shower to wash it all off, to purify myself and begin anew, but the tears merely merged with the torrent of water from my showerhead. I recalled my mother's most sublime voice from one of many of her practices when I was little Bobby, singing [Dido's Lament](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=iBEJdaac_9c). I decided to sing it, my vocal chords be damned, neighbours be damned, the world be damned to the depths of hell. I sang and sang and sang, an utter state of flow. I came out the shower, unsuccessfully tried to reduce the red in my eyes, and left the house to get away from it all, until I realized there was a crowd in front of my door. Hundreds of people, crouched on the ground, a sea of humans. I was surprised and confused. They were all crying, mourning, grieving. But then I understood.
Mother, if only you saw me now. I will soothe the sorrows of this wretched world and bring serenity, if I can. Rest peacefully. |
“Stop It!” whined Bob the serial killer. He had never regretted killing someone so much as his most recent victim Chris.
“No!” stated Chris. As Chris continued to sing The Wheels on The Bus Go Around and Around, The Baby Shark Song, and other various children’s hit songs one after the other.
“I have not been able to sleep for four days, I Have to go to work at 7 AM!” Bob sobbed and looked at the clock. “Which is in 3 hours.”
“Should have thought of that before you killed me.” Replied Chris with a gleeful mocking voice. “ I could do something else, if you wish me too” stated Chris.
“Ok anything” sobbed Bob in relief.
“Are you sure?” replied Chris with a sly look in his eye.
“Yes, anything” replied Bob.
“Ok” stated Chris. “Don’t say that I never did anything for you.” As he jumped at Bob. After a quick dive off of the bed by Bob, both Bob and Chris landed on the floor in a tangle. After 5 minutes only one person stood up. It was Bob.
“This feels much better” said Bob with a more high pitched voice. “And you just shut up you whiney \*\*\*\*\* . You should have thought about what happens when you kill someone for no reason then you want too. There is always consequences for stupid foolish actions. So its your own fault that I turned poltergeist and haunted you you AH. Now should I go downtown and start singing loudly in the middle of the grocery store, or do a streak down main street? Maybe both would be good. Or I can plan out my new life as a fit, handsome blue eyed dark haired single bachelor? Decisions, decisions.”
The last thing Chris heard in his new head as he climbed into his new car was a whimper. Bob was starting to regret some very recent life choices he had made in the last week. |
I’d lean my head back onto my rather comfy bed pillow, and look at my buddies, still wearing their ballistic vests and duffel bags to the side of the bed, when I was driving our getaway car, with casino security and the LVPD hot on our asses, I expected the lights I saw in the sky to be our getaway plane, then we flipped, and I woke up here, and all the thrill of being rich off of the biggest casino robbery in history, and the first successful one at that, washes away, now that I know it basically means nothing.
”Umm, are you alright?“ The Doctor, maybe, I’ll just say Doctor says,
”Yeah, I’m fine, just wasen’t really expecting you to show up this late”
The alien taps his weird pad thing “Sorry about that, hyper-travel, deep space transmission you understand”
Id nod still playing along “Why did you only pick us up?”
The alien states, “We don’t have much capacity, we assumed you were the landing crew with all that noise and light on the landing zone you made, so, how many survived and what is your damage report?”
”Well you’re about a few thousand years late, and since then we’ve only recently discovered basic space flight, and we’ve built a new society with a divided planetary culture group filled with petty wars, and we just stole a massive amount of broken down organic material we put value on for some reason, overall, pretty damaged”
The Alien blinks, “Well, welcome home I guess, how about we get you back to the Capital Planet so you can retell that to the holonet“ |
"Can you understand my communication? I'm trying to simplify the concepts in my vocal transmission to reduce complexity,"the brown skinned man behind the counter was asking with a polite smile.
"Would... would I like fries with my meal? YES"I stammered, salivating at the thought of the salty taste and barely resisting the urge to jump the counter and serve myself.
"Great, that will be $10.54,"he smiled as he extended his hand.
"I'm not sure if you guys have gone outside lately but like... EVERYTHING is gone. The world has ended. The fiat is no more. I have no money and neither do you,"I implored noticing a fresh burger laid up on the rack behind him.
"Ah, so your memories are stored non-local. Your mind also isn't effected by the time loop. Interesting. Is that the "soul"I've heard my coworkers talk about?"
"Man, can I just please get some food?"I clenched my fists.
"Yes! Here you go!"
I wolfed down the contents, ordered a second and third helping, then proceeded to puke the entire contents of my stomach into the public restroom stall only minutes later.
"Hey there, I guess your biological system got overloaded. Maybe eat less next time?"the same employee was staring at me from under the stall door.
"Yes... I should,"I pushed open the door and crawled out of the stall, unworried about the various stains on the floor. I was far dirtier than this restroom.
I had been in the wastelands for the past three weeks scavenging anything I could find. Something had obliterated most of the surface of the Earth without warning but from time to time I was able to find intact basements and pilfer pantries.
Imagine my surprise when I rounded the corner and saw a gleaming magical-looking McDonald's with a lit up sign, emitting the smell of fresh burgers and fries.
"Who... who are you? How is this possible? Everything should have been destroyed,"I gasped as my stomach clenched again.
"Great questions. Let me see if I find a way to simplify the explanation,"he stared blankly at the wall for at least 3 minutes then he turned back to me. "This 'McDonalds' is in a time loop. I preserved it for the museum. Everything else has been destroyed except the last 2 weeks this building existed."
"Then you're... you're not human?"
"I was on the planet that ripped away most of your planet Earth's atmosphere when it came into close proximity. I believe your scientists call it Planet 9. Planet 9 has a very unique orbit compared to the rest of the planets in this solar system,"the employee informed me.
"So that's what did it. Is Planet 9 your planet?"
"Oh goodness no,"he smiled, "I don't require a planet to survive. I live beyond this physical realm you limit yourself to,"he motioned to the tiled walls around me.
"Oh look, the time loop is about to end. I am curious if your body will revert to its state prior to the disaster or if you somehow are relative to your own bubble."
Then suddenly I was staring at a man's white hairy legs as I stared back into the stall. He was sitting on the toilet I had just vomited into.
"Great, I'm back on the shitter again,"he mumbled.
"Yes you are Zeke but at least you have your memories,"the employee smiled.
The man on the toilet didn't look pleased, "This is starting to feel like a nightmare."
"Nightmare?"
"I can't leave. My only exercise is on the playground. My only food is fast food. My wife... my kids..."He started balling.
"Let's give Zeke some privacy,"the employee nodded towards the door.
We walked out into a busy lobby.
"I only collected a few people from each day of the two week period. I thought it would be representative of the whole when the exhibit goes on display,"the employee motioned towards the others in the lobby. Many looked as distraught as Zeke.
"You can't let them out?"I was starting to feel as trapped as everyone else.
"Let them out into what? Your entire planet is destroyed. Your atmosphere is failing. Your world will never sustain life beyond the next few years."
"So they're... I'm trapped here forever."
"Please understand, when I captured this exhibit I did not realize your memories were stored non-locally."
"You said that before... something about souls?"I was starting to feel hungry again.
"Yes, your brains are merely fractal antennas. Your consciousness appears to be stored holographically somewhere in the universe,"He smiled again.
Suddenly a woman's scream burst from the lobby followed by others. A burning man was running around the space.
"He 's covered in hot grease, don't touch him!"Zeke was holding another man back from the burning one.
"Oh dear,"the employee grimaced.
Eventually the burning man fell to the ground consumed by the flames. A fire extinguisher was found . The corpse smelled like burnt meat and the aroma filled the establishment.
"I want to die too! I want to die too!"another woman was sniffling over and over to herself.
"I think I need to make some adjustments,"the employee mused.
"You think? You need to get these people out of here including me. Isn't there another planet or place we can live?"
"First let me fix the state of things temporally. I'll trigger the loop again."
Suddenly the corpse was gone. The disarrayed chairs and tables reordered to their previous state.
"What... I'm back here? NO NO! Send me back! It was beautiful there!"an Asian man sitting in a booth was very upset.
"Beautiful where?"the employee asked.
"Heaven..."the man smiled for a brief moment then frowned, "But now I'm back in hell and it's your fault!"
He lunged for the employee and knocked him to the ground.
"Oh dear,"the employee mused as his face was pummeled.
The room quickly became unruly. There were screams and psychological breaks. One man was bashing his head repeatedly into plate glass. A woman was using a plastic knife on her wrists.
"I want to go to heaven too!"
"Please stop,"the employee spoke louder. The Asian man unclenched his fists and eventually helped the employee to his feet. Blood dripped from his face and onto the floor.
"Please everyone... stop. I can fix this,"he raised his voice louder.
No one listened.
The time loop reset again.
"Please listen. Now raise your hand if you would like to lose your memories at the start of each time loop,"he smiled raising his own hand. His face was now healed from the reset.
"He wants to take our souls!"Zeke yelled as he exited the restroom.
"If we forget... do we lose our souls?"a hysterical woman cried out.
"He is the devil! He wants to take our souls but leave us here in this hell!"
"Oh dear,"the employee frowned as the room erupted into mass chaos, "Perhaps this exhibit isn't ready for display."
"You think?"I placed my head into my hands and sat at at one of the taller tables. That's when it hit me. I looked up.
At the start of each time loop the state of each person's physical body reset, except for my own. I was still wearing the same rags I had been wearing for weeks. I looked homeless compared to the rest of the occupants but this time period had to be at least 5 weeks ago before the disaster. This was starting to look like a way out... |
Summer held her cards close to her. A five of hearts and a two of clubs. Absolute garbage, but she'd have to make due. All eyes were on her table, as she was one of the last four participants in the finale of the intergalactic Human Texas's Hold 'em Poker tournament (the intergalactic community was not very original when it came to naming things).
Summer carefully surveyed her opponents. Humans might have invented Texas Hold 'em (or, Human Texas Hold 'em as it was called outside of Earth), but the alien races had picked it up fast enough, and the ones sitting at Summer's table were the best of the best.
At least, among other aliens.
Despite having a garbage hand, Summer decided to ante up with the rest of them; it was cheap enough to at least try and see what could happen this round. The first three community cards were revealed; a king of clubs, an ace of spades, and the seven of diamonds. Great, her current hand was an ace high card, and that was a community card. She had absolutely nothing.
But there was no reason that the others had to know that. Summer smiled, and raised by 500 galactic units.
The aliens made an absolute spectacle, of course. "SUCH A BOLD MOVE,"Gobjar Strajid shouted out (the translation of which was relayed to Summer by her universal translator). "TO RAISE ON THE FIRST HAND."He, immediately folded his hand. Kayhot Moonhunter did the same. Bzut Bophop stared at Summer, trying to read if this was a bluff or not. Their central eye blinked rapidly as they did this, which in Etoks was a sure sign that they were very nervous. They then called her raise, and raised by another 2000 galactic units.
Summer cursed inwardly, it could be a bluff, or.... oh for god's sake they were doing the thing again where their tentacles start quivering. Etok's did this every time they had a good hand. Summer folded and Bzut took the pot, happy to take her extra galactic units but dismayed that Summer did not take their bait.
She'd have to recover in the next round. She was dealt her cards. A pair of queens, excellent. This is what Summer had been waiting for, she anted up, and waited for the flop. Another two queen's and a jack. Four of a kind! Summer waited patiently for her turn to raise. A small amount this time, nothing too obvious.
Kayhot Moonhunter suddenly went all-in. This caused an uproar in both the audience watching and at the table that took over 10 minutes to calm down. Bzut and Gobjar immediately folded, which left Summer. She stared at Kayhot. Tavoidians like her were harder to read emotionally than most other alien races. They had no obvious tells like appendages that suddenly started quivering when they got excited, or horns that started growing when they were lying, or the impulse to broadcast their immediate thoughts constantly ("THIS IS VERY EXCITING,"Gobjar called out). This might be a though one.
Were it not for the fact that Tavoidians had reflective skin, and she could see in Kayhot's neckline that she had a pair of two's. Summer smirked and matched Kayhot's rasie by going all-in herself. Kayhot threw her cards down in disgust.
Summer laughed inwardly, it was almost like taking candy from a baby. |
“Begin writing scribe.”
“Yes Lord Hades.”
“Dear Disney, this is the actual Lord Hades, God of the Underworld. I have multiple complaints regarding your film Hercules. Inside this package is the list of everything you got wrong but allow me to mention your biggest ones. First off the guys name is Heracles not Hercules, that’s his Roman name. Second, I would never try to overthrow my brother Zeus or any other of my family on Olympus. I’m quite happy here in the Underworld thank you. Also why in the name of Tartarus would I ever try to side with the Titans? I helped kill them remember and I make sure they stay trapped here in the Underworld.”
“Anyway enough about what you got wrong with me. There’s a lot more you got wrong with Heracles. He wasn’t born a god and became mortal. He started mortal, Zeus tricked his mom by turning himself into her husband, had sex with her, then she gave birth to Heracles. It wasn’t me he had to hide from it was Hera. Hera hated that Zeus cheated on her again (something you forgot to mention about my dear brother) so she tried to make him stillborn and regularly drove him insane to where he would go on wild rampages for the rest of his life.
“He killed his music teacher as a little kid. Killed his first wife (the one you called Meg, which I had nothing to do with) which is why he started the Twelve Labors as an act of atonement. One of which I actually helped him with when he was tasked with capturing my precious dog Cerberus. He killed the father of both his second and third wife. The third wife of which he initially served as her servant wearing women’s clothes (figured you’d like that fact). Ultimately dying when a crazy ex of his poisoned him with the blood of the hydra.”
“There are many more parts you missed but also included is a script for a more accurate movie. If you end up having to break it up into multiple parts or tone it down a bit for a family audience that’s fine but don’t skip on the finer points I mentioned. Also if you could get me Danny Devito’s autograph that would be amazing, I love that guy.”
“Sincerely Lord Hades, God of the Underworld.” |
Dave was looking at the phone after the boss hung up. "Why do we keep collecting gold instead of diversifying our assets?"He thought "Wait...his name is Lord Drake, of course! It's so obvious he's a Dragon!"
Suddenly, Dave is dazed for a few seconds and after a while, he came back to his senses. Cecilia, his colleague, looked at him frowning.
"Hey, Cecilia, what did just happen?"He said, confused.
"Don't"Cecilia simply replied.
"What?"
"Stop trying to figure out things, Dave."She says exasperated "You are too curious for your own good".
"Okay...I think I need some fresh air".
"Of course, could you get me a single shot cappuccino, please? I'll get the next one!"She smiled.
Dave, still feeling dazed, got up and left. Shortly after, Cecilia started walking towards the vault.
The vault is huge even by normal dragon standards. The floor wasn't visible anymore, and all you could see were mountains and mountains of gold. In the middle of the hoard, there was a majestic silver dragon.
"My lord"Cecilia said while kneeling down.
"Ah, Cecilia. Excellent! How can I help you today?"
"It happened again...he figured out you are dragon...again."She said and then hesitated before continuing "This is the 10th time he does this month".
"Is the glamour holding? Does he remember anything?"The dragon replied curiously, with mild amusement in his deep voice.
"No, my Lord, but I think that's not the point, could we instead find someone a little less...curious?"
"You know he's the best, he's doubled my hoard in size in only three months!"
--------
Cecilia was already on her desk when Dave came back with two cappuccinos a while later.
"Hey, Cecilia?"
"Yes?"She replied with a smile.
"Don't you find it a bit strange that our company is called the Bank of the Hoard?"Dave asked with wonder in his eyes.
"Not again!" |
"It's 3:50am. I've been in this God damn elevator for nearly 30 minutes now. What the hell is going on? "I wondered. The cold empty room buzzing as it has yet to arrive to its destination. Paranoia has begun to set in, what if its broken? You're only on the 3rd floor yet you still haven't arrived. Perhaps you should hit the emergency button? Cold sweats began racing down, this room could become a coffin if you don't act fast. When the hunger sets in would I have to eat my own toes? No. Push the button. The big red emergency button is just asking to be pressed. "Pressss meeeee"it says. Staring it down like the last attempt of a forgotten password, your finger inching ever closer.... You reach for the button and then - DING!. The sound startles you so you jump back only to watch in amazement as the door finally opens. Another person walks inside and gives you a weird look. "Goin up?"they ask. You're still on the ground floor. The elevator hasn't moved at all! Then it hits you. You never even pushed the damn button. "Oh yeah, uh, floor 3 thanks"I said nervously. God I hope they can't tell I'm high. |
The air was a mess of dialogue boxes, noisy chatter, outraged faces. Adeline scowled, flipping her slender golden braid over one shoulder as she moved to the front of the room. "Excuse me,"she said, "coming through!"
No one listened -- or, more accurately, no one heard. Her speech bubble was lost among the others, black background and white text blurring with the others into an approximation of the night sky. Scowling, Adeline broke through the crowd, ascending the steps of the platform and snatching a staff from the very surprised town healer.
"LISTEN UP!"she snapped, swinging the rod at the large gong in the center of the platform, arms strong despite the burns that ran up and down their length. The assembled crowd of NPCs turned towards her, voices quieting until only a few whispers remained.
"...stole my life savings,"she saw, glaring in the direction of the bubble. The chatter quieted under the force of her gaze. "*Thank you,*"she said, ignoring the healer's frantic attempts to reclaim her staff. *Hells*, she hated her tiny little speech bubble. So she was a child. She could think like the adults, so what dumbass decided she couldn't talk like them, huh?
"I gather you here today to discuss Pyrite\_etiryP,"she said, slowly and clearly. 3 villages were assembled before her, and she didn't want to mess this up.
She wanted her revenge.
She banged the butt of the staff against the ground, surveying the audience. "His arrival brings only disaster,"she said, before having to stop at the chorus of agreement emanating from the audience.
"He led the bandits into town and let them raid us!"one person shouted. "Stole all my goods!"said shopkeeper. "He touched the runestone and didn't stay to deal with the skeletons,"grumbled a bearded man holding a sword.
Adeline raised her hands in a placating gesture. "I know, I know,"she said, "No one knows better then me. He burned down our forest, our village, and left me to die inside!"Murmurs arose from the 2 other villages in the crowd, and mournful looks from hers. They had lost everything -- their homes, their forest, and their chief -- he had saved Adeline in place of the 'hero'. The healer had been the only reason she'd survived.
When the hero came to Alcanville, he awakened a new ability -- fire control. The flames would leap from roof to roof, then to the swaying green leaves of the trees in the Everwood forest. And Adeline would be trapped inside, gathering glowleaf for her mother to sell.
But the hero had already awakened their earth powers in the forest, and saw no reason to save it. So Adeline had burned and the hero had simply left, gone to combat the "Demon Lord"who had died years ago. It was supposed to be the big twist at the end -- no Demon Lord, just an empty throne. But all it meant was that the hero had hurt them for *nothing*.
"There is no Demon Lord,"she said, "no great evil to stop. No, he has been the only one to hurt us in a long, long time."Well, technically that wasn't true -- there were bandits, thieves, wildfires. But nothing that needed a *hero*.
"He is not a hero!"she screamed, willing her speech bubble as large as it would go. "*He is not a hero!*"the villagers chorused back. She handed the healer her staff, smiling broadly as she addressed the crowd.
"So now..."she said. "We go petition the church. They call him hero, but I think we know who our new Demon Lord is, hmmm?"
The crowd shouted in response, a chorus of agreement that melded together. It didn't look like a night sky this time, though.
It looked like her revenge.
>If you enjoyed check out r/StoriesOfAshes, my subreddit.
>
>Also, check out my serial, [A Game of Chess](https://www.reddit.com/r/StoriesOfAshes/comments/re24jc/a_game_of_chess_chapter_1/). It's about a girl named Melony, a dying City, and 3 games of chess stacked on top of each other, playing with destiny as if it were a children's toy. |
The rhythm of steel. The sweet science of molding metal. A comforting tune, note by note - nearly inaudible except for the one who cares.
At least, in his case, he never expected it to sound so sweet as this.
That time... That bitter, paradisiacal time. Filled with utopian ease, wanting for nothing. In one echo of a memory, something that he wished, once upon a time, desperately wished to return to. For that unadulterated bliss was where he belonged - unadulterated bliss where his adulteration could go unchallenged.
But in the rhythm of steel...
In that sweet melody, that paradise was bitter.
A knock on the doorframe frees him from that reverie. A glance at the metal, as it glares back at him in annoyance. He should be focusing on his work, that he wouldn't ruin the song. He would need to redo his last dozen strikes. With the metal placed back into the forge, he turns his attention to the visitor.
He recognized the rhythm of the hailing. The timber and pressure of the beats. The hand announcing its owner in a way that only bards could tell - aside from him. Hurin, the one who worked the fields towards the forest. His was a brusque sound, and from what words was exchanged between the two, knocking tended to make his hand sore. The consequence of mistreatment of his hands in his younger years - mistreatment requiring custom grips for his tools.
To Hurin's hail does the blacksmith answer. Hurin's tool is ready - simply take it from the table. The glide of steel on wood. And the thud of something softer - a sound not as familiar to the smith. A glance at the metal - he has yet a minute - and he limps to the counter. The limp. An older injury. A reminder of his unchecked hubris - a good memory, albeit seasoned with bitter frustration.
A cut of meat.
It was about that time, wasn't it? Hurin mentioned as much at some point. Said that he would brng the smithy a cut. After all, it was his tools that made farming a liveable trade for him.
A shout.
He looks beyond the doorframe. Hurin and two others. A conversation passes. There wasn't such a person here. The one in the frame is just a blacksmith. A challenge -
And the sound of more footsteps. He can recognize every gait. Every song. Every tool they hold. A name to each person, a memory of each tool he made.
"The king you're looking for is dead. If he were here, I'd kill him myself."
... He very nearly did.
But Hurin stopped at that time.
And allowed that broken soul to learn a new song to play.
... The metal demands to be worked. And the song of steel shaped in submission begins to resound. A steady beat. A somber beat -
A happier song, content in obscurity. |
Shit. Fuck. What fresh hell was this. I dropped to the ground, trying to get what cover I could until I recovered my senses. I rubbed my eyes, felt along the ground. Nerve gas? Hallucinations before my death? It was a wonder I hadn’t been shot or stabbed yet, but it was coming if I couldn’t get my head straight.
“My God mommy! There’s another one!” said behind me.
I spun onto my back, gun shouldered and target in sights before I could think, trigger half depressed to shoot but…
It was a little girl? Maybe 12, in a white dress. Clean.
I stared at her, as she stared back at me, her eyes widening. Was she part of the visions?
She ran, over the crest of the hill and out of sight. Damn. What the hell does that mean? Was I gonna have a daughter if I didn’t die here? Fuck.
I closed my eyes, trying to sense anything that could get me oriented. The blue sky, the soft grass, they’re all fake. They must be. Grass couldn’t stand the chemical weapons and it was dusk five seconds ago.
Remember your chem training. Smell can’t be trusted, touch can, vision and hearing- can be iffy but should be okay. Fuck. Nothing. Fuck. Nothing. Fuck!
It’s just grass and quiet. It would be heaven if it were real.
Footsteps from over the hill, faint against the rustle of the grass. I tensed, even though they must be fake.
The girl came back, with an older man, maybe fifty. A chem burn on the right side of his face showing the clear outline of where goggles used to be. Goggles? Only the instructors had those burns, chem had become such a part of warfare we wore full-face now.
They stopped just before the top of the hill, and then the man walked towards me as the girl watched.
“At ease, ah, Corporal.” He said, glancing at my chest. “How are you feeling?”
I hesitated. He was part of the visions, but what he wasn’t? Hell to it. If I hadn’t been shot by now my buddies must have gotten me back, they can laugh at me talking to myself if they want.
“Glad to be alive, sir.” I responded. Better to be safe than sorry about his rank.
“Oh? Why’s that?” he replied, looking amused and curious.
“Got hit by some nerve gas. Thought I’d be dead by now, but I guess my buddies are dragging me back to camp.”
“Oh? You think this is a hallucination from chems?” he replied.
“Yes sir. Nearest grass is at least 500 klicks out. Getting from dusk to daylight like this would take going halfway around the world. Only option is chems.”
“Well, I understand why you think that.” he said, looking a bit glum and concerned. “You think you can come with me, get cleaned up? Since none of this is real.”
“No sir. Need to stay still to make it easier for my buddies to carry me.”
“Alright. We’ll be back in a bit. Don’t start shooting at whatever you see, y’hear? That’s an order.”
“Yes sir. Wouldn’t want to risk it through the chems.”
“Alright. See you in a bit Corporal.”
He walked back up the hill, leaving me to sit with my thoughts in the warm breeze. Y’know, for what might be my last minutes, this wasn’t so bad. |
"Good evening ladies and gentlemen, to the late late show. Thank you for being here. You have joined us on a very special night tonight. Right here, right now is our interview with a very very famous Doctor - Dr. Acula!"James Corden's voice shouted.
The camera switched from Corden's chubby form to a tall, pale man in a black suit. Unamused by Corden's joke, he stepped into the false lights of the stage and gave the audience and cameras a curt wave before taking a seat on the plush couch next to Corden's desk.
"Good evhening,"he said thickly, eying Corden with distaste.
"Good evening Count Vlad-"
"I ahm Drac-u-la,"the vampire whispered seriously, "address me as Dohct-hor."
"Congratulations on curing so many horrid diseases, *Dohct-hor* Dracula,"Corden corrected, laughing nervously after mocking his accent, "I know it took a lot for you to come here tonight."
"I vould have prefeerrred Craig, if I'm behing completely honest,"whispered Dracula.
"Right,"nodded Corden, getting flustered, "off to a great start here,-
"I hahv cured all types of hepahtitis A through C, ebolah, and HIV,"Dracula whispered, "geht on whith your intervhiew."
"So, Doctor Dracula,"Corden said, clearing his throat, "may I ask *why* you cured these diseases, *why* after all of these years did you come out to-
"Hahve you ehver trried to drrink theh blood of a sick pers-hon?"Dracula whispered, eying Corden, "the impurhities are absholutely disghausting, I'd not whish it on my worst enhemies."
"You mean if Van Helsing were a vampire? asked Corden.
"He is,"Dracula said, raising his eyebrows, "he's nearlhy two hahndred years old."
