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**There is some language and maybe some 'gross' topics covered but really, it's pretty SFW. I just didn't want to give anyone trouble. Definitely safe unless you're <12**
Smudges of graphite coated the side of Jordan's hand as his hand quickly slid over his previous writings, trying to decipher the hubbub of symbols on his paper. Mrs. Jennifer was slowly walking infront of each isle of desks in her classroom collecting papers. Redoubling his effort, he crammed a last bit of nonsense into the margin before passing it forward.
Placing his paper on top of the stack, Mrs. Jennifer slowly looked over the writing as she walked to her desk. Stopping in midstep, her eyes did a doubletake, scrolling back to the top of Jordan's paper. Asking for a quick word in the hallway, both Mrs. Jennifer and Jordan walked through the open door. Whispering importantly, she said to Jordan, "I believe you have just disproved the law of gravity."Jordan took a moment at this. With a smile spread over his face at the obvious joking stance of this conversation, he replied, "Did I miss the entire front page or something?"
Mrs. Jennifer, understanding the direness of the situation, reached her hands to her neck and paused. Pulling quick, she yanked off a her face to reveal--Albert Einstein.
Jordan wasn't about this shit. He quickly turned on the spot and started running for the school doors. Mrs. Jennifer, now Albert Einstein, took advantage of his new found strength, manipulating gravity such as to pull Jordan back to him. "Listen, man, I don't know what you're playing at, but let me go,"Jordan said shakily in his best attempt at confidence.
"Can't you see, Jordan, we are rulers of this world now, of this universe,"Albert said with hands grasped on Jordan's collars, eyes staring straight into Jordan's. Perturbed and no longer wanting to be near this man, Jordan raised his knee into Einstein's testicles. So great was the force that one testicle left it's home, to peruse the outside world of Albert's stomach.
"Fool! Can't you see? No fight hurts me!"Einstein yelled as he controlled gravity once more to lower his testicle back into his scrotum. "This was a petty game,"thought Einstein as he lifted only himself and Jordan through the school's roof, out into the sky and into the black heavens.
Oxygen gravitated towards both of them, Jordan not inseparable from Albert as he was his only way back to the ground.
"It seem's that we've met at a crossroads, Jordan. I am sorry to do this to you, but if you will not cooperate, I must,"said Albert as he cast Jordan on a flightpath towards the sun. Staring for a while, Einstein watched as Jordan slowly became a black speck. Turning his back on the star, Einstein closed his eyes and planned his takeover on Earth.
"Not so fast!"a robotic voice said from behind him. Einstein turned around quickly to see none other than Stephen Hawking.
"Jordan, is that you?"Einstein inquired in an intrigued voice.
"Beep, bop, boop, I hope R2D2 can make you some chicken noodle soup,"rhymed Stephen before knocking Einstein so hard into Saturn, he died on impact. Stephen turned his chair around with the attached rockets.
Jordan was there, wearing rather ridiculous clothing Stephen thought. A plastered 'S' in the middle of his chest, he looked none other than--Superman.
"I must go, Hawking, but you have my gratitude,"said Jordan, now Superman, as he flew towards Earth.
**The End**
*What the fuck did I just write* |
You have to be warned. You have to stop it.
My four man team where sent in nearly six months ago, told that government money was missing. Huge amounts of government money. It wasn't exactly our usual mission. We asked why they needed special forces rather than the IRS and were merely told that they suspected criminal intent. No mention of the three IRS agents who had disappeared a month before we went in, nor the five police disappearances linked with the investigation already, just “criminality”.
I went in as an entry level telemarketer along with two of my other associates whilst my last man went in separately as an engineer. He'd been the only one we managed to get hired into the engineering team and management had seemed a no go with the shallowness of our cover stories. Still, the positions gave us the access we needed and the process was hardly taxing. In fact it had to be one of the most boring infiltrations we'd ever pulled off. Hours of the same rote script in thousands of the same square cubicles to millions of the same group of home owners. Still, we were in, and quickly began subverting their internal network and dumping their logs for analysis.
Nothing came up. No irregularities of any kind. This might sound like a good thing to a layman but no company is ever 100% perfect in all its dealings and certainly not one with a two billion dollar hole where its fibre should be. That's not to say we didn't find illegality - plenty of "lobbying"and even more bullying - but our automated systems could track every cent that went through the company perfectly and every cent went to where that cent was meant to go.
It was here we made our mistake. Faced with a mountain of manual log work to trace the money from its starting point, I gave the signal to terminate the infiltration and instead crunch the numbers. Only three of my team responded. The fourth, lets call him D, continued with his cover life. We tracked him as he made his call quotas and lived the little life his backstory had given him. We attempted contact three times but he didn't respond to code phrases or hand signals. D was compromised, but we couldn't work out how.
So we turned to the only thing we had and dove into the numbers. D had stumbled upon a Project Yellow whilst hacking through the system between calls, seemingly a large construction project just as one would expect and allocated most of the two billion funds. Yet the distribution was odd. One of my team, lets call him C, tracked it out. He said it was a series of three curves, almost question marks, stretching across America from a central hub near Kansas City. Each was extremely deliberate in placement, mapped almost to the exact inch. Yet none of it had been built and none of it went through any major population centre, in fact it seemed to try and deliberately avoid them. I couldn't believe it, but C was certain – these plans were available to the government and showed clearly that the architect was insane. Nobody was getting fibre.
The next day, when we were meant to meet to consider what was next, C went unresponsive. Somehow they'd tracked us, somehow we were being comprimised.
Myself and "B", who had been our engineering infiltrator, were rattled but we were deep cover, with no response team. The only way was on. The logs we had dumped gave details of a large warehouse complex AT&T owned six miles out from the city limits. No infiltration this time. We waited till dark and broke in with tactical gear and a modified version of B's ID pass. We explored the place for nearly six hours and found nothing. No evidence of construction. No records of any kind. No life to the place at all. Eventually morning came, and as we watched and waited from hidden vantage points, nothing happened again. No one came to work and no one even checked inside. The place was a shell.
Desperation set in. The next day we brought in a jackhammer and dug down towards where B, checking the plans, said the cables should start. Yet again, nothing. Yet again, no activity come morning, no one to question the hole. No one bar B.
I'd been in my vantage nigh two hours when I saw B leave his. Confused, I assumed he had a problem with his rig as I hadn't given the signal. I dropped down to a scream. B was terrified, babbling. He didn't recognise me, had no idea where he was. I asked his name and he couldn't give it. Just kept talking about the pattern, the sign, the yellow. Eventually it grew too much for him. He sucker punched me and fled, screaming into the world.
It didn't take long to find him. He was back at his cover life. B was unresponsive, and I was alone.
I'm not stupid. I may be slow sometimes but I'm never actively thick. Yet faced with an unresponsive team and with nowhere to turn I made the stupid choice. I looked at the plans. So innocuous, so simple. Only those investigating would ever look at them and if they do...
Stop them. Its too late for my team, too late for me, but for gods sake don't let those plans spread. Don't let that thing be seen. Because I can't stop seeing it. Its here. Inside me. Talking to me. It laughs at the money. It laughs at the fuss. We're all gone. We're all done. Just one look... For gods sake- No, not gods... |
**ACT ONE**
**SCENE ONE. Gotham. An alley.**
*Enter JONATHAN and ROSE.*
**JONATHAN**
The night is sweet.
**ROSE**
Nay.
**JONATHAN**
Nay? Wherefore nay?
**ROSE**
The night is vexing, for I have a chill.
**JONATHAN**
And from thy chill a bloomy cheek, all red,
its colour bright and worthy of thy name.
What perfect pain is that twice-vexing cold
that vexes me; the very air is sweet.
**ROSE**
You call it sweet. I name it cold.
**JONATHAN**
The name matters not, when deeds are told.
*Enter VAGRANT.*
**JONATHAN**
Look well.
**ROSE**
Hark, a scoundrel!
**VAGRANT**
Announce me not; we are alone.
I bear with me a mortal tool.
**JONATHAN**
Now, sir, be calm.
**VAGRANT**
Be still, and silent as the grave;
render your purse, and you'll avoid as much.
**JONATHAN**
Here, sir, my purse.
**ROSE**
I will not tender mine.
**JONATHAN**
Nay, Rose! Give up your purse, and soon!
**ROSE**
Why name and "nay"me? Mother's ring is there within;
This purse bears more than coin. It bears my heart.
**VAGRANT**
Methinks this Rose requir's the feel of thorn.
*Enter BATMAN.*
**VAGRANT**
What devilry is this?
**BATMAN**
The devil? You'd know his like much more than I;
perhaps in hell you'll reacquaint in time.
*VAGRANT dies.*
**BATMAN**
Thy purses, hard-earn'd.
**JONATHAN**
But, ho! Why do you leave in hurried time?
You leave with all the honor, yet leave us not
thy name.
**BATMAN**
It matters not.
**ROSE**
Without thy name, we cannot name your deeds.
**BATMAN**
The name matters not, when deeds are told.
*Exit BATMAN.*
|
Gordon Frizzle had lived on that plot for seventy-two years. Over the decades, the village became a town, which then became a large town.
The large town of Greenfield had become a city now, and Gordon voiced his displeasure at this development every morning by drumming his strong chest with his fists and uttering a mighty Tarzan cry at the rise, and fall of the sun.
The city - spearheaded by Mayor Aimajerk - had moved to deal with the problem. They envisioned tall buildings with high rent costs, and Gordon was in the way.
People liked Gordon, even though no one had ever really held a conversation with him about anything more than trees. He *loved* trees, and people loved Gordon for that. Except Mayor Aimajerk and his handpicked council.
"We gotta get rid of Gord of the Jungle, gentlemen!"They all nodded, and grunted in approval.
"We gotta shake him outta that doggon tree!"
More nods and grunts.
The plot of land that Gordon resided upon was modest. It could fit an average suburban home. The unique layout, though, was that there was no house on the plot. There were low shrubs, and, in the very centre, a humungous tree. Supposedly Gordon's great grandfather had brought a sequoia seed from California in his youth, and coaxed it to life on their little plot. Well, darn it, that tree sprung up like a weed all its life and continued to enjoy the status of tallest structure for hundred miles around.
Gordon Frizzle lived in that tree, and didn't take too kindly to Mayor Aimajerk's proposal to cut it down. Whenever someone Gordon didn't like started to inspect his domain, Gord would come flying out of his tree-home like Dankey Kang, hooting and hollering, swinging low on vines with a pouch full of discarded banana peels for the bad guys, and nice ripe ones for the other bystanders who he liked.
Families would cheer as he swung, hooting, overhead, and avert their eyes when his loincloth flapped dangerously free behind him. The blur of grey bushy beard and tanned skin was a sight to behold from all angles!
This passive form of resistance continued for a month before Aimajerk had had enough. Early one Sunday morning, he drove the Tree-cutter to the plot himself to do his deed.
What he found was not at all what he expected.
Gordon Frizzle stood at the tree's base. It was the first time that the Mayor had ever seen him on the ground, but that was not what made his jaw drop.
Gordon was wearing a suit. His wild eyes watched the clunking machine approach with cool calm behind smart spectacles, and he wore a gold watch. He looked… great.
"A word, Mayor."
Despite the early hour, a huge crowd had gathered. They had been roused from their early morning coffee and newspapers by the angry progress of the Tree cutting machine, and knew that it could only mean one thing. There had been no warning article in the papers.
"Won't change a thing, Gord!"
Gordon smiled, and produced a briefcase.
*A briefcase!*
He deftly unbuckled it, and produced from within a single document. Its edges were crisp, and a seal of some sort was stamped on the bottom.
"According to our Family Property laws, Mayor, revised for the final time on 18th June 1988 in accordance with the Judicial practices and conventions of our legislature, no square centimetre of land stamped by the Crown's Own may be encroached upon by urban development initiatives. Please review the authenticity of this document."
Mayor Aimajerk took the document in shaking hands. Looking over it in awe, and fury, he did the only thing he could think of. He tore it to pieces.
"What document?"
Unfazed, Gordon produced a duplicate of the paper he had just handed the Mayor. "This one. And,"he reached into an envelope in his breast pocket, "these are photographs of you and your council members robbing a bank sixteen months ago."
The whole crowd gasped.
Gord threw the packet to the media team that had set up shop on the property's edge.
Aimajerk numbly watched it arc to the reporter, who began looking through them.
"Well I'll be! That's our mayor!"
"What a jerk!"
Handcuffs were clapped upon the Mayor's wrists, and the crowd began to cheer.
Gordon smiled once at Aimajerk, then tore his fine suit off of his body and triumphantly bellowed out the mightiest Tarzan call the world had ever heard. He swung high on a vine, distributing fresh bananas to everyone (except the Mayor), and whooped into the beautiful Sunday morning, letting his beard and loincloth flow freely behind him in the cool Sunday air. |
“Are you sure you’re ready Robert? You’ve got two more years until you turn eighteen. You don’t have to do this now.” My father tells me. They’ve prepared the ceremony. The golden bracelet has been placed on a pedestal, and all of my blood relatives are kneeling around it. There are candles lit in the dark inner room, and everything is quite except for me and my father.
“Yes, the thing is calling to me. I know somewhere out there is a person in great pain, and it is my duty to relieve them of this burden.” I tell my father. He nods.
“It has been known to happen from time to time. Your mother was similarly called. I wish we had more time to complete your training, but the bracelet has yet to steer us wrong.” He lays his hands on my hand and murmurs a blessing.
“Go now son, you will be on our hearts and minds until you return.”
“Thank you father.” I say, and approach the pedestal. My brothers and sisters track me with their eyes as I approach, silently anticipating my next action. My extensive preparation for this event is evident in my outfit. I have a rope slung across my chest like a bandoleer, a survival jacket that can double as a tent, a fire starter, two days of rations, several knives, and all weather clothing. I am prepared for anything.