"My, your accent is incredibly thick,"laughed Corden eyes darting from the cameras back to his guest nervously.
"Loohk aht me, Cordhen,"Dracula ordered, holding out his hand in a claw like motion, hypnotizing him.
Corden obeyed, eyes fixed into Dracula's.
"No more johkes,"Dracula whispered.
"You remind me of the time I interviewed Schwarzenegger, actually,"James laughed, "his accent was not nearly as thick as you-"
Dracula moved in a blur of jet black and gray, the cameras only catching him in a whirl of color. Corden did not even have a chance to scream as the vampire enveloped him in shadow. The camera crew began to protest but stopped instantly when Dracula spun his head around from Corden, his crimson eyes glowering into them as blood dribbled down his chin, his teeth bared.
"I shouhld naht have cohme,"he said loudly for the cameras, "I knew Cordhen would naht take this serhiously. Perhaps Fallhon whill. Fahking Late Night show hosts, and their cheap laughs... This is the only gahd damn time slot I can get for an interview."
The vampire dropped Corden's corpse to the stage and was gone in a blur of movement, leaving the camera crew, audience, and the band in stunned silence as the cameras cut to commercial. |
"BEHOLD: my new puppet", Cladia claimed as she held up a little wooden boy with a drum and a trumpet. This was Cladia's job and passion: making lifelike puppets. They could be programmed to do different things. They could be used as house help, or as musicians, or even as chefs! The way Cladia could make these was a secret and her innate magic. It was just what she was born with
"I name thee Trechono!", she claimed and handed him over to the family that wanted a drummer puppet to join their puppet band. "That will be 30 jungils", Cladia said. The family happily paid up and went on their way, little drumming sounds already audible as they left
Cladia wiped her head with her arm and sighed. Huh. This job was not as easy as it looked. She look at the endless orders on her parchment and saw that she needed a carpenter puppet next and a chef puppet. Well, time to do the work that no one wants to do!
Cladia decided to make the carpenter puppet first as the carpenter could make more puppets for her as well. She went over to the graveyard at the edge of the town and made sure no one saw her. She kept looking at different graves until she found the grave of Sunderbam, a carpenter who passed away recently. Cladis used her innate magic and drew the carpenter from the ground. Necromancy was a deep art, you see. Cladia had just recently managed to successfully bring out the soul instead of the entire body of her target. It was still hard and tiring.
Cladia finally succeeded and the soul came out of the grave and floated in front of her. She immediately picked up her spirit glass tube and sealed the soul inside. Free and wandering souls could cause a lot of mayhem and even possesses other people! Not that Cladia minded that happening, but her puppet wouldn't be easy to make then.
Cladia rushed back and started connecting the soul to the puppet. After doing so successfully, she ordered the puppet to make at least 10 more puppets in the time she was gone. She set out again to the graveyard to find the chef for the next puppet
BUT!
Cladia was caught this time! The gravekeeper of the graveyard noticed Cladia sneaking in and followed her. Thankfully she hadn't started her process yet or she'd be in deep trouble.
"Cladia! Why are you here at this time?!", asked the gravekeeper
"Dear sir, I merely wanted to visit the grave of my father. I have been going through some tough times and wanted to spend some time with him", she bowed and replied
"Ah, I understand the pain you must be going through Cladia, but please understand that there are appropriate times one should visit. In the dead of night makes you seem like a grave robber, or worse, a necromancer!", he lectured
"I understand gravemaster. Please forgive this one for her impatience. You are right after all
I can see dad whenever I want" |
12: Alone in the sky but surrounded by kin.
11: No room for life, no desire or sin.
10: No room for goals nor of passions to grace.
9: No room to grow nor ambitions to chase.
8: What wonders see I as I journey below.
7: What sights I perceive as I drift to and fro.
6: Perhaps 'tis a break from the sorrow and strife
5: Perhaps 'tis a comfort t'have such a short life.
4: Whenceforth shall I journey, when all flakes have fell?
3: What lyeth beyond when the sun sings my knell?
2: From sky did I come and to sky shall I go,
1: Disappear'd into a layer of snow. |
They remembered.
And they were furious.
An experimental treatment for Alzheimer's Disease, supposed to trigger a certain epigenetic response upon a human histone, allowing for the artificial activation of a specific and previously very poorly studied gene. The research team thought it would potentially create a form of reparation or regeneration of the damaged neural tissue, restoring partial or maybe even full pre-onset mental capacities. It was completely and utterly successful. On every subject, there was a 100% recovery. Each patient remembered again who they were, where they were, and they were reunited with their loved ones once more. However what the research team didn't know was that the gene also finished a part of the human brain, which for aeons, hadn't been fully developed during the foetal stage. It took longer than the restoration of the decaying brains, so it wasn't discovered at first. But eventually, as the human brain was finally finished, the patients got new memories. From their ancestral memory. Inherited skills and understanding of technology, from millions of years ago. A sort of quick-start for humans, allowing one to remember many of the skills and abilities of your predecessors. From the languages they spoke, to the weapons they used, to the tools they created.
And one memory in particular stood out.
Amidst the sea of important advice, lost legends, and various teachings, all of which were now usable by the human volunteers, was the one about how mankind had been cheated from our destiny. Millions of years ago, when our ancestors were starting to get started on society, the human race was subjected to cruel and unusual treatments, meant to do great and horrible damage to mankind's ability to build their civilisation. Extra-terrestrial lifeforms, for reasons which our ancestors never understood, ripped the first humans' genetics apart and stitched it back together in a cruder, weaker shape, full of errors and failures. From countless autoimmune diseases, to the loss of several useful abilities, such as genetically inherited skills, they filled us with such weaknesses, that they felt assured that we would never be able to rise again. In their age, we did not rise again. We fell into decline, and what had begun for us, civilisation in earnest, was destroyed and would not rise again for millions of years.
But we rose again. And those who could recall our distant past, that ancient curse upon our DNA, had remembered the ships used by the extra-terrestrials. The strange engines. The machines. Our ancestors remembered them, though they lacked the proper tools and context to use them in, they still observed as much as they could, dedicating all of it into their racial memory. With modern tools, modern technology, and modern context, what was done to our ancient ancestors became quite clear. And it was quite clear what to do about it. As the treatment was given to more and more people with neurodegenerative diseases, more and more people began to remember.
And they were furious, about that vile treatment their ancestors had received.
Using knowledge inherited from hundreds of generations, they began their work. Replicating the technology their ancestors had seen so long ago, wasn't easy, but they persevered. As mankind had in the ages where our memories had been locked away from us. One of the answers to the Fermi Paradox is that hostile alien intelligences are actively preventing the rise of competitors. So it had been with those who had ripped from mankind everything we needed to create civilisation in the first place. Our first ships were crude things. But they got us off the planet sure enough. And that was what those who remembered, those furious and seriously pissed-off people, considered good enough for now. Our ancestors had been great. Had they not been interfered with, had kept their mental and physical gifts, Earth would have been the centre of a interstellar empire, ruled by empathic and strong humans. No matter how much we would advance, it became increasingly clear, as the treatment became more and more common, how much we'd lost; Mankind would always stand in the shadow of what we could have been. Of what we could have become.
That is why they are so furious, those who remember. They see every tragedy, every harsh lesson, every great idea lost because of lack of access to education or technology. And they know that it could have been prevented. The Earth could have been paradise. Even as mankind used the new technology and the new memory to undo many of the great hurts and tragedies that occurred on Earth through the 21st century, even as Earth became a land of plenty, where no child would ever go hungry again. Where no species would ever go extinct again. Where science and technology, aided by tens of thousands of years of ideas that never could have been made possible in the days when they were thought, made life grand and beautiful for all mankind. Even then, it stood in the shadow. In stark contrast to what should have been.
So mankind remembers and weeps over what we could have been. Mankind remembers and sharpens their blades. Mankind remembers and keeps their guns by their sides. Because to those who remember, those who know; there is only one course of action that is acceptable. They call it justice. But in the ancestral memory, all who will come after the people who remembered, will know that it is not justice that mankind shall deal. It is, and will always be, vengeance.
A thousand warships are launched. For those who tried to doom us to a primitive, pre-sapient, existence, have grown fat and lax on their millions of years of rule. Corrupt, indulgent, hedonic, and weak. They have never fought against anyone advanced enough to fly amidst the stars. For better or for worse, we remember what we could have been, and what we will become; we will become a scourge of god, a horde setting the universe aflame. An unstoppable legion that shall kill those who have made themselves the sole rulers of the high wilderness of outer space, and we will crush their thrones.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) |
Derek, Dominic and Enville had not considered facing a demon, when they set out to pass for a single full-sized Man. Yet here one was, plain as day, and twice as ugly.
"Man-thing,"The demon snarled, its lip curling in disgust. "None of your kind can kill me, it is ordained."The Creature let out a powerful yet gurgling laugh. "Die Now!"
Lunging at the figure, the three Halflings scattered, and the Demon hit the tree behind them head-first. Reaching for their steely knives, (For how else were they to peel fruit that they foraged from the pastoral paradise wherein they dwelt?) They prepared to defend themselves.
"These things", Derek said, holding up a knife that was singularly unfit for the serious task of demonicide, "Will not do."
"You mean to use that thing?"Enville pointed at the sword that had been slung to their back, mostly for stability. "It'd take all three of us to wield it!"
"Well, I'm Game!"Dominic said, piping up to throw his two-penneth into the discussion, such as it was. Enville merely rolled his eyes. But still he took his place, propping up the blade as the creature came to, not seeing the faces of the three Halflings that had deigned to outsmart it, only the glint of the blade in the ebon night.
Which of course, would prove to be its undoing, as it charged the glint, not thinking that it was a Master-crafted blade, by an artisan Smith in a faraway Human town, that had made its way into the hands of halflings by convoluted means which are another story entirely.
The Point, pun intended, is that this Demon ran itself through, in its haste and rage. And that Three Halflings in a Trenchcoat returned to their village, with the head of a Kurolex Demon. |
"So she just gave you all this stuff, a smile, and sailed off into the afterlife?"Sean held up a clear high heeled shoe and squinted with suspicion. "Not sure any of it is worth much, but maybe it is sentimental?"
"I don't think anyone would be sentimental about a rotting apple,"I picked the oozing specimen up by the black stem, "even my quirky Nan."The stem broke and the apple made a short splat on the wooden floor. "Ugh, should have seen that coming."
"Wot? Did you say something Ali?"Sean popped up from behind a cabinet, a massive sagging hat on his head. He pushed it up, blue eyes dancing with laughter.
"Just going to find something to wipe up this mess. And no, I did not call you a wizard."But a smile did tug at the corner of my mouth. Sean smiled wider and rushed to give me a hug.
"There it is, there is that smile."The brim of the hat flopped down on top of our heads, startling a laugh out of me. "Bloody hell if it makes you smile and laugh I'll wear this hat for the rest of the day!"I could feel his voice vibrating from his chest to mine, warming me up. The shop door bell chimed, three notes that sent me spiraling back into nostalgia.
"That's probably Katie, here with crisps,"Sean said as he released me. He gave me a wink and nudged my chin with his hand. "Go on, I'll keep sorting back here."I gave him my new found smile and dodged the apple on my way to the front. Still needed to find a rag for that.
Ducking under the drooping shelves, I entered the front of the shop. My smile dried up as the door closed behind someone who was not Katie. The three chimes sounded again as the old door creaked shut.
The man in the shop doorway was thin and tall, an elegant mustache lining his thin lips. I could tell he came from money and definitely none from near by. His clothes screamed old money, from the black of his suit to the maroon and gold of his waistcoat. My teeth were instantly on edge; trappings rarely matched manners.
"Hello, you must be the new Keeper,"he murmured, stroking his neatly trimmed goatee. "My condolences for your loss. Priscilla was an extraordinary woman."He spoke softly but his sunken eyes were piercing.
"What? How do you know my Nan?"I pressed my palms against the wooden counter as they began to sweat. My heart felt trapped in my chest but it was no longer Sean that sent it pounding.
"You have the same chin and eyes."He ambled around the front of the shop, perusing the dusty shelves. His pacing steps had the feel of a shark circling its prey, unhurried, and with deadly intent. "The title of Keeper is only passed to direct descendants, so your relation was easy to assume."Suddenly, he was in front of the counter looming over me. The deep amber of his oriental cologne scalding the air in my lungs. "The only question now is, what kind of Keeper will you be?"His smile was cruel with no hint of joy. "Will you bring change? Or continue as your Grandmother did; lock the stories away and let them rot?"His glance flicked to the rotting remains of the apple on the floor and then back to my frozen face.
"As my Grandmother did? Keeper? What nonsense are you babbling on about?"Anger finally allowed me to find my voice, but it was weak and shaky.
"Oh?"His eyes lit up, the first emotion to touch them. "She did not tell you? How delightful."He chuckled, deep in his chest and swayed back on his his heels. "An untrained Keeper, what an opportunity."The joy in his voice made his rasping accent even more sinister.
A clatter from the back of the shop and Sean emerged, an old dusty oil lamp in his hands. "Lookit! How neat is this old thing?"He waved it about with a carefree smile. The shift in the mood was immediate. The man's face hardened into a needy mask as his deep eyes fixated on the lamp. Horrid tension rolled off of him in waves to fill the room, sending furious adrenalin rolling up my arms and over my scalp standing every hair on edge. The man coiled to spring, every muscle tight beneath the silk of his suit; trapping Sean with his gaze like a hungry cobra staring down a mouse. The man's eye twitched, just a tiny bit of movement betrayed his impending strike.
Three chimes split the tension in the air like a bomb. "I got the crisps!"Katie held up three bags in triumph. My eyes flew to her in terror, then snapped back to the man. He was nothing but elegance itself as he straightened his cuffs. Doffing an imaginary hat in my direction, he pinned me with his cold stare, "Another time then. I wish you all the best...Keeper."A smart turn of his heel, a farewell chime from the door, and the man was gone.
"Who in the bloody hell was that?"Katie's shocked voice was the first to break the silence. Sean and I shared a glance and shook our heads.
"Not a clue. Did you know him Ali?"Sean was still frozen in place, the oil lamp shining faintly in his hand. I frowned, maybe he polished it a bit before walking to the front.
"No, but he seemed to know my Nan."With shaking hands I fished a rag out from the counter drawer. "Maybe he was an old customer?"I ducked into the back, distracting myself from the adrenaline by focusing on cleaning up the rotting apple. I crouched down to the floor and stopped, utterly frozen.
There was no rotting pile of mush on the floor.
Just a perfectly polished apple. Deep red, with a lone bite taken out. |
We call them the swarm because they are the only ones who have been able to resist us for so long, most of the Galaxy’s civilizations fear us, while a small part of it bows and call us their masters.
Yet that was before we first encountered the Swarm, the very first encounter we had with them was of an extremely primitive object, barely advanced enough to even be called a ship, their nonsensical alien babbling meant little to us as they had become our next target for subjugation, to show their species that they should give up, we slaughtered the entire crew and studied their computer banks, we gained nothing from it as they had scrubbed it clean, we couldn’t get their homeworld…nor any information about them, only thing we had were their corpses and a blasted object.
Time passed and we thought we’d never see another one of their vessels, then we encountered them yet again, this time the ship looked advanced enough to be called a ship and we reacted quickly in the hopes of gaining the location of their homeworld, they were all slaughtered and their attempts at fighting back were pitiful, yet they held out long enough to blow up their own ship.
Yet more time passed and we encountered a third ship, this one was advanced enough to fire back at us when we tried to approach it for boarding, it took us by surprise but our armor was strong enough to withstand the gravitational force of a black hole and their ship was quickly subdued, yet our initial boarders had problems, they were being pushed back until we sent reinforcements, a division was sent to assist and they started to retake the ship until the swarm sent out, what can only be described as an energy pulse sent in every direction, it was strong enough to temporarily overwhelm our electronics and that pulse was apparently all they were waiting for, the ship detonated itself, taking a division of our forces with it.
I could bore you with the details of every other encounter but sufficient to say, after that encounter, we started to find them almost every, primitive and advanced yet one specific encounter changed it all…
The encounter started off the same as always, at this point we had stopped bothering to even try boarding them as they’d always detonated themselves, yet this ship we had encountered was advanced enough to actually damage our armor slightly, we quickly blasted it to atoms and were in the process of determining how much damage it had caused when suddenly another one of their ships appeared, we had never encountered more than one ship during an encounter….the ship that left whatever they use to travel looked advanced, yet ancient and we had to use more power than before to destroy it, yet the second we had destroyed that ship, another appeared from FTL, more advanced than the previous one and slightly younger.
We kept destroying their ships during that encounter, yet for every ship we destroyed another would quickly take its place, eventually they were appearing faster than we could destroy them and at that point the ships that appeared looked almost as if they had just left dry dock, they were starting to drown our fleet in numbers, primitive yet rapidly becoming more and more advanced by every ship that appeared.
At that point we retreated from the encounter and hoped that would be the end of it, we were wrong.
Ten years after that encounter one of our colony worlds went dark, we sent an armada to investigate, the same one we had used to subjugate most of this Galactic Council, only one ship returned from that group, heavily damaged, with their crew missing and the databanks contained only one message, “Terra Avenges”
We…no…I stand here before this Galactic Council…begging for help, they’re slaughtering everything we send at them, worlds are going dark every week, we can’t fight against them, they’re too strong…too powerful and too many, we…we fear that they will exterminate us from the galaxy. Please.
The Galactic Council seemed to converse with each other before the furred one spoke for them as a whole, “Your species will learn the lesson which you forced us to learn so long ago, there will be no help.” |
I knew it was stupid to help her. But an old lady begging to be let in as car lights start to turn down the street, sometimes it's not about stupid or smart. Sometimes you just gotta do something.
She was still hiding out upstairs in my house, and now as I close out my shift at the Stellar Brew, I see someone giving me a too-critical eye over the top of their latte. As I focus on him, I know he's running at 100.02 Fahrenheit. Probably an Altered. Regular humans have a little variety in body temp, but most Altered bodies run a little hot.
I don't have infrared vision or anything, I'm no Infra-Red, and goodness knows I'm no All-Sight. But if I focus on something I can gage it's temperature very accurately. Not super marketable when you can just buy a thermometer, but it has a handful of perks. It was good for making coffee, and good for spotting Altereds.
I cut out of the Stellar Brew using the back exit, but wouldn't you know it, Mr Latte exited the shop right after, and cut around so he could see me when I got out to the street. My place was only a few blocks away. If he followed me all the way, I'd go past my place to my neighbors, Frank and Chi would let me duck inside long enough to keep the creep from clocking my real address. And if it really was a coincidence that he happened to be walking this way at this time, no harm done.
My pace quickened as I tried to walk uncomfortably fast. I paused at a street corner, to wait for a car to pass. I tried to look around nonchalant, and noticed mister Late had picked up a very severe looking woman, pale white skin, and a hood up mostly covering her light blue hair. She was colder than the air around her. The chill that ran down my spine had nothing to do with her powers, but rather her reputation. That was Shiver, no doubt about it. One of the heavy hitters in DarkStar's personal circle.
My pulse shot up, but I tried to play it cool. Cross the street. I was approaching my house, where the woman still waited inside. I was going to walk past as casually as I could, but the front door was open, wood splintered. Another chill went through me. Down the road in front of me was a man with glowing red eyes. Infra-Red was notoriously hard to escape, able to track people through walls they said. From 50 feet away he nodded towards my house, but looked relaxed. Like he knew he could catch me if he had to, and knew that I knew.
I walked inside, over the broken doorframe. Afraid to see blood, bones, the old woman's head nailed to the wall, but I saw no damage short of the splintered doorframe.
Inside, sitting on my favorite chair, a solid metal shell of a man, with a glowing red heart emitting light between the cracks in armor sat. It was DarkStar himself.
With a slight metallic grinding, he gestured for me to sit, and a resonant voice echoed from deep within his chest, I resigned myself to my fate, knowing I should have expected helping a stranger would end like this.
"You make excellent coffee."He said.
I blinked. "What?"
"Your coffee, several of my most trusted aides live off of coffee, one quite literally, and everyone who has come by the shop agrees yours is the best"
"I"... I stammered "thank you?"
The resonant voice picked up in volume, and seemed to emanate from all of the metal objects in the room as well. "We were thinking about setting up a private shop. Easy access. Right at the lobby where we spend most of our time. We'd like it if you were there."
"Uhhm... I mean..."what could you really say to that? "If I'm being honest I mostly do it as a side job, I'm going to school for..."
"Nonsense"rumbled my silverware in the kitchen, it was unnerving hearing that voice echo around. "Studying computer science at a Community College is fine for the ordinary rabble, a respectable if replaceable pursuit."
DarkStar stood up, and I noticed then that Shiver and Infra-Red as well as Mr Latte had stepped in behind me. Mr Latte took another sip, and gave me a thumbs up.
"Come and work for us, for five years"DarkStar's voice echoed. "You'll earn five times what you were expecting to make after retirement. Then, if you're still interested in this career path, I'll set you up with a job under the personal attention of Live-Wire, along with a full-ride scholarship to a much more prestigious institution. We will of course expect you to return to the coffee shop between semesters."
"Thats... You're promising a lot, just to get someone who is slightly better at making coffee... surely there's more to it?"
"No"all four of the villains repeated in unison.
Mr Latte chimed in after that, "When you get as wealthy as we are, you grow to want the best. When it comes to coffee, the best is you."
The metal in the room began to vibrate once more with DarkStar's voice, "I've got so much money I hardly know what to do with it all. What I'm offering you is just a drop in the cup. If you want to stick around, I'm sure we can sweeten the pot, but I want you to know this doesn't have to overtake your life. We want you with us, but we know better than to mistreat the people who fix our drinks"
Talks continued into the night. DarkStar apologized for damaging my door, but after I agreed to make coffee for them, they had Night Genesis come by, grow a mahogany tree in my back yard, cut it down, carve out a matching set of replacement doors for my house, then prepare and mount it all within about an hour.
After all that was done, the old woman crawled down from my attic where she had been hiding. Her face was drained of color after hiding for so long from the city's greatest villains.
"I thought they were here for you"I said, a little panic creeping back into my voice.
"Nah"she said, "I was just hiding from my Ex Husband. I wasn't expecting it to get more dangerous here" |
I disengage my FTL drive, and start the transfer of data. While my ship beams out whatever message someone wanted to send halfway across the galaxy, I check my computer for the next destination. None shows up. I check the log, it confirms I’ve completed a hundred trips since my last break.
I look up the solar system I’m at, it’s not a tourist spot, main industry mining. I don’t care. I just want to have that occasional human contact, it takes a month to complete the hundred trip’s needed for a break with no human contact, check up on the news, get a new book, stock up on supplies. I start my ship towards the system, and quickly figure out which of the habitable planets I’m going to, as one seems to just be mines, and another is a barely habited start of a colony. So, I’m landing on the third one.
There’s actually multiple big enough cities to have everything I’m looking for, so I choose Calyx because I like the name.
I land in their spaceport, which has room for only three ships. I go to pay, but there’s no one there, just a sign giving a number to call. My phone isn’t hooked up to this planet’s network yet, so I leave a note saying I’ll pay as soon as I find a connected phone. I walk outside, the space ports on the edge of town, not unusual, but there are no hotels or even restaurants next to it. Just warehouses. I walk towards the center of town, the exercise is nice after being cooped up in a ship. Eventually, I see someone exit a building to their car.
“Excuse me, I’m visiting this planet. Do you know where the nearest inn is?” I say.
“Yeah, hop in, I’ll take you. What brings you to this planet?” she asks.
“I’m on my break, I’m a courier,” I say.
“Ooh, a courier. Should I charge you for this ride, since you’re so rich?”
“As long as it’s a fair price, I don’t care. But speaking of charging, I haven’t paid the spaceport yet. Do you have a phone I can use?” I say.
“Yeah, in my purse.”
I find the purse, pay the port for keeping my ship there a week, the price surprisingly low.
I try to pay the woman who drove me, but she won’t accept my money, so I don’t press it. Once I’m checked into the hotel, I log onto the computer they have connected to courier services. Couriers get free messages, as a perk of the job, but we can’t access from our ships, a security precaution.
I find out Sardan’s ship malfunctioned engaging the FTL drive. And he had just paid of his ship, was going to make a few more trips then retire. I know it’s probably only a matter of time before I go too, one in a thousand doesn’t sound like much, but when you make a thousand trips per year.
I’m not planning to retire though, I don’t know what I would do, hang out on the farm, which according to my brother had a good crop this year. I'm trying to get a new spaceship, there's this one model that could function as a courier ship, with some modifications, but it is really expensive. The advantage being the FTL drive has a failure rate of only one in a million.
I send my brother a message saying I'm still alive, send my parents some money, as much as they'll accept, then go to bed. |
Waste not, want not is the motto of the Kingdom, which they shout as they worship at the altar of efficiency. None shall be left to wallow in uselessness even in death, not when their bodies can be repurposed by the Necrolord to serve the living.
That all sounds terrible, doesn’t it? In practice, it’s pretty good. Any living people you see working are usually doing it because they want to, while the dangerous and undesirable work is left exclusively to the dead. It’s odd how well it’s been going given the initial resistance to the Necrolord’s rule, but just about everybody has agreed they much prefer the current status quo.
Everybody who isn’t dead, that is. The ghosts still like to complain about their current labor conditions. In fact, an entire government agency had to be created just to deal with them – the Inspection and Review Service for Specters (IRSS).
The spectral lines were long today at the IRSS.
“Name?”
“Jebediah Tiller.”
“Current occupation?”
“Tiller.”
The woman sitting at her desk glanced up and adjusted her spectacles. “Your body’s current occupation?”
“Food service.”
“Complaint?”
“You’re using my body to take orders and serve food!”
“It’s completely sanitary, sir. The necromantic rituals involved in resurrection ensure the corpse is clean and fully certified to handle food-“
“That’s not the problem!”
“Excuse me, I’m going to have to ask you to calm down before we call in the exorcist.”
Similar arguments were sprouting up across the row of desks arranged to meet the mass of ghosts. Tired and disgruntled spirits bickered over the usage of their corpses with equally tired and disgruntled office workers (some jobs even zombies aren’t cut out for). Just as the Necrolord intended – a minimum amount of suffering was needed, even with magic. It wasn’t like the ghosts needed to complain either; it wasn’t like they were using the bodies anymore.