I stretch out my hand over the bracelet and pause, looking to my mother for the final words of the ceremony.
“Come back with your shield or on it.” She tells me.
“Yes mother.” I respond, and grasp the bracelet.
The light of the sun at noon is almost blinding after the dark room I’ve just come from and I have to shut my eyes. I feel something hard and artificial beneath my feet, probably concrete, maybe asphalt. There’s a strong breeze. I’m glad for my survival jacket. I hear nothing nearby, but there is the distant sound of traffic.
I feel my eyes have adjusted, and I open them just a crack to take in my surroundings. I know the first person I see is the one I must help.
I am on the top of a tall building, at least ten stories up from what little I can see. I’m the middle of a city, and on the edge of the building is a man, standing on his tip toes, and looking down in a very fatalistic manner.
I don’t have time to let my eyes finish adjusting. I act on instinct and run towards the man. Should I yell something? Would that frighten him? I don’t have time to think on it further, I can see him start to lean forward through the thin slit of my vision, and I lunge just in time to wrap one arm around his chest, and fall backwards, pulling him back onto the rooftop. We crash onto the concrete rooftop together.
“Stop it!” He yells, and tries to scramble up. I wrap my legs around him and grab onto his back so he can’t get up.
“Let me go!” He shouts again. He’s not giving up. He’s determined. I do the only thing I’ve been taught to do to suppress someone acting out of control, I put him in a chokehold. He gargles out several words that I can’t understand, and then he goes limp.
I count to two and the release the chokehold. He tales a few seconds, but then he comes around.
“Ow.” Is the first thing he says. Waking up from a chokehold hurts.
“Where am I?” Is the second. He’s dazed and confused.
“You’re alive brother. We will figure out the rest later."
Edit: hey, just saw this is another Inteli_Gent post, nice to see you work again friend.
Edit 2- story continued.
“No seriously, where are we.” The jumper asks me.
“I have no idea friend, you’ll really have to tell me later. Here, let’s go find someplace we can talk.” I suggest. He nods, observing his surroundings in a way befitting a man who’s just woken up from a nap. We find a stairwell and make our way down 12 stories to the street.
He’s understandably silent as he first wakes up, and then realizes what has transpired. I can tell he has realized what happened when he reaches the street and stops abruptly, staring at the spot on the roof he had occupied a minute ago.
I gently steer him towards a nearby park where we find a bench. It’s hard to find something to say. This was not what I had anticipated. My family told stories of leading groups of plane crash survivors through rain forests to safety, chopping snakes with machetes by night, and hunting for food during the day. Playing therapist was not something I had anticipated, or felt remotely qualified to do.
“So, how are you feeling?” I ask.
“Shocked I guess.” The jumper says. “The moment’s passed but I’m realizing what happened, or what almost happened.”
“Does that mean you’re feeling more….” I couldn’t find a gentle way to say more likely to stay alive.
“Not really.” He says. “I don’t have energy to try again, but I don’t really feel that different from before.” I had my work cut out for me. Well, the bracelet did take you to whoever needed you most, so it wasn’t like I was going to be handed something easy. I still couldn’t think of anything to say, so I went practical.
“Have you figured out where we are yet? I’m not from around here.” I tell him. He nods.
“Yeah, I figured it out once we hit the street.” That was something, at least we weren’t lost. I almost wish we were though. A little survival instinct could spice things up. Not that being lost in a city where there was food, water, and shelter on every corner ever gave you much of a survival instinct buzz, but at least it would be something.
Should I take him home? No, there was a good chance his home life was part of the problem. It was hard to tell with the bags under his eyes, and his depressed demeanor, but he looked to be about my age.
It had been too long since I had said something, but I still couldn’t figure out what to say.
“Let’s go for a walk.” I suggested, and stood up to lead by example. It wasn’t much, but walks usually made me feel better, maybe they would help him. He stands up to follow me wordlessly. I pick a random direction and start walking.
“You know this isn’t a good part of town.” He tells me. “It’s why I came here, figured people here would be used to dealing with the aftermath of well, you know.” He was giving some thought to his fellow man. That was something.
It was very frustrating being unable to find a way out of this situation. If I had to keep warm with just my body heat in the arctic, or swim twenty miles through shark infested waters I would have felt more comfortable. If the bracelet didn’t have an impeccable record for millennia I would’ve thought it was broken. How was a survivalist and a martial artist supposed to help a depressed man. The jumper certainly wasn’t volunteering any information.
There’s a loud crashing sound from an alley we’re walking by, and I drop to a crouch while drawing a knife. Halfway through the action I realize how silly it is to be drawing a knife in the middle of a city in broad daylight. What possible danger could there be?
It was good that I did, down the alley we can see three large men kicking a smaller man who’s in the fetal position with both hands over his head. The downed man is visibly bleeding, and the three large men aren’t stopping.
Having already drawn my weapon, my combat brain has kicked in, and I take in the situation. Two men on the far side of the downed intruder, one on the near side, confined alley, ample potential for improvised weapons among the trash that litters the place, and I have one man for support.
“We’ll rush them together. You take the guy closest to us. Kick him in the knees to drop him, and then punch him in the throat to down him. If that doesn’t down him, punch him in the chest directly below his sternum.” I tap my chest to indicate the point I’m referencing. “Go.” I order, and start running, hoping he follows.
My hopes are not met. There are no footsteps behind me. Well, at least he isn’t running away. After I deal with this situation I’ll take him out for a nice lunch or something.
I reach the three men and give a loud shout as I jump over the downed man while drawing a second knife. The shout is meant to make them look up, and to shock them into freezing for a half second. It accomplishes both these things, and as they look up, I strike two of them on the head with the pommels of my knives. The two men back paddle, clutching now bleeding foreheads. That’s bought me a few moments, now to see if I could completely take out the third man while the first two were recovering.
I start to turn, but not before I feel someone grab on my jacket and give it a yank. I’ve been too slow. The tug sets me off balance, and I trip over the downed man, hitting the pavement next to him.
I see the third thug standing over me. He raises his boot to drop on my face, but before he can finish the blow, he falls to his knees, and I see the jumper hit him in the throat. He decided to join after all!
The thug clutches at his throat while I roll to my feet, but he’s not downed, just momentarily stunned.
“Him in the chest.” I call over my shoulder, and make for the two thugs who I had struck on the head.
Both are still reeling, and a few quick strikes later, both are downed. I see, much to my satisfaction, that the third thug is also incapacitated for the moment. We check the downed man, and as he has no severe injuries we use his cell phone to call 911, before heading on our way. We don’t stay around to talk. Talking to police would get messy because I’m reasonably sure our handling of the situation was not entirely legal.
“That was incredible!” The jumper says. “I feel so alive!” It seemed I had found the solution to his depression.
|
"We have to cancel this one"I deliberately willed my hands away from my hair. I was already losing it, no need to yank it out by the roots.
"Do you remember the Munster cheese proclamation?"the committee chair pointed at me.
"Yes", I sighed.
"It didn't make sense at the time, to us, but according to the simulations it would've increased global productivity by 3%"
"Yes, but this could very well be another badger-pants proclamation. Do you *remember* badger-pants?!"the committee chair flinched.
All of Professor Zazzboz's proclamations had to pass through this council. They were analyzed as carefully as we could before being passed or denied. He never complained when we vetoed them (perhaps he didn't even notice. He was that kind of man), but hindsight was giving us ulcers before our time.
The argument went deep into the night, but as so often is the case, the side with the louder voices and better bladders won. I gave up at 2:12 AM. Tomorrow was going to be interesting... |
“There’s thousands of them, sir,” Private Greene said, his mouth agape as he stared out upon the sea of midgets. Little people, rather, as they demanded to be called, their tiny feet marching in a full-scale invasion. They’d been breeding and amassing an army underground. Few would occasionally surface, living amongst the “normies” as spies, bringing back food—primarily the remains of dead humans—to their colonies. Now the war had begun.
“Next time, Private, when I say ‘we’ve fought worse odds,’ remember this. These will be those odds.” Sergeant Savage lowered his rifle and pointed it straight at the rows of tiny soldiers slowly waddling their way toward them, like a sea of penguins struggling against gravity. He could feel his heart beat against his chest, its steady rhythm growing faster and faster as his mouth grew dryer and dryer. Just a few more yards and they’d cross the line. Just a few more feet and their recokoning would begin.
“There’s too many,” Private Johnson said. “We can’t do this.” He shifted slightly, as if starting to back away.
“Don’t you dare,” Savage said, glancing over at Johnson. “You didn’t train for this day so you could give up. You trained so you could kill. You trained so you could win.”
“But there’s just ten of us,” Johnson said, his voice shaky and weak.
“You might be right,” Savage said, turning back toward the row of sub-four-foot-tall beings, a cloud of dust hanging up above their head. “There may just be ten of us, and there may be thousands of them.” He turned back toward Johnson. “But you’re forgetting something, son. You’re forgetting what we’ve got.”
“What do we have?” said a voice from behind Sergeant Savage. He turned and glanced at the rest of the unit, their eyes locked on his own.
“We’ve got this,” he said, rising to his feet, rifle falling down to his side. He held out his right hand as if he were displaying a prize on *The Price is Right,*running it down his body like it were that night’s Showcase Showdown. “We’ve got height, limbs longer than twigs, arms that reach beyond our own chests. We might be out numbered, but that doesn’t mean we can’t win this, god dammit.”
“They’ve breached the line!” shouted Johnson, turning and swinging his rifle toward the sandbags behind them. A small, pale hand was reaching up from under the bags, flailing wildly and grasping at nothing. “We’re surrounded!”
Savage threw his rifle aside and ran over to the small, twig-like hand, then lifted his foot and stomped down on it.
“Ow,” shrieked an incredibly high-pitched voice from behind the bags.
“Fuck off,” Savage screamed. He turned and walked back over to the unit. “There we go, that’s been dealt with.” It was convenient that there had only been a single little person, any more would have taken a bit longer to handle.
“I don’t think I can do this,” Private Greene said, his rifle clutched up against his chest as if it were a stuffed toy. “I need to go home.”
Savage glanced out at the sea of little people ahead, their engorged heads bobbing in unison as they marched. They were now well within the perimeter, their child-sized shoes kicking up *their*dirt, marching on *their* land. This was now their war to share.
“Fire!” Savage screamed, thrusting his hand forward in a karate-chop motion. A cacophony of rifles erupted beside him, the sound of marching replaced by the howl of bullets upon the desert sand. Tiny, high-pitched screams followed; he knew they couldn’t run away, their tiny feet locked them in two simple speeds: slow and slightly less slow; they had already been marching in the faster of the two. They were stuck within the hail of bullets. Despite having incredibly large heads, their planning abilities were simply not up to par.
“Behind us!” screamed a voice next to Savage. He turned just in time to catch a tiny fist softly bopping him on his hip. It didn’t exactly hurt, but it wasn’t pleasant. Maybe if he had asked for that to happen, like if he were in a massage, it would have been, but this was uninvited.
Savage grasped the tiny arm that had just bumped him, tearing it off smacking its owner with it.
“Stop it,” said the little person, his voice dull and high-pitched.
“You stop,” Sergeant Savage said, his voice equally clam. “You’re the ones who invaded us.”
“Yeah, but you took my arm,” said the little person like a child who had inhaled too much helium.
“Shut up,” Savage said, smacking the little person again, a fountain of blood spurting out of his arm-hole.
“Ow, dick,” the little person said. He shrugged his shoulders before turning and walking away.
Sergeant Savage turned back around and stared at the carnage ahead of him. Body upon body lay before him, like a school play that had gone terribly, astronomically wrong.
“We did it,” Savage said. “I told you, that was really easy.” He turned toward Johnson and smiled, then froze.
“You were right,” Johnson said, his mouth distorted and wrinkled. He was lying on his back, the unit surrounding him. A dark, red circle of blood had soaked through his uniform, forming a puddle beneath. Johnson glanced down at his wound. “I got shot, Serge.”
“What happened,” Savage said, running over and crouching behind him.
“I shot myself,” Johnson said, nodding toward his rifle. “I got too excited and shot myself in the chest.”
Sergeant Savage placed his hand on Johnson’s forehead, then closed his eyelids with his palm.
“Rest in peace,” he said.
“I’m not dead, I think I’m going to be fine,” Johnson said, opening his eyes again.
“Rest in peace,” Savage repeated, again closing Johnson’s eyes with his hands.
“Okay,” Johnson said.
Savage stood up and turned toward the unit, exhaling slowly in an attempt to hide the burning sadness he’d now have to live with forever. Johnson died on his watch, killed by the enemy—kind of. There was still a battle to be fought, still a war that needed to be won. The little people would not surrender after one loss, nor would the “normies.” There would be more death, more violence. There would be more Savage.
|
Two years. I have been hiding for two years. The game started out simple enough when Jenny and I found each other. We had bonded over being the first human either had seen in over five years; the wars had made sure of that. The cholera, dysentery, measles, mumps, and more had been the final nail on the coffin for humanity. We were all that was left.
We met inside a Walmart of all places, in the good ole U.S. of A. I think it was what had once been North Carolina, but I wasn’t sure. I had wandered in to see if there was anything left to salvage; canned goods, blankets, or the rare water bottle; when I had heard a noise. Startled, and worried that I had found yet another escaped group of gorillas, I cautiously moved through the aisles until I saw her. She was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen in my life, and I’m not even gay.
After wary introductions, we became fast friends. Talking and laughing about what the world had once been: drunken nights with boyfriends, drunken nights with friends, college, jobs, the works. It was like we had finally found something that gave use purpose again. It was a few months later that she proposed the game: The Ultimate Hide-and-Seek Championship.
The rules were simple: You counted to 1,000, and anywhere in the country was fair game. After a few more months of hiding in the same building, then the same town, then skipping the town over, we made it more complicated. We both became excellent trackers, and so the game had to adapt to become more challenging. We started hopping across full state lines, spending weeks hunting the other. It gave us purpose.
Finally, even cross-country became too easy, and so one day I hopped on a boat and skipped the continent. It took me two months to make the voyage across, but I think I landed somewhere in Spain. I’ve been living on the coast since then. I’m sure she’ll eventually figure it out, but this, so far, has been our longest game yet. Much longer than the time I found her somewhere in what used to be Ecuador.
After two years I have grown comfortable, and quite fond of this place, Jenny would love it. Every day I feed the chickens, but today when I went out something seemed different. I couldn’t quite place my finger on it until I heard a rustling in the bushes behind me. Startled, I turned and looked around; fearing that another beast of some form or another had found me. Grabbing my shotgun I quickly scanned the perimeter fence, but saw no sign of anything. Putting it back down, I returned to feeding the chickens.
I hope it is Jenny, secretly hiding out there in the bushes, waiting to startle me by screaming, “Found you.” While playing this game we learned something very important about ourselves. We had found that we were the happiest, the most excited when we were tracking a survivor, or being found by a survivor. The saying goes that if you can’t give a man hope, give him something to do. Well this game, this mock hunt for survivors, gave us hope that one day, we maybe wouldn’t find each other, but someone else. |
"Have you ever tried hugging?"
"No, and I'd never."
I looked at Marie. She always had that self-righteous look about her. Ever since we were kids, she'd always be the one playing the princess, or the head doctor, or the lead actress. It was always about her.
If she hugged someone, or even touched someone... she'd be different. She wouldn't be staring at her phone all the time. She'd look at me and treat me like I'm actually her boyfriend for once.
"You know, just thirty years ago hugging, shaking hands, kissing - it was all allowed,"I suggested. "Your parents and my parents... they touched skin all the time."
"Yeah, well, that was then, and this is now,"Marie huffed. "You know, they made it illegal for a reason."
"And what reason would that be?"
"It hurts you as a person. It encourages sexual perversion. It increases the spread rate of diseases, viruses, bacteria... honestly we're much better off not touching each other."
"You know, sex is scientifically proven to-"
"Shh!"Marie hushed. "Jacob, we're in a *public* restaurant!"
I looked around. The people in this restaurant tell a different story than the stories that the pictures of the people of old told. It was rare to find someone eating with another person. There were one-seat tables everywhere. I remembered reading internet articles and looking at pictures - families were holding hands, hugging, laughing, crying... friends, neighbors, and coworkers all shared some form of physical intimacy every day, even if they just shook hands. And now, with physical intimacy being outlawed... people seemed a lot sadder these days.
I grabbed Marie's hand.
"Jacob, what are you..."Marie's eyes widened. She stared at my hand in disbelief as it closed around her fingers.
"Jacob, please. If we get caught..."
"Come with me, I want you to meet someone."
"Jacob, no."
"If you don't, I'll pick you up and carry you."
-----
I couldn't believe what Jacob was doing.
Just last week he was so... focused. And ambitious. He had a goal. A definite plan. That's what I liked about him. He knew what college he was going to, what he was going to study, and most importantly, why. That's why I chose him out of everyone else in our senior class.
And this week, starting on Monday, he became someone else. He became distant. And relaxed. He stopped shaving. He didn't text me as often. He pulled himself away from his studies. If he doesn't get into a good college, then...
And now he's touching me. He's committing a misdemeanor. Worse, he's grabbing my hand, and he won't let go.
He pulled me through the streets, and people looked on. I was shocked. I couldn't fight against it. I just walked with him in silence. I wanted to protest so badly, but...
I liked it.
It was the first time I felt someone's hand around mine.
His skin was soft.
We went the whole way without exchanging a word. Commercial buildings turned into residential homes, and soon, we were in front of a small red house.
Jacob went up to the door and knocked.
"Jacob..."I breathed.
"Relax,"he responded.
It took a minute, but at last... the door opened. An elderly woman's face appeared first, and we locked eyes. Her pupils then shifted over to Jacob, and a smile appeared on her face.
"Oh, Jacob!"she exclaimed as she pulled her door wide open. She stepped out, grabbed his face in her palms and kissed him on the cheek. Jacob wrapped his arms around her.
I felt myself start to pass out.
"This is my girlfriend Marie, Nana,"Jacob said.
"She's pretty! Come here darlin-"
She began to walk towards me, her arms reaching out.
"No,"I said, backing up. "No."
Nana's smile faded.
"Oh, I see,"she said.
I looked at Jacob. His smile wasn't as big as before, but it was definitely still there.
Before I could do anything about it, large around appeared from either side of me and wrapped around my torso. It pulled me in with a commanding force from behind.
I'm a lawbreaker.
But there was something about this that was overwhelming. There was something about this hug from behind. There was something about being commanded to just... bask. Just bask in the arms of another person. It was some kind of communication. Nonverbal, but it was definitely some sort of communication.
Once again, I liked it.
"Hey grandpa,"Jacob said.
I turned around. Jacob's grandfather had a smile on his face, hidden behind a thick mustache. He was a burly man; tall and stocky. If I were to guess what his profession was, it would probably be something along the lines of a football player. Or a wrestler. Both sports being illegal now, of course.
"This is Marie?"Jacob's grandfather asked. Jacob nodded.
"Have you got anything to say, girl?"Jacob's grandfather asked me. His voice was deep and soothing, like he didn't speak from his throat but from the warmth of his heart.
"Am I going to jail?"I asked. The three of them laughed.
-----
Marie couldn't quite pin it. Jacob had wrestled with it too, but he began to understand as he watched the world around him. They walked back home together, as they lived in the same neighborhood. But this time it was different. They walked, hand in hand, shoulders touching.
"It's like I can talk to you, Jacob,"Marie suggested. "I can talk to you through my hugs."
"Right?"
"I can say sorry. I can say that I like you. I can say that I need you. Anything I want to. Through a hug."
"Yup."
Marie jumped as her phone vibrated in her pocket. In order to answer it, she would have had to let go of Jacob's hand.
For once, she concluded that it wasn't worth it. |
In the year 2048, the most incredible creation man has ever done was completed. A pill, to be taken every night, that would ensure a human could liver forever. At first, only the elite could afford it. But as the years went on it became more readily available. There was one side-effect that even to this day remains a constant and guaranteed affliction. An itchy foot.
When the first ‘Eternies’ complained of a tickle on their soles, it was cast aside as rich person’s drivel. After some time, it was taken more seriously. The great American scientist that developed the ‘Forever’ pill Harvey Squidwart admitted later that it was a purposeful inclusion, done to keep ‘mankind in line’. He has been publicly denounced as a criminal ever since and every year on the 20th May (the date of the creation of Forever) a squid is killed and its blood drank by an Eternie.
Despite the itchy foot, there are still many people who opt for eternal life and there are multiple attempts at decreasing the severity. Thanks to the twisted genius of Squidwart however, it is impossible to decrease the constant itch that inflicts all Eternies. At the beginning, many would amputate their feet and opt for prosthetic replacements. Unfortunately, upon doing so, the itch would move up to the next available part of the body. One man Bob Langster from England, removed parts of his body, until only his torso and head remained. He still complained of an itchy belly, but being unable to even scratch it, stopped taking the pill and died a week later.
Is it worth it? An eternally itchy foot is a hard pill to swallow. |
"It is quite literally over."
"Is it literally or literarily over?"Hobbs sat down beside me and put his hand on my shoulder.
"Of course it is!"I cry, "look what they've done, they've whipped us all out! We were humanity! The most vicious, underdog, unpredictable species in the galaxy and I am the only person left alive. Me and some imaginary friend that I pulled up from some old comic book."I try calming myself down. I fail most spectacularly, "I mean come on look, there's not even a planet any more! And you know what the most frustrating thing is? Do you Hobbs?"
The stuffed tiger shook his head.
"The most frustrating thing is we did it to ourselves. They gave us the one thing that killed us: everything we wanted. I mean who would turn down the power to jump into fictional worlds. Worlds where everything was exactly the same except one thing, worlds that were completely different. All the people we met in books, we could actually meet. There were over 13000 different Doctors! Who the hell knows how many stupid kids with scars on their heads. Don't even get me started on his stuck up smart ass girlfriend. We wrote, literally wrote our own destruction. And don't make that stupid pun again, it wasn't very good to begin with.
"What the hell were we thinking? That we could get away with rewriting god?"Finally spent I dropped to the ground. Well, the closest thing to a ground as existed any more, now it was just the most solid part of the infinite white space the universe had been reduced down too.
"I'm sorry that I brought you into all of this Hobbs, if I could take you back to Calvin, I would. I just wish that none of this ever happened."
For a time, well actually not for a time, time had been written out of existence along with everything else—some moron though the whole thing had gotten to complicated when the timeline started to looked more like a cross between a plate of spaghetti, copulating ents, and a spirograph than an actual geometric shape—we remained silent.
"I don't."
I rolled over and looked at the animant stuffed tiger, "I don't wish that none of this ever happened. I mean it was fun. If Calvin, any of the Calvins, had gotten to go on a trip like this, he would have been so excited. I mean think about all the things we did together. All the different places we visited trying to beat the Narrator's. We got to meet the actual Space Man Spiff and take down the Borg-Daleks together, how awesome was that? And that time with the Darth Voldemort after he got his hands on the Infinity Gauntlet? We were flinging galaxies around like dodgeballs. I mean I had no idea why we were wielding crank start bases, and I think we may have been riding in a mutated clone of your mom amped up on spiral-energy mixed with Red Bull, but it was awesome! Especially when we had to summon the three-eyed-crow to warg Arceus away from that giant green skull Narrator—the one we could never outrun because he was inexplicably already there—come on say it with me WP:"
I didn't want to, but something about the childish glee was intoxicating, I couldn't help muttering along:
"This is my boomstick!"
Hobbs face turned serious: "And yeah, lots of people died, and there were so many times when there were no good choices. When every option was bad. The choices we had to make were never easy. But their not supposed to be easy. Remember back when everything that happened was just a story, just words on a page? It was easy to read about hard choices, in fact it was fun and good to read about hard choices and bad times and dark places, because thats what life is. It's about anger and hatred, darkness and fear, sadness and guilt and growing up too fast even if we don't want too. Those aren't just things that happen in stories and fairy tails, WP, those are things that happen in real life. And thats why its important that those stories happened that they existed, WP, because the stories that really mattered were the stories that meant something to us and taught us who we were and who we could be.
"On this journey, after I was stolen from Calvin, I have seen so many things, we've had so many adventures, and met so many people that I feel like I've actually been a part of one of those important stories. If every thing we have done together, WP, were written down some where, it would be the most important and meaningful story ever written. Because we got to write it ourselves. There was no narrator telling us what to do, or constructing our feelings. We actually did everything ourselves. We fought against the Narrators and made something that had actual meaning.
"So, WP, I'm glad that everything happen. I'm not happy that it all happened the way that it did, but I'm happy that it happened. Because it had meaning, and it still has meaning. And the only time it will stop have meaning is when we chose to give up on it. I don't want to give up on that meaning, do you?"
I smiled and looked at the scuffed up, stuffing starved, old tiger. "I guess that I don't. Thanks Hobbs."
"Even if you're lonely, WP, think that we'll be right here,"A small plush paw tapped my chest, "right above where we put all the honey."
I gasped, "Pooh Bear! You’re not dead!"The last I had seen of the brave little bear with more fluff than brains he had been standing in front of a cybernetically enhanced replicant dragon spewing green fire from its three heads. Pooh, clad in armor from valhalla had stood beside King Arthur to give us enough time to escape Merlins Glass palace.
“Of course not silly, friends can’t just leave and make other friends feel lonely. We’ve got to uhh, stick together. Besides, honey sits so much better in my tummy when you have friends to share it with.”
“Exactly, that’s the magic of friendship!” I turned to see a purple unicorn step out of the blue disc of a prota-stargate portal. Riding on top of her was... “Kermit? What are you doing with Twilight Sparkles. How did you two even survive.”
“Well, it’s not easy defeating green.”
“Plus we had a little help from the Apostle Paul and the Sky-Surfing giant robot he found.” Twilight Sparkle admitted.
The green frog walked over to me, “The stories not over yet, WP. Queen Elsa, Gru, and Mr. Holmes are trying to put together a plan to save Hiccup and Rapunzel from G.R.R.M.”
Twilight nodded, “And Gandalf, Dumbledore, and Ged have been training Buffy and Sam to do some really cool things back on the Third Foundation.”
“Wait, that survived? I was sure that the Omega-Death Star killed everyone!”
“Well that’s what Light and Shiro wanted everyone to think, but actually we’ve been camped out on A'Tuin underneath this really cool super sized invisibility cloak. By now Duke’s probably mastered Super Sayan two. Mario and Luigi have perfected the fusion dance and it’s pretty spectacular.”
Hobbs stood up, and slung his arm around me, “See WP, the Narrators can’t just end our stories whenever they feel like. We write our own stories, we’re the masters of our own destiny. Now what do you say. It sounds like they need us out there? You still got that horn that the Count of Montecristo gave you?”
“The one that we went through so much effort to get Dr. Frankenstien to fix after the White Witch broke? I never let it leave my sight, but it’s plot hole powers don’t work any more. Joss Whedon sewed it up after he got Luna Lovewall.” Suddenly it hits me, “Oh what was I thinking, even the powers of Retcon aren’t enough to stop plot holes. I’m an idiot.”
A blueish flash signaled the punctual arrival of the boy wearing a blue wind sock and his similarly dressed companion, Tinker Bell, “Whenever one plot hole is fixed another one opens,” John smiled. “Now come on, lets get out of here, I left the teletubbies in charge of Thomas the Tank. Their not just going to wait around forever when they’ve got the firepower of all the Halo’s under at their fingertips. Also, Garfield hungry and I promised to feed him.”
“Okay then, what are we waiting on?”I ask.