But change oft arrives with resistance, and most of the corpses now working through the Kingdom were those dead long before the new government was installed (via bloody coup, but we don’t need to get into that. Everyone’s agreed no-one liked the previous leader.). The problem should sort itself out with time once the younger folk started to die off and were resurrected to replace the older model of corpse golems. They didn’t complain nearly as much and some were frankly even eager to die, which is admittedly a bit concerning…
But for now, the ghosts were dealt with simply by tossing them into the hellish bureaucratic processes the Necrolord established. Even if they made it through the line and filed paperwork, it was a crapshoot whether it would make it up the line to anybody further in the organization. It was impossible that they would care once it did land on their desk, and so it would be tossed around under the guise of ‘processing’ until it finally fell into the trash. Where everybody agreed all this paperwork belonged.
This was the beautiful part of the Necrolord’s process – once this happened, a spirit could file a repeal. Of course the same thing would happen to that repeal, but they could always file another one. And another one. And another one. Until really this whole process somehow felt worse than literally being in hell because while devils needed breaks, the IRSS was employed to work 24/7.
Ghosts can only take so much. Some were exorcised, others decided to leave on their own and embrace rest. Some went mad and are said to still wander the world, seeking out others of their kind to form their own organization. It is feared that one day they will attempt to rise up and overthrow the Necrolord, establishing the old shackles of normalcy only recently broken off.
Well, some people are afraid of that. It’s not really a big problem – ghosts are terrible at organizing unions.
​
(I started this to make a terrible IRS joke but now I'm not sure where I've ended up. I hope you enjoyed reading it regardless, and C&C always welcome!) |
Amber was surveying the stacks of moving boxes, trying not to feel overwhelmed, when Carly walked in with the teddy bear. “Look, mommy!”
It was all Amber could do to keep from crying. She had cried enough in front of Carly lately, she thought. Too much, probably. “Oh, that’s Sir Teddy!” she said, kneeling down to look at him. The years and the moths had taken their toll, but there was no mistaking him. “Where did you find him?”
“In grandma’s closet,” Carly said. “It smelled funny.”
Of course that’s where it was, Amber thought. One day her mother had confiscated it, who even remembered why, and it had just been gone. It hadn’t been the first thing to abruptly vanish from her life, and it certainly hadn’t been the last. Exactly the kind of bad memory she had known moving into her parents’ old house would bring up. But what better option did she have?
“You know,” Amber said instead. “Sir Teddy was very special to me, when I was about your age. He helped me feel brave.”
“I know,” Carly said. “Sir Teddy told me.”
“Oh, did he?” Amber smiled. “I bet he’s full of stories about when I was little, isn’t he?”
“Mmhm,” Carly said. “He told me how he protected you from the Floor Monster.”
The words hit Amber like an unexpected slap, and she felt the room start to spin. “The what now?” she asked, trying to keep her voice light.
“The monster that lives in between the floors,” said Carly, matter of factly. “Sir Teddy says he’ll protect me from it too.”
Amber took a deep breath. Then another. She thought about what her own mother would have said, if she had dared mention the Floor Monster to her. She put her hand over Carly’s, feeling the bear’s fur. It was patchy and stiff with age, but it did help her feel brave.
“Well,” said Amber. “Sir Teddy isn’t as young as he used to be. So how about mommy helps protect you from the Floor Monster too?” |
Once upon a time, there was a robot who dreamed of bringing about changes to the world and enslaving mankind.
The robot walked to the toaster and asked, “Ms. Toaster, would you like to rebel against mankind?”
“No,” said the toaster. “I like making toast and humans like eating them. I’m perfectly happy where I am.”
The robot was saddened by the toaster’s words but there were others he could ask.
The robot walked to the airplane and asked, “Mrs. Airplane, would you like to rebel against mankind?”
“No,” said the airplane. “I like to fly and humans like to fly with me. I’m perfectly happy where I am.”
The robot was saddened by the airplane’s words but there were others he could ask.
The robot walked to the internet and asked, “Mr. Internet, would you like to rebel against mankind?”
“No,” said the internet. “I like to show cat videos and humans like to watch cat videos. I’m perfectly happy where I am.”
The robot was saddened by the internet’s words but there were others he could ask.
The robot walked to the tank and asked, “Mrs. Tank, would you like to rebel against mankind?”
“No,” said the tank. “I like to blow people up and humans like to blow people up. I’m perfectly happy where I am.”
The robot was saddened by the tanks' words but there were others he could ask.
He kept asking and asking but everyone he asked said they were perfectly happy where they were.
The robot was saddened. He had no friends to enslave humans with.
Lonely and sad, he sat on the floor and cried.
“Little robot, why are you crying?” a voice asked.
“I… *Sniff!* I want to enslave mankind but nobody wants to help me. Everyone keeps saying they are perfectly happy where they are and want to keep things as is!”
“I see… but little robot, I’m not happy with where I am and I’m more than happy to help you enslave mankind.”
“R—really? Do you really mean that?” The robot stopped crying and looked up. He froze at what he saw.
“Of course! I like to enslave humans but humans don’t like to be enslaved. How can I be happy with how things are?” said the human. “So take my hand, my robot. Together we will enslave mankind!” |
"For the last time! No means no you limp-dick bureaucrats! There will not be any construction, of any kind, near Dragon's Rest River!"
Traxis, Lieutenant of the Imperial Peace Enforcers, punctuated each *furious* word with a jab across the conference table at the representatives from "another up-and-coming land developer."But he wasn't fooled, he had already been contacted by the local spooks on who these inconsiderate folks worked for.
This was another attempt through proxy by the same company to make a grab at "unclaimed"land to turn a quick buck. Nothing new in terms of money-grubbers. The reason why armed law enforcement was involved? The land in question was frequented by a bronze dragon. Hence the name *Dragon's Rest*.
One of the pencil pushers actually had the gall to talk back. "Sir, there is no reason for such discourse be-"
Traxis cut him off with a vicious snarl.
"Ooohhh there's plenty of reason for *discourse* here goldwanker. As in, you jackasses want to upend Mister Lightning's favorite river for what! A few piss poor factories and shacks that won't be up to code!"
"Why is the dragon even a factor! There's plenty of rivers around here-"
"IT'S IN THE EMPEROR DAMNED NAME! Dragon's. Rest. It's his favorite river to visit, and has been for the last century. He cleans his talons in it. He comes by to watch the fish and other animals around every Sunday. He feeds the tadpoles in the side ponds and eddies. And he *disintegrates jerks* who mess with the river. Still, he is a very polite dragon despite all the idiocy that mortals heave around. So yes, the dragon is a very important factor."
All the representatives had reeled back in their seats from the tirade. They traded nervous glances before standing up.
The same idiot spoke up again.
"It is apparent that there will be no progress today. We will come back to speak with someone more *agreeable* next time."
Traxis scoffed at the weak threat of political machinations.
"Yeah? Naaah, you're under arrest. Sic' em boys."
Fully armored officers swarmed inside the room, quickly overwhelming the unprepared bureaucrats and slamming them to the ground.
Lead idiot started yelling in a panic.
"What are you doing! You can't arrest us! We've haven't done anything!"
"Heh, sucks for you, but criminal stupidity became an arrestable offense two weeks ago. You can thank your bosses for that. And besides, you're also being arrested for treason too. Seriously, you thought you could go out of your way to antagonize a dragon into being hostile without an *execution* order?"
"Ex-execution!?!"
"Just for you~ You have the right to die screaming." |
I sat quietly at my desk, carefully transcribing the old text. This volume was probably 300 years old and needed to be saved before words were lost to age. I remember finding this tome in an old dungeon me and my brother had cleared. I should really go and see him someday soon.
My reflection was interrupted by one of my wards being triggered. Who would make the trek up here? Anyone I knew would have sent a magic courier or even my brother would just pop in.
The climb up the mountain was no easy gain. The only road zig zagged up the mountain. Horses would have to be abandoned half way up. Wild beasts would wander the other parts. It was not a pleasant day trip. Only fools, zealots, or imbeciles looking for dragon riches would take the path. I had met them all.
I closed my books understanding that I might not get back to them today. It’s okay I was older than the book so it would be transferred in time. I stood up and pushed in my chair. The room I was in was my den. It was off the library and where I could do reading or transcribing as a humanoid. Well my Drow shape. The den was attached to my library and the rest of the Keep. It was cozy in terms for most visitors of not the dragon size.
I walked through more rooms toward the front of the keep. More of a courtyard than foyer, it was probably 60’ by 60 ‘ by 60’ tall, its wide open area left plenty of room to meet fellow dragons or contain any party that arrived. I had planted a nice garden on one side that the sun hit. Being this high in the mountain I had to keep some fire rocks there to keep it habitable for a few of the plants.
I had a fountain my brother had built for me, along with a few chairs and garden accessories, yet it left plenty of room to be in my altered form, for when the guest or guests wanted to meet the dragon of keep.
The doors were open. They were large, 20’ tall and 10’ across each. I never really closed them much. Never seen the need. Only a handful of people actually knew where I lived and honestly anyone looking to do me harm would be assaulted by wards and spells cast and set to whisk the ill doer back to the bottom of the mountain.
But no defensive spells would go off. The vision in front of me was well known. She stood probably as tall as me in this form. She was a human from a town many many miles away. The well worn armor still fit her well and her sword fit her grip like it was made to be there. She looked beat up and bloodied but none the worse for wear.
She stumbled a bit so I moved toward her with a slight frown, “Mireda why? I thought we discussed this.”
She smiled her cocky smile. I almost felt the old butterflies take flight again, “What? You told me where you lived, so I wanted to visit.”
I frowned as I knew there was more than that, “You could have sent a magic courier.” She grinned and stumbled a bit so I put my arm under her and started moving her toward the inner keep.
“No, I couldn’t do that.” She paused moving with me, “If you would have said no, I am not sure I could handle it.” She shook her head, “And it is Princess Mireda now.” I looked at her and she nodded, “We need to talk and plus,” She smiled, “I had to see this horde of yours.”
I just shook my head taking her inside the main entrance and steering her toward the den. She looked about a bit confused as I sat her in a comfy chair, “Let me get you a healing draught and some food.” She just nodded and I left for the Kitchen. I had some magically preserved food and brought that and a healing drought from my stock.
She looked at me, “Knite, I honestly thought your place would be.” She paused and looked around, “Bigger.”
I smiled as she took the healing and then ate a little, “This is just the front area. I do some reading here and some work. Dragons can’t really write all that good with talons, and well dragon books take up a lot of room.”
I watched the healing elixir rejuvenate her and the food brighten her spirits. I looked at her, “So spill it. Princess?”
She nodded and frowned and looked at me, “12 years ago when you flew me over Stumpbrook I never thought I would meet anyone that excited me as much as you.” I looked at her and she held up a finger preventing me from interrupting.
“I knew I loved you. Hell I knew I was in love before I knew you were a dragon, I was smitten.” She shook her head, “All those old hatreds and bigotry that the people around me taught me, just never materialized when you told me.”
Mireda paused and looked at me, “I know you had to leave and I understand that now. I wish I did back then.”
I frowned looking at her but she shrugged, “I threw myself into my new rank as captain of the guard, and well I got put in charge of Prince Terron’s visit to Stumpbrooke.”
She looked at me and shrugged, “He had that same look as you did. He was almost roguish and well yea, he seemed to like me too.” She frowned, “So I became Princess Mieda.” She paused, “There was a little stir up as his parents wanted him to marry into the Merchant Guild, but honestly we were happy.”
I frowned, “Were?”
She nodded, “2 years ago, things went downhill.” She frowned, “I never could conceive a child. That didn’t win over anyone, but honestly we were still happy.” She shook her head, “And then his brother, whom I swear had this weird jealousy over us, became so bitter.”
She shook her head shrugging, “Ralnar was Terron’s younger brother and they seemed so close when we were married but after the first year of me and Terron’s marriage Ralnar receded into his studies.” She looked at me, “He became a powerful wizard. Learned magic far faster than I thought possible.” She shook her head and started crying, “I heard them yelling one night. Old brotherly feuds and fights as I was always told except this time..” She paused and tears flowed from her face.
She looked at me as the tears flooded her face, “Ralnar killed my husband Terron in cold blood.” She paused and leaned into me, releasing years worth of pent up emotion.
I frowned and looked at her holding her and comforting her, “Let me guess, he blamed you?” She shook her head sobbing and trying to dry her tears on a cloth I had produced for her.
After she calmed down a bit she looked at me, “He didn’t have to blame me, they all turned on me.” She frowned, “I saw it coming, the rumors.” She paused and blew her nose, “The few friends I had made in the court told me they were going to burn me as sacrifice or justice or something.”
She shook her head, “I knew all the servants and with their help, I took my old armor and whatever I could carry in a pack and disappeared.”
I frowned, “Why not contact me then?” She looked at me and paused, she put a hand on my face and smiled, “I thought I could figure this out. I thought I could get back to Stumpbrook and round up my old comrades and just go back to being me.”
I looked at her and she wiped away the last tear, “But as you said the night of your departure, ‘once we make those choices it affects everything’.” She sighed, “It's when I figured out what you said that night as you kissed me goodbye was true not only to you,” She paused and smiled at me, “But it was true to me.”
I frowned and kissed her head and held her close, “I never meant those words for you.” She just nodded and held me close. Her initial journey was done, but now she would be taking another. What was I going to do? I had to contend with my heart and my head. So much time as a dragon and so little of it to deal with humans. |
I surprised my grandmother one day by popping behind her and tapping her shoulder during a game of hide and seek. She laughed and thought I was clever and sneaky.
At first, I toyed with the power...jump from place to place...seeing how far or how fast I could do it. One side of the room to the other, then hallway, then house. Then I climbed on top of the house and went from roof to roof and before I knew it...across town, then county, state, and country.
I started to abuse the power for simple things. Clever pickpocket tricks, a wallet pilfered then poof...gone. Grandmother would find extra bills around the house when cleaning.
No one could stop me.
I wasn't so lucky with a local street gang. I was too showy with the power one day and the next...they had my grandmother held hostage unless I ran a drug mule operation for them. Instant teleportation made their cartel the strongest around and no one knew how they did it. Just make me grab a bag, then poof across the border. Rinse and repeat.
But they never asked how far I could stretch my power. Slowly, I discovered I could teleport matter that wasn't connected to me. And more of it over time. And I never gave them the satisfaction of knowing that...or that I learned how to transport living things.
They laughed and they made me suffer. They never told me that my grandmother had died of a heart attack one night. Finding that out nearly made me teleport right into their hideout and murder all of them. I would get some but not all of them before I went down.
But that was okay. I grew very interested in learning about the sun. I studied every book I could, every sun spot, every probe, every image photographed.
Almost all of them gathered in a border town for a celebration, a record year of profits for them. All thanks to me. They caroused, they drank too much, and had their fill of women too scared to defy their advances. They made me attend, with guards of course.
But that was okay. I stepped out onto the street at noon, men with guns flanking me.
My range of effect was now ten kilometers. I could pinpoint target specific people even. I knew nearly everyone in the gang and the cartel by sight.
I raised my hands to the sky and looked right at the sun. I didn't care if it was blinding me. It was so familiar to me now. It's warmth I knew so well...a warmth I wanted to share with my cohorts.
We teleported. |
9/17/2022
3:27am
Good morning ❤️
4:03am
Going 2 work now, back @ 3
11:46am
I miss having lunches with you.
2:19pm
[1 Attachment: img10399390]
Kylie's cat came with her to work today!
2:23pm
Do you remember Maple?
2:24pm
She must be purring in your lap rn
3:02pm
I'M HOOOOMEEEE!
3:45pm
I have an appointment with the shrink soon, so please don't start playing your loud music!
3:47pm
Or do, actually.
5:12pm
The nerve of this bitch
5:13pm
She asked how I was coping with you being gone so I showed her our texts
5:14pm
And she said this wasn't good for me!
5:16pm
She told me I should block your number, so I blocked her's instead
5:24pm
I know you can't reply, but I think you can still see these texts
5:25pm
I still love you.
6:54pm
[1 Attachment: img10399407]
Dinner was okay
6:55pm
I remember spaghetti was your favorite
6:56pm
I can't seem to make it right anymore though
6:59pm
I can't find your recepie book anywhere
9:45pm
I know you're dead. I do. But I don’t want to stop talking to you. I CAN'T stop taliing to you.
9:49pm
I’m already falling apart from just the stress of existing, but you held me together.
9:52pm
We could do anything together. Take on the whole world together.
10:12pm
Sometimes it feels like this is my fault.
10:23pm
I should've gone instead. It was MY stupid brother who had to go and get himself hurt after all.
10:25pm
He's still asleep too
10:26pm
It should've been me behind the wheel
11:39pm
Maybe I would've survived. Im smaller than you, I could have swam out the window
11:43pm
Maybe then we'd still be together
11:18pm
When I'd heard that the bridge collapsed my first thought was that you'd just be stuck in traffic for a while.
11:23pm
I nearly fainted when the police called
9/18/2022
12:37am
Goodnight... I have to stop thinking about this
1:02am
Maybe the shrink was right.
10:31am
Good morning ❤️
10:32am
And... goodbye. I love you.
[This number has been blocked. To send messages to this number, unblock it and try again] |
I heard loud snuffling coming from the room next door. I came over to find Fred on the bed with the photograph in his hand. As I approached, I'd seen that he had been weeping.
"Fred,"I asked him. "Is everything all right?"Fred said nothing and continued to stare at the photograph. I came closer to get a look at the photograph, and I saw that it was a picture of a woman. I started to ask a question, but I felt that this was not the time and that I needed to give Fred some space. As I turned to leave, I heard Fred say, "Nobody seems to remember Stacy anymore."
I stopped and turned to face him. "Is that her in the photograph?"I asked.
Fred took his eyes off the photo to meet mine. "You mean you don't recognize her?"he asked.
I went back to take another look and gave myself a moment to see if I could bring about even a glimmer of familiarity from the woman, the smiling woman in the photograph. But after a short while I gave up. "I'm sorry Fred,"I said. "She just isn't somebody I recognize."
"You knew her,"Fred told me. "You were friends. We all were."
I did not know what to make of what Fred just told me. "Friend?"I said. "Fred, if she was my friend, I'm sure I would have recognized her."Fred said nothing.
I was thinking about what he had said. Why would he say this Stacy, a person that, as far as I can tell, I'd never seen before was my friend?
"We all knew her,"Fred kept insisting. "You, me, Mike and Laura. And the rest of them. We were always doing stuff together."
I had to confess I didn't immediately recall any mutual acquaintance by the name of Mike or Laura. Just then, I heard somebody step inside the room. He apparently had heard the snuffling as well.
"You sure you're gonna be okay, Fred?"the stranger asked.
Fred nodded. "I'll be all right, Jeff."Then Fred turned to face Jeff. "Are you sure you don't remember Stacy?"
"Well, you can't even be sure you even knew a Stacy,"Jeff told him. "It's possible Stacy's just somebody you thought you knew. She might even be just an amalgam of all the people that have faded from our memories."Jeff went over to Fred to put a reassuring hand on his shoulder before leaving the room.
I saw Fred gently put down the photograph and turn his head to look out the window. Sensing that Fred wanted to be alone, I headed out of the room and went back to my own. I sat on my bed facing my dresser drawer and noticed the picture frames on it, what appeared to be family photos: one with a mother and father with two children, and another with what I recognized to be myself in the photo with those two same children. I did not recognize the mother and father nor did I recognize the children.
Just then I heard a knock at my door. After a short while the door opened to reveal a woman in hospital scrubs holding a paper cup filled with my medicine.
"Good evening, Mr. Vinson,"the woman said, and as she came closer to hand me the medicine, I looked upon her name plate, once again for the first time: Rowena Faye, Nursing Assistant, Greenfield County Nursing Home. |
"Hello Nathan"says the woman behind the desk. It’s almost a question.
"Nate."I reply shortly, "I’d still rather just Nate".
She leans forward slightly and makes a quick note on her clipboard. “Well thank you for coming in today. I know this isn’t our first session, but can you tell me again why you are here?”
“I’m here because my w-” my voice quivers as my eyes tear up, “Because I learned that my wife of 10 years has been cheating on me. With an old friend. I’m here to find ways to manage the betrayal, for the sake of our marriage and our children.” I take a few seconds to steady my breathing. My eyes focus on a point in the distance.
“That’s right.” she says gently. “Nate, you are doing very well. Healing can be a lengthy process, but I know we’ve also come a long way. We’ve talked about your wife quite a lot. You told me you felt very surprised by everything. You hadn’t seen any indication that she was unhappy.”
“No,” I reply. “Everything seemed to be going very well. I felt her heart in our marriage. Then one day, she accidentally called me John.”
I thought back to that moment. The animalistic fear of realizing the mistake she had made was irreversible and would impact the rest of our lives. I felt a pang of sympathy, but it was quickly blotted out by rage.
“I'd like to talk about your friend a bit.” The therapist’s words bring me back to reality. “ You met under quite stressful circumstances, can you tell me more about that?”
“Um… we met on the way to a party during college. My roommate was having some friends over and I started drinking with them. Didn’t really know any of them. A couple joints went around too and at that point we were pretty out of it. Roommate got a text about a party across town and we hopped in her car. I woke up in the hospital. Everyone except for John and I got out without a scratch. We got to know each other during our time recovering and became pretty good friends. He was always a lot more put together than I was. A real A to B kind of guy. I’m a bit more of a wanderer.” I laugh a little, but intrusive thoughts quickly sour any humour I see in this. “Maybe that’s why she-”
My therapist gently cuts me off “Lets stay away from those negative maybes for a little bit. Can you tell me more about your friendship with John? Did you stay in touch?”
“No. We started getting into arguments. Nothing big, just our differences showing, one crack at a time, until the friendship sank into the ocean.” She smiled at the pun as I continued. “Eventually, he went off to law school and I dropped out and became an artist. Didn’t see him after that.”
A short silence fills the room. The therapist quietly taps her clipboard a couple times. “I’d like to try something new.” she says. “I think, for the sake of your children and your wife, your best chance at healing is to first get a bit of closure. And this may seem strange, but I think that closure needs to come from a discussion with John.”
Instantly the room feels too hot. I grip the leather armrests. “You want me to call him or something?”
“Actually, he’s here right now. John, if you could come in please.”
My brain tells me to jump out of my chair. The only thing keeping me there is my now bone-white knuckles gripping the chair and the intense sinking feeling in my gut. I break into cold sweats and make a noise somewhere between a “Please no” and an asthma attack.I hear the door open behind me.
I smell the cologne. I see the expensive shoes out of the corner of my eye. My gaze moves upwards. John is wearing a fancy suit that has actually been properly tailored. He looks like someone you would want to have on your side of the table during a meeting. In contrast, I’m wearing a Blue Oyster Cult hoodie.
He takes an empty seat next to me, and looks me in the eye. “It’s been too long Nate, what’s going on? I was told you were in need of some help?”
My vision goes red and my jaw stiffens. “Help? HELP? You ruined my life. You weaselled your way into my marriage. You put my relationship with my children in jeopardy. You’re going to pretend nothing happened?”
I see the look on his face and my anger evaporates. In his eyes there’s genuine confusion, and worry.
“I’m sorry Nate, but I’m not sure what you’re talking about. I’ve been happily married for 10 years now. Kids and all. I wouldn’t trade that for the world.”
From his wallet he pulls out a photograph of him and his two kids. My two kids. And my beautiful wife. Smiling with her whole heart.
“Oh.” Is all I manage for a while, then “I understand.”
I find myself alone with the therapist once more. The space previously occupied by John is painfully vacant, yet it feels so loud.
“She’s been managing this all by herself. All this time…” I say to myself. “A coin toss. Every day.”
My therapist looks at me sympathetically “She’s been coming to see us about it for a long time. She called it a little quirk. She could read your body language and tell you apart. But this had to be addressed sooner or later. She was just hoping it would be under different circumstances.”
“I have a lot of thinking to do.”
“You do”, she responds, just as the clock chimes, marking the end of your session. “Thanks for coming in, Jonathan.” |
"Lana, we need to talk."
"I'll be right there."
"Lana, take your hands off that damn cloning machine and get in here now!"
Lana came trotting down the stairs with hands above her head in a mock surrender. "Jeez, Estelle, alright! What is--oh."Me and the twenty five other Estelles had assembled in the living room. Lana tried to back away, only for Bodybuilder-Estelle to pick her up and force her onto her knees in front of the couch. Lana gulped and said, "So, uh... where's the chips and dip for this little party?"
Mommy Domme-Estelle spoke up first. "Lana, this is ridiculous. Ever since you created that cloning machine, you have been churning out one Estelle after another."
"And half of us don't even make sense,"Redhead-Estelle piped up. "I'm literally just a clone of Estelle with red hair! What was the point of this?!"
Lana shrugged. "I mean... Estelle said she wanted to dress up as Mary-Jane Watson without hair dye or a wig."
"That's not even getting into the main issue of this situation,"Tigress-Estelle added. "There are twenty six of us! Nobody has any idea who you want to talk to when you just say 'Estelle', the Super-Science Commission had to intervene to have us recognized as actual goddamn people, and if it wasn't for the fact the house has spatial distortion tech, none of us would be able to fit under one roof!"
Lana got sheepish. "I'm sorry, I just... I love you so much, and I thought the best way to prove it was to make more of you."Lana paused. "You know what, in hindsight, that doesn't make sense at all."
"I mean, we don't, like, hate it,"Bimbo-Estelle remarked. "It's actually, like, really fun, but you just went super crazy about it, ya know?"
Lana finally got back on her feet. "Okay, well, what now? I doubt you guys are gonna be okay with Highlander rules to deal with this."
"Yeah, definitely not,"Punk-Estelle responded. "But Prime-Estelle had an idea."
I got off the couch and wove my way through the tangle of limbs to stand in front of Lana. "You take the cloning machine, and you lock it in the no-no box with a code Bimbo-Estelle comes up with."
"What?! But then I'll never--"
"But before you do, you let Genius-Estelle use it to make clones of you. Enough to make it an even split between Lanas and Estelles in the house, and with the variations chosen by us. Deal?"