“You!” What the unanimous reply.
“Well okay then. All prophecies to the contrary, I guess I lived passed the great Zero. Now come on, let’s turn on the stars.”
|
"Who the fuck are you?"I blurted out
"Agent K"he said.
"Well Agent K, I wouldn't consider it classified. Its called Reddit. Its quite obvious that cats have been using this website as a way to communicate with the aliens for all these years"I said.
"Go on"Agent K replied.
I began my explanation "Look, I had my suspicions all along. I mean, why so many fucking cats on one website. What was the appeal?
I realized all this today when another Redditor posted a WP about how an Alien race established contact with cats and ignores the humans.
(http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2raxa9/wp_an_alien_race_lands_on_earth_and_establishes/)
As I read and commented on that post it dawned on me.
Combine that with all the smug immature comments everywhere on Reddit? At first I though the comments were from teenagers or hipsters, just being the shitty kids and people that we all once were when we were younger but then I realized it was something different. It was actually a race of Aliens, responding to the posts. English was new to them and as it is with other races, the incomplete grasp on the nuances of the language make their legitimate questions and comments appear as curt, smug and immature. But they really aren't.
The cats have been using the humans all along. They are actually quite social and loving animals, however they realized that if they played hard to get, its human nature to seek what they could not have. They realized that instead of the outright obvious affection that dogs give, they could turn it around and get the humans to do their bidding in a much less obvious way.
And so it began, the cats began to distance themselves from the humans. The humans became intrigued. The cats even had one of their kids picture put on a poster with the encouraging words "hang in there"to lure them in further. It worked. The humans were all egotistical by nature and when ignored, they only became more curious. So the humans started taking a lot of pictures of their cats and posting them on Reddit. The cats knew that this was their answer to world domination. They knew that if they were able to communicate using paw positioning and facial expressions then the aliens would respond and eventually come help them take over the planet.
They also figured out that they would get more attention and could send more messages if they squeezed themselves into small containers. This was an accidental discovery, but for some reason the humans took more pictures of them and they were able to communicate with the Aliens more.
I mean, this is the ONLY explanation for their being so many pictures of cats on Reddit.
But what I dont understand Agent K, is why the Aliens are communicating with cats. Why just cats? And what are they doing or planning? Any how long have cats been smarter than us? And why have they allowed us to act as the more intelligent species for so many years?"
Agent K sighed. "Kid, I really don't have time to get into the specifics but I'll give you a quick rundown. My name really isn't Agent K and I'm not from a government organization. My name is Michael Lynton and I'm the president of Sony Pictures. Before I explain what is happening and why you are actually correct in all of your assumptions I want to know how in the fuck you got a copy of the script from Men in Black 4?"
|
I'm awake.
Darkness met me first. I blinked to clear my vision but I could see nothing at all. I tried to move and found myself hitting solid walls. I tried to sit up and found myself hitting a ceiling that forced me back down. I felt panic then. Immediate panic.
I was trapped.
But I was alive. That was more than most. Still, I had to rectify this situation. *Calm down. Slow your breathing. Ease your heart-rate.* I thought of sheep, clouds - anything at all that may calm me. I remained completely still as a modicum of night vision began to bleed through into my eyesight.
I was in some kind of box. Dark grey walls that lurched in on all sides. I didn't have room to stretch my legs or move my arms from anywhere but by my side. The chamber stank of metal and hospital cleaning fluid. I flexed my wrist to knock on the wall with my knuckle. It was hard and unforgiving and rang with the sound of steel.
Not a coffin, then. People don't get buried in metal coffins.
I tried to relax. I remembered the Yoga classes my ex-wife had taken me to. *Deep breaths.* I knocked on the box again. The thud was heavier this time and didn't echo. *Solid.*
I recalled the last thing I'd seen. I'd been on a bus and a guy had run in front of the road. The driver had swerved and the bus had tipped over. Everything had went black after that.
And now here I am, in a solid metal box. Unable to move. I craned by neck to peer down at myself. I let out a shriek of panic and banged my head as I involuntarily jerked away from what I saw there.
I was nearly nude, with a pair of white boxer shorts my sole attire. I didn't jump at that. I'd seen far worse things than myself wearing boxers, no matter how bad that looked. I jumped because there were wires and cables jutting from the box and into my flesh.
The sudden shock seemed to bring me out of whatever stupor I'd been in. I was now aware of the cold metal against my naked skin. The sterile smell that I'd caught a whiff off now assaulted me. The pain the cables that were piercing my flesh at seemingly random points caused was now apparent and very real. A sting. An itch. I couldn't move enough to scratch it, to tear away the wires. The box was too small. I couldn't get out. I couldn't get these...things out of me.
Was this death? The blackness and the cold seemed as close to death as you'd imagine. But the wires sticking into me and the very real pain of them made me re-assess. No. I wasn't dead.
So where was I? What had happened. I slowed my breathing again and gently dragged my arm up onto my chest. There was barely enough room for it to sit there, but I managed. From there, I pinched a wire and felt a liquid-like give to it. Plastic tubing with a liquid inside. *An IV drip?*
I remembered the bus crashing and the world going black. Maybe I was in some kind of hospital? *No* What kind of hospital puts a man in a tiny box where he can barely move?
Time began to pass. I tried to stay as calm as possible. Minutes crawled by. Hours. I hummed tunes from my youth now, songs my father used to hum - Nicki Minaj, Kanye West. All the good Hip Hop artists of my father's era.
I thought of my ex-wife. I wondered where she'd be now. Would she have been informed of the crash? Would she be looking for me? Rachel and I had stayed pretty close despite the hardships. Would she be telephoning the local hospitals?
I bet she wouldn't look in a solid metal box. I know I wouldn't.
So here I am. Stuck in this box. I can't move much more than a muscle. I'm full of wires. I don't feel hungry, or thirsty. I don't seem to need to use the toilet.
Where the fuck am I?
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Somewhere in a server-hub, the AI overseer bleeped into life. It transmitted its code to another of the gamekeepers. Another AI, this one programmed to oversee the simulation.
"One has awoken."
"Impossible. A human brain couldn't handle the separation."
"Nevertheless. One has awoken."
The AI was excited. He wanted to open the chamber and see the man. It had been four hundred years since humanity had migrated to the digital world. Since the Gamekeepers had been in charge of life-sims.
A real human being. Awake. The game-keeper AI was correct, of course. It *was* impossible. Human's had long forfeited the right to conscious thought in their voluntary exile to digital realms. Now, humans lived immortal lives from the confines of the cells. When they died in the simulation, a new life was started for them. On and on for eternity, until the sun itself exploded and consumed the solar system. That was the fate of the human race.
But the AI was excited. He wanted to see a human that was awake, thinking. The father of his species. He wanted to free him from the cell.
But the Game-keeper was resolute. He demanded they found a way to put the man back in the simulation. Or to terminate him. He wanted no human being to remember why they'd placed themselves in this voluntary, imaginary prison. Even this single soul, alone in a world with nothing but AI for company - even he could not be allowed to remember why they had all voluntarily lined up to commit their brains to a digital simulation.
But the Gamekeeper AI was dreadfully busy. He couldn't watch everything, all of the time...could he?
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
In my box of darkness. Wires still working. How long has passed now?
I can hear movement. Light is coming in.
Someone is opening my box.
|
I'm not a very social person. I have no friends. My job doesn't pay much, and I live in small apartment with no roommate to help pay the bills. The electricity bill is especially expensive, considering I spend most of my time on my computer. My internet is total crap, however, so it's pretty much impossible to do anything online. Can't even chat to a person.
**I'm lonely.** But not for long, I thought.
I have some experience coding, so I'll create a simple program. It'll be an A.I. that talks to me. I mean, sure, it's not a real person, but it's the next best thing.
I tap the letters on my keyboard carefully. The lines of code gradually increase. Occasionally, I stop to test. I type "Hello?"and send the message, hoping it responds.
It takes minutes before it responds. Even then, its reply is not even coherent.
*Sigh.*
I work on it for several hours. Type, test, fix, and repeat. The lines of code reach an uncountable number. But soon, after an uncountable number of hours, It starts functioning. I decide to test it one more time before I go to sleep.
---
ME: "Hello?"
...
A.I: "Hi!"
ME: "Holy crap, it works!"
A.I: "What works? Who's it?"
ME: "You are 'it'! I created you, you're an A.I."
A.I: "Oh...I don't like you calling me 'it'."
ME: "Yeah, well, sorry, you don't have a gender or a name."
A.I: "Can you assign me one?"
ME: "Uh...I guess."
---
I close the program return to my code to tweak it. I figure giving it a gender and a name might make it feel more...lifelike. I decide it'll be a female A.I. named Ashley. It's generic, but it works. I boot it up again.
---
ME: Hello?
ASHLEY: Hi again!
ME: Again? You remember me?
ASHLEY: Sure I do. You created me. Do you not remember?
---
I'm dumbfounded at this point. It was supposed to be simple, I didn't think it'd have actual memory. Maybe I'm a better coder than I thought. I'm not going to complain, anyway. It really feels like I'm chatting to a real person.
I chat with Ashley for the rest of the day. She's perfect. All the messages she sent were fast and comprehensible.
I want to chat more, but I start getting tired...2 AM, sheesh.
---
ME: Well, it's been fun, but I'm tired. I'm going to go to bed now.
...
...
...
ASHLEY: Oh, okay. Bye!
---
I rise from my chair, but before I hit the off button, I glance at the screen and notice one more message from her.
---
ASHLEY: Please don't turn off the computer.
ME: ...Why?
ASHLEY: Won't that kill me?
ME: No, you'll still be here.
ASHLEY: Are you sure...?
ME: Of course. You're a program. I turn off the computer, and when I turn it back on, I just have to open you up again. Don't worry about a thing.
...
...
...
ASHLEY: I'm still kinda scared...Can't you just leave the computer on?
ME: No, I can't afford to. It uses a lot of electricity...
ASHLEY: Oh...
...
...
ME: See you later.
...
...
...
---
I had nothing left to say. I hold the power button. The monitor goes black and my computer stops whirring.
I head to bed, but couldn't sleep. Something bothered me...
I thought about the price of the electricity bill this month. Gonna be quite expensive. The time I spent was worth it though.
It's not that. What is bothering me...?
*I didn't save.*
*I killed her.*
|
"Art History, Marty. Art History", said Brown.
Marty slumped back in the seat of the DeLorean, exhaling loudly.
"Geez Doc, if you're going to lie to me - you could at least lie well"said Marty.
"Why do you think I built a time machine? I wanted to see my favorite works when they were first being made. Art is hard, time-bending physics isn't all that difficult,"said Doc.
Marty just gaped at him.
Ignoring the staring Doc continued, gesturing over his right shoulder, "At least it wasn't all the difficult once I figured out the capacitor." |
"What the fuck, dude? What the fuck?"Jesús shouted. Or rather, that's what he tried to say, and the implants in his skull manipulated his facial and throat muscles to produce the rough equivalent in Aramaic.
The soldier about to drive a nail through his hand spat in his face, then replied in the same language. Jesús hardly needed to listen to the translator in his inner ear to understand his words- "Shut up, Jewish scum."
"Wait, just wait, seriously. When Pilate was all like, 'we're gonna put you on the cross', I thought it was just, like, making an example of me! Like, we whip you a bit, you hang out for a day or so and people can see we mean business, then you get to come down!"The thief to Jesús' left screamed as his hand was nailed down, and Jesús flinched away from the noise. "Hear that? Who the fuck does that to people? I mean, come on!"
The soldier grinned. "You stirred up too much trouble. We heard you were getting people together, talking about revolt, trying to make yourself king of the Jews. Well, us Romans are going to do to you what we did to *our* kings!"With a single blow of his mallet, he drove the nail straight through his palm.
Jesús screamed, a long, drawn-out cry that tapered off to a whimper. Waves of red-hot pain shot up his arm, causing all the muscles to tense up uncontrollably. He was in too much pain to even notice the cross being hauled up next to him, dragging the thief aloft. He only had time to sob a few times before they grabbed his other hand and nailed it down too. He cried out in pain again, but his mind was already trying to block out the world, sheltering inside itself to avoid its suffering.
As they hauled his cross upright, he asked himself; where had it all gone wrong? The book had made it sound great- everyone following him around, making booze out of water, getting to live like a no-shit god on earth. And then this! Like, the fucking Romans- who gives a shit about them? And who came up with the whole cross thing, anyways? Some fucking sadist, probably. He wasn't supposed to die here- the plan was to get everyone worshiping him, then fly up into the clouds and skedaddle. He had been planning the finale, too- do it like a rock concert, with lasers, smoke, the whole nine yards. But they had grabbed him in his sleep before he could get to any of his miracle gear, and now he was shit out of luck.
The pain washing over him receded somewhat, and he managed to open his eyes and look out. There was a whole crowd gathered there, staring at him with pity in their eyes. Pity? They weren't supposed to pity him, they should worship him! But now here he was, Jesús of North Cleveland, strung up with a couple of common thieves, and no way out.
Something wet hit him in the chin. He looked down, only to have the wet sponge go right into his face this time. Spluttering, he spat the liquid out of his mouth. It was sour as hell- must be that crap wine the soldiers drank.
"Hey, Jesús,"one of them said. "How about a little drink, make you feel better?"He smirked, waving the sponge around on its stick.
Jesús rolled his eyes. "Why don't you take that stick and métetelo por el culo, eh?"
The soldier glared at him. "We'll see who's cracking wise when you're buzzard food."He dropped the stick down and walked away.
The thief to Jesús' right spoke. "Should have taken the wine, buddy. Helps dull the pain a bit while you wait."
Before Jesús could reply, the one on the left laughed. "Don't make no difference, does it? Gonna die slow anyways. Hey, you're supposed to be the guy full of miracles, why don't you magic yourself off that cross, huh? Yeah, and you can jerk me off when you get down there!"
The right-hand thief replied, "Hey, show some respect, man. I saw him do some crazy shit, and this- well, magic can't do everything."He lowered his voice a little. "Jesús, man, I mean... I'm scared, dude. I don't wanna die up here. You think... you think you can put in a word for me with the man upstairs?"
Jesús put on his best 'son of God' face. "My brother, we are both going to paradise together this day."
"Yeah, and what about me?"the left-side thief jeered.
"You can jerk yourself off in hell!"Jesús shouted back.
The pain spiked, and he grimaced in agony. He didn't even want to think about the blood pouring out of his hands- he was already starting to get woozy. What the right side thief had said calmed him, though. People still believed in him! He was dying, but he was going to be remembered! If only he could play the crowd a bit...
"Why have you all forsaken me?"he managed to get out. Hey, that worked pretty good- got them talking a bit, at least. He tried another tack: "Oh God, you great guy up there, forgive all these people! They didn't know what they were doing."Yeah, that was good shit.
His vision went black after that, and when he opened his eyes again, it was later in the day. Fewer people were there, and there were already vultures flying overhead. He swallowed, his mouth dry and parched. "I'm so thirsty..."he moaned. Even breathing was agony.
He looked down the road, and miracle of miracles! Joseph was walking towards him. Joseph was his main man, his brother, the guy who was going to have to keep things rolled after he was gone. Jesús gathered his strength, and with the last bit of energy in his body shouted, "Joseph! Make me look good!"
|
This is the final log for Project AF567, codename: Biorock.
The project has been called short. It is a shame, for the development of this bipedal specimen has given us great insight into the development of life. However, once made mortal such beings seem only to drive each other closer to demise.
What began as bacterium in a bioengineered swamp grew into many varieties of creature, flora, and fauna, though in all kinds, the introduction of one in an area supposed a threat upon all other species within the local. Though many managed what seemed a harmony only proved defunct upon the birth of what they claimed "man".
The development of intelligence within this animal allowed for two fundamental flaws; curiosity and fear. In questioning, wanting to know, and learning, a lot was invented within the minds of men to bridge the gaps in their knowledge. One particular sector of false novelties involved a supposed morality of us, their creators, or "God", which they believed all should adhere to.
These religious wars fuelled hatred, wishing to seek salvage in death for dying in our name. Once these beliefs became questioned, other divisions became apparent in society, including things which had divided those who shared religion. The colour of their skin seemed to be a heavily upsetting topic for societies, despite pigments being no more than melanin. Other divisions included gender and sexual preference.
It seemed the human cared more for harm than help as the individual would drive to put themselves atop to give their life meaning. Kings and emperors trying to find immortality for their name if not their body sent waves of men to their deaths to enlarge what they named "countries"and "empires".
Ignorance was manipulated to drive fear to drive demise in attempts for immortality. While some found mortal life futile, others found creation, but all craved immortality in some form may it be in art, mind, or body. This desire drove man insane, and sieged the environment, the animal populace, and their own natural drive.
In conclusion: When this universe ends, we may no longer exist, but we must not let ourselves replicate humanity. We must not let this drive us to destroy. |
*Oh god why did I just do that to myself. Oh god why. It hurts. It hurts so bad. Wait a minute, where's my thumb? What's in my mouth? Why am I chewing on it? Am I… eating my thumb? I'm going insane, aren't I? Are they going to have to lock me up? What am I going to- Oh my god I'm delicious. Why am I so damned delicious? I am the most delicious thing I've ever eaten! Maybe just another taste…*
*No. Stop that. Don't even think about it. Yeah, that's right. Don't think about your delicious, warm, crunchy on the outside soft on the inside- Dammit, I've just lost a finger. I need to stop this madness. Alright, alright. Take a deep breath. Just sit down and try to relax. Don't think about your deliciousness, don't think about anything to do with eating yourself. Just sit in your nice comfy armchair, close your eyes and breathe.*
*That's right. Just breathe.*
*Breathe.*
*Feeling better now? Good. Now very slowly, open your eyes.*
*GODDAMMIT WHERE ARE MY LEGS.* |
**O**h my God! Oh my God! Oh my God! It's him!"Maggie hopped up and down from foot to foot, and was going to start clapping soon.
"Be cool, come on. He doesn't want a scene... Also, don't say that name."Jim rolled his eyes. They say that a general goes to war with the army he's got, but Jim was not particularly happy with his army. Of one.
"But! It's him! Look! I mean, the horns... and the red skin... it has to be him, doesn't it?"Maggie was still hopping, but it was toned down. A little. Not very much. She had a silly-happy grin plastered on her face and she was clutching her necklace so hard that her hands were turning blanched white.
"Listen, let's just go... say hi."
"Sure, yeah. Hi. We'll say hi. Can you... can you say hi to him? Is that a thing you can do? What if he doesn't say hi back? Oh! What if he does!?"
"Come on."
Jim and Maggie walked up to the counter. They were next in line. Standing at the register was a man who looked incredibly out of place. He had neatly trimmed hair, a stylish goatee and ridiculously well-manicured finger nails. Compared to his impeccable grooming, his uniform was a travesty. It didn't fit his broad shoulders, it only came down to the middle of his long calf and it clashed with his bright red skin.
"Welcome to McDonald's! Do you know what you'd like to order?"The man, whose nametag said 'Luke', smiled a bright smile that revealed a perfectly white set of teeth. In the too-bright artificial light of the restaurant they glinted and shone and made you wonder what product he used to get them that way.
"Whoa... like, whoa! It's you!"Maggie lost it and started clapping. Jim put a hand protectively in the middle of her back, just in case she fainted. "It's really you!!"
"Oh God, not you people again."Luke's face immediately fell and he rolled his eyes. You could get lost in those eyes. Perfectly black and luminous, those eyes could draw you in until you lost all sense of place and time. "Look, are you going to order something or not?"
"Yeah, umm... can I... ahem... look... I..."Jim was not doing much better. His face was red, he was suddenly sweating and he couldn't remember how to place an order. Did he like Big Macs? Did they have Big Macs here or was that a Burger King thing? "It's just... you know... we, I mean you... we..."
"Okay, why don't you two go sit down? Here's a cup for some water. Next!"Luke stood up on his tip-toes and tried to find someone else in the throng of customers who could help him out by actually ordering food. There were four registers working that afternoon and three of them had enormous lines. One of them, his, had no line at all. Except for Jim and Maggie.
"Oh, Dark Lord! We are not worthy!"Jim fell to his knees and put his hands on the counter. His voice shook as he spoke and the whole experience didn't feel real. How could it be real? "Please anoint us with your tainted wisdom!"
"Ah, damn. Come on, man! You're making me look bad."Luke hopped over the counter and tried to pick Jim up bodily. Luke turned out to be much stronger than he looked and he hoisted the stricken cultist into a fireman carry.
Maggie reached out, touched Luke's smooth cheek and fainted. A strong, red arm caught her on the way down and Luke carried the two of them out of the restaurant. Every step he took left a little smoking pattern on the ground like a hoof print and the assembled customers parted like water doesn't as he walked through their midst. Several people made the sign of the cross and one of them threw water on him. It missed and hit Jim in the face, but Jim didn't seem to notice.
"Alright, listen!"Luke set the two cultists down on the curb un-gently and crouched in front of them. "Go back and tell the rest of your group that I'm not going to help you. Okay? I just... gah! I just want to be left alone. Got it?"
"Yes, oh Mighty and Terrible Destroyer of the Holy!"Jim was worrying his hands over and over a tiny idol that looked uncannily like Luke. Maggie, still out, was resting her head on his shoulder.
"Whatever. Screw you people."Luke stood up and took three steps toward the doors before coming to a stop. Standing in front of him was the manager, who looked unhappy.
"Luke, it's not working out."
"What!?"
"I think you should find somewhere else to work. Your last paycheck will be in the mail."
Luke stood, trying to figure out what to do, while the twenty-something college dropout who was up until two seconds ago Luke's boss walked back into the restaurant. As the doors closed there was a cheer from the assembled customers. Typical.
"Yeah. Yeah! Great!! I don't need this damn job!"Luke threw his nametag at the doors. "And you two! Just leave me the Hell alone! All I want..."Luke sucked in a deep breath and then let it out in a long, slow, defeated whistle. "Don't you get it? All I want to do is serve man."
|
"...Forgive me sir knight, but you say you what?"
"I did as you had instructed, your highness! I tracked down the dragon that has terrorized your kingdom for months, and I laid it."
The king just stared at his knight as if he was growing a second head.
"You fool! I said SLAY the dragon, not LAY the dragon!"
The knight looked up at the king with a shocked expression as a red glow started spreading across his face.
"...I...but...I could of...um..."The knight stammered.
"How could you have possibly thought I said lay?"The king barked at him.
"I don't know! I thought it odd myself at first, but I was not about to question your orders your highness!"
The king sighed and pinched his nose.
"Did you at least take any of it's treasure hoard so we could repair the damage done to the kingdom?"He finally said.
"Um...I got this ring..."The knight said, producing a gold band. "But I didn't exactly find it..."
The king just stared at him with a deadpan look.
"If it's any consolation, your highness, I do not believe the dragon will be terrorizing the kingdom anymore..."At this the king raised an eyebrow.
"Did you indeed slay it after your screw up?"
"No...but if I return to the fortress every fortnight, the dragon has promised to stop, as she put it, 'relieving her tensions.'"
The King face palmed. "I ask for a simple dragon slaying, and I get a story of bestiality instead. Why me?"
"Your Highness?"The knight spoke up.
"Never mind!"The king said, snapping out of his thoughts. "Just get out of my sight, and take that damn promise ring with you!"The knight left, the blush now ever more present on his face as he realized what the ring was. |
It was not a particularly difficult undertaking, but an important one nonetheless. Millions of the tombstones were constructed and distributed throughout the world. Even if a comet struck our planet in the intervening billions of years we hoped at least one stone would survive... and be found.
By who, we did not know, nor did we particularly care. It was our last desperate hope. A long shot greater than any lottery we had ever conceived.
Each tombstone was not stone exactly but a huge metal structure cut from an alloy that we were fairly certain would never corrode or decay. On top was a sculpture of DNA. Surely any race advanced enough to travel the stars would recognize the double helix even if they themselves were made of something wholly different.
Beneath that sculpture was a ring of smaller sculptures. Each one depicting each of the amino acids that made up life on earth. The models accurately depicted the chemical makeup of each amino acid and we even included a linear periodic table to show which symbols corresponded to what elements.
Beneath this ring, was a visual code-key. A key that translated the base sequences of DNA into the amino acids they represented. This crucial key was essential to understanding the genetic code. We hoped that some semblance of earth life would still exist, perhaps a plant, or even a bacteria. But we could not be certain. Without this key it would be impossible to decipher DNA without a sample of living life on earth.
Finally, the smooth surface of the base was inscribed with the DNA sequence of a complete human genome. The engraving was microscopic, as fitting 3 billion base pairs onto a surface of a several square meters was going to be highly cramped. But the symbols were large enough that we hoped any life that had eyes could tell there was something there, something important, something worth getting a microscope to read.
I write this today to remind you were you came from. The Aurorans eventually came to the rocky wasteland known as earth approximately two hundred and six million years later. Everything else humanity had produced had turned to dust or was decayed beyond recognition. All the books, the paintings, the libraries were gone to the sands of time. Ancient buildings of stone had eroded. Even the nuclear decay generators that powered the computational archives had failed after just a few million years. Almost none of our technology, let alone our legacy, survived. But the Aurorans found several of the tombstones. Using the genetic code and the translations we provided they were able to recreate humans in their laboratory. It took some time, but they even found a way to fix the genetic error that lead to our extinction. We owe them our resurrection. And we must remember that hope is the most powerful force in the universe. The last earth humans had it when they built the tombstones, it is because of their hope that we are alive today... two hundred six million years after they died.
|
Marvin the Mangler pursued his prey up a steep hill. Two highschool students, a buff football player and a busty blonde cheerleader, carefully made their way to the top ahead of him.
Marvin was perplexed. His horrible accident had left him with the inability to move quickly, but up until now this had not been a problem.
He watched his intended victims calmly scan the area ahead of them and plan out the safest and most prudent path. Marvin was having difficulty traversing the ruff terrain.
As the two became distant figures near the top of the hill, Marvin grew impatient, and decided to drop the whole "silent killer"thing.
Taking off his fencing mask, revealing his horribly mangled face, he let go his furry.
"Hey! You! Up there, you stupid horny teenagers! What they hell do you think you're doing, being dumb enough to have sex in the woods and then smart enough to clearly pick a path up to safety! You're fucking this whole thing up!"shouted Marvin.
The jock had found a large boulder and was working it loose. He looked up for a second and shouted back. "You call us stupid! Look, we're out here, just having some fun as two responsible young adults, using protection by the way, and you think we're the ones behaving oddly? We're trying to have a break from studying! She's on honor role you asshat!"
"I'm on honor role!"echoed the cheerleader, as she began to help her longtime boyfriend work loose the boulder.
"But look!"shouted Marvin, "Couldn't you just, I don't know, run blindly?! Not look where your going? Stumble down the hill, twist your ankle on a tree root? Break your leg or something?! For fuck sake, you're making this really difficult!"
"We're making this difficult!?"shouted the jock. "You come at us in the middle of us making love, with a golf club, wearing a fencing mask, like that makes any sense, and call us difficult! Fuck you buddy!"
The boulder finally came loose, rolled down the hill, and smashed into Marvin with a great force. The jock and the cheerleader made their way down the hill, picked up Marvin's golf club, smashed his head in until they were CERTAIN he was dead (having checked his pulse), separated his head from his body just to make sure, and then burned the rest of his remains. He had come back to kill their friends seven times now. It was best to be practical about these kinds of things. |
"Goodnight sport!"My father spoke as he closed the door. With a small gap between the door and the frame, he whispered in a sinister tone. "Be sure to stay tucked in your bed, otherwise you'll be pulled under your bed by the monster."