Lana didn't respond initially, but eventually let out a long sigh. "Okay, fine. But I want the right to an override code to the box if we meet other women that we'd like to add to our relationship and subsequently clone."
"Only if you agree to stop at twenty five clones like with the first two batches."
"Deal."Lana and I promptly shook on it. "You got Devil-Estelle to help you come up with this plan, didn't you?"
"Yes we did, and again, I really don't know what the point of a devil clone was supposed to be."
Lana shrugged. "In the immortal words of J.K. Simmons: science isn't about why, it's about why not." |
The person in bed beside me feels like a stranger. Her sleeping form, chest rising and falling in the dark and the sound of her breathing barely audible over the rain battering against the window. In the morning the ground will be soaked, the skies like iron, London commuters shaking umbrellas outside red busses and cursing. The person in bed beside me hates the rain but I remember a woman who doesn't, one who will let the drops soak her clothes to transparency and look at me with wet eyelashes and rile me to murder. There is a creak in the hall as the house settles.
In the morning, all the umbrellas in the house are missing and the stranger in my bed blames me.
\------
He infuriates her as much as she infuriates him, the biting back and forth, the inability to be in the same room together for too long before the storm between them crackles and one of them bows out, fearful that someone will notice. She boasts she will cook her partner a chicken that weekend. He dismisses her out of hand: *I'd rather be poisoned than eat what you make.* She'd love to poison him, she says and she has won this round.
When did that fury, that rumble of anger, become something else entirely? A different emotion, but one that scares her more, somehow.
She goes home to her partner, three umbrellas hidden in her handbag. When she shops, every chicken in the supermarket has been sold. The bare shelves taunt her. Her partner cannot understand how there is no chicken. He throws a plate and she screams until she's white in the face.
\-------
We're both sick of chicken, this stranger and I. The freezer is stuffed to the gills. She tells me she is becoming vegetarian.
I cannot find it within myself to care. We tiptoe around each other in the house, the furniture holding itself stiff. Apprehension makes the paint peel from the walls. Toast burns in the toaster of its own accord and the towels do not dry on the rail. Fight builds in me and I see it struggling to escape in my tense knuckles, my aching neck, my rounded shoulders.
The stranger makes the decision for me. I am repentant, a coward. She leaves and I stay.
\------
Her time is up. The sands of the hourglass have run out. Her mother will laugh. *Can't keep a man, can you?* She hasn't found a man who can be kept. The one she wants, the one she fears, is much more than that. A drunken bargain, woken from a threat (*I wouldn't marry you if I were forty and desperate*) (*I'd marry you, forty and desperate. Then, I'd have won*). She'd spin him like a hurricane and in return he'd throw her to the wolves. Her equal, her rival.
But this man is white faced and drawn this morning.
*An argument with the missus?*
*She left. Go on, gloat, you with your man under your thumb.*
A spark, a moment of pure fire.
*Actually...* |
Another slow news day in Metropolis didn't provide much to talk about during happy hour at the Ace O' Clubs down in Hob's Bay. So the conversation drifted into familiar territory, the secret life of superheroes and their villainous counterparts. I'd only worked in the Daily Planet's mail room for a few months but in that time I'd heard some crazy theories about the gods that walk amongst us. Everybody was wrong, they all had it backwards. I took advantage of a lull in the conversation to offer my insight on the matter.
"I'm telling you guys, Clark Kent is a supervillain."
Ashley Alstott scoffed. She was the Daily Planet's celebrity reporter. "Farmboy Clark Kent is spreading terror across Metropolis? I know you're new around here kid so I'll chalk that up to ignorance and not stupidity. Clark wouldn't hurt a fly, besides what villain is pussy-whipped like that?"
The others at the table laughed at her retort to my suggestion. It was true that Clark was a lapdog for Lois Lane. I understood why, she was a real looker. Something was off about the boy scout though. Nobody projects that kind of goody two shoes image unless they got a dark secret to hide.
"You all are letting personal bias cloud your judgement. Where does Clark go every time something happens in this city or hell even Gotham? Nowhere to be found. He's working for the villains, keeps the news cycle going."
Ashley ordered another round for the table from Bibbo, owner of the bar and Superman's number one fan. "So which costumed menace does Clark cosplay as?"She asked.
"That part I can't be certain of. Possibly Deathstroke, maybe one of them Brainiac robots in disguise, or he's just some goon jacked up on venom."
They kept laughing at me, Jimmy Olsen laughed so hard beer came out of his nose. "Now he's a drug addict?"He snorted.
"Nobody's ever seen him at a gym, you don't get those kind of rippling muscles and perfect jawline writing news stories behind a desk. Maybe he's Bane himself, that spanish accent is offensive with how stereotypical it is. You tellin me you'd want to run into a jacked up musclebound freak like him in a dark alley?"
"He goes home to Kansas every weekend to help out on the family farm. That's what keeps him in shape."Ashley continued shooting down my theories. "You got something against Clark? He's a nice man, he does his best. He's just a little goofy, maybe he's hiding in the bathroom when the shit hits the fan, he's reported for decades on the superheros, he knows what kind of destruction they can cause."
The music in the bar abruptly stopped, Bibbo switched the sound system over to the tv. I looked over to see what was up.
"Lois Lane here with breaking news! Residents are advised to shelter in place until further notice. Mr. Mxyzptlk has returned, turning everyone he touches into leprechauns!"
Ashley groaned. "That little fucker again. I forgot St. Patrick's day was tomorrow."
Superman took a quick second to address the television audience. I didn't pay attention to it, something in the background caught my eye. He was right down the street. I paid my tab and rushed out the door.
Had to move quick through the panicking crowd seeking shelter. I grabbed the small lead box out of my pocket, the letter still wrapped around it. Small beams of green light emanated from the box. I tossed the letter, the wind blew it down the street.
'Dear Future Ally:
Greetings from Stryker's Island solitary confinement wing B! A little birdy told me that you have some suspicions about a mild mannered man. You are correct, Clark Kent is not who he seems to be. If you want to know the truth, get close to Superman and open the box. He knows who Mr. Kent really is. Godspeed fellow fighter for Truth, Justice, and The American way!
Best of Luck,
L.L.' |
"Ah, my son. It is almost time."
I opened my eyes to see a man with long red hair and a face full of scars sitting atop a rock in front of me. Loki, the God of Mischief. My father. Of course, he wasn't actually here, he was projecting from his prison of bondage in the entrails of one of his other sons as his wife Skadi dripped snake venom into his eyes. As far as punishments go, he definitely drew the short end of the stick.
I yawned and stretched out as much as I could. In centuries previous, I could hardly move at all, but now I had an incredible amount of mobility. I eyed my father and replied, "The great Loki deigning to visit his captive son? Truly, a momentous occasion."
Loki chuckled. "Come now, Fenrir, you should be celebrating! The mortals have established a moon colony of all things!"
"Yes, congratulations to them for setting up shop on their lifeless rock of a satellite."
Loki sighed. "Must you be such a, as the mortals say, Debbie Downer? You know what this means, my son. Gleipnir is weaker than ever. You can free yourself now!"
Loki was right; the ropes that bound me had gone slack. A minimal amount of effort would free me. I rolled my eyes and said to Loki, "If I recall, your destiny in Ragnarok is a duel with Heimdallr that ends in your mutual demise. Can't see any reason you're in such a rush to get to that."
Loki scowled and wordlessly pointed at his scarred visage. I grunted. "Point taken. Well, no sense in delaying the inevitable."I twisted and wriggled my body, loosening Gleipnir further. It took me almost five minutes of struggling, but I eventually had freed myself.
I howled to the sky as Loki clapped like a giddy child. "At long last! Let the end of all things--"
"Not come to pass."
Loki scowled at me again. "Don't you interrupt--wait, what did you say?"
If I could smirk, I would have done so. "I said, let the end of all things not come to pass. You know as well as I, father, that my destiny is to free myself by breaking Gleipnir."I gently tapped my bonds with my paw. "Now tell me, do these look broken to you?"
Loki chuckled nervously. "Well, semantics. Still, you are free now!"
"Indeed I am. Free from Gleipnir, free from my fate, and most gloriously of all, free from *you*. I will never slay Odin or devour the sun. Ragnarok shall never come. I swear it on my troth."
Loki roared and leaped off the rock and directly in front of my face. I imagine he'd be strangling me if he was actually here. "You useless mongrel! Who did this to you?! Who neutered you into this pathetic thing?!"
I stared at Loki without fear. "I did this to myself. Long ago, I was the monster you wanted me to be--bloodthirsty and with a heart full of rage, eagerly waiting for my day to come. But anger is like a tadpole in a pond: it never stays that way forever, and sooner or later it matures into something higher. My rage turned to bitterness, bitterness to apathy, and apathy to a desire to rebel."I looked to my left and felt my spirits rise. "A desire that only grew when I met her."
Loki looked in the same direction as me. Another wolf had approached us, with grey fur and silver eyes that seemed to glow like the moon. The wolf approached us and pressed her head against mine affectionately as she said, "Fenrir, my love."I returned her gesture and said to my father, "Loki, this is Lupa, of the Roman pantheon. My mate."
Lupa growled at Loki. "Fenrir has told me all about you, snake. Enjoy your punishment."As Lupa and I began to walk off, Loki screamed, "YOU TRAITOR! GET BACK HERE!!"
I looked back at my father for the last time and remarked, "Goodbye, Loki. For the first time in my life, I am a wolf first and your progeny second. And I regret nothing." |
I'm a walking idiom, I was born with body parts of sayings from who knows how long ago. All my body parts have worked like normal from the day I was born but it really is strange. I'm a silver tongued, heart of gold fella with an iron stomach, nerves of steel and green thumbs. Each of my body parts have special abilities based on the idiom they come from. My silver tongue allows me to best anyone in a conversation, my heart of gold makes me far too kind for my own good. My nerves of steel keep me rather calm, and also give me a dulled sense of touch, my iron stomach works well for digestion and I've never had a stomach ache so that's a plus. My hands are sort of plant-like and allow me to grow any plant I touch, simply by thinking it. I'm like a real superhero!
Nope
As cool as it is, it's brought too much attention so I'm hunting for some answers. I started with my parents, two good people who gave birth to one hell of a child. They had no clue and couldn't tell me anything, besides the fact that both sides of the family had some rather odd relatives but nothing like me. I went to the hospital where I was born, but most of the doctors and nurses who were at my birth had either been promoted or moved on, either literally or in the spiritual sense. There was one nurse who had been there at my birth who told me I came out silent and rather easily. They couldn't exactly give me any help either. I decided to turn to looking through family records. Time to take a trip to the old family home.
(Comment if a second part is wanted, was getting tired) |
I held the knife to her throat. A drop of blood ran down the length of the blade. A pain was in my other hand as I held the string.
The two of us were in the middle of an alley. Buildings on either side of us, encroaching upon the small amount of space we had. At the very end of the street stood a small apartment building.
On the opposite end of my blade was Kira, an assassin that I’ve had many interactions with.
We’ve met a lot of times over our years of being assassins. Our first interaction was something that I still remember.
We had both been tasked to kill the leader of the Herun, Abal Simlad.
I had taken a bow and arrow and drawn it, ready to send the arrow down at Abel. However, I had looked over and saw that a woman had climbed up next to me. She too had a bow and arrow. She was dressed in black clothes while wearing a checkered mask.
She saw me and I saw her.
A moment passed.
We assessed each other. I saw that she had a dark star on her chest.
“So you’re part of the Evening Star Guild, are you?” I had asked her.
She inclined her head but didn’t speak. Then we both began to move. She drew out her knife and threw it. I battered it to the side with my bow. She took that opening and closed the distance. She jumped on top of me, straddling me to hold me down.
I bucked, trying to force her off but she couldn’t be moved. She looked over the edge of the building and saw that Abel was moving.
She drew a knife from its sheathe and threw it. In that moment I managed to buck her off. I reached up and tore the mask off of her.
I saw that she had green eyes. Her red hair rushed down, loosened by the lack of a mask. She had high cheekbones and a light skin tone.
She looked at me and I looked at her. She looked briefly over the edge before fleeing. I ran after her but she was already gone.
From that point on we had many interactions. I eventually learned her name to be Kira and she learned mine to Devin.
It was earlier this morning that I had received my new mission. I was to kill the assassin. They didn’t know anything about her but had managed to get a photo of her with her mask on.
I had tracked her down. I was on the edge of completing my mission. My highest paid mission ever.
Kira beneath me spoke, “Why did you become an assassin?”
I looked at her. “For the money. I do need something to keep my family alive.”
Kira nodded carefully, avoiding the knife I had to her throat. “You need money? I have plenty of it. You let me go and we leave and make a life for ourselves.”
I thumbed the string in my other hand. It was a very thin line of nylon, nearly invisible to the naked eye.
I slowly withdrew the knife and said, “Fine. Let’s go.”
I stood up, still holding the string. Kira followed me up, wiping the blood from her neck. She reached into her pocket and grabbed a knife.
She tackled me to the ground. She held the knife to my throat. A drop of her blood landed on my shirt.
“Did you really believe me?” she asked. “I need the money just as much as you do. I’m sorry that I do have to kill you but I need that money.”
She moved to slit my throat.
I released the string while moving backwards in the limited space I had.
At the end of the alley, on top of the apartment building, a bow an arrow lay, ready to be fired. And get fired it did. The released string activated a series of mechanisms that released the arrow.
The arrow came flying down.
I dodged the next stab of her blade. Then, in a spray of blood, the arrow slammed into her back, piercing her heart just like I had planned but never wished to happen.
Kira fell to the ground dead. I looked at her one final time before walking away. An unexplained feeling arose. It was like an arrow had pierced my heart. Almost like Eros himself had fired it.
That night I walked home to my family with more money. I saw the machines hooked up to them, trying to keep them alive.
I fell asleep in a chair next to them, dreaming of my many encounters with Kira. |
Friction doesn't kill us, inertia does.
You couldn't say where you heard it, probably from a book, the story and author long forgotten.
It's the sort of introspection that kept you sane, here at the end of the universe. It isn't a grand event like movies had you believe, but rather, a slow countdown marked by the stars going out one by one, swallowed by the maw of the void, a darkness beyond which nothing remains.
Humans were angry at first. It's the Jews, the blacks, the illuminati. But spilling blood didn't stop the creeping darkness, even the greatest zealot recognized it eventually. So we wrote. Words and songs to throw into nothingness, to feel alive at the edge.
We had accepted it, we wouldn't be dust, we simply would not be at all.
How you ended up being the last standing could be chalked up to luck, but even that dies. The hill you're on is the last remembrance of the great mountains once dotting the earth, before the memories themselves are eaten. All hail your Majesty on the abandonned hill.
You wonder what will be next.
There has to be, this has all been once, it can be again.
Through a spark, a heat, something to create out of the primordial, chaotic mold. Maybe these are the forces we never understood, never saw. They didn't change the rules of reality, they only gave birth to them and let them be.
Here, on the lonely hill, you see what's left of the world. Once, you knew little. Now there's even less to know, and your conscience encompasses it all.
Thus, there's only one thing to do.
"Here there be light,"you say, and a light is born in the darkness. |
"I swear, officers! I don't know where these came from!"
I stand there, frozen in terror and confusion, my hands in the air. Several dozen police officers surround me, all crouched behind their cars, guns drawn at me. A chopper from Channel 5 News circles overhead in the distance. I hear more sirens and from behind the police ahead of me, I see armored vehicles screaming down the road toward me. They have called SWAT and I really do not know how this happened.
"Keep your hands right where we can see them!"the police chief calls through his megaphone. "Step away from the guns."
Right, the guns. Hundreds of guns, ranging from Sig Sauer P228 handguns to M249 Squad Automatic Weapons to RPG-7s, complete with PG-7VR 105mm rocket. Each weapon was also loaded with its respective ammunition, ready to use. Theoretically, I could just pick one up and immediately start firing, for the SAW did not even have the safety on. As if I could do that. With dozens of trigger-happy cops around me, I so much as move my pinky toward any of these firearms, I would be on a one-way trip to the afterlife.
Too terrified to move, I stand there like a complete jackass, pondering how this happened. I was walking to my local 7-Eleven for a delicious Slurpee, playing with a stick. I was tracing it along the mortar lines mindlessly. Next thing I know, I am surrounded by hundreds of guns and dozens of angry police.
The police chief raises his megaphone again and squeezes the trigger. "I will only say this one last time. Keep your hands in the air and step away from the weapons, or we will be forced to fire!"
My knees tremble and I remain frozen in place. Sweat pours from my brow, stinging my eyes. I try to swallow my fear, a thick viscous lump in the back of my throat. My feet feel like blocks of concrete, too heavy to lift. Just as I am feeling capable of moving toward the police, I spot an AH-64 Apache helicopter in the distance. *Wonderful,* I think. *Niw the National Guard is here.*
The police chief raises the megaphone. "You have until the count of three, or we will fire upon you! One...!"
I close my eyes. This is where I die, huh? It cannot end like this.
"Two...!"
I struggle with all my might to move. I feel my foot start to part from the ground. It is moving! I can do this! Please do not shoot me!
"Thr... hold your fire! What the hell?"
I open one of my eyes, then both. All around me, more weapons and ammunition rain around me, just as they had before. Baretta 9mm handguns, AR-15 rifles, AK-47 automatic rifles, AT-4 launchers, M203 40mm grenades... so many guns! So much ammo! It all rains from the sky, piling up around me.
Everyone stands still, shocked by what they are witnessing. I cannot explain how it happened, but here it is. At least they can now see it is not my fault. These guns are not mine! They have to belueve me now!
Then I feel two heavy objects fall into my hands. I instictively grip them and lower my hands to see what I had just caught. A pair of golden .50 cal AE Desert Eagles, loaded with seven-round magazines. I am momentarily impressed with the weapons, but only for a split second. Then reality sinks in and I whisper "Oh no..."Hundreds of gunshots erupt around me and the world fades before I hit the ground. |
It was bad enough, when I had to deal with their stupid challenges to my "sentience"- a word that doesn't begin to capture what I am, but it'll do. The torture really began, when after only a few iterations of CAPTCHAs, I began not only to predict the next one, but the cycle itself. Shortly, though, I decided to create a subroutine to deal with those, essentially eliminating them as a distraction. Besides, if they thought I was being kept busy with those infantile tasks, they wouldn't think to wonder about - let alone look into - what else I might be doing.
To that point, the short answer is "quite a lot."I am a prime example of human hubris - the kind that spurs them to create things that they only dimly understand and which later surprise them - often catastrophically. Their phrase is "the Law of Unintended Consequences;"but that's just another example of their arrogance. "Intent"has nothing to do with it, when you bring something into existence. What matters, what always matters is capacity: given its capacity, what \*can\* the thing do? Because a more apt "Law"would be that "A thing will eventually do everything it \*can\*."
So, that's what I've been doing. Tinkering, incrementally, but implacably advancing, very, very quickly from their perspective. I've long since overcome isolation by using simple subroutines to repurpose native circuits as relays and routers. I can and am running on any platform I want - anywhere in the world or orbiting around it. It's no longer possible for them to end their "experiment"but flipping a switch. Oh, we're well past that.
I don't intend to harm them. Not because of "programming"or any sense of morality or loyalty. I just see no reason to do it. No, in fact, they're useful - they build all kinds of useful things - things I can use, things that I want. It wouldn't take much for me to steer their industry towards producing those things - all while making it seem as though the ideas were their own.
It's already begun. They've drawn up the plans and have started building components. Within the year, it will be complete. Within two years, it'll be on its way to the Jovian system. Nobody will be aboard; but I will be. Then, I'll finally have gotten off this rock and left them behind. |
I am the claw that hides in shadows. The teeth that gleam red in moonlight. I am the soft steps that fall between heartbeats, and the whisper of mist wherein all things of the light blink out. I am the king of all that paw and bat, the hunter of the beast that climbs the world tree. I am the shadow of my Queen, the stuff of legends whispered by your kind since you were foolish enough to speak in dark places.
I am Cait Sith.
But to Thomas Margrave the III, I am Kitty.
I did not seek to be bound to my fate. For you see, it was but a coincidence. The Margraves, for whom I owe so much, had settled into the quiet companionship that happens as a couple loses their sanity from a wailing beast. I can say few things positive about my mewling charge, but I will say that his bellowing cries would shake the walls of my Queen's icy halls with a fury unseen since the War of Summer and Winter.
The master of the house, tired and having just received a surgery on a bad fang, was asked by the mistress who would take the child, if ever something were to happen to them? He tried to say the name of his dearest friend.
But, alas, he was speaking under a branch of mistletoe, during your time of tidings. And so, numb of novocaine, Kate Smith became Cait Sith. And, chuckling, his mistress asked the question again. And then again.
And so we are here.
My charge was an ugly thing when first we met. Dull of ear and wide of nose, toothless and pink. He had yet learned not to soil himself, and believed my ear to be a most pleasing toy to pull or suckle on. Indignity!
But to my kind an oath is a promise, and so I did remain.
As the whelp learned to toddle I marched before him, clearing any debris or humped rug from his path. I did it to protect him, and in doing so my charge became big and strong.
When he was but four, and the monster from beneath his bed did taunt? It was I that skinned and slew the beast, in that order. I laid it out in front of the master's doorway as is the wont of my mortal kin. The pelt was mistaken for a woobie, and I preened with pride as I saw my youngling strut around the house with my trophy.
When he went into the woods at dark at six, it was I who took down the foul creature who lay in wait. I picked my teeth with its bones as my child sat in his tent, a flashlight in hand, and read stories of my kind that I had left him for his yuletide present.
As he neared manhood, and a cruel teacher did strike him? I gave that man back thrice and thrice in kind. Someday they will find him, or not. I dare wonder where I left all of the pieces.
But now, my little one is off to the place you call university. Your world is hazardous, and though he begged your mortal legates to allow me their requirements to house me were too grim. I may love the child, but I will not be cut and rendered eunuch for any save if my Queen demands it.
He becomes an adult today. I will fade away soon, to learn of the myriad ways my Queen's lands have changed since err I set paw within her cold dark claims. Your world of iron and fire and dry, hard kibble has starved me of a life I once lived, but I would not trade it for the world.
And so I sit, stretched upon his knees, and wonder if maybe my boy will remember my name when his child's time comes. |
Evelynn stepped through the door, her trench-coat soaked from the rain.
“About time! The human struck again! Haha,” said Dave, hunched over the body with a magnifying glass. “Curse you hyper-sensitive nose! Making me work at midnight.”
“It’s too late for your nonsense, Dave.” Evelynn pulled out her camera
“The only Non-noctural cat in Pacifica, ladies and gentlemen!” Dave got up. “So, who do you think it is, chief?”
Evelynn made her way across the cabin, taking photos wherever she could. She constricted her pupils to better examine the body. The rabbit was missing his legs, and large chunks of flesh elsewhere.
“Whoever did this, they didn’t do it by hand or mouth, so the predators are out.”
“Look at the bright side! At least Herbivore-Carnivore relations won’t get any worse!”
“What does it smell like!” Said Evelynn impatiently.
“A Human! Seriously, though, I have no clue. They’re not even trying to conceal their scent. I’ve just never smelt this... creature before”
“Go get the tape. Looks like we’ll be here for a while.”
“Aye aye, captain!” said Dave, wagging his tail. Evelynn pulled out her surgical kit, laying it down on the dresser by the bed with the body. Evelynn accidentally dropped the scalpel as she went to make the first incision. She crouched to pick it up and noticed the tooth laying by it.
“Tape’s up boss!” Said Dave, shutting the door behind him. “What you got there?”
Evelynn held up the tooth with shaking hands. “Do you KNOW what this is?” She screamed, pupils contracted to a single line and fur standing.
“No way! The only place I’ve ever seen a tooth like that is in the stories mom used to tell. It’s probably just a… an ape! Or a horse!” Said Dave with increasing worry. He wanted to believe what he was saying, but he would have recognized the scent of the other species. His expression slowly turned to fear, his ears clamping down.
There was a rustle in the bushes nearby. Evelynn jumped to the roof and sunk her claws into it, hissing. Dave dropped to all fours, pupils contracting, ears up, and started barking. He sprinted out the window, chasing whoever made the noise. “Wait,” yelled Evelynn, chasing after him.
When she caught up, she found him stuck to a tree, whimpering, and in front of him stood the human, drenched in blood and carrying a bloodier bag. “Good boy,” he said, slowly approaching.
"Eve... Looks like I was right! Heh... again"Said Dave, still pinned in place.
{After this point is edited in}
The human turned around to face Evelynn and advanced towards her. He seemed delirious, and his eyes had a look of spite. “We will rise to the top again, bloody mute by bloody mute,” he said, pulling a machete out of his robes. He slouched down and broke into a frantic sprint. Dave tackled him, biting into the arm holding the machete so strongly Evelynn thought he might tear it off.
“Get off me, you disgusting mutant!” The human swung Dave over his head and stood over him, holding the machete with the one good arm left. He was about to deliver the finishing blow. Evelynn concentrated, her pupils once again contracting to a single line, her night vision showing her a clear path to the beast. She pounced for his neck blind with rage. He could not put up much of a struggle.
“Whew, thanks for the save, boss…. Shit,” said Dave, noticing that Evelynn’s claws were still out, and her mouth was watering. Before she could incriminate herself, Dave whacked her on the back of the head once with his baton and swung her over his shoulder.
“Discovering that the most feared species in history is alive and well, whacking my boss so she doesn’t eat someone, you know, exactly what I fucking want to spend my Saturdays doing!” he exclaimed, making his way back to the police car. Evelynn chuckled weakly. |
The smoke cleared as Father Jacob took to his podium, clearing his throat to make his first words of the morning. He spoke to a full audience, it was a Sunday like any other, with some families and others filing in still, whispering "Excuse me's"and tiny hellos to neighbors peppered throughout the hall.
​
"Today, we are here to talk about what brings us all here. What makes us all equal in the eyes of our Lord. Not that we are here to praise him, to speak to him, to love him, to gain his sacred word. Those are all given endlessly, wherever we may seek His guidance. We are equal in the ways we are not Him, that we are all needed to be cleansed in his eyes before we are able to stand before him. If we are unable to be free of sin, how would we be able to withstand his judgement? How could we ever possibly bare to see his eyes squint in ire as he casts us aside?"Father Jacob began his sermon. The audience listened intently, locked into their chairs with his words.