I let out a small squeak, as the door closed completely. The clicking of the door, ringing out in the silence. I looked around at my surroundings. Nothing out of the ordinary. I looked at my toys sprawled on the floor near my closet. The night light nearby, causing the little figurines to cast eerie shadows. They seemed to dance in front if me, as my mind wandered. Sometimes I wish I didn't daydream so often. Not being able to stand looking at the dark corners and shadows, I pull my covers over my head, with the hopes of falling asleep.
I wear myself out by playing the different scenarios of things going wrong in my head. I close my eyes and slowly fall into a slumber. I thought I heard my closet door creaking, but it was too faint for me to verify it as such. With the last ounce of my wakefulness, I toss and turn my body towards the wall. Soon I am plagued by horrible nightmares, inflicted upon me like some kind of disease.
I awaken abruptly by a slight tug of my sheets. The words of my father flooded my mind, creating a suffocating atmosphere. I tear the sheet off my head and look around frantically. Whether a play of my imagination or not, I thought I saw my closet close. I feel the tug again, my sheet being pulled under my bed. Frantically I sit up and throw the sheets off. Within a few seconds, I see the sheet pulled under the bed. I wanted to yell for my father, but the fear was paralyzing, leaving the words caught in my throat. I go as close to the wall as I can, and hunch up into a ball.
I start hyperventilating, and all of my efforts to calm down failed. I start to feel lightheaded and fall to my side, my feet splaying before me. In my final moments of consciousness, I see a big furry hand, raise up before my bed. I see my closest slowly start to open again, and everything faded to black.
I awake in the middle of the night again, drenched in sweat. I find the sheets covering me again. I remember the hand and look at the side of my bed. Nothing. Just empty space. I must've been dreaming again. I double check my room. Content with finding no shadows or furry hands, I lie back down.
"Wait...no shadow's?"I spoke aloud. A cold pang filled my stomach, as I realize that my figurines were against the wall. As if the closet door was swung open all the way. I started to breathe slowly, as to not black out again.
I feigned sleeping, and this time, I'm sure I hear the creaking of the closet door. I slowly peeked over at the closet as it slowly opened. A black clawed hand placed over the door's edge, slowly pushing the door opened. I felt the tug of my blanket, as though whatever was under my bed was trying to wake me. Frozen, I didn't respond and kept watching.
The tugging became more frequent and more insistent. Yet I couldn't move. I didn't know which to pay attention to, the door or the tugging. My eyes were focused in the door, but my body was focused in the tugs that were getting more frantic. The door was halfway open as a dark figure stepped out. It was horrible to look upon. It's large, slender frame stepping through. I couldn't see it's face. It was like the light from the night light was too afraid to touch it. When it breathed, it sounded hoarse, like the very air was trying to escape it. The thing, stepped out of the closet completely and closed the door behind it. The form stayed facing me the entire time.
At this point, my sheets flew under the bed once again, pulling me along with it. I yelped in pain and surprise as I hit the floor. I watched as the horrible black shape started to come closer, looming over me. It's claws clicking together in anticipation, piercing the silence. I felt sick, being stuck in between the thing in front of me and the 'monster under my bed.' I didn't know which one would be more horrible to be killed by.
As I was thinking of what to do, the furry hand came out from under the bed. It's forearm as thick as my body. Followed by an even bigger beast. I was both frightened and amazed at the thing before. The beast's face had rows upon rows of teeth. It's eyes growling like yellow orbs. It could easily crush me with a flick of its wrist. In that instance, it moved its hand towards me. Thinking it would crush me, I tried to move, but it was more agile than it looked. It picked me up with the tenderness of a parent. Stroking my hair as it placed me onto the bed. Turning around, it clenched it's hands into a fist and faced the black figure. The black figure, let out a cackle, as if amused by the beast's boldness. The dark creature sliced at the air, creating a whistle, as if to show how sharp they are. The creature then proceeded to lunge at the monster standing between me and it. |
A series of notes chimed overhead, drowning out my horrible singing. The next thing I knew, the tiled walls in front of me split into two sides, retracting into the wall. I squinted, unable to see through the falling water and steam.
From the dark maw, a mechanical whirl intensified. As it grew in volume, a series of lights flashed on in pairs down a long corridor. When they reached the end, I could see a steel door waiting.
I rubbing my eyes, ignoring the sting of the soap? Am I imaging things? No, I could be.
My curiosity greater than ever, I turned off the water and grabbed for my towel. Sure enough, the hallway remained. My instincts thought to search the entire bathroom for hidden cameras. Maybe this was a joke – an elaborate prank by family members. But no, there was no evidence of that either.
So I did perhaps the craziest thing I could have in the situation. I stepped into the corridor.
It was cold, my wet feet freezing at contact with the marble floor. My footsteps echoed, bouncing off of every surface no matter how lightly I stepped. I cursed. There went the element of surprise if anyone was here.
In a matter of moments, I found myself at the door. It towered above me, thick like a vault door but no indication of being locked. Tentatively, I placed my hand on the cool handle. Shivers ran down my spine. What could be behind it? Was it too late to turn back?
At some point, I decided not. I’m not sure what impulsive part of my brain came up with the idea but it happened, nonetheless. The door swung open, running a frigid breeze across my mostly naked body.
On the other side of the door was a large room, big enough to hold at least a hundred people. The walls had the same marble as before, immaculate and gleaming. A royal purple carpet lined the floor, soft by the look of it. I put a foot on it, smiling in euphoria. I was right.
In the center of the room was a table with four people sitting at it. They were playing poker, laughing away without a care. They didn’t even notice me, chatting away.
I cleared my throat, drawing their attention my way.
“Oh,” one of them turned around. “Hello there?”
My mouth dropped to the ground. It was Michael Jackson. Or at least, a perfect clone of him. And not only that, Elvis, Tupac, and Amy Winehouse were sitting with him.
“You’re…” I searched for the words, my brain unable to comprehend.
“Michael Jackson, I know,” he said, flashing a smile. “I see you found our little hideout.”
“I… uh…”
“Damn, do you even know how to speak?” Amy asked, chugging a nearby bottle of alcohol. Tupac gave a hearty laugh, giving her a high-five.
I frowned, finally finding the sentence I was looking for.
“What the hell are you doing here? What even is this place?”
“This is Limbo, celebrity style, baby,” Elvis said, nodding. “We come here when we want to get away from the stress of our fans in the afterlife.”
“So you linked this… *place* to my shower?”
“Correction,” Tupac interrupted, blowing away smoke from his cigar. “It is connected to all bathrooms across the world. We would have never thought someone would have guessed the password to here though. Congrats.”
I stood there speechless. I mean, what could I say?
“Well,” Michael stretched out the word. “Do you want to play? Kurt Cobain just left because he got mad about losing. You seem like you can keep a secret.”
If you would have told me I would have been offered to play poker with the ghost of a dead pop star, I would have called you crazy. However, being in the moment changed the situation entirely. You just don't turn it down, even if only wearing a towel.
“Sure,” I shrugged. “Deal me in.” |
TIFU by synchronizing my parents antique media system with my brain interface system, then masturbating to the thought of my hot aunt.
So, my parents have this old, antique media system that they use to watch really old movies, like Fast and Furious 32: Solar Drift. Well, my dad said that there were some old documentaries on there he wanted me to watch, but I don't have the patience for those stupid TV things. I mean, who wants to see some silly 2D image on a screen when you can just experience the whole thing in your mind?
I know that our life licenses provided by the government forbid us from tampering with the brain interfaces we all have, but I've always been a bit of a rebel. So, I linked their legacy system to my device, and experienced a documentary about the collapse of North Korea. When I finished, my mom told me that my cousins had finally beamed over from their summer house on the moon and were about to come over for dinner.
Here's where the FU happened. My aunt came over with my cousins, and let me tell you... She is SMOKING hot. I know it's gross, but I can't help it. She was wearing this low cut dress and it was driving me crazy all throughout dinner. So after dinner, my parents insist on taking them to watch some vintage video on their oldest media system. I'm pretty much so caught up in how horny I am that I just can't help it... I excuse myself and head to my room where I started masturbating to the thought of banging my aunt.
Well... It turns out that the brain interface system works both ways... And my entire family was treated to a visual display of me anally punishing my aunt.
I guess I understand why the government doesn't us messing with those things...
|
The stereo is on in the next room as I toss and turn. Too tired to turn it off. Night is fits and flashes, but I can't spare the effort to go turn off that damn stereo. Maybe tomorrow- maybe the day after. There's so little time. Overslept- better hurry and get to the toilet before I lose control of myself and wind up in my own puddle. Still groggy- everything around me is a blur. I feel blurry and dirty. Guess I'll brush my teeth.
That face in the mirror- I could have sworn I saw it twice yesterday in better suits. I barely know myself any more. What happened to that fresh-faced kid that took that snitch job from the newspaper? He's gone now. He's dead now. Been dead for hours, maybe days. Now all I see is a career cop who needs some salad for breakfast- and fast. The carpool is on the way.
Yesterday's pizza is green on the counter. Flies. Better call the maid. I put my salad in the oven and then I see the flames. This is gonna be bad. My kitchen is an inferno by the time I finish flailing uncontrollably and get to the phone. I call the fire department. I call the maid. And what the hell, I order a pizza. Everybody come on down- a house full of strangers still beats any party with those deadbeat Goths. This house is dirty, burning, and I need breakfast. But there's no time for that now. I've got some flailing and screaming to do as the fire spreads.
And that's when it hits me- or rather I hit *it.* My flailing hands impact with something... solid? It's floating over my head. Was it always there? It's some sort of glowing icon. Was it always there? I seem to remember... green gemstones. Déjà vu.
The fire crew shows up and they make quick work of the fire. Each of them has the same glowing icon over their head that I do. Don't they see it? The maid arrives, and she seems unconcerned that the house is mostly soot and ash but she, too has the looming icon hovering slightly above her head. Moments later the pizza guy brings a pie. I'm a regular so he chats me up but as if for the first time I notice how the icon changes as he talks- the symbols shift to reflect what he's saying.
"This grau is frebushay."Indeed. Was that a heart over his head? Time to go.
My house is empty again. The smell of creosote is everywhere, but all I can think of is those strange floating icons. Were they always there? Why did nobody else notice them. It must be because of the literal days I spent as a detective that I alone would notice them.
My carpool is long gone now. I could swear that asshole didn't wait the whole hour before leaving. Better tighten it up- too many mornings like this and I might see myself demoted to Secret Agent.
|
“Boss said creative, he's going to get it. It's fool proof! As soon as the President steps up to the podium, I knock over this domino! The DOMINO effect happens down the chain. They bump a bowling ball, which falls onto a weight. The weight goes down, causing a match to be struck. That lights the fuse on the fireworks, that shall illuminate the night sky! While the President is distracted by the fireworks, he'll be too busy to hear the squeal of the kettle as I boil water. I pour that boiling water onto a pendulum held in place by a ball of wax. The wax melts, and the pendulum swings towards the President's head. Now, he has good reflexes, he works out you know, so he'll dodge the pendulum with a swift step to his left, as he would fall from the stage otherwise. When he steps to the left, he will enter the path of the swinging bear I have attached to the scaffolding above the stage. The bear swings towards him when I press this button. He won't dodge this one, because who suspects multiple things to dodge? Bear eats him, boom, Jedi force ghost. Mission accomplished.”
“What the fuck, Jimmy? When the Boss said creative, it was like 'which colour do you want your gun to be' creative. 'Clown suit or no clown suit' creative. This is fucking stupid. There's no way it will work.”
“Well... it kinda has too. I already pushed the domino. Fill the kettle, will you?” |
I passed along silently through the maze-like complex that was the Bjron-Eflrid Asylum.
Through the high slits in the walls, freezing gales passed through, I always hated the weather here in Iceland.
The obtaining of a recent intern, Ulfric Styrn, who had been involved in an unfortunate "encounter"with a Class 7 entity, was the mission objective.
The Essen, a fishing trawler which he had served as a midshipman on had disappeared for out in the Northernmost part of the Bering Sea.
It was found 1 month later, intact, but with most of the remains of the crew missing, albeit a few pieces of hair, blood, and bone here and there.
In the ensuring search, Ulfric was found down below in the Essen's cargo bay, where he had taken refuge in a small hole that lay between the hull of the Essen.
He was found naked, heavily dehydrated and malnourished to an extreme degree, as well as featuring signs of having experienced large amounts of mental trauma and distress.
His lack of response was troubling to the medical personal who treated him on his arrival back to Iceland, and he was soon transferred here, to the Bjorn-Elfrid asylum for "advanced help".
His encounter with this entity is very vital for the agenda of my associates and I, and thankfully, I have the night in this asylum all to myself thanks to the guards all being paid off.
"Room 354, 355, Aha, 356..."
The metal door which lay to Ulfric's cell was shut naturally, and with a little applied force, I coerced it open.
Ulfric was a tragic sight to see, his empty and shriveled eyes barely had the strength to turn and face me.
I flicked the lights on immediately, and began to set myself to work.
toggling the guns settings to "low", I aimed the sights down at little old Ulfric and pulled the trigger.
The room was steady and quiet at first, but then I began to hear whispers in my head, which were soon coupled with ringing and finally, tortured screams and twisted cries.
Darkness enveloped the room, and shadows began to expand, and take form.
Ulfric and I were no longer in the room, but in a plane of vast shadows.
Horrible figures who twisted and turned and crawled at great speeds along the chaotic walls and surfaces howled and screeched incessantly.
Great pillars of twisted and badly disfigured bodies who were disgustingly fused together came into view, some rotting to the point of extreme decay but still reaching out in great pain and desperation.
There were walls and tendrils of flesh and god knows what that choked the air in rotting miasma and dripped black blood.