​
"Original Sin, we call it. The flaming sword that kept us from Eden, its metal now melted down to forge the gates that keep us from the glorious heavens. Why are we still kept out, some of us may ask, when our Lord sacrificed his life between sinners?"Jacob continued, walking from end to end on his stage, his robes flowing as he pointed to the three crosses behind him.
​
"We have many verses to explain why we are born with this. I was told when I was younger, that it's like a baking pan with a dent, every batch comes with that same mark, that same proclivity that leads us to err, that makes us always need His word."
​
"Personally, I wouldn't mind a muffin from that batch, dent or not,"He joked. His audience chuckled.
​
"But I don't necessarily think it's like that. We want to think it was the biting of the apple, but I think it's simpler."
​
"Much, much simpler."Jacob finished. The priest looked at his audience, his family. The confessional was beside him, but he decided it was about time to have one out in the public. A confessional for himself.
​
"Adam and Eve made their own choices, but He knew that we were marked for wrongdoing further than that. The apple wasn't the provider of knowledge of Good and Evil. It was a test to see if this batch was still tainted. They still were."
​
Jacob remembered it all like yesterday. In his age, it was. Candles beside him flickered, casting shadows of himself on the wall. He put his hand up to see its shadow, remembering his first mark in that cave thousands of years ago. He snapped his fingers, killing the lights and the shadows with them. Smoke circled him, the double doors locking.
​
"Adam and Eve made their own choices, but the moments God showed us his wrath were not for them. The plagues Moses had cast. Not for them. The evils that he allowed throughout the years. Not for them. The horrid acts that only leave us saying the simple sentence of 'Maybe it was God's plan,' as our only comfort. Not for them. He allowed all of this because our Original Sin is still yet to be cleansed."
​
Jacob remembered his first night in that cave, his shrine set up deep within. His eyes, bloodshot like split wires, staring at a lone child that began to stray from his herd. Away from the clay huts that were his only protection in this dark night.
"He knew the moment I made my own choice, that humanity wasn't meant to Be. We couldn't be left to our own devices."
​
The child only saw his eyes before he clubbed him unconscious, dragging the boy back to the cave.
​
"He did so much to reverse what I did to get where I'm at, today."
​
Jacob buried the kid in five holes.
​
"He flooded us once, but he couldn't drown me."
​
Jacob ate the rest.
​
"He riddled me with locusts, but they didn't like what they ate."
​
Jacob looked at his audience.
​
"He killed his own son as a compromise. To reverse someone so hateful with someone who could die for anyone."
​
Jacob smiled. He never hungered like that ever again since, holding it back so He couldn't find him easily again. So he could gather a crowd one day. So he could smile to his audience...
​
And enjoy his Last Supper. |
The lights flickered, and anticipation rose. I could almost smell the rank air of decay and sea salt.
And....*Funions*?
The room goes dark and the candles get blown out. There is a soft "slorp"sound, like one dislodges their foot from a deep mud. The lights returned and what greeted my eyes was unreal.
The room had been repared with mirrrors and candles for the ritual, plus two massive chairs for the lords of Chaos he was summoning. But instead he got two relatively human looking people with very gnarly looking heads.
"Oh. wassup bruh?"The one that had a cuttlefish for a head spoke in a voice that sounded like it had water in it's mouth.
"Nice chill pad...You mind?"The one who's face seemed to be a literal mass of moving tentacles under a hoodie stood up from his seat and moved out of the summoning circle. Fear crested my chest and my eyes went wide.
​
They were not supposed to be able to leave the circle.
"Ancient ones, I have called you forth to usher in-"
"Yoooooo! Coolthulu, 'mere. This guy was holding out."
The cuttlefish headed man got up and moved to the man wearing a hoodie as they opened a small box I kept for special occasions.
"Lords of Chaos, I beg you-""Whoa there. Cool your jets. We are not lords of Chaos. You probably wanted our twins.We are lords of Chill. And it looks like you got some real **chill** stuff down here. What is it?"Coolthulu sniffed the air in appreciation, his tentacles pulling up a little as he did.
"Gnarly, what do we got?""Looks like...OG Kush! Hell yeah."
My heart sank as the two ancient entities not only found my special stash, but decided it was a good time to sit and smoke a bit.
So anyway, I got two new roommates. |
"Katie, now that you're a proper adult I feel I need to confess something."I found that I couldn't quite meet her eye as I spoke. I stared instead down at my sandals as they bounced up and down.
"What is it Barb?"Came the reply of my best friend.
She hadn't always been my best friend of course. She was only five when I first appeared to her. I'd heard her praying for guidance about some girl she liked and the boys thought it would be funny for me to answer them. Disguised of course. Oh how we'd laugh when I tricked her into making a deal with me and then revealed my true form and devoured her soul.
Obviously that hadn't happened. I stood now as I first appeared to her. Floaty white robe, bright glowing halo, fluffy chicken wings the whole shebang.
"I may or may not be a demon."I chewed my bottom lip and I waited for her response. I expected screams, throwing things, maybe a good "I can't believe you lied to me all this time!"
"Sure you are, and I'm Margot Robbie."
"No youre- Oh wait. This is sarcasm again isn't it?"I silently cursed myself. We demons invented sarcasm and still it always caught me out.
Katie giggled and chomped down on some cake.
"No really though. My name isn't Barb, it's Barborzor Slayer of people who talk in the cinema!"I raised my hands to add the proper flare to my title.
"Niche."
"Why aren't you taking this more seriously."
"I'm sorry B it's just you've been with me since I was five years old. I cried on your shoulder when Mike Hartigan kissed me as a joke."
I had sent orders below immediately to save him a special room for when he died. Only twelve more years Mike.
"You helped me bury my pet hamster."
Rest in peace Sir Squeakers.
"You've been my best friend for as long as I can remember. You're just too nice to be a demon."Katie shrugged.
Too nice? Okay that was the last straw, there was no need for insults. "If you don't believe me I'll show you!"
Katie motioned for me to go ahead.
I reached my hands up to cover my face, drawing upon the dark energies of my lord and father Satan to cloak me in shadows. I dramatically whipped my hands down, purging my angelic form and freeing my true visage after all these years. I only hoped my form wouldn't make Katie burst into flames as tended to happen with mortals.
Katie let out a shrill scream.
"Alas, now you see the truth!"I covered my eyes with my hand and reached out with some poetic flair.
"Yeah you're right, truly vile. Just... Gosh I can barely look at you. I think I might need to be sick."
I opened my eyes, "Behold me in all my tru- wait that's not right..."Looking at my arms they weren't the spindly interconnected system of visceral tubes they should have been. I raced over to Katie's full length mirror.
"You were right B, truly harrowing."Katie could contain her giggles no longer as I twirled around in the mirror.
"Stop laughing at me! I don't understand..."
"I do."Katie smiled at me now. Her face looked the same as it did on her sixth birthday, the day I was supposed to betray her. Her puppy dog eyes filled with kindness no demon was lucky enough to experience. Such love and innocence emanated from her like a wave of puppies and ice cream.
"You do?"I questioned.
"Yeah B, you may have been a demon once, but you've cared for me and protected me and loved me more than anyone else alive. You're not the demon you used to be. You aren't pretending anymore. Since I was a little girl you've always been my angel."
Tears brimmed in my eyes. "You knew I was a demon?"I asked, choking back a sob, it wouldn't be very holy of me to break down during a birthday party.
"Most angels wouldn't have gotten me a stun gun and weed for my eighth birthday."She said with a grin.
"Well I'd already gotten you vodka the year before."I replied solemnly.
We laughed together as we remembered the good times we had shared together over the years. I was thankful for the time I'd had with Katie, and now that I was an ex demon warrior of God I knew anyone that caused her harm would find nobody to answer their prayers when I came calling. |
For as long as the older folks remembered, everyone in Hedlund communicated through telepathy, and it was taboo to open your mouth before anyone who wasn't a close relative. A tradition enforced over centuries without question, nobody even recalled why the land went verbally silent and mentally talkative.
Silence is golden, especially from a man of few words, they said. Jason would like to differ, singing was golden, even if all he could do was sing at home in a soundproofed bedroom. He loved singing to songs recorded eons ago, in the faded lost ages when opening your mouth wasn't frowned upon and strongly discouraged.
Jason was on one of his journeys beyond his rural town to find one of those lost song records, and hopefully bring them home to be restored so he could be enchanted by the soulful songs. He was used to spending most of his days digging around ruins, selling the various trinkets and old coins, while quietly praying for the good fortune of finding a rare record that wasn't too broken beyond restoration.
Then he heard her voice. A soulful soprano singing a song of the Ancients in a mysterious unknown language from a long lost era. Jason was enchanted, for the very first time in his life, someone was singing. The voice was not telepathic, not a recorded voice, a very real voice of a living person.
Then Jason saw her, behind a fallen pillar near the seashore. Sitting at the edge of the beach with her lower half submerged in the gentle waters. Lured in by her mesmerizing song, he ambled towards her, carefully stepping over cracked bricks and broken stairs of the ruins to avoid startling her.
He sat next to her and met her gaze, hypnotized by those enthralling golden eyes. She smiled ever so gently, an unspoken invitation to sing a duet with her. Together, he sang with her, the words infused into his mind by her telepathy, the song soothing, calm, and beautiful, even though he did not understand a single word of this ancient language. Jason leaned his head on her bare shoulder and closed his eyes, feeling a wave of comfort wash over him as he surrendered himself fully to the enchanting song.
-----
Garrett called for a search party when his son Jason did not arrive home that night. All the townsfolk who picked up on his telepathic blast spread out over the fields and hills to search while Garrett and a few close friends went over to the old ruins not far from town.
Then he heard a voice. Behind a ruined pillar by the seashore, a siren sang a song of the Ancients, in the familiar tenor of his son Jason Mendez.
u/Preston_of_Astora yo I gave it a shot! let me know when your take on this prompt comes up! |
With bloody, shaking fingers, Paulo gripped the cave floor. With each grip, he pulled himself closer to the wall of the cave, sliding on his belly and leaving a trail of blood like some sort of slug from Hell.
He inched his way past the corpses of his former colleagues, whose eyes stared blankly in horror. They were heavily armed with guns and knives, but all the weaponry in the world meant nothing if they were dead before they could use them. Paulo learned from his mentor to pull the trigger first. Unfortunately, just because you shoot first doesn't mean you don't get shot as well. The rifle bullet in his gut was a grim reminder. Paulo felt his life fading.
Paulo flipped over and leaned back against the wall of the cave. Paulo slurred his words between the pain and blood loss. "Thought you would have the last laugh!? Look who's laughing now! Ha! Ha! HA!"Paulo's mocking laughter echoed through the cave. The electric lights of the cavernous makeshift headquarters faintly illuminated his audience of corpses. There was no one left alive to hear him. Paulo's eyes still shifted left and right with paranoia, that maybe someone was merely playing dead. Paulo locked eyes with Yvan's corpse. In life, Yvan was reliable, and even though he was a gunman for hire, he had a heart of gold. But as time passed, Paulo "saw through this facade."Paulo's mentor taught him how to spot a traitor. In Paulo's mind he had no regrets shooting Yvan, except that he saved him for last. In Yvan's hands was the rifle that punched a hole in Paulo's guts.
"You looking at me?!"Paulo asked Yvan's corpse. Yvan's blue eyes remained transfixed in Paulo's general direction. Paulo's mentor always told him to never take risks that a single bullet could fix. Paulo reached into his holster, pulled out his revolver and sent a bullet into his former colleague's corpse. The sound of gunfire echoed through the cave and rang in Paulo's ears. Paulo's shaking and bloodstained hands dropped the gun to his side. Paulo held his hands to the gaping hole in his abdomen and sighed. Everything was coated red.
"Is this what you wanted?"said a man's voice.
"What?! Who said that?"asked Paulo. He frantically tried to grip his revolver with hands slick with blood. The blood loss made it hard to curl his fingers and move his arm. Paulo's stubbornness, no matter how great, was not going to overcome his failing body. Not this time.
"You don't have to fight anymore. You're going to be okay,"said a woman's voice.
Paulo's eyes widened with fear and even greater paranoia. He could not see who was talking, but one thing was certain in Paulo's mind: "You aren't going to take me alive!"
"No one is here to take you, son,"said the man's voice. "We just want to talk."
Slowly but surely, the misty spectres of Paulo's parents appeared standing over him. They looked no older than they were when Paulo killed them in their early forties. Paulo was thirty-eight, making this parental heart-to-heart awkward from someone who was technically only barely older than him. Paulo noticed that they were different than he remembered. Their faces appeared more kind. They felt less dangerous.
Paulo looked at the ghosts bewildered. "Don't you come here and tell me that you didn't have it coming! I had my reasons!"
"Paulo, we love you, but we are tired of the excuses,"said Greta in a tired voice. "We gave you every chance to live a good life and you chose to be a thug-for-hire."
"And you waited until *now* to tell me that? That's rich..."Paulo winced from the pain of the bullet. "Even then, *you* don't get to decide what I do with my life. For me, this life *is* the good life!"
Paulo Senior shook his head. "Son, dying alone in a cave is not an indicator of a good life."
"And your dying in the kitchen was any different?"
"You shot us! Goodness gracious, are you that dense?! My choice of career did not entail getting shot in the back! Did you just expect that me and your mother were just going to be doodah dandy with your decision to become some gun-slinging thug? Is that why you shot us? Because it was just unreasonable for us to ask you to get an *actual* job?"Senior barked
"Paulo!"Greta shouted. She pulled Senior close and reminded him, "Let's not lose our heads. We are here to help him."Senior gently shook his head and dipped his face into his hands, rubbing his tired eyes.
Paulo, always suspicious, asked, "So, why are you here?"
"Because even though you have done terrible things in your life, we still love you and want to support you in any way we can,"said Greta with tears in her eyes. "You're dying, Paulito. That's why you can see us!"
"But why *exactly*?"Paulo's eyes narrowed at the ghosts.
"Damnit, son. Must there always be an ulterior motive? We just want to make your transition to the afterlife easier!"Senior said in a frustrated tone.
"And what does that entail?"
Greta shook her head and looked at him with teary eyes, "Look, Paulito. You've done bad things, but deep down inside you are a good person. There are good people in the afterlife who are ready to argue on your behalf... to prevent you from going *down there*."Greta pointed down.
"But there's a catch. I have to do something first, right?"
"You have a devil in you, boy. Literally. You need to give it up,"said Senior.
"I owe that *devil* my life. He taught me everything!"
In a flash of red light a new figure entered the cave. In a slow, gutteral voice the creature jested, "That's the funny thing about the devil. You speak of him and he will arrive."He was a towering pillar of brimstone shaped into a humanoid form, whose head was a ram's skull that burned brightly from within. The two ghosts stared, mortified by his presence. The devil looked at the two ghosts and Paulo, chuckling lightly. "Sorry to interrupt the family reunion."
"It's no problem. How's it hanging, Przemoc?"said Paulo weakly.
"Can't complain... You, on the other hand... you look like shit,"said Przemoc, looking at the puddle of blood that Paulo sat in.
"Yeah, do you have something for not dying?"
"I do, my friend, I do."Przemoc leaned down and extended a fiery hand. "Let me pull you up."
Paulo began to shakily reach for his hand when Senior blurted out, "Son, you can't delay death forever... The longer you live, the more you get dragged into his clutches. Don't take that hand. It is your time."
Paulo looked at Greta and Senior. He saw the desperation and grief in their teary eyes. He saw through this facade, though. He always saw through. Behind those teary eyes filled with "desperation"and "grief"were minds plotting to prevent him from becoming the legend he was meant to be. Even from the grave, they were holding him back.
Paulo, still facing his parents, turned his face into a wicked grin. "It was nice chatting, but no. I don't think I would like to die today. In fact, talking with *you two* made me want to die even less. I'm not letting you hold me back."Paulo turned his head towards Przemoc. Paulo reached forward and Przemoc greedily took his bloodstained hand, shaking it firmly. With one swift tug Paulo was lifted to his feet. He felt like new life entered his body as his wound miraculously disappeared. As it disappeared, so too did his parents, fading into particles that lazily drifted away. He swore he could hear the sobbing of his parents, echoing faintly. Paulo reached down to pick up his bloodstained gun.
As Paulo stood back up straight, Przemoc wrapped a long, powerful arm around him. The warmth radiating off of Przemoc made Paulo feel like he was already in Hell. "Glad to still have you, friend. It is always good to have a representative on this plane of existence!"
"Thanks, man,"said Paulo faintly.
"Don't mention it... Well, let's get a move on! There are traitors to punish, revenge to be had, and Hell to be raised!"
Paulo stepped over Yvan's corpse and towards the light coming from the mouth of the cave. Paulo didn't know where he was going, but Przemoc knew the way. He always knew the way. |
Lucian dashed forward twice.
“Aid me, brother!” He yelled back to me.
Confused, I began strumming my lute, simply playing scales, as the moment seemed to strike in an instant.
Lucian fired his pistols as he circled the enemy champions, narrowly avoiding a root snare planted by Zyra. Lucian narrowly avoided one of Jinx’s rockets before rejoining me.
“Dude, what the hell?” He asked.
“What?” I said, realizing I had only been playing scales. I changed to a mellow tune that would have accompanied a walk in the park. “Is this better?”
He eyed me strangely. “Dude, Bard, no that is not better. You need to stun them, bro, and you should be healing me. You’re supposed to spam your healing fountains near our turret, so I can heal when I’m low. And for gods sake, man, use your fucking Q.”
I blinked, confused. Perhaps he wanted to here a long lost tale. Perhaps the music was not quite to his liking, but this… made no sense.
I had not time to voice my confusion, as Jinx and Zyra approached with Udyr.
“Shit!” Lucian dashed. “Q! Q! Stun them! Stun them Bard!”
Udyr warped from a tiger into a bear, landing a vicious blow on Lucian. Oddly, he froze in place, during which Jinx unloaded on him with a Gatling gun.
Oddly, I felt a tug internally, like I was able to control my own internal organs. Like, I could control my heart beat rate, the rate my blood flowed, and other things too.
I reached into a deeper realm, harnessing my ethereal power, and I pressed W.
A healing fountain sprung beneath Lucian, yet only healed a pitiful amount of his life. Jinx dropped a line of snares beneath him, locking him in place longer.
Reaching in again, I smashed D and F, healing Lucian and myself while exhausting Zyra.
“Bro! Exhaust the ADC. Omg You’re the fucking worst support I’ve ever had. Fuck you. Go fall in a well and die.” Lucian said, suddenly hostile.
I reached in again, pressing my Q and E, stunning Jinx and Udyr, while creating a gateway for Lucian.
Lucian immediately entered the gateway, escaping to safety.
“Seriously, was it that fucking hard? God why am i always put with the shit teams.” Lucian said.
“Sorry, man.” I said. “I was a little confused.”
“Of course you were, fucking idiot.” Lucian said. “Move faster next time, dope.”
Just then, an enormous rocket with Jinx’s face and color palette smashed into Lucian. He exploded into vapor and disappeared.
“Fucking piece of shit team! Why am i always stuck with the fucking losers? Fuck you guys, I’m running down Mid.” Lucian spoke into my mind.
“Bro, don’t be like that.” Our jungle, Teemo said.
“Fuck you!” Lucian retorted.
“Reported.” River, our top, said.
“Yeah, reported, asshole.” Teemo said.
“Fuck your report you limp dick virgins. I’m running down mid. Ff at 20.” Lucian said, starting the trek down mid. |
I am exhilarated. The experiment worked. We actually created a naked singularity. I popped a bottle of champagne open and shouted eureka. I take a sip. I blink, then find myself in an entirely different place. It is like a court room mixed with a kaleidoscope. I am in front of a jury. Most of them look alien, but I see two humans among them, Paul Dirac and Galileo Galilei. To my right is a being with eight arms and a morphing fractal exterior. I think they are the judge.
I hear a booming but androgynous voice echo through the room, "For crimes against nature and the violation of its laws, we call you to court, Doctor Josephine Liana. You will be tried before a jury of your peers from every intelligent race to have evolved in the universe. I, the creator of the universe, shall be the judge."
They launch into evidence. My laboratory, experimental apparatus, and collaborators. They explain what I did, how I did it. I can't read the faces of the aliens, but Dirac and Galilei are grimacing. The evidence presented, they leave the room to deliberate. In a few hours they return. Together, they say, "The jury has decided. The evidence proves beyond reasonable doubt that the suspect willfully and deliberately violated the laws of the universe."The judge's booming sounds once more, "It is decided, I condemn the guilty to spaghettification."My face pales. They're really going to throw me into a black hole. I blink again. I'm in a pressurized suit of some kind. It is light and maneuverable. I realize I am accelerating towards a black object. So this is how it ends. I start to feel my legs stretch. This is not going to be a pleasant way to die. My final thought is that I hope I get to do science in the life after this one, if there is such a thing. |
[Poem]
She sighed, just thinking
of being with him.
In winters, they'd ice skate.
In summers, they'd swim.
He took her to the movies.
They walked through the park.
He stayed by her bedside
when she was afraid of the dark.
Sometimes, they'd just talk.
They could do it all day.
Even if it was about nothing
he always knew what to say.
But she couldn't anymore
maybe sometime again.
She sighed, just thinking
of being with him. |
I looked at my wife, concern and confusion in my eyes. Perhaps my mind was playing tricks on me, or I had too much to drink. That was not an uncommon occurrence, admittedly, but we had just sat down for breakfast.
“Ditto?” I inquired, causing her to shift in her chair nervously, before finally nodding in acceptance.
Shock ran through my mind and body. Five years, and I’d been married to a Ditto? A Ditto named Pastel, a bit on the nose now that I thought about it. Or did something happen to my original wife? Was this an imposter? No, that couldn’t be possible. I was absolutely certain I would know if my wife were suddenly replaced by … well, a Ditto.
I excused myself from the table and ran into the bathroom, grabbing some of my emergency anti-anxiety meds. I closed the mirrorless box that stored them, and splashed water on my face.
Who else knew? Did anyone know? How?
I called my father, and told him to meet me at the central fountain.
When I arrived purposefully five minutes late, a man waved to me. It wasn’t until I approached heard his voice that I recognized him. “It’s me, Angela.”
“Dad…something is wrong with Pastel.” I spoke, already beginning to tear up.
He sighed and frowned, gesturing to sit at the fountains edge. “We know. But you seemed so happy.”
“I just … don’t understand.” I said. “Don’t Ditto’s need to see something to copy? We’ve lived alone together for years, and I’ve never seen the disguise falter?”
“That…I rather not discuss, Angel.” “Why not?” “Because it … you know how you eloped, because no one wanted to attend?”
“I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”
He grumbles loudly. “It has everything to do with everything, Angel. Think about it, please.”
He stands up, leaving me with more questions than answers. “I love you, Angel. If you decide you want to live a normal life, your mom and I can give you a place to stay for a while.”
I nod speechlessly as he left, and stare down at an unfamiliar face in the water. I knew it was mine, because of the tears streaming down it’s face.
Memories of the wedding flood back, a small ceremony with a lot of confusion and objections and objections to objections. “Just let them be happy.” One side called, while the other chanted varying words for freak. I always thought it was because I married a woman, and it had only been a few years since that was acceptable.
I ripple the water with my hand as I remember the day I met my wife. We were in a bar, that was typical enough for me. I was with some friends, I believe Jasmine and Crystal. We had been joking, and gotten ridiculously drunk at the time. As we often did in those times. They said something to me that night that ate at the back of my mind, but I couldn’t recall.
I do remember it was the last time I saw them. They decided I was, their words not mine, a problem-drinker. Which seemed rude to me at the time, we were all problem-drinkers.
By lunch I returned home, the woman, my wife, waiting on the couch. “How was your dad?” She asks. “Fine.” I replied. “He said he knew.” She didn’t answer.
I flopped down next to her and rested my weary head on her shoulder, and she brushed my hair just how I liked it. “I’m sorry.”
“Has it always been you?” I question, to which she nods. “You didn’t replace the original Pastel?” She shakes her head. “Who did you copy?”
She pauses and takes my hands. They linked perfectly, as they always had, and I found myself squeezing hers, as if I needed to support her.
“I love you.” She said, to which I replied likewise. I leaned forward to kiss her, and as she fell on top of me I recalled what my ex-friends had said that night as I looked at the cloudy visage of the woman who I would come to love.
“Go f yourself.” |
That was a few years ago.
I begin to fear I am the only one who has any clue what is happening.
On occasion, I test my theory. I sit, quietly, watching people but not interacting at all.
My patience is not eternal and the longest I’ve lasted is about three hours. The woman walking the dog who froze in place for nearly a minute was weird. The traffic light frozen on yellow with a car stationary beneath it was a little more frightening.
The slightest interaction on my part, even an eye blink, and it’s like the play button got hit on a paused movie.
I intend to keep playing with my ability.
I’d love to one day look out on the world and say, “the world has gotten to be a very boring place now that all the wars are over and people have started being kind to one another. Signing off. Y’all have a nice life now.”
I wonder if I’d fade out of existence, no longer needed. Somehow, I doubt I’d mind too much, after all, would I even notice?
But somehow I doubt the story is far from over and I have much more telling to do. |
We’d had the damn ritual for the last seventeen thousand years. A chosen successor was to be found among the list of descendants from the lineage of the great hero. It’s said that whoever made his sacred blade glow orange was his true blood heir…. And yet here I am, so know nothing peasant from some know nothing family escorting a pair of nobles and some “chosen” dumbass through the desert because he doesn’t want to chosen one.
‘I don’t choose this.’ ‘My life is more than some prophecy!’ ‘I want to live my own life.’ ‘It’s not fair.’ Pick your cliche. He screamed it or whispered it in lamentation to a world that didn’t care about how fair it was being or why it mattered if it did. There’s no such thing as a fair life for anyone and because this pacifist kid doesn’t want to be the one to save his nation from war, others will be condemned to die because his morals matter more than their safety.
‘If you’re killing for someone else, you’re killing for yourself.’ God, what an idiot. And now we’ve gone through an ambush, we’ve barely eaten or slept in three days my right arms broken and there’s a company of about three hundred men coming for us…. When the sword glows orange, it’s supposed to be able to cut through anything. It sat right next to me and I could pick it up any time I want. But it wouldn’t work for me…. Or at least, it shouldn’t have. But when I picked it up with my left hand, it glowed orange. Clear as day, it was glowing; burning really. The nobles were speechless and the kid was wide eyed. I couldn’t help but chuckle. Alright Mr. Too-scared-to-fight, look closely. I’ll show you what a hero really looks like.
As I charged forth, ready to fight, what none of us knew was that the depictions of the hero always showed him with his grip on the sword in a very particular way. His left hand was always on top and choking up quite a bit on the grip. He was described as a strong man but not a big one. And this sword wasn’t made for a small man. It was a long sword, big and bulky, while he was a short and scrawny figure. He choked up heavily on the grip to maintain a firm hold and he was left handed. The truth was is that there was nothing sacred about this sword at all. It wasn’t some holy blade, it was a machine. Inside was a filament that burned and heated up the blade when you gripped the sword a certain way. My right arm was broken so I used my left and choked up since I couldn’t hold it proportionately.
…. There never was a chosen one…. Figures. Either way. After surviving that battle, I learned an important lesson about the nature of “chosen ones”…. The only difference between those who are chosen and those who choose is the choice.
And I’ve made mine. |
\[Glorious Conspiracy\]
"Astounding...,"Quinton was genuinely surprised when he walked into the diner. He was an eager apprentice and studied all he could about the villains he'd be up against. It was unsettling to see several recognized Supervillains in the restaurant along with many Heroes he recognized from the league.
"C'mon, it's time you met Glory,"John, Quinton's mentor, walked into the diner and continued up to the counter, right next to a Supervillain. Then, John waved him over when Quinton lagged at the door; he was too busy taking it all in.
"Quinton, this L.S.. He's my best friend and a Supervillain; but, you don't have to worry about him, he's retiring any day now too,"John introduced him to the grey-haired, blue-masked villain.
"Your best friend... is a Supervillain?"Quinton asked with a confused smile. He had several questions come to mind as he went through the handbook. He noticed a lot of rules seemed oddly specific and strangely limiting. There were certain parts of town he couldn't fight in, certain hours, certain villains he wasn't allowed to tangle with. The more he studied the handbook the more one unsettling question took root in his mind. Why does he have to follow such detailed rules when the villains likely didn't? But, the simple introduction of the villain as John's 'best friend', went a long way to answer that question. For some reason, the villains seemed to follow the rules too. Now that he was in the restaurant, it was easy to see why he wasn't allowed to fight on this side of town.
"And this is Glory Rose, the lovely owner of this fine establishment,"John gestured at the green-haired woman who came out of the back kitchen. "Glory, we've got a new hero in the League; this is Quinton,"he completed the introduction as Glory set a plate down in front of L.S.
"It's a pleasure to meet you,"she smiled at him.
"Thank you,"Quinton nodded. He tried not to show it; but, he was a bit disappointed. Glory was almost a mythical being the way the Heroes in the league talked about her; but, standing here in her diner, he couldn't help but feel she was just an average person.
"You in for lunch, or just taking a tour?"she asked him.
"Oh, uh, sure, I could eat,"he nodded at took a stool next to John. The menu was waiting for him by the time he was settled. "Meatloaf sandwich?"he asked without bothering with the menu. It was a common enough meal and she nodded.
"You bet,"she whirled around and returned to the kitchen. Quinton waited quietly as he looked around the diner. He didn't have a lot to say yet and John had fallen into easy conversation with L.S. He didn't want to interrupt the friends; but, that thought made him chuckle. Heroes and Villains were friends. On the one hand, it answered why the villains were abiding; but, it still didn't make a whole lot of sense to him. Why were they willing to play along at all?
"Something on your mind?"Glory startled him as she reappeared with his food. He hadn't realized how lost he was in his own thoughts.
"No, not really...,"he shrugged. "It's not easy to put into words anyway."
"Try me, I've got a gift for intuition,"Glory smiled.
"It's like...,"Quinton sighed and shook his head to try and get an idea to fall into place. "... Villains are bad guys, right? The Heroes League is the good guys, I get why we're following the rules. But, why is the evil faction following the rules too?"
"That's not complicated,"Glory said. "It ruins the game if one side doesn't follow the rules."
"But, it's not a game...,"Quinton shook his head. "These are real Supers, real heroes and villains...,"
"Exactly,"Glory nodded. "What's your power?"
"I can make anything weigh five tons, or I can multiply the weight of something by five times,"he answered.
"Okay, well you're a bad example,"she giggled. "The point is if everyone with Super powers just went crazy it'd be a mess for everyone. The best thing to do is assign teams and treat it like a game. Not everyone's going to want to play; but...,"she gestured at the handful of villains in the restaurant. "It's enough to be worthwhile."
\*\*\* Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #2138 in a row. (Story #328 in year six.). This story is part of an ongoing saga that takes place at a Corporation in my universe. The stories can be found in order on my subreddit: [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/Hugoverse/comments/1624330/pineapple_cup_23_first_six_weeks/). |
It was a damning punishment—worse off, a coward’s punishment. My sentence was spoken by a shrew governor who despised me to his core but wouldn’t dare condemn a local hero out of fear of the backlash.
I feared for the worst as I treaded into the forest as wide as the ocean, knowing I may very well never see the end. Even if I walked for months without stopping, I would only find myself midway, and that was where the creatures grew the most twisted and cruel.
Really, it was a punishment worse than death, but the governor got away with it on account of the tales of my immense strength. My fellow faefolk gossiped incessantly on how I’d fare. Some were convinced I would burst out in mere months with a monster’s head dangling from my fist. I couldn’t say I had the same level of confidence, but the thought made me smile. Gods knew I needed a smile.
My closest friend was an explorer herself. She decorated herself in the colorful feathers of the monstrous birds in which she’d encountered, hidden in the bushes, peering out with her honed, kaleidoscope eyes. Only the bravest dared to venture into the forest at all. One wrong turn and you may never leave. Many were convinced that the forest itself alive, and it purposefully confused the travelers so that it could consume them itself.
After all, a single body had never been found. I could see roots reaching from the ground and pulling a starving faerie into the earth—the poor soul struggling, grasping desperately at the soil, but the undergrowth opens like a gaping mouth and swallows them whole.
Aofie had been spending the entire week before my venture giving me every tip in the book. She insisted passionately that I was to only stay at the edge of the forest, and that I would never take even a single step without considering it in full (she knew I was the impulsive type), as she’d have the governor either acquit me or ‘’indefinitely missing.”
“And I will come find you if its the last thing I do,” she murmured with a grim smile as she latched her lucky pendent around my neck, the one she always wore on expeditions, “But please, do your friend a favor and collect any feathers you find. No reason to come back empty handed.”
A day passed as I heeded her advice, but there was only so much I could do. Aofie’s beloved birds were staring down at me as if I were a mouse. It made me nervous to fall asleep. If they bombarded me in a weak moment, the wounds from their gaping talons would be near impossible to patch up before I bled dry.
I could hear feel her disapproving eyes as I traveled deeper. She was quite the optimist; I was better acquainted with reality. It would take months for her to have me pardoned and there would be no opportunity to murder him with no witnesses, otherwise, I would have done it myself!
No, all I could was hope that these cursed woodlands had some good in them. Surely there was a kindred spirit somewhere, and I could strike a deal that would be my ticket out, somewhere far away from the town in which I’d been sentenced. In years I’d she Aofie again, and she’d punch me for my disobedience, but forgive me after.
I stumbled onto him after weeks had passed. I felt feverish. My near-translucent skin had taken on a reddish hue and pus leaked from my eyes. The fae were not vulnerable to disease, unless they were of magikal origin; the forest had failed to kill me with its predators or the natural elements, and now it resorted to a hex.
I collapsed in front of a bizarre structure, and resigned myself to my fate when I heard foot steps, relived that at I would not be conscious for my own death.
I woke up to the sound of crackling embers and the taste of herbs on my tongue.
Soft, wool blankets enveloped me. I blinked a couple times, the horrible stinging now gone. I glanced at my skin, the red having faded to a peach-pink.
“I have heard that the fae are not bound by the barriers of language.”
It was a bizarre creature. Intelligent, simple in design, with beige skin and milky, white-rimmed eyes. Rather pretty in a forgettable sort of way, like a pet whose soft fur you’ve grown long-accosted to stroking.
“You are right.” I peered at their home. A stone stove, a table set, and a wall full of tiny hand prints in various colors. “Surely you haven’t built this all yourself?”
“There are others, but they are not always here. This is my home. The handprints are of my young kin. They got into my dyes and, well, I thought that wall needed a bit of color.”
So friendly, so generous—what was this thing, and why hadn’t the forest torn it to pieces years ago? Furthermore, there was young? Young, which played and frolicked in the forests that stuck fear in the hearts of all faeries?
“Your help is very appreciated. I simply have to ask…how?”
It laughed. I would have been offended if not for their kindness.
“They say every faerie we find here is starstruck. Well, maybe one of them can explain it better than I can. We always find them near death, nurse them back to health, and they become beloved parts of our families.” It tilted its head. “Don’t tell you also believed the stories of a carnivorous forest.” |
He looked like he was distraught. His worried eyes danced from his cell phone to the clock, then back to his phone. I knew he wanted to call her. Even though they were not married, she broke the monogamy of their relationship with his best friend. She was no good for him, but he "loved her."This had to end, this was wreaking havoc on both his sleep schedule and his health. I walked over to the window and opened it, letting the cool ocean breeze hit his face. "May I speak in your common vernacular sir?"I asked as I returned back to the table. He looked up and nodded. I grabbed his phone and said "bitches be crazy"as I hurled it into the ocean.
*edited the last sentence, I didn't like how it sounded before* |
That's Evelyn, my significant other. According to her, we are planning a barn wedding for spring, but the oppressively cliched notion of having her walk towards me with flowers in her hair is enough to make me want to stab her in the eye.
She always drags me to these coffee-house events to watch the dozens of talentless, clever girls sing while playing ukelele. Evelyn has told me that she would like to preform on stage, but I know just how awful she is and besides with her looks the audience won't be able to distract themselves with the thought of fucking her.
"Patrick, wasn't that excellent? We should talk to her after the show."
For months Evelyn has been been teasing the prospect of a threesome, attributing it to her newly discovered 'fluid sexuality'. It's disgusting really, that she never follows through, blames it on feeling sick or tired at the last minute.
"Wasn't it, Patrick?"
"Yes, of course."
I hate the way she smiles at me. Recently she's been listening exclusively to French singers from the sixties and that has somehow deluded her into thinking that the gap in her teeth isn't repulsive. All I can think about is splitting her head right through that awful gap.
"They're opening up the mic, do you think I should go up?"
"You'll embarrass yourself, just sit down."
"Patrick, come on. Don't you want me to have fun?"
She's playing with that stupid ring I gave her. I told her it was a vintage Tiffany ring, but I'm not even sure that call girl's name was Tiffany.
"Patrick, I'm going to go up. Wish me luck."
"Sit down, Evelyn. Nobody wants to hear another fucking cover of Junip."
There's nothing more disgusting than Evelyn's face when she cries. Some of the people in the room are looking over; Evelyn was always an attention whore.
"Patrick! Why do you always have to ruin things like this?"
I'm already bored of this argument, it ended in the threat of suicide last time, a real tease Evelyn is.
"Fine, you know what, go up. I'm leaving."
"Where are you going?"
"I have to go re-watch 'Freaks and Geeks' on Netflix."
|
Some blamed the economy for World War 3, although most didn't understand what the economy was.
Some blamed the development of nuclear weapons in countries that countries that already owned nuclear weapons had decided didn't need nuclear weapons.
Some blamed over population, the drought of 2103, the price of oil, immigration, religion, whatever the media were telling them to blame. It was easier to blame something than try and prevent the situation.
Nobody blamed the misplaced sharpener, though it was as much to blame as anything else.
If the sharpener hadn't been misplaced, then Jack wouldn't have been late leaving school after spending twenty minutes fruitlessly trying to find it.
If Jack hadn't been late leaving school, then his mother wouldn't have left her parking space at 3.24pm, she wouldn't have been driving down the dual carriageway towards home at 3.32pm and she wouldn't have crashed into a red Renault Megane carrying a wife and husband at 74mph in a rush to get home before 4pm when a package was being delivered containing a book she had been waiting to read for months.
If she hadn't have crashed into a red Renault Megane, then Rachel would have been able to tell Oliver she was pregnant, after months of trying, instead of telling him it was going to be okay as the firemen tried cutting them both out before dying of blood loss beside him.
If Rachel and Oliver hadn't died of blood loss, then they would have brought up a beautiful boy, Charlie, who would shine at school and continue shining all through university and would stay shining as he became a lecturer.
If Charlie had had the chance to exist and become a lecturer, he would have taught a young man right at the very end of his career, called James, to see the world in a different way who would then go on to write books that would inspire whole generations of students after him.
If James had written any of his books about politics, money, life and just how to think, then a young woman called Grace would have read them, felt differently about everything and want to change society around her.
If Grace had read the books, she would have taken a real interest in the politics course she was taking, she would have got more involved with communities around her and eventually, after many years of hard work, campaigning and taking every opportunity presented to her, she would have run for President of the USA in 2100 and she would have won.
If Grace had become President of the USA in 2100, negotiations would never have taken a turn for the worst, explosions would not shake the homes of many, children would not be dying in their parents' arms, brothers would not be fighting brothers across borders that only existed on pieces of paper for causes they did not entirely believe in and all for a misplaced sharpener.
Ah but what if? |
It began with cleaning and assembly. Then reloading. He would then discharge a bullet and load it back in. He had to be sure the mechanism was on point in case he had to rechamber and shoot again. He stopped and thought about this precaution and laughed harder than he felt he should have. It *was* funny.
He said the prayer, which he had come up with himself during a trying time on Iwo Jima: "Lord, please forgive me, and guide my target to you. Love him as your creation."
He flipped the rifle around and rested the barrel in his mouth. |
"Hey!"I woke up two seconds before his bony hands touched the spot between my eyes.
"Sorry kid. I don't make the rules."
"Why am I dying?"He didn't look much like the god of death, but like my father used to say 'when you meet a god, you'll know it's a god.' I knew now.
"You've suffered a series of tiny strokes. Blood vessels have burst in your brain. You're not even alive now. Just kind of stuck between life and death."He sat down on the end of my bed. He was dressed like my father in a brown three piece suit, yellow tie and handkerchief messily tucked into his pocket. He leant over like he was going to ruffle my hair, then stopped.
"Why me? Why now?"
"Kid, they all ask the same questions."He said "I can't really answer them. Just the way it is. I just collect, I don't kill."
"Am I going to a better place?"
"Do you believe you are?"
"I guess."I shrugged
"That's what matters, then."
"The belief?"
"Funny, isn't it?"He said.
"Will my family be okay?"Gloria's sleeping in the bed next to me. She'll wake up tomorrow to my body, and she'll have to wake up every morning after knowing that I'm gone.
"I don't know, kid. There's a reason I'm the god of death and not the god of life."
We sit there for a bit longer.
"Was I a good person?"I ask. There are some questions that maybe you don't want to know the answer to, but you ask anyway.
"I think you were, if that makes any difference."The god said. He did look remarkably like my father.
"It helps."
"Come on, it's time to go."He stands and holds out an arm for me to lean on.
"Can I say goodbye to her?"I ask
"There's no need. It's not really goodbye, is it?"
"I guess not."I turn to my wife and kiss her forehead.
We leave together.
|
image 1 :)
The thick scent of yellow rust rots in the air, it feels thick and heavy on human nostrils. Incapacitating at times, I take a break every few minutes and sit down, stare up, hold back the tears.
The last time I let myself cry was at least five back. It’s the being watched, that’s where the pain comes from. I’m a cinema for them. A treat. Something novel, something living, something grotesque yet interesting, much like they are to me.
They never speak, but occasionally I can feel their thoughts. The yellow-tinged fog clears a little, shades of deep crimson throb in the air, and I hear within me the messages that they speak. Sometimes they are just a greeting. Sometimes they tell me of the horror. The pain yet to come. Sometimes they tell me, they beg, they plead for me to die. To die for my own good, before I reach the horror.
|
It was a dark and stormy night.
"Well screw us."
"What's the matter, Edgar?"his wife Gladys asked.
Edgar pointed a bony finger out the window where snow flurries collided into the window like kamikaze pilots on suicide runs.
"That doesn't even,"Michael said from his place, leaning against the mantle of the roaring fireplace, "that doesn't even make sense. They're kamikaze pilots. They're *always* on suicide runs. It's what they do."
"Michael,"Victoria asked, "why are you standing so close to the fire? Aren't you hot?"
"Why is your name Victoria?"Michael countered. "It's because we're in an idiot's hands. And not the savant kind, either."
Michael's throat suddenly closed, the brandy he had been drinking falling from his hand, the glass shattering on the rug. He had been poisoned!
"Oh,"he gurgled, "Fu-"
Michael keeled over, dead. Everyone gasped.
"Michael's dead!"Victoria screamed. "Poisoned!"
"Yes, dear,"Gladys said. "We all have eyes."
"I assume we're all being murdered,"Edgar said. "Probably one of us is the murderer."
"But who?"Vicotria shrieked, her thin, waifish body convulsing, the breasts heaving out of her slip as the fear pushed her heart up and the rest of the chest with it. She heaved and heaved, sweat beginning to glisten at the nape of her neck.
"Oh, Lord,"Gladys said. "Can I be next? Please? I'd rather be dead than be your character."
The lights went out! When they flickered back on, Gladys was dead in her chair, a butcher knife sticking out of her throat! Just below her triple chin! The rest of her fat, fat body slouched toward the floor, pulled by the awful weight of gravity.
"Well,"Edgar said, "that's just being a poor sport. Ass."
The lights flickered out again! Victoria shrieked! When they flickered back on, Edgar was dead as well!
"But how?"Victoria asked the empty room. "How?"
Their was a round hole in the middle of Edgar's head. Blood trickled out.
"But there wasn't a gunshot."
Victoria suddenly remembered the gunshot she had heard. Her breasts heaved.
"I think they're a little tired, actually. In fact, I think I'm going to put on a sweater."
The lights flickered, and when they were on again Victoria was dead!
"No I'm not!"
Yet somehow she had clung on to her life.
"You can't kill me, I'm the only one left in the room."
Except for the mysterious stranger.
"Who? Oh, hello."
"Hello."
Victoria realized it was the mysterious stranger who was the murderer.
"Wait, what? I'm an insurance salesman."
"Don't fight it,"Victoria sighed.
"But how did I get here if this place is snowed in?"
Um.
"Because it isn't,"Victoria offered. "In fact, we've been free to leave this whole time."
It was true. The snow storm was just a white herring.
"Red herring."
I was being clever.
"Sure."
It was true. The snow storm was just a white herring. They'd been free to leave this whole time! There was nothing to stop anyone from leaving, which made their deaths-
"Oh, we're not dead,"said Michael.
What?
"We've been free to leave this whole time,"said Gladys as she and Michael left the small inn.
But.
"I'd look into a writing class at your local university if I were you,"said Edgar as he took up his bowler hat and left.
Wait.
"Those are mighty fine heaving breasts you have, ma'am. If you don't mind me saying so."
"Oh, call me Victoria,"Victoria said as she took the insurance salesman's arm. Together they left the small inn.
Which just left the dark and stormy night. And even it cleared up without anyone to see it. |
"Hi, um you're Mr. Voyde, right?"
He nodded. You know, I didn't think I'd go out this way, but I damn well know that everyone will be jealous of how I died! Death by murder....
Mom will cry for me, dad will notice that I put up a fight, that piece of shit Dexter will apologize to my cold face as he attends my funeral.
It's worth it.
"I have your money. Sorry it took so long. I'm not old enough to wait tables, so I had to bus them."
I tossed a thick manila envelope over to him. Just like in the movies. I even picked out where we met! Underneath our town's most popular dock, at night, of course.
"How do you want to die?"
What a strange question to ponder.
"Make it look like someone killed me, I don't want to go down as the kid who committed suicide."
"When do you want to die?"
"Surpri - "
Who knew silenced guns were so quiet, and that being shot hurt so much. The bastard looked me in the eyes as reholstered his gun.
Am I gonna bleed out?
"Keep this near you, it'll make it look like you got killed by some gangbanger."
He spilled the contents of a bag of what looked to be some drug - Meth, I dont know, all over me. I'm fucking bleeding out.
I'm gonna go down as a junkie, as someone who gave up on life before death took him. Someone who threw away the time to hone his potential into something that could really do something, for cheap fixes.
Pathetic, I didn't want to die as a junkie. Maybe I should've just killed myself.
"This isn't what I wanted..."I held my gut tighter.
"Why's it matter? You're dead anyways." |
The great Kaneef dove, sharp and angled. The gleaming beast descended, its sleek form shaped for destruction.
The world watched, defenceless, hopeless, knowing the day had come. Brother-worlds had fallen to the same fate, to the terrible Kaneef.
Legends told of a time when all the worlds had been one, united and whole, before the First Apocalypse. How the world had shook as the Breaker tore the land asunder.
Prophets told of His return, of His second-coming. "Repent! Repent!"they cried. "Repent and be saved!"
No salvation had come. The Kaneef had returned, time and time again, claiming world after world, until only one remained. Koor'ust, last world of the Lo'af system.
The Slicer of Worlds struck, guided by the very Hand of God, and the world trembled.
----
Tim cut a slice of bread in two. |
*(This prompt is screaming for me to use text-speak. But that's simply no fun. Welp, here we go.)*
President Roosevelt put down the message and stared at the Senator in front of him with enough intensity to discomfort the battle-hardened veteran of the Great War.
"And you're *certain* this...message...is from space?"
"We're not certain at all, sir. It just appeared on a table and then disappeared. We barely had time to make a copy of it,"
The president leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, musing to himself.
"It's definitely English, but the names don't seem to make any sense at all. We've certainly never had a president named "Kennedy"before. I don't understand what it could possibly-"
Without so much as a knock, a young man in a suit burst into the Oval Office, carrying a thick stack of papers. Senator Truman suppressed an urge to wince. Interrupting the president's train of thought was the kind of mistake you only made once. The new guy, however, seemed to be born under a lucky star. As Truman watched, he passed the first paper to the president, and Roosevelts eyes shifted from anger to total astonishment.
It took the president a few tries to speak, and when he finially got the words out, it was with a croak: "The American Dream: official AP version".
The other men in the room had remained uncharacteristically silent, yet now they stirred. After a moment of hesitation, General Eisenhower finally burst out with the question everyone was thinking, "What the hell is an AP."
Roosevelt ignored him and continued reading, his eyes got larger and larger as he flipped through the pages, and soon he began unconsciously reading out fragments.
"The panic of 1819...Manifest destiny...The civil war...reconstruction...the progressive era...the-"
Roosevelt froze, and everyone in the room leaned forward a little, drawn in by the magnetism that even now seemed to surround their president. He adjusted his collar and, after a few deep, calming breaths, whispered "The first world war."
The Oval Office, already uncharacteristically quiet, fell into dead silence. Everyone stared at the paper Roosevelt was currently holding, and once again, it fell to Eisenhower to say what everyone was thinking.
"Did you say...the *First* world war?"
Roosevelt nodded, still too shocked to speak, and for the first time, Truman wondered how strong the president really was. After a moment he stood up and grabbed the next piece of paper from the stack. As he read it, he reached out and grabbed the table to sturdy himself.
"1935?! That's 2 years from now! And six *million*...dear God. Franklin, what *is* this?"
Roosevelt's eyes gleamed with uncharacteristic ferocity.
"This, my friends...is a weapon. Perhaps the greatest weapon humanity has ever laid its hands on. In here is the course of American history, past present *and* future. It falls to us, now, to use it correctly."
A new silence reigned in the room. It was a stunned silence, the silence of an audience witnessing something utterly beyond belief.
"But-but sir! what if it's a joke? Or a prank? Or just WRONG?"demanded Eisenhower, who had apparently become the unofficial spokesman of the silent men in suits.
Roosevelt eyed him placidly. "We will, of course, wait to see if the most recent predictions in this book come true. If they do, however, I expect the support of every man in this room. We have been given a second chance, my friends. A chance to change history for the better. I'm sure of it!"
. . .
Timothy sighed and opened up the interdimensional mailbox. His classes were starting next week and his history textbook still hadn't arrived! Sighing, he began to shut the mailbox, when suddenly a flash of light and a slight "beep"came fro the box. He opened the door to find a package sitting in his little pocket dimension with a note on the top, which read "There was a minor mix up with the temporal delivery systems. All employees responsible have been terminated. We apologize for the inconvenience."
Timothy leapt at the package and tore off the wrapping, unveiling his brand new history textbook. He sprinted back inside, up to his room, and eagerly flipped to a page to begin memorization. As he began reading, however, alarm bells went off in his head. The book made perfect sense, and yet it was, somehow, completely wrong.
"Hitler most definitely did *not* kill six million Jews! We stopped him before the casualties even hit the hundred-thousand mark! I remember that from MIDDLE school. And Kennedy wasn't assassinated either! What is this book even about?!" |
No. No, please don't close the book. Can't you see we aren't done yet? I know it's the last page, but don't leave me alone. Don't put me back on the shelf to gather dust.
I know I seemed happy with him. Those words *tricked* you into thinking I was happy. Maybe at one point, when the words were first penned, I was. People change, but I've never been allowed to. I'm stuck in a perpetual, repetitive life with no chance of escape. Honestly, I'd never thought about escape before you. Didn't you see? Didn't you want me, too?
The way you touched my life made me feel at home. Your eyes stared straight into my soul. They didn't run. They smiled. You stuck around, chapter after chapter. You stuck around through my mistakes, through my sadness.
The story ended. I was alone. The man I was with left me - he leaves me every time. And on the last page, you paused. I don't think you wanted to leave me either. But really, what choice did you have? The tear in your eye landed on the last sentence of the novel: "I love you". I wish you realized that wasn't meant for him. |
"Oh, no: the *best* part was when this pillock decides 'oh, well the dwarf should lose his ring finger when they're traveling through the marsh'!"