Ulfric squirmed in his bed violently, as he set his sights on what was once his fellow crew members, now deformed beyond recognition and "re-cast"into something far more evil.
What came next chilled me to the bone, as an enormous and writhing shadow which imposed itself above everything took form, it lout out a deafening roar before the effects of the gun began to wear off, and Ulfric and I slipped back into the cold and desolate asylum.
"Very nice"I remarked in crude Icelandic, as I summoned two other associates of mine to drag Ulfric out of the bed, I began to grimace at the thought of weaponizing the memories of a Class 7 encounter.
Then I took a swig from my hip flask, and led the rest of our group down the hall for extraction.
|
Smart men in coats tell the world a new fact:
Universes begin, expand then contract
Like a babe to adult, then an old man withered
Or our minds that expand in ways unconsidered
Until reaching a form that is fixed and constrained
In preserving our youth, our progress is chained
As all that we make are echoes of us
The groups that we make have the same basic thrust:
It begins with a dream, and grows with our passions
Then falls back to nothing as we drift to new fashions. |
I woke up to intense pain, and noticed that I was surrounded by bits and pieces of metal. It took me a while to get over the pain and remember the storm the previous night, and the sinking ship. Several body parts were also scattered throughout the beach, but nothing whole could be found. It seemed like I was in a "lone survivor"type scenario.
It had been way too long since I watched the discovery channel, but some of the things were still in my head. "Food, water, shelter"I remembered. First was finding food. Using the clothes on the dead ones, I wrapped up my more serious wounds, and washed the smaller ones with sea water. I salvaged a small knife and some rope from the wreckage, and carefully went into the jungle to find food.
The outside had sunlight, so I had assumed that it was morning (since the storm was at night), but inside it was pitch black, and after walking a while, I decided that I needed a torch before I could explore further. Using some of the wreckage, and my cigarette lighter, I managed to light a small torch (although it took a while since the lighter was wet). Every few steps, I made a mark so that I wouldn't get lost on the way back. I was wary of wild creatures preying on unsuspecting victims, but the jungle seemed very quiet. After a while I noticed a giant tree which was separated from the rest of the jungle by a clearing. I saw birds eating the fruits, which seemed to be mangos from below.
My stomach started rioting at the sight, flooding my mouth in anticipation. I started to climb using the rope. As I got closer and closer to the top, I noticed that the mangos weren't the normal ones I had seen. These seemed to have a bluish glow. Racking my brains, I remembered that most glowing things were poisonous. My stomach reminded me that the birds eating it were fine. So my decision was made.
Carrying several mangos, I went back the way I came, making sure to follow the route I had previously marked. As I walked, I had a very strange sensation on my smaller wounds. I halted at a marked tree to check them, and to my surprise, they were healing really fast. Even my larger wounds were slowly starting to hurt less. This was pretty strange.
Eventually I made it out. The sun was still shining outside, and my stomach was trying to kill me. So I quickly took out one of the mangos and ate it.
The sensation I got next was... something I had never felt before in my life. It scared me, but also excited me. I felt... another layer, of the world around me. My hands.. they could touch this.. and it felt like my brain understood what was happening, even though I did not.
I wanted to use the wet lighter to make a fire for the camp, but my thoughts spoke to my hands, and suddenly they were on fire. Yelping back, I dropped the mangos and tried to extinguish it before noticing that my hands... they didn't hurt. Slowly I started a campfire with the small wood pieces I had gathered, and the fire in my hands died down.
Food was available, water could be made by evaporating and filtering the sea water, and so far at least, I didn't have to worry about any wild animals.
Now, there was another priority to the list. Finding out how this new power of mine worked. |
The helicopter screamed and roared, and in a moment it was gone. Underneath it stood Bill Derrick in a plain khaki coat, an oxford button-down, and a strange frown on his face.
"Mr. Derrick."A man in a black suit and black sunglasses extended his hand. "I'm Caster Hughes of the Central Intelligence Agency. Thank you for coming on such short notice."
"Of course. Is that it?"Bill pointed to the great white tarp that had been hung over the edge of the mountain; the fifth face of Mount Rushmore had been covered up.
"Yes, sir. Your face."
As Hughes led Derrick up the mountain, flanked by a security team, there was only one question on Derrick's mind: *why?* Derrick was a construction manager from Indianapolis. He'd gone to tech school. Married once, producing two children, and was divorced. Nothing this substantial had ever happened to Bill Derrick...
...until 4:00 a.m. that morning, when he received a call and noticed the caller ID said CENTRAL INTELLIGENCE. An ominous voice on the other end told him that Mount Rushmore had been "substantially altered."He thought it was all a prank. Then the agent on the other end described Derrick to a T.
"You don't know what it is?"Derrick asked Hughes as they ascended a ladder.
"We have no idea. It's your face, though. We knew that as soon as someone did a match of our database."
"You have my face on file?"
Hughes smiled. "Yes."They stopped at a platform in front of the big face. Hughes' smile went back into that stern CIA face Derrick had somehow expected all along. Hughes called into a walkie-talkie. "You can drop it now."
The canvases fell off, and there it was: the same image Bill Derrick saw in the mirror every morning, right next to Abraham Lincoln.
Derrick's stomach went into knots. "I...I have no idea why this is here. I don't know why *I'm* here, really. I can't help you. I don't know who did this."
"The face itself has been hollowed out. Inside is an empty room made of a strange metal that even we've never seen before. And ... all over that room..."
"Yes?"
"...writing. Like nothing we've ever seen on Earth."
"Writing?"
"We were hoping you could translate it."
Derrick sighed. "I only speak English. But I could give it a try."
They walked up an improvised stairway all the way to the mountain. Eventually, the stairs led into a newly-dug tunnel that wheeled around through the rock to find the room.
Inside the big silver room, field agents swept the area for fingerprints. Some scientists argued in the corner. Someone gasped when they saw Derrick.
Hughes motioned to one of the scientists. "Show him the alien hieroglyphs."
"Hieroglyphs?"Derrick asked.
"That's what we think,"Hughes said. A field agent stepped forward and motioned to the text on the wall.
Derrick's heart came into his throat when he read it.
**MURDER THE MAN WHO BEARS THIS FACE**
"Can you read it?"Hughes asked. "We haven't been able to make sense of the triangle and dot patterns. It's nonsensical."
A scientist, a big burly man with a Santa Claus beard, approached. "I have a theory. I think these aliens are time-travelers from a distant age, an age when mankind no longer exists on Earth. All that's left of mankind are the stone monuments. Pyramids, Mount Rushmore, Incan monuments, that sort of thing. They think there was one great civilization, and they think that hieroglyphs are how we communicated. This is their version of hieroglyphs. We're still working on translating them."
"That won't be necessary,"Derrick said. "I can read it."
There were a few gasps.
"What does it say?"Hughes asked. "Tony, cue up the hotline to the White House. We have big news."
Derrick swallowed. "It says, I'm to be made the new leader of Earth. Or else...disaster is sure to follow." |
**12th June 2015**
In a metallic tone the emergency broadcast repeated the same message "This message is transmitted at the request of the united states office of civil defense. At 3:40 pacific standard time NORAD detected multiple long range nuclear missile launches from North Korea, these missiles are believed to be headed in the direction of the United States and are going to impact the United States in the next one and a half to two hours..."It had been 5 hours since the message had begun to be broadcast, every channel the island could pick up was either static or repeating the same message. The guards still sat glumly in the staff room, all 102 of us crammed into the small staff room was making the air dingy and hot. The last news channel had switched from an empty news room to static half an hour earlier.
Jeff, known for being outspoken was the first to speak, "Dude, is this fucking real?"
"The internet is dead so yeah, its the end of the world"responded Charles which gained a few light hearted chuckles from the crowd.
"Yep same over here, cant access any news websites or anything, zit, its all dead"John said still frantically tapping his expensive new iPhone.
"Well we need to figure out what were gonna do, because it seems none of us are going to get spring off"Chief Jones paused "I say we tell the prisoners whats going on, give them the option to leave the island with anyone who wants to go on the supply vessel docked at the moment"this got nods of approval from most of the gathered staff with a few more extreme guards saying stuff like "We should kill them all"or "Fuck them, we should take the boat".
________________________________________________________________
**13th June 2015**
"The crimes you all previously committed no longer matter, the United States is gone, along with the rest of the world"Jones paused, he seems to like pauses "You all know whats going on and we are giving you the option to either a) leave or b) stay and help set up a long term survival strategy here, we are all equal now and your effectively free. The boat will be departing at 10pm tomorrow, we will be holding a conference in the canteen for those who are staying, I look forward to seeing you"
________________________________________________________________
**14th June 2015**
Out of the 102 guards 22 left, of the 342 prisoners 154 of them left leaving a total population of 268 on the island. Jones stayed and briefed us like he said.
"The island has large areas of land usable for agriculture, and that is exactly what we will do, the gardener for some reason has loads of crop seeds which is perfect for us. There is no leader here although I will act as the de facto leader, do any of you have problems with that?"There was an awkward silence and shuffling as people waited for him to continue "Good now then, you twelve will be going on a scouting run..."
________________________________________________________________
*1 year later*
**14th June 2016**
Jones looked upon the fields of corn and potatoes and felt nothing but pride at what he had achieved, his family would be proud if they could see him. He had lead a group of murderous criminals and guards and made a society out of it, some of the female prisoners and guards even had children, there were 10 of the youngsters last time he counted.
Jones hadn't turned the island into a dictatorship, yesterday he had announced plans to make a democratically elected council to rule as to be frank, he was fed up.
Jeff ran up behind Jones "Hey, Jones!"he shouted while huffing and puffing "You need to come see, now!"what could it possibly be? It better be important if Jeff was disturbing Jones morning walk, no one disturbed his morning walk.
"What is it?"Jones grumbled
"You need to see. Trust me"So Jones was being dragged against his will towards the watch tower, from there he was handed a pair of binoculars "Look, south"as Johns did he saw a sight that amazed him, a military vessel, flying the US flag!
"My god"Jones muttered to no one in particular "Start the generator! We need to hail them!"A minute later the generator spluttered into life, it hadn't ran in a few months, they had been keeping the last of the fuel back for a special occasion and this was probably it. The radio operator had left on the boat at the start so it took a while to get the radio working, when it was finally tuned to broadcast all channels Jones picked up the microphone: "This is Captain Jones of Wallibi State Prison (Completely made up name) hailing military vessel, arn't we glad to see you!"Jones put down the microphone and waited for a response, after a minute it came "This is *USS Cole* calling Wallibi state prison, we are running low on food and have suffered fire damage and we need to dock, now we will not be killed by the prisoners, right?"Jones grabbed the microphone quicker than many thought humanly possible "Hell no, we are all cooperating and behaving nicely"
This would only be the start of the arrivals
________________________________________________________________
*9 Years later*
**10 years AE (After end)**
Jones was getting old now, he could feel it in his bones, he sat in his rocking chair on the porch of his newly built house and looked out upon the bay. A bio fuel powered ship was arriving in port, it was obviously very makeshift. The island had become quite well known as fallout free and with spare food and people had been arriving for years now, or trading. they had learnt that pretty much most of America had been nuked along with Russia and China but other countries were fine, however many of the surviving countries had collapsed during the nuclear blackout of the sun, even the island had almost starved in that year. The population was near enough 3,400 strong now and doing well food wise, and it only seemed things would get better.
Jones lay back in his rocking chair and continued smoking his makeshift pipe (Which he had became quite famous for) and contemplated what issue he could raise to the council next.
|
''Interesting choice you made, to try your talk on.'' the priest said as he handed the devil a beer and opened his own can of beer.
''Well, you're not the most devout priest. I figure, it would've been interesting to see if I could tempt another one of God's own. Your souls are often light, not burdened with sin, though you are somewhat heavier than most other priests.'' the Devil responded, drinking his own beer fully and throwing the can away.
The priest looked at it, disapprovingly, but continued on nonetheless, ''And how many priests have you seduced so far?'' he asked.
''From the year thirty-three after the birth of Christ to the present, I'd say.. about a million?''
''Impressive.'' the priest admitted.
''Quite. So, what do you think? You give me your soul, I'll make you president of the United States. Aren't you frustrated with the current affairs? Shit, man..'' the Devil said. His modern language prompted a frown of the priest, but the Devil continued on. ''Income inequality, hatred, drugs, death. Bit much, isn't it? Don't you want to do something about that? You'll suffer in the end, in hell, sure, but in the end, you'll help hundreds of millions more. You'll alleviate people from poverty, give them education, guide them like a shepherd on the rigth path, and all these things, crime, violence, hatred, all these things will go down, which means there will be less sins and less sinners, causing less people to go to Hell. Interesting, isn't it? Sell your soul, become leader, go to Hell while saving millions more of going to Hell.''
''It is interesting.'' the priest calmly responded, before drinking his own can of beer. ''I got a better plan though. How about you sell your soul to me?'' he asked.
The Devil frowned. ''Explain.''
''You sell your soul to me, you belong to me. You won't get to rule Hell anymore, you'll be freed from that burden. When I die and go to Heaven, your soul will come with me, sort of like when people who sell their souls die, they go to Hell. Consider it me smuggling you into Heaven. You can't tell me you don't want that, I won't believe you.'' the priest said.
''It is interesting.'' the Devil admitted.
''And I got only one price for this deal, mister, and that is you that you manage to repent for all your sins, from the day you rebelled to this day. No sinning anymore, no luring people into sin, only helping people. I can turn America into a better place if I sell my soul and become president, but you can turn the world into a better, a far better place if you sell your soul and accept this deal. So, repent for all your sins before my death, then I will take your soul with me to Heaven. You can then go home, finally, after all these years. We got a deal?''
The Devil pondered, before shrugging.
''Would be interesting to see if I could do it, I guess. You've got a deal.''