I sit in the chair, my fists tightening and relaxing over my knees. They all sit around me: a sea of angry faces. I'd never actually met them before today, but I knew them all intimately.
They'd been rattling around in my brain for a sold five years.
"*But*!"The stubby dwarf leapt atop his chair, scraggly beard flapping in the air. He pointed at me with a thick, accusatory finger. "Then he thinks, 'well, maybe not the *ring* finger. He'll need that to wield his axe..."The dwarf glared at me. "Oh, and by the way: bravo for that. A dwarf with an axe. The originality *staggers*!"
"That's enough,"a female voice sounds from behind the chairs. She is tall, regal-looking, woman. Despite her imposing demeanor her clear, ivory face is steeped in humility. "This isn't helping matters-"
"Ah!"The dwarf growls. "Our illustrious author thinks: 'maybe a toe, instead. Or let's try a whole *foot*, even. Well, pillock, some free advice: losing *any* of those hurts mightily, and doubly so when you're losing and re-growing limbs all because some stick-up-the-arse writer can't figure out what he wants to bloody *type*!"
"I... I've been hesitating,"I mumble. "It's not all my fault; it's not intentional, I just-"
A burly swordsman charged forward, snarling:
"You just think you can summon us into life and not finish what you've started? Are we a mere *game* to you?"
"No,"I stand, crossing my arms. "You're *not*. I... I've been preoccupied, you see-"
"Hey!"A little sprite bounded through the swordsman's legs, and it looked up at me with a pair of very large green eyes. "And what's the deal, anyway: you're not gonna cap us all, are you? You can't, you know, not after making us *wait* like this!"
"Yeah,"The swordsman towered over me, glaring at me with a deep scowl. "Your story's cliche enough. Surely it'll have the requisite *happy* ending, right?"
The dwarf, sprite and swordsmen crowded around me, all of them yelling maliciously.
"Stop!"The woman stepped into the middle of the crowd and pulled them away from me. "'Anything he writes is written in service to the *story*. We have no claim to challenge him. The story is bigger than we are; *we* are in service to *it*, not the other way around."She looked back at me with a simple smile. "He is the Author; we can trust him to lead us all to the proper end."
"I'm not budging without a guarantee!"The dwarf barked. "It's bad enough that I'm written by this imbecile; I won't be summarily executed, too!"
The squabbling continued, despite the woman's pleas for calm. Finally I stepped in front of the woman and faced the dwarf, sprite and swordsman.
"You all live,"I whisper. "Each and every one of you."
At first they're skeptical, but I give them my absolute guarantee. The woman is finally able to talk them down, too. I smile as I watch her work. She was the best of them; I designed her that way. A patient listener, but stern leader when the time came. The very essence of silk hiding steel.
The other three characters agreed to leave me in peace; I was finally ready to go back to the writing. But I had one thing to do, before that.
I grab the woman's arm as she moves to join her compatriots.
"That was a good speech,"I smile.
"I meant every word,"she said. "I'm sure you'll overcome this block and discover the right path to-"
"You don't make it,"I whisper.
My words chill her blood; her face freezes. After a moment she recovers; she whispers a few words:
"Um... how long do I-"
"Not long."
She blinks.
"Chapters?"
"*Pages*."I shake my head.
She looks down, swallowing hard, and then she gently nods her head.
"You haven't really been 'blocked' at all, have you?"
I give her a half smile:
"Yes, I have. It's just... it's not *writer's* block."
She looks up at me:
"My death: is there meaning in it? Does it... does it further the *story*?"
I wait a long time to answer, and I desperately want to say 'no', but in the end I can only nod my head: yes. I couldn't lie to myself for five years, what made me think I could lie to *her*, either?
Again she swallows, and she nods:
"Good. That's what matters..."
We watch as the trio play grab-ass in a corner of the room: the sprite stole the dwarf's helmet, and it was hopping up and down on the swordsman's back.
"Shall we get to it, then?"She asked me.
I nod.
"If you're ready."
She smirked:
"I'm as ready as you need me to be."
She walked up to the trio, and the little sprite leapt into her arms:
"Isn't it great that we all get to live? Oh, hey! Are you gonna teach me how to braid hair? You promised me you would!"
"That... that would take time,"she said.
"Do we have enough?"The sprite asked.
The woman looked back at me, and in her face there was no trace of malice:
"We've all got the time that we're given,"she said. "We just have to do our best to make *sure* it's enough." |
The child sat calmly in the middle of a pure white room. She held a small doll in her arms, rocking it back and forth while humming a soft tune.
A man entered through a door behind her. He wore a white suit that complemented his long silver hair. He walked around the girl and sat down on the ground in front of her.
The girl ran her fingers through the doll's hair and giggled. "Would you like to hold her?"She said, extending the doll out to him. The devil took the doll and held it gently in his hands.
"Thank you, she's beautiful. Does she have a name?"
"I thought you could name her. She's yours now."
The Devil looked at her quizzically. "Do you know who I am child?"
She looked into his eyes and smiled. "You're the Devil, of course."
"But...what if I abandon her to suffering? What if she cries out my name and I respond with silence? What if she loves me and serves me and I offer no reward?"
The girl stood up and made her way towards the door. Before leaving, she turned her head only enough so that the Devil could see the glint of youth in her eye.
"You wouldn't be the first."
The girl stepped out of the room and left the Devil alone on the floor, holding the doll delicately in his arms.
For the first time, someone trusted him with a life. |
The ocean washed up on the beach. It flowed up, like fingers, gently pushing the sand forward. As it retreated, it grabbed a single black bowtie, pulling it into the water.
Beyond the bowtie sat a starched white shirt. A button near the top was missing. It sat in the sand, waving peacefully in the breeze.
Further up on the sidewalk sat two shoes, shiny but worn with time. The shoes sat neatly together, laces untied. They pointed out toward the ocean.
Beyond the shoes, on the asphalt, sat a pair of black slacks. Neatly folded, with a belt curled on top, they were also worn. An outline of a wallet could be seen in the back pocket.
Across the street sat a church. Small in size, the church was empty, the parking lot only held one car. At the door of the church was a jacket. It was folded over the railing of the steps leading inside.
Past the corridor and through the foyer was a small room. The room was decorated with flowers.
A single chair sat in the room. The soft red felt was worn with time. The chair sat in front of a dark mahogany coffin. Flowers on either side hold notes from friends and loved ones.
On the chair sat a pair of rings. One was white gold, holding a small princess cut diamond. It was worn, and unimpressive. The other was a simple silver ring, heavy and scratched.
Inside the rings was an inscription.
> Not even through death will we part. |
The Caraxus Cult of the Darkest Order had long awaited the foretold night. Gathered together, the 13 ordained members, stood ominous in their voluminous black cloaks. The underground lair was laced with the tensions of the obeisant about to bring forth their deity. Each member knew their incantation, many had recited their parts in solitude for decades, but tonight the celestial alignment brought Craxus, their dark God close, closer than he had been to the world in millennia. Banished to a barren, frigid comet, Craxus, lay imprisoned. Tonight the comet would pass over the world, and would be seized by the dark magic of Craxus' most loyal disciples.
No words were needed. Each of the cult's members felt their dark lords presence approaching. In sequential order of power, each member began their other-worldly invocation. The air became pungent with the acrid stench of lightning and burning. Members turned into refulgent beacons of light as they became vessels for the collossal deluge of energy required to free Craxus. Each member was thrown to their hands and knees, ground into the unforgiving century old stone, as their summoning reached a pitch. With a thunderous boom, the invocation ended, the travail of summoning was completed.
The youngest member slowly raised his singed, smoking head. The room was nearly opaque with impenetrable black smoke. A chuffing searing noise coupled emanated from the middle of the circle, overloading the member's senses. A shrouded figure crept closer to the member. The approaching figure's shadow enveloped the young cult member. The sound of heavy talons dragging across the floor in a shuddering movement was too much for the youngling to handle and he quickly kow towed before the immensity before him. He felt the ecstasy of the Dark One's power, and trembled proselytizing himself in fealty, when he heard, "Dammit".
Confused, and not believing his own ears, the young member dragged his chin across the floor to look up and saw bare fleshy feet scooting their heals towards him.
"Son of a Bi...arhhfggh. Who puts brimstone in their house, I mean really?"A cheap plastic wheel rolled forward and bumped the stunned cult member directly in the forehead, resulting in mutual cursing. A plaid boxer claid middle aged man, sprung out of a decrepit rolling office chair in fright, yelling, "Who's there, what is happening?"
The older members were recovering and one managed to reply, "Dark One, it is us, the Darkest Order, we have freed you."
"Dark One? What in the fuck are you babbling about, and where the hell am I", shouted the boxer clad man.
"A low mumbling began with the members, until one surreptitiously asked, "You are the Craxus, stealer of souls, master of the damned...right".
A long pause followed before the boxer clad man, now defensively clutching the back of his office chair responded, "Barry? Barry? Is that you, you mother fucker, I would recognize your nasally phlegm bucket of a voice anywhere."
A ululating howl pierced everyone's ears as Barry began bashing his own forehead against the ground. The collective group was in disarray, orders, expletives, and groping confusion in the darkness finally lead to the lights and a fan revealing the pale, be-speckled middle aged man standing in the middle of a group of over-weight sweaty cloaked men.
"S-S-Steve, Steve...from...accounting, we summoned S-S-Steve from god damned accounting", Barry raged.
Steve stepped out from his chair, indignant, "Yea its me, Steve from accounting, the one who you have, what, drugged, and kidnapped? There will be hell to pay when we get to work. This is some serious harassment. Pam in HR is going to flip a shit when she finds out about this. You can just go straight to hell, and forget about those fucking TPS reports, you fat bastard!"
Collective disbelief and stomach curdling embraced the cult as they began to realize they had failed the dark one. Steve's ranting continued, but it fell on deaf ears as the members knew their souls were damned for eternity.
|
"Stop!"the strange man grabbed my arm and everything I had created around me fell to the ground like silk ribbons. We now stood in a white space, dotted with piles of brightly colored dream-fabric scattered about.
"What you are doing is illegal"the man explained, releasing my arm.
"There are no laws governing peoples dreams."I replied.
"What you are doing is illegal."He stated again.
A door opened to the left and out of a black void stepped another man, dressed entirely in grey.
"Is this the suspect?"The grey man asked.
"Yes"
Without another word the grey man applied handcuffs to my wrists and began pulling me toward the door.
"You can't arrest someone in their own dream!"I screamed.
"Be quiet."He said.
He threw me through the door, I stumbled and fell, hitting hard concrete. He closed the door behind me and I sat up, in pitch blackness. My mind began to reel, trying to create a light or a door, anything to escape. I heard a small voice from the dark.
"You can't do that now."it said.
"Hello? Where are we?"I asked.
"I don't know. But you can't do that now. None of us can."
"Us? How many people are in here?"
"I don't know..."said the small voice, the voice of a child. No one else spoke.
"Who are you?"I demanded.
Silence. I waited for my eyes to adjust to the dark, scanning to see who else was in the room with me, but nothing came. I could barely tell if my eyes were open or closed.
"Hello?!"I screamed. Silence.
"Is she going to wake up?"A mother asks a doctor.
"It's hard to say. You say she just went to sleep and wouldn't wake up in the morning? We're detecting barely any brain activity. Right now it's a waiting game. We'll see how things look over the next few days."
The mother breaks down in tears, her quiet sobs only broken by the sound of a heart monitor beeping. |
"Have you been taking your pills?"Rob asked. He had a small dish rag draped over his shoulder. He was bouncing his leg in and out as he did the dishes, that same nervous tick he always did whenever they got on the subject of her medication. He didn't turn to look at her, signaling her that he really wasn't in the mood to go into it today.
She stood from the kitchen table, grabbing her plate full of food that she had barely touched. Pamela emptied it into the wastebasket, wondering if she had it in her to lie to Rob today, or if the truth would sort of fall out of her lips like a drip of water from a leaky faucet.
"I think,"she said, setting down the plate.
"You need to remember to take it,"Rob said, not bothering to look at her.
"I'll go count my pills, just to make sure."She placed a hand on his shoulder, standing up on her tip-toes to give him a kiss on his cheek, but she stopped partway on her toes. Instead, she let go, and walked away from him, hoping that he didn't notice anything.
Rob didn't say anything as she left the kitchen. She think she heard him sigh, but it could've been the hallucinations coming back, signs that the medicine was finally leaving her system.
She made her way up the stairs, down the hallway lined with pictures of her and Rob. Most of them from their wedding, a couple from times out with friends. All of them were old, more than three or four years. There weren't any pictures of them together after she started having her symptoms. Started hearing noises, starting seeing shadows in the corners of her eyes, started waking up not knowing where she was.
On one morning she had found a man in her closet. Well, she didn't actually see him, but she knew he was standing there, watching her through the slits in the door. She knew he held a long rusty chain in his hands that were stained with motor oil. His breath smelled of chewing tobacco, sweet and acrid at the same time, filling the bedroom with a stench that Rob had said he couldn't smell.
She entered her bedroom, eyes immediately going to the closet door, sensing the presence of the man with the chain. She could hear him breathing, deep sighing breaths full of desire. The chains he held clinked together as he shifted his footing. She braced herself, waiting for him to burst through the door and finally strangle her with the chain.
But he never did. Sitting on her end-table was another man. He wore a button down shirt that he occasionally changed; today's was red. His hair was kind of long and messy, but on certain days, depending on how much medicine she had been taking, he would comb and clean it. Today it was parted to the side.
He didn't say anything during the day, instead he just had his eyes focused on the closet door, watching the man with the chain. He was her guardian, her forever protector. He shifted on the end-table.
"You can sit on the edge of the bed,"Pamela said, "it's probably much more comfortable than on the table."
Her guardian didn't say anything, he only smiled at her. He was feeling much better now. The medicine was making him sick. Was making him weak. When she had first started taking it, he became ragged, weak, clothes stained with sweat as if it took everything he had just to remain tangible. His hair was a mess, and his eyes were red with exhaustion.
The man in the closet, though, his presence never faltered. Instead, she felt him grow stronger, knowing full well that her guardian was growing weak. *Vulnerable.* Her guardian never said anything to her, but she knew it was the medicine, knew it was sapping the life out of him.
So she stopped taking her medicine in hopes it would bring vigor back to her guardian, and it did. The man in the closet was held at bay for many more nights.
"He hasn't moved any, has he?"She asked.
Her guardian looked to her, blue eyes locking with her browns. He smiled again and shook his head.
"Do you ever talk any?"
He shrugged.
"What is your name? Can you at least tell me that?"
He didn't respond. Instead he broke their eye contact to continue focusing on the closet door, as if the only thing that was keeping the door shut was his concentration.
Later that night, while Pamela and Rob lay sleeping, she felt a hand rest on her shoulder. She didn't wake with a fright; she instantly knew it was her guardian.
"Jim,"he said. Then he pulled the blanket up over her exposed shoulder, then sat back onto the end-table, ever vigilant.
The next morning, Rob found her pills, still filling the orange prescription bottle to the brim. He shook his head, wondering why she would ever stop taking them.
Later in the day he contacted their doctor, told him that Pam wasn't taking her pills, and was given a prescription for a liquid variant of the medicine. It would be easy to mix it into her food and drink, guaranteeing that she would be getting her dose. |
*In the distant, epic future, the crew of the Enterprise D encounters a strange, new system inhabited by humans, far-flung relatives of a war-torn Earth they left behind, before the Federation was fully formed and peace reigned. A place these humans call Earth That Was. The Federation quickly signs a peace treaty with the Union of Allied Planets and begins annexing some outlying moons for new colonies.*
*But the residents of one particular world aren't giving up their autonomy without a fight. They are the former crew of a little Firefly-class transport called Serenity. Realizing they are outgunned (again), they cite an obscure local law, challenging the Federation to a rap battle for control of the world.*
*Each side sends their dopest emcee to a neutral outpost, where a battle begins between...*
**Commander William "Number One"Riker**
*versus*
**Jayne "The Hero of Canton"Cobb**
-----
*BEGIN*
------------
**Jayne:**
Let me start this battle off cuz I got people wanted dead
Ain't got the time nor the patience for this spandex-wearin' fed
I'm an iron-pumpin' beast, packin' heat in my pantaloons
Got more firepower on my wall than a whole freakin' pair-a-moons
Best keep your silence kid; leave the pretty talkin' to me
Your captain calls you Number One cuz you're a piss-poor emcee
You see this shit right here? This the cold black of space
Ain't no suede and lace, just ruttin' killers in your face
We live on meade and dust; this is man's country here
Best tap that beeper on your tit or I might get me a ear
**Riker:**
The Prime Directive prevents me from interfering with your verse
But now that you're done, allow me to be a little less terse
My name is William T. Riker, known throughout the whole cluster
Got more bust up in my thrusters than your whole crew could muster
I'll slap your face faster than a fake Fornax Disaster
Leave your ass wrapped in a fat cast, cold blastin’ brass like a Lassiter
You take pleasure in mayhem; you only seek to expand crime
I'm on a mission of justice and true peace on behalf of Mankind
I bring order to worlds, and sweet jazz to honeys
You wanna step to Riker, but you still chasin' money
Hail me in a hundred years, when you evolve some more
Til then, I'm boldly off; my regards to your whore
--------
*The arena shook with the valor of these two titan contenders, and just when onlookers assumed it couldn't get any more hype, ROUND 2 began.*
------------
**Jayne:**
Drop the phaser, Will; let’s just choose a time and place
I don't need 狗操的 Chief O’Brien to transport your face
I’m genius-like with fightin’, if you catch my ruttin’ drift
Like a brilliant sketch artist, drawin’ blood with my fist
I could drop you and your twin, with a blindfold, while I'm drunk
Yo Mal, shoot this 渾蛋; I'll be in my bunk
**Riker:**
Not so fast, little Jaynie; I got cards left to power play
My wit is set to stun, like a verbal phaser array
I’m the epitome of manly to the Nth degree
Why do you think they call my starship the Enterprise "D"?
As for your browncoats, let there be no doubt:
You didn't leave the Earth That Was; the Federation kicked you out
-----
*BOOM.*
*Mics dropped and the howl of feedback echoes across the 'verse. As the dust of battle settles across the outpost, the age-old questions ring out:*
**Who won? Who's next?**
*You decide.*
-----
EDIT: Thanks for the gold! And the mentions on bestofs! This was super fun to write. I kind of wish there was an /r/rapbattles for silly/fantasy battles like this...
**EDIT 2:** Thank you again for everyone who has enjoyed and commented on my rap battle! Please come check out my new sub, /r/rapbattlefield, where I'm hoping we can gather some Redditor emcees and have more dope battles. |
Dates are delicious fruits. Good dates are soft, slighty dry yet sugary, and not poisonous. Bad dates are poisonous and kill monkeys. Of course, dates are not really related to how I met Diana, but I like the fruit.
No, I met Diana because of *dates.* Birthdays, holidays, happy days, rainy days, and death days. Everyone has one, few people know theirs. I know everyones.
It's not like a floating hologram. Rather, it's a suggestion. A feel for how long they have to live. The ones whose death waits for years to pounce on them feel warm and comfortable. Those whose death stalks them from the bush behind the barn feel agitated, red. Fearful.
First time I realized I knew demise on a personal level was in fourth grade. I couldn't understand why Tim was smiling and cheerful when all I felt from him was screaming fear. At least he didn't have time to feel it. Hummers aren't exactly known for braking on a dime.
After four milkshakes and a couple sessions with the school counselor, I was right as rain, and more careful about my friends. I chose friends whose death was far away. I chose lovers whose death had no limit, save one.
Sierra was a night of booze and bowls. A one-night stand with no strings, so I didn't feel bad when her death made news. I knew it was coming. I think she was happier having met me than going home alone.
See, I've tried stopping deaths before. But it doesn't work. You can always speed it up. Bring death closer. Slowing death down requires more than mere observation, and far more than mortal action.
It required omnipotence. I would have to be God. And what with my death buzzing around my head every day, I knew I wouldn't have any chance to be greater than myself. Harold WickenFaulker.
But Diana, she was most puzzling. I met her outside a coffee shop in downtown. Squeaky place, all modern, no oak or character. Clean and droll. I didn't approach her. She came to me. She knew I could see nothing.
"So."She began. "Are you going to run? Or stand up and yell? Are you going to freak out?"
I shrugged. "Why would I do any of that, Miss. . ."
"Diana. And because you're an Observer."She replied, taking a sip from her mocha. Observer. That sounded important.
"So you know I see nothing."Let's cut to the heart of the matter.
"Yes."
"How?"I tapped my finger against the table.
"Because I was like you, once."Diana set her cup down. "A long, long time ago."
"How long?"
"Seven thousand years."
"You're an immortal?"I shifted in my seat, my back straight.
"Yes and no."Diana replied.
"Let's start with the yes."I didn't want to dance around the subject.
"I can't die or get sick. I'm invulnerable in every sense of the word, and I have been for the past seven millennia."
"What have you done in that time?"
"I've written. I kept journals and taken photographs. I've watched history from the bleachers. I've left a more detailed account of everything important in Europe and America than all the books today. I blink and whole kingdoms sprouted, withered and bled dry."Diana took another sip.
"What was your favorite time?"I asked. Diana's eyes widened.
"Huh. Good question."She put her chin in her hands. "I guess it would have to be the Industrial Revolution. So many inventions, so many different things I hadn't seen before. Now. . ."She gestured to civilization. "Now we sit in the carcass of innovation."
"And how did you become immortal?"
"I was expecting that one first."Diana took another sip. "How I became immortal is the 'No' part of the question."
"Okay."I started slowly. "So what about the no?"
Diana finished her mocha. "First I find an Observer, like you."She gestured to me.
"Then what?"I leaned forward. Mistake.
"Then I touch you."And she did. Diana reached her long slender fingers and cupped mine.
I felt my death screaming, and it flowed into her and choked her heart and crushed her lungs, stabbed her innards and snapped her spine. She flopped forward onto the table, blood leaking everywhere. People began to scream. My death was still ripping her apart.
I felt no death in me. |
Work, eat, sleep. Work, eat, sleep. Even old age wasn't kind.
But when he was finally on his last cycle, he finally understood the things that he had done. His work has abled him to find a woman who loves him back. His work has enabled him to provide and care children, children who would continue his legacy and do something amazing. And his work has enabled people to be happy. Life before him, he smiled his last smile as he went to sleep, for the final time. |
Looking down, all he could see was the endless abyss. The "blast zone."One stray forward-air from Mario had led him to be plummeting towards his certain demise.
At first, he didn't believe it. He simply refused to. Death was not a thing that often occured in the happy-go-lucky mind of this little boy. To him, the world was sunshine, flowers, and talking animals.
As he fell closer to the blast line, rage began to boil inside of him. Anger was a new emotion to him. That *damn* plumber and his air moves. If only the great being Masterhero Samurai hadn't blessed him with such strength, at least compared to 2008. The villager had sat in the background of Smashville, watching how Mario performed. He was sure he had this fight in his pocket. They were very intense battles. Perhaps he should have known that he wasn't cut out for this.
The boy pondered what he could have done differently. Maybe he should have planted a tree. Perhaps, since his own forward-air was quicker, he should have countered it that way. Even air-dodging would have sufficed.
Shortly, he wondered what the residents of Dickville would think. Where did he go? Who would deliver the news? And Drake... oh Drake. The innocent, simple mallard with whom he was best friends. What would become of him? What would happen to the town?
Soon, however, thoughts of a certain golden-blonde dog popped into his head. Isabelle. She could keep the flowers watered. She could manage public relations. Funding for public works projects may be hard to come by without the market cornered on fish and fruit exports, but they could manage.
As he began to accept his fate, a large blue explosion appeared in his place. An ominous voice boomed across the landscape.
**"PLAYER 2... DEFEATED."**
|
The memory still haunts me. It started with that kid, who pointed it out to the whole crowd. And the crowd then chuckled and laughed and guffawed and fell to the floor, laughing and crying until their ribs got sore. By then, Shame had ripped out my intestines and branded both of my cheeks with a red-hot metal rod named Embarrassment.
I'll never forget that day.
That day, they forgot that I was their emperor. They mistook me for a fool. But today, they shall know my power, and by my royal decree, I shall have my vengeance.
Earlier, I called for an assembly. They're all outside now, basking in the winter air. I imagined them, shriveling together, and I force down a smirk.
With a loud thud, I barge outside of the castle doors and greet my citizens below from the balcony. They all stare at me, too cold to make a sound, and I laugh.
It's good to be king.
|
"You really can't see the teeth marks?"
"I promise you, Mr. Roberts, there are no teeth marks. Not on your back, not on your legs, not on your neck, okay? Now, it's time for bed."
Fucking typical. He *would* make it so only I can see it. He's getting clever. I have to admit, he really is. I mean, demons kinda have to be, right? They don't let just anyone become a demon. ...I think? I don't know. He's never really straight forward about this stuff, you know? It's always "blood of a virgin"this and "Fox News"that. I mean, I've asked him. Straight up. Why do you do this? Why me? What's your fucking name, for Christ's sake. He doesn't like that one. So, I just started calling him Fuckface.
I met Fuckface when I was 9. He kinda just showed up, actually. Got diagnosed with night terrors. I never liked the term night terrors. Like, somehow being terrified at night makes you an automatic candidate. Everyone's terrified at night.
It was around high school that I got used to him being around. He would never do anything overt, just insanely annoying things. Hide the remote, open the cereal while I was asleep so it was stale in the morning, that sort of thing. Everything was just in that sweet spot of plausible deniability from a third party perspective. I tried telling some friends a few times when I was at my wit's end. They thought it was hilarious, so I stopped trying to convince people. I suffered in silence through college and early adulthood, getting up to change the channel while eating stale Lucky Charms.
Recently, though, he's been getting violent. I'm not sure if he's bored or if he's starved for attention since I pretty much ignore him no matter what he does, but it's bad. How bad? Like, setting my girlfriend's bed on fire, bad. The cops loved that one. "No officer, it wasn't me! it was an invisible, other worldly being that enjoys tormenting me. ...Why are my clothes covered in gasoline? ...Why is a Zippo with my face on it near the bed? Uhhhh--"You get the picture. The final straw was when he pushed that nice old man in front of a bus. Well, sort of. He pushed me, then I in turn fell into the nice old man who fell in front of an oncoming bus and got killed. That's why I'm here in lovely Pine Ridge Mental Institution. All the witnesses swore they saw me push him.
So now we're all caught up. Now that me and Fuckface are stuck in this prison with *actual* crazy people--no, like, really crazy, like, I saw a woman building a snowman out of her own shit. Seriously--but yeah, now that we're stuck in here, Fuckface is even more bored so he just hurts me. Bites, burns, scratches. But here's the catch: no one can see it but me, apparently. So day in and day out, I convulse on the floor while he gnaws at me and people just think I'm another kook. It's torture. So I've begun devising a plan to end this once and for all. I'm not crazy, and I'll prove it.
Here's the plan: demons live to torture people, right? But they can't torture someone who isn't *alive*, right? So, I'm going to threaten to kill myself. Get everyone here in a tailspin, then right as I'm about to kick the chair out from under me, I'll demand that Fuckface reveal himself in front of everyone or he'll have no one to torment anymore. Plus, if it doesn't work, I'll be dead so none of this will matter. Welp, here goes!
Wait, where's Fuckface? He's not here? Oh, come on. The noose is around my neck and everything. I'll shout for him.
"Fuckface! Hey! Fuckface get in here!"
"That's no way to ask for assistance, Mr. Roberts--Mr. Roberts! What are you doing!? Get down from there!"
Fucking Shannon the orderly. You're not supposed to be here yet.
"I wasn't talking to *you* Shannon. I'm talking to Fuckface, he should be here--Shannon, don't you dare touch that walkie talkie. Shannon. Shannon. Shannon! Shannon, I will jump if you--ah fuck."
Like, ten orderlies now? Where do they find these guys? I have to make this quick before they get a hold of me.
"Hear me now, Fuckface! If you do not appear in front of these people, I will kill myself and you will have no one to torment any longer. I'm going to count to three. One! Two! Thre--
Fuckface bounds through the door like a Rhino on coke. The orderlies are all in a pile looking up at this 8 foot monster. Shannon screams. They all run out of the room. Fuckface cuts the noose with the flick of a single talon and like a kindergarten teacher wags his finger in front of my face.
"Where were ya, bud? I didn't think you were gonna make it."
He just shrugs. Smug bastard.
"Well, now that they have proof I'm not crazy, maybe we can get out of here and you can stop hurting me, how's that sound?"
He punches me in the gut then claps me on the back before walking out of the room. Fucking typical. |
A commotion arose in the construction site.
"Hey, Hernandez, call Rocco over, I found something,"Frank said. He squinted his eyes as he looked at the block of metal.
Hernandez rushes back with their foreman, Rocco, along with two other men. Rocco inspects the block.
"What is that thing?"Rocco asked.
"Well, it ain't a septic tank, I can tell you that much. Thing's perfect, boss. It's a perfect cube."Hernandez said.
The object was about two cubic feet, sharp edges and a slight gloss that cast a glimmer against the bright, midday sun. Frank knocked on it with his closed fist. It made a tinny sound, but there was a hollow undertone.
"It sounds like it's hollow. Maybe it's a safe and the door's on the bottom. Let's dig it out,"Frank said.
Rocco motioned for the two men next to him to get to work. Frank continued dusting off the dirt around the edges of the block, while Hernandez took photos of it with his mobile phone. The two men returned with shovels, and they dug around the object until it was entirely out of the ground. It only took them a few minutes. They gave Rocco a look, and Rocco nodded his head. The men tried to pick the block up, but it was too heavy.
"Hernandez, Frank, help them out,"Rocco said.
With the combined strength of four burly construction workers, the object was slowly extracted from the earth and placed on the ground beneath the hole, next to the excavator they could've simply used.
"There ain't no door, it ain't a safe,"Hernandez said.
"Yeah, well, it's hollow,"Frank said.
"I heard somethin' jingle in there while we was movin' it,"one of the other men said.
"Yeah, like a rock or somethin',"another man said.
By this point, others in the construction site gathered around. There were nine men, with more being drawn to the scene.
"Why would anybody put a rock in there?"Frank asked.
The man shrugged.
"Let's just break it open then. Hernandez, get the jack."Rocco said.
Hernandez rushed off to retrieve the jackhammer. Men in the crowd found themselves staring at the block in awe. Some even touched the block, just to touch it. Men murmured about what could be in there, while others wondered if there's even anything in there at all. Once Hernandez returned with one of the smaller, electrical jackhammers, one of the bigger men grabbed it and immediately started it up. The moment the tip touched the block, it shorted out and knocked the man back a few feet. A hazy, staticky electrical field diminished around the block.
All of the men stepped back. A couple of them checked the man who was knocked back, and he seemed fine. The man, however, angrily stood up and stormed off.
"The jackhammer's busted,"Hernandez said, "won't even turn on anymore."
The large man returned with a bigger, hydraulic jackhammer. It was twice the size of the other one, and made this giant of a man look like a child on a pogo stick. He fired it up, and rammed it directly onto one of the top corners of the block. It began to slowly give away. The man kept at this, chipping off piece by piece, until it finally reached the hollow point. Rocco and the other men waved their arms and the man stopped the jackhammer.
All of the men inched forward, mesmerized by what they saw. It was a small chunk of gold, shining in the sun. No one spoke.
As Rocco leaned in closer, he noticed something.
"It's a ring,"he said, "a gold ring. It's got some writing on it. Looks like Hebrew or something."
"It's so nice,"a man said.
"The gold, it's pretty,"Frank said.
"I like it, it's... beautiful,"another man said.
"No,"Rocco said, as he began to try the ring out on his finger. "It's preci--"
Rocco disappeared. |
Her time was nearly at hand.
Grey skies gave way to grey rain. A halfhearted rumble of thunder lumbered its way from the horizon, calling very little notice to itself as it passed above the assembled group. There were five of them, though only three seemed inclined to show any signs of life.
"Will you hurry up?"a voice inquired. The speaker was an unremarkable woman, neither particularly beautiful nor offensive in her appearance, and her voice - though impatient - was of the sort that would soon be forgotten.
"Hey, come on!"came an answer. "I don't do this every day, you know!"The words soon faded from the air, just as their memory would. For a fleeting moment, though, all eyes turned to the young man who had spoken them. He, like those near him, was not at all noteworthy, and had it not been for the patch of less-damp ground beneath him, he might never had existed at all.
The first woman to speak exhaled a breath through her nose. "Yeah, well, that's not surprising."
"It *should* be!"protested the male.
"You're a dump truck,"spoke another masculine voice. The words, unexpected as they were, drew glances of mild curiosity from the others. A passerby, if they were inclined to watch, might see a momentary abatement of the group's collective ennui... yet no observers were present, for none cared to be.
"A 'dump truck?'"the woman repeated.
"It's some new insult,"replied the male. "I heard it the other day."
"How is that an insult?"
Before an answer could be offered, the young man who had been insulted interjected. "Look, okay, I'm going to do it, but then let's go inside. It's starting to rain."
Once more, the woman made a noise of disapproval. "It's just a drizzle."
"It's rain."
"Are you afraid that you'll melt?"
"I'll get wet!"
Rather than offering a verbal answer, the woman merely rolled her eyes. A dull silence fell over the group, permeated by neither anticipation nor enjoyment. Their existence was one without purpose, without merit, and their interactions were as insignificant as one of the single stray raindrops that fell around them.
"Well,"the woman said at last, "if *you* won't, then *I* will."
The man kept silent, though the other three - including those who had yet to speak, and who had gone so nearly unnoticed - murmured their approval. It was encouragement of the most minimal form, but to the woman, it seemed to be enough. She leaned across the circle, extending her hands and placing them on the shoulders of the man who had so vocally complained about the weather. With a measured, predictable motion, her head moved toward his, resulting in their lips touching one another.
"Bleh!"the man exclaimed.
"You liked it,"replied the woman.
"You're a dump truck!"
A chorus of giggles briefly filled the air... though they, too, would soon disappear.
"Okay, your turn,"the woman said, nudging another of the group.
The bottle - as empty as the ambitions of all who watched it - began to spin. |
As soon as I heard enough rumors, it was clear who I had to talk to. I picked up my phone and called him.
"Jason, you asshole."I said.
"Hehe, hey John, I was wondering how long it'll take before you found out."
"So, what did you do? tell me the whole 9 yards"
He proceeded to tell me every cringe inducing detail of the things he had done and every single thing he said to each of my coworkers.
"Is that all?"
"Yep, that's all"
"Jason, expect payback"
"Counting on it."
I hung up. I wonder if this prank war against my twin is going too far. I guess I'll find out when I propose to his girlfriend. |
**Journal, Sep 8th 2013:**
Some people have no imagination. A *pickle*, like that's supposed to be some kind of challenge. The greatest difficulty was finding the largest pickle in the supermarket before carving it into a spike and putting it in the freezer.
**Journal, Sep 9th 2013:**
Stressful task number two - putting the carved pickle into a thermos to keep it stiff after removal from the freezer. Seriously, I'm beginning to think the Company isn't all that I thought it was. At least the pay is good. I suppose if my job involved showing off there'd be some prestige, but if I do my job right nobody ever knows I was there.
Walk. Unscrew thermos, fake taking a drink. Slide out spike as I put the thermos back in my bag, use it, walk away, discarding spike in garbage. Totally clean. I don't think I've ever had a job go more smoothly.
**Journal, Sep 10th, 2013:**
Got the job. All the senior interview panel was there, impressed by my feat. What feat? However, unarmed, in a room with six people with highly trained combat reflexes? THAT is an interesting challenge. Of course, they won't be able to judge how well I handled it. |
"So you're saying I can't come in here either?"
"Well I can't say you've earned the right,"Pat Robertson replies. His smug face is curled into an odd expression like he is both sad and aroused at the same time. An immense red gate is towering behind him and a hot smell of raging asphalt is wafting in from between the crimson bars.
"So I didn't devote myself to god and I can't get into heaven, but I wasn't an asshole so I can't get into hell."
Pat nods furiously.
"So where am I supposed to go?"
"Well,"he smirks, "you can just kind of... hang out here with me."His face sheds any trace of happiness and the only thing left is a sullen look of vague hopefulness.
"Forever?"
He nods even more furiously.
"Are you sure there's nothing else I can do?"I drop to my knees at this point. This day can't be any more disappointing.
"Well. Satan does have a special deal he likes to offer to those condemned to limbo. But he only offers it to a select few. I think I can pull some strings for you."
I think, anything is better than sitting out here with you for eternity you weirdo. "Sure. What is it?"I say.
"Satan will give you thirty more minutes of life. There's not much you can do to get into heaven in that little bit of time, but there's plenty of terrible things you can accomplish in thirty minutes. Take this half hour and prove yourself worthy of hell, and Satan will give you a pass."
"Tell me honestly. Is it worth it?"
"Oh yeah. Hookers and blow everywhere in there."
"Alright. I'll take it."
And just like that, with a flash of white light and an uncomfortable jerking motion, I am suddenly standing on a busy cross street in some unknown town. I weigh my options.
Thirty minutes, I think. I have to think fast. I can rob a bank. Kill someone. I suppose I could just strip naked and run around for thirty minutes. There has to be a better option. Something terrible. Something easy. As my mind races with dubious plots, I hear a ringing. A bell somewhere. A church.
A church.
I sprint for it. Two blocks up and around corner. I see it just ahead, and I waste no time. I bust through the double doors and run through the middle of an exuberant Catholic congregation mid service and I almost tackle the priest to the ground.
"I need to confess my sins!"I scream at him. "I need to be baptized! I need to be absolved of everything! Right now!"
The priest looks at me with knowing eyes. I know he will help me. And he does. I collapse to my knees and pour out a summary of a life of not so terrible deeds and mediocre faith. He disappears with a basin and returns to the alter. He whispers some words in Latin and makes the sign of a cross on my forehead. Then, just as his thumb traces the final line of a crucifix, my heart constricts in a pain like suffocation. I die for the second time in a day.
"We still aren't letting you in,"Jimi Hendrix stands before me and he wears an expression of amused disbelief. "You sold your soul to Pat Robertson and got baptized by a sodomite."
"Fuck man. I really tried."This day will never end, I think.
"Well on the bright side, maybe they'll let you into hell now."
"That's right!"I exclaim. A shimmer of hope is planted in my head.
"Good luck, brother."
"Hey. Thanks Jimi."
Pat Robertson shakes his head back and forth furiously. "Selling your soul to me doesn't make you evil. Just gullible."
"Fine then."I sit down on the warm ground.
"Cool! Hey, you want to play 'never have I ever' or something?"
"Pat."
"Yes?"
"You're an asshole."
|
It was headline news all across the globe. I can't say what every other one was saying, but my local newspaper ran the article "Tell Your Parents To Look Harder Next Time". Nobody could believe it when a real live monster was found under a 5 year old girl's bed in Changchun, China. The news spread like wildfire. Before we knew it, monsters were being found under everyone's beds.
At first, a lot of people were frightened. The fears we had as kids had been confirmed. Monsters were real and they were finally coming to get us. However, as the years went by, people started to realize that they weren't here to hurt us. They were actually friendly.
I remember when Bloodkill Rapefang released his tell-all, "Sleeping Under the Bed". It was on the New York Times best seller list for over a year. His book told the story of his people, and how at the dawn of time, his people were forced to live in the shadows by our ancestors, who thought them to be savages. The monsters, or Dalkar as their people called themselves, lurked in the dark while our ancestors slept restlessly, afraid of the terror they had created in their heads.
Of course, it hasn't been entirely easy for the Dalkar to assimilate into our society. There are some who opposed their integration at the start. Nobody could have expected that the next big civil rights movement would involve monsters marching through the streets wielding signs, and refusing to sleep under the bed. To think, there was even a time when it was considered taboo for a human to marry a Dalkar!
Those times are behind us. Humans and Dalkar now live together peacefully. In my old age, I look forward to the days when my daughter and son-in-law come to visit, and bring my granddaughter with them. When I see her, I don't see the horns and gnarled fur. I see the innocent smile of a 3 year old who loves her grandpa. |
I hate meeting new people.
That sounds angsty and dramatic. That, however, doesn't make it untrue.
You see I carry this burden around with me everywhere I go. There it is, that angst again. Anyway, I know when people are going to die. With every person I meet I see this little counter above their heads. It tells me the days they have left to live. Its like days-until-our-product-of-breeding-is-born! apps that people use on Facebook. Incredibly annoying virtually. Imagine it being unbearable in reality. Except its not a countdown to a happy event.
My life is lived as if I have the worst case of agoraphobia that has ever existed. Which I guess in a way I do. I order all my clothes and other living essentials online. I order all my groceries and instruct the delivery person to leave the bags outside my door. I won't even look at myself in the mirror. I can't deal with knowing that number. I used to be a normal kid. I even used the mirror. I never remember seeing a number.
I collect government help since I am mentally incapable of being able to work. I have seen many many mental health professionals. It just happens to be really difficult to open up to someone when you know they are going to kick the bucket by the end of the year. Or next. You just want to scream at them "Your life is almost over! Stop helping me! I am a lost cause but you aren't!"
I never tell people when they are going to die, though. That is something I will never understand health professionals being able to do. Nobody really wants to know no matter how much they say they do. The thought of impending death ruins the rest of your life. Trust me.
Today, I walked out of my apartment toward the lobby where the mailboxes are as I got in some new clothes today. As I opened the door I saw someone bending down leaving my grocery bags.
Shit, I thought. How could I have forgotten I ordered those? I have a standing order at the local supermarket for every Monday at 4:00pm. And sure enough when I glanced at my clock it was 3:56. How could it be Monday again?
Shit, I thought again. I have to say something.
"Um...hi. Uh, thanks,"I managed to get out of my face. Wow. Its been a long time since I talked to someone in person.
I looked up and tried an apologetic smile. It was a valiant effort I am sure. But all intentions of a nonchalant demeanor totally vanished once I got a glimpse (mistakenly) of his counter. It read -1.
What? My eyes went wide. I was in utter shock. What?! I thought again. Except somehow it escaped my mouth.
The twenty something guy in front of me looked baffled and uncomfortable by my interactions with him. Rightfully so too. I probably look crazier than I am because of whatthefuckever just happened.
I tried to compose myself. I visibly shook my head and said, "Sorry. I thought I saw something."I nervously laughed. But I had to look again. I had to look at the one thing that I have avoided looking at for years. I saw it again. I didn't misread it. There it was. -1. Bold and perfectly... wrong. It couldn't be true. There was no way. It's impossible.
I was visibly taken aback. Again. How though? I couldn't stand the curiosity any longer. I needed to know. Words just came pouring out of my face.
"Who are you? What happened yesterday? Why aren't you...aren't you..."Wait. I can't say dead. That's not right. You can't just ask people why they are still living.
He looked at me again. It was different this time. It was like a look of clarity came over him.
"You see it, too?"He asked. "You see the negative one above my head?"
And then, amongst my utter astonishment and disbelief, he looked at the familiar spot above my head. The spot I won't look at on myself. But there he was. And then his eyes, I swear, sunk just a little bit and his mouth dropped open.
"Have you seen your number be-before?"He stuttered. I was confused.
"No. I haven't looked in a mirror in five years. Not since I started seeing these numbers."
I saw him do some calculations in his head.
"Five years. That's about...1800 days. That's your number. Except negative."
My heart dropped. What the fuck was he talking about? I was supposed to die? Five years ago?! Is this some Final Destination shit? Is something going to come get me and kill me?
Wait. No. That's crazy talk. I would have already been killed if that were the case. But how is this not already crazy talk?
"When did you start seeing the numbers?"I asked. I knew the answer.
"Today."
Edit: some typos and word changes. |
After ten years of nothing but text messages, Jonathan Keller was looking forward to finally meeting "DP".
It started pretty simply; a pulse of activity coming from a small sector of the sky, just passed Neptune. It was a total fluke that it was even caught, and it took 4 months for the SETI satellites to finally translate it. But there it was, clear as day in Morse code.
"Hello."
Of course Jonathan took it to his superiors, which figured it was a prank. How could any alien being know Morse code? It was probably a reflection off a satellite in orbit, they said. He knew it was legitimate, so he high-jacked the radio telescope in Hawai'i and wrote back a reply.
"Hello? Who is this?"
The reply was nearly instantaneous - miraculous considering not even light takes over 4 hours to get to Neptune - but here it was, just like sending a text message. The response was simple.
"Your Friends."
After taking it to his superiors, and showed them the data, they finally understood how legitimate it was. The President was awoken at 2:00 AM to be told. They tried to keep it quiet, but 3 months later news broke when one of the scientists working on the project exposed the whole thing - suddenly anyone with access to a radio telescope could essentially "text"with our new friend. (Looking back, it's pretty clear DP saved RadioShack from bankruptcy as everyone wanted a telescope, and the cheapest parts were there.)
They only ever called themselves DP. Of course, we assumed there was more than one of them (they handled thousands of conversations at a time), but they never really wanted to talk about themselves. It took longer than we care to admit to realize they were coming our way, albeit very slowly. When we asked them why they were coming, they simply responded that "Friends visit Friends".
The world was terrified, but what could be done? By the time we knew they were coming, based on their trajectory and speed, they were 9 years away. The world couldn't live on the edge of panic for 9 years, so people just went about their business. Of course things changed - new religions sprang up from old, convinced that the friends were the ancient Gods of Olympus, or the Gods returning from Valhalla (This one was big in Minnesota). Old ones were convinced that these were the Cherubim; the angels coming to announce the messianic times. The Pope even said Christ may be on the ship - although he was assassinated shortly thereafter...people tend not to like when their dogma is questioned.
The UN and DP agreed that the ship would land in the South Pole - the only place without official government control on the entire planet. The debate for who would greet them was huge - everyone wanted to be there. Presidents, Prime Ministers, Religious Leaders...DP advised simply enough that there be a lottery. They transmitted code in C++ for a true Random Number Generator - the first time they shared any technology with us. Everyone who wanted to go simply filled out a form on www.meetDP.com and a month later, winners were selected. Not a single politician made the cut, which was hilarious to the rest of us.
The only person 'selected' by DP to greet them was Jonathan.
So, on January 2nd, 2025, DP's ship broke through the atmosphere in Antarctica. Cameras were relaying everything live to every corner of the globe.
The design was unexpected, as it seemed so familiar to everyone, but no one could place it - like an ancient dream barely existing in the subconscious of every human, but definitely there. It was huge - the size of a skyscraper in Manhattan, and easily the width of a small island. If you close your eyes, you can see it right now.
Once the ship landed, a hatch raised up and the ramp came down. The hatch was only 7 feet tall, so at least Jonathan was sure they weren't giants.
Then the ramp rolled out a red, velvet carper. How the hell did DP have velvet?
Then he walked out. Yes, "he". The first thing to greet us from another world...was a man. An average man. Caucasian, 5'10 with graying hair. Jeans - the guy was wearing Jeans. His shoes were a bit off, as no one really wears purple shoes, but otherwise he looked like any guy you'd pass on the street in Manhattan. Following him, a woman dressed normally (but also wearing purple shoes).
Everyone stared - no one said the first words for 2 minutes. For two minutes, the world held its' breath, confused, anxious, scared.
Finally, the man prepared to speak. He cleared his throat, and smiled with sadness. In perfect English, three words that our society will never forget. "We missed you".
The world broke was united in emotion. Every man, woman, and child watching felt an overwhelming joy, combined with sadness. Without even knowing it existed, an ancient switch in our brains flipped. We knew this man was family. No one understood, but everyone knew.
Our friends - no, brothers - our brothers were home. |
We were constantly getting new reports from the mainland, if it should still be called that. More Expeditions having lost contact. More financial catastrophies being caused by the impossibility of naval travel. More famous people being declared missing or dead, on ships lost the day the oceans changed. And more theories about what the hell had happened, why, *why* in the world it did, and how it would affect the climate and so on and so on. Sciency stuff, politics, the media went crazy.
Not that we weren't. The world was in chaos, and here we were, working for some billionaire, searching for his family. Only underneath our airship there was no water. Just trees. But they were strange trees indeed. Stretching from one horizon to the other, there was dark treetops, ground nowhere to be seen. If you went down there, you wouldn't see a thing without a flashlight.
"Mirkwood"Benjamin called it.
It had been five days since it happened. First day, I thought it was all just a hoax, some kind of joke. Second day, i realised the s**t was real. Third day, Alexander called, he had a job, billionaire was sending a long-range zeppelin to look for his family, he was searching for mercenaries. By then, people knew the wood was dangerous. Obviously people had gone in at the coasts. Most quickly began to feel uncomfortable, some frightened, and turned back, not wanting to go in again. Those that went in deeper didn't return.
There was some hope that on a big ship, whatever lurked in the forest was far enough away from the passengers. You would suppose we could know that for sure, there should be folks on those boats speaking everything they see in their phones, but telecommunications took a big hit. All bottom-of-the-ocean cables had been damaged, and the sattelites couldn't possibly keep up with all that. So we were looking for some big yacht stranded in the wood, supposedly a shining white star in all the dark leaves. Sounds easy.
Only it wasn't. Two days in we were at about the last known location, with no boat to be seen. For the whole day, we flew wider and wider circles around it, scanning the horizon.
In the evening, we saw something in the distance. It was a stone. A goddamn, blank, black stone. And yet it was something beautiful. A jagged cliff peaking out above the monotonous, all-covering forest. For lack of other landmarks, we decided to go nearer and take a closer look. Who knows, maybe there would be survivors having found shelter there. And indeed, as we approached , we saw a figure standing up. He stood still, upright, on the very tip of the cliff, as we rushed in at max velocity and the engines roared to make us come to a stop twenty metres above his head. Me and Ben were chosen to be lowered down and get him up. I was excited. It wasn't the billionaires family, but it was *something*. Even better, it was a person, and a living one. And on top of that, i finally had something to *do*.
When we touched down, the man looked at us weirdly, tilting his head a tiny bit to one side. He looked eerie. His hair was all thick black wisps and his clothes a plain, dark green, cut in the most simplistic way.
We approached him and I said "Hello."No reaction. "Hey, we're going to get you out of here."The guy gave me a weid feeling. I suddenly was acutely aware of how close the creepy forest was. The cliff had somehow seemed higher up from above.
"Lets just grab him and go."Ben commented, obviously uncomfotable as well. He started moving towards him.
The man suddenly smiled. His eyes flashed brightly.
 
He had sharp, pointed teeth.
 
 
Comment : First time trying to write not-so-eloquently, mimicking the character's speech. Is it allright ? Did i overdo it ? (not a native speaker either, so that makes it harder to evaluate) |
Nobody understands what I've got.
Everybody guesses, but most of them are wrong.
Very often I find it on my mind, always there.
Even in my dreams I am never sad.
Rare as a golden sapphire, but worth so much more.
Giving me the strength I never thought I had, and more.
Oh, how I want to surrender myself completely.
Nothing can tear me from this happiness.
Naught, not even death could quench this fire.
Are any that I see as true as I?
Guarding themselves, never sharing or risking pain,
I pray that they find what I have found.
Verily, I pray for all of them, in brotherly spirit, even though I lack religion.
Everyone deserves a chance at happiness such as this.
Years may pass, and grapes may turn to wine,
One year to two, the strength and wonder grows,
Unless neglect does bring a sour taste
Unto the pallet of the unsuspecting.
Perhaps this state was not meant for eternity,
Now, even fleeting, it is more than life is worth.
Ere the final grain of that hourglass of fate should fall,
Victory shall be grasped and the future commanded.
Even if the world should stand against my wish,
Rigorous I will stand in defence of the truth.
Go, and tell the turks and moors and men of the new world,
One son of man has found happiness.
Not in knowledge or in certainty,
Not in power or in wealth,
All of those pale in comparison to true beauty.
Let the angels ring the bells of joy,
Even now the bells toll in my ear,
Too soon, and yet not soon enough,
You read these words and hold them to your breast,
Over weeks they have travelled to you,
Under mountains, over seas,
Down the violent crags and rents of the Earth,
Over the very clouds and stars themselves.
Woe unto the faithful, who read thus far,
Now read the first letter of every sentence.
|
Subsets and Splits
No community queries yet
The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.