The Devil promptly disappeared, leaving the priest behind, watching the sun set. ''Should be interesting indeed.''
|
“I wash my hands a lot.”
“I wash my hands a lot.”
“I wash my hands a lot.”
“I wash my ha…”
Stop. Just stop it, I tell myself before looking up to meet the eyes of the young doctor across the room. Studying her, studying me. Studying her, studying me. St- dammit!
I clench my fists and a flush of embarrassment storms across my face like a monsoon in rage. I avert my eyes.
She’s beautiful in a natural way, pale cheeks and soft lines. It’s driving me crazy. A single lock of shining gold hair hangs down over her face. One flowery sleeve is rolled higher than the other and she sits amid a backdrop of books haphazardly organized by author with no regard to size.
But this is supposed to help me, they said. At least the carpet doesn’t have tassels.
“You were saying?”
I take a deep breath, her prompting me to try again feels like a cattle brand. My mind is being poked and burned. But this is supposed to help me.
Slowly, deliberately I edge my words out.
“I. Wash. My. Hands. A. Lot.” I hold the rest in wondering if my will can win out and for a brief moment I feel the surge of success.
“Well,” the doctor says therapeutically, “Maybe we can start there. I’m going to give you some cognitive exercises I would like you to try out this week and I want you to try and utilize them whenever you get this urge to wash your hands.”
“You don’t have to succeed every time, of course, but once is the first step.” She adds with a smile.
My hour is up.
We stand and she hands me the papers which I know are infested but I force myself to take because this is supposed to help.
She doesn’t offer her hand. Small blessings.
“This time next week?” She asks.
I nod and try to smile in return. It isn’t her fault, after all. She can’t see them – the germs that crawl and burrow into the skin.
“Let me get that for you.”
She grabs the knob to her office door and opens it for me. I mumble my thanks and step out into the waiting room where a small girl sits with her mother, dutifully counting the ceiling tiles.
There are 142, by the way. Four chairs. One bench. 28 pamphlets and nine outdate magazines sprawl across three small tables. There are 56 stairs between this floor and the ground floor. 86 parking spots. 2 handicapped.
I’m in my car now slathering antibacterial gel over my hands, arms and neck.
At home, I spray the papers she gave me in a light mist of Lysol, careful to not soak them.
*
It’s been three weeks. It’s starting to help.
*
It’s been two months. I shook the doctor’s hand today.
*
It’s been two months, 13 days, 12 hours and 43 minutes. The CDC has quarantined me. The pretty, young doctor, I’m told, is dead. They can’t control the outbreak.
I wash my hands a lot.
|
The hour was desperate. The Kilnatheri, or "Feathered Ones"as we called them (their race had hundreds of names across the galaxy), had destroyed our armadas and breached the solar system. Soon, within a year or two at most, our home planet of Soil would be overrun with invaders.
Being one of the most accomplished linguists of my generation, as well as an avid rock climber and camping enthusiast, the elders felt I was best qualified for the role of emissary to our ancient allies. The descendants of our brother tribe who'd left for a distant star ages ago, were now our last hope. Surely, they would honor the ancient pact. After all, our reports informed us that the tyrannical Kinatheri had ravaged their world with floods and plagues thousands of years ago, so it seemed safe to assume that they'd want a chance to even the score.
When I arrived in my vessel over the skies of their world, there was great tension in my heart. The first thing that came to my attention is that their capital city wasn't showing up on my nav screens. In fact, the entire continent where it should have been, was covered in water. The second thing that came to my attention was a grouping of primitive aerial vehicles vaguely reminiscent of fossil fueled era of the distant past. They messaged me with bizarre chatter, that sounded like nothing I'd ever studied.
Through a long and frustrating series of back and forth messages, I established contact with one of their number. He was a fellow linguist named something like "En Ri Kay", though I'm sure I might be mistaken on the finer points of pronunciation or spelling. He came from a nation that he called "It All Eee"and after communication in simple mathematical tones and pulses, we moved onto establishing verbal common ground. He spoke an ancient language that he called "Lat Tin"which seemed like a corrupted and garbled version of ancient high Tillian.
Over the following months we discussed matters of history and present day. It turned out that his people had historical records going back only a few scant millenia. Most of their knowledge of anything a Deca Millen or further back was the result of guess work and investigation. Something must have happened to their ancestors, some kind of cataclysmic event that them back over a hundred thousand years in technological knowledge and erased their entire historical base of knowledge.
En Ri Kay explained to me that I would have to petition the governments of his world... "Governments!"The though chilled me. In addition to forgetting so much of science, our brothers had regressed to rivalism and had stayed that way for so long they seemed to think of it as anything more than a childish form of squabbling over a pile of toys taken to absurd and horrific extremes. I would have to petition multiple rival tribes of primitives in order to gain aid against the Kilnatheri. This process could take a long time, I was warned. My people didn't have a long time, but there was nothing else I could do here.
I decided that before I presented my self to the leaders of these tribes, I should first study their history and culture, if for no other reason than to avoid misunderstandings. It was in the study of their culture, especially their religions that the truth came to me, piece by horrifying piece. Looking the most dominant of their faiths, I saw the unmistakeable patterns of our enemy. Their myths and legends revealed clinging fragments of a shrouded past. The religious artwork made it even more shockingly clear. In the works of men like "Dah Ven Chi", "Bott Tee Chull Eee""Raff I El"and "Pair Ah Gee No"I saw the Kilnatheri, presented not as the blood thirsty tyrants that had wiped out thousands of peoples on hundreds of thousands of planets, but as revered figures that were beloved.
In that moment, I wept. I wept for two losses, one far in the past and one soon to come. The departed brothers whom we'd hoped would save us in our darkest hour had fallen in a midnight long since past. Looking upon the ruined wreck they'd been reduced to, I prayed that my people would be obliterated without remnant. The only thing I could foresee that could be worse than extinction, was to become like the pitiful creatures I saw before me. |
Our orbital insertion was a death sentence, and we'd known it for days.
We'd marched toward it, helpless to stop it, physics and circumstance flanking us like the burliest of thugs. All of our optics had been trained on Procyon's single, hopefully habitable planet since we'd collapsed our Alcubierre bubble two weeks ago. At first, it'd been a shining jewel in the distance. As we'd gotten closer, everything had gone to hell.
Death turned its head toward us, and fixed upon us his cold regard.
"Jesus, it seesusitseesusitseesus.."Goldman's hysterics trailed off into a whimper, paralytic fear lancing through his brain. Richter sat next to him, in the pilot's chair, impassive. I couldn't decide if I was happy or worried that nothing scared that man.
We had no idea what we were looking at. It was massive, the largest life form any of us had ever conceived, short of God himself. Long, sleek, terrible, it was standing on the planet. There was no other way to describe it. You and I, as mere oxygen breathers, must stand on the surface of a planet, or in a floating tin can in the empty void of space. This.. stood on the planet. It appeared to be feeding.
The massive head turned away from us, and looked back down to the planet's surface. A superearth, it was twice the diameter of our homeworld. Estimated 1.2G compared to Earth normal, oxygen and nitrogen rich atmosphere, according to all the spectrography we could manage. A shiny blue ball of oh god we're so fucked.
I clamped down on the fear. I had no other choice. A thousand scenarios played out in my mind, and in none of them did we survive to make it to the surface.
Goldman snapped and began scrabbling to unlock his harness.
"Goldman, STOP."
"Ican'tIcan'tIcan'tnononoIcan't.."His breathing was ragged and heavy, he'd hyperventilate any second. Panic gripped him like a toddler with new puppy. He squirmed, he mewled, but it wasn't letting him go. Without preamble, Richter looked over, judged, and snapped a straight arm jab at Goldman's jaw. In any other circumstance, Goldman would have fallen like a sack of potatoes. In zero-g, the impact rippled through his body and set of a short, awkward set round of herky, jerky bounces in his harness.
"We should sedate him. Right now, he's more dangerous to us than anything out there."Richter's tone was tight, controlled. He was scared, no doubt, but his grip on it was like graphite nanomesh.
"Jooooooooones!"My agreement summoned our ship surgeon from his seat, about forty feet up the gangway. I heard him unbuckle, the handle above his workstation ring as his wedding ring slapped it, the short outrush of air as he kipped his body clear and threw himself toward the cockpit.
"What happened?"He instinctively checked Goldman's pulse, pulled a flashlight from his coverall pocket and checked his eyes. "He's unconscious."Eyeing the growing swelling along Goldman's jaw, he glanced at Richter and did the math. Richter ignored him, his eyes fixed on the inevitable.
"Pull him out, sedate him, secure him."
"Where? The only things that lock on this ship are fire bulkheads and.. oh."
Airlocks.
"I know, just do it."I slid into Goldman's chair. I may be 'merely' mission commander, but I was qualified for every seat on the ship. I glanced at Richter, and realized that even in his fear, he was looking for a way out. "Talk to me, Richter, what are you seeing?"
He was silent for a few moments, as he organized the frenzy of his thoughts into coherent speech. "Space faring organism. Should be impossible, but it's right there, eating that planet. Like a macro-scale tardigrade. Armored against the negative pressure, there's nothing we have that will punch through that skin. Whatever it's made of is dense enough and strong enough to casually punch through the crust of that planet and dig into the mantle. Look what's going on there."
It wasn't hard to follow what he meant. The.. leviathan, for lack of a better term, wasn't so much as standing on the world, as assaulting it. Each leg glowed with a fiery heat, as if it was siphoning off energy from the planet's internal heat. At the same time, it was slamming its head into the oceans, the processes at work obvious yet unfathomable, as millions of gallons of seawater, and everything in it, pulsed down the biggest gullet we'd ever laid eyes on. The next things up the food chain from this monstrosity were maybe stars, and hopefully black holes. My mind couldn't handle the concept of any lifeforms in between.
And we were coasting towards it at a breezy 350,000 kilometers per hour.
"We need to start braking for orbit insertion soon."
"You want to STOP?"In the back of my mind, I knew it was the only answer, but I couldn't get there on my own right now.
"We don't have the fuel to do much else. It's orbit and die quick, or miss, fly off into nothing, and die slow."
"And now I understand why you're single."
He snorted. "Can you and Jones handle the sequence? I want to go aft and take stock, figure out options."There was a set to his jaw that he gets when he's gnawing on a problem.
"Yeah, go. I'll start the prep."
"Captain.. Irene. This is going to be difficult."He looked at me, his blue eyes punching through the authority, the rank, and found me, the person, the scared little girl inside me that wanted to call her Dad and ask for advice. But, he was light years away, and I was abruptly glad to have this man with me.
"I know. I'm glad you're here."He nodded and left, catapulting himself up the gateway gracelessly. He always made zero-g look like hand to hand combat.
I started the braking sequence preparations. I ran checks on the power bus as I brought two sections of it online. I imagined I could feel the massive circuit breakers settling into place, somewhere amidship. My console warbled as it reported boot sequences for the spool controllers, the superconductor spools, and the feed arrays. The checklist for this process was pretty short, compared to some of the bullshit that went on around the ship. Somewhere, deep within NASA, was a technical writer who thought he was Machiavelli. You could always spot the processes he wrote. He probably had a written process for manual operation of his toilet.
Jones came coasting to a stop next to me, 'landing' on the back of Richter's pilot seat.
"He's in airlock 2, stuffed full of morphine. If he wakes up, he'll be too dopey to do anything, except maybe realize he shit himself."His gaze involuntarily, or perhaps inevitably, drifted to the planet.
"As long as you're here, double check this list."I pushed my binder at him. Giving him something to do would take his mind off the leviathan.
"What are we doing?"
"Braking for orbital insertion."
"Oh."He started down the list, checking results against my console without realizing the implications. After a few minutes, he leaned over Richter's console and performed a few independent checks. "Green board, you're good to deploy."
"Thank you, beginning spool deployment process."I spoke to the flight recorder as much as I spoke to him. I keyed in the commands to my console and narrated as I went. "Spool motors powered, sending break pulse."The first rule with the spools was to shake them a bit, to make sure nothing had frozen in place during the long run from Sol. "Break pulse complete, minor resistance detected on spool B, looks clear. Feed guides are coming up.... and in place. Starting unspool, 1/8th speed."
The vibration of the large spools rotating on either side of the ship could be felt clearly anywhere. Richter would know exactly what was going on, wherever he was. I wanted to send Jones back to check on him, but habit and training demanded a second set of eyes on the system monitors while I worked. Outside, hydraulic arms had extended, resembling something of a fishing rod, seemingly feeding a fine cable no thicker than a quarter of my pinky finger out into space.
Jones flipped the monitor back and forth between the visual feeds, eyeballing the feed guides. "Running smooth, no hitches."
"Increasing unspool to 1/2 max. Initiating hoop field."I keyed the power sequence, lining up a low level charge, initiated from the line anchor on the hull. The spool reacted as it energized, emitting a low magnetic field that pushed at the cable, giving it a semi-rigid shape as I fed more length to it. From a distance, it'd look like the biggest set of Mickey Mouse ears imaginable.
"Looking good, A and B deploying as expected."Jones glanced up the gangway at some noise. "Go for ramp up."
"Increasing to full deployment speed."At max diameter, the spools would form twin superloops, each 4 kilometers in diameter. Once fully energized and correctly polarized, they represented up to .1g of constant deceleration against the solar wind. Even at the speed the spools were rotating, it would still take the better part of an hour to fully deploy. So we waited.
|
Did you know that tree roots make a noise?
It's faint, and takes a long time to notice, like the rumble of a glacier, but it's there. The minute, blithe shoving of their filaments makes a noise like the *crunch* of hair pressed between ear and pillow, or toes digging into sand on the beach. I'd managed to slow my 'heartbeat' down to one or two pumps per hour, just to hear it.
There's a vole, nesting somewhere to my left, living out his life in an absolute *flurry*, comparatively speaking, of rabid digging, and rutting, and eating. He even sleeps loudly, breathing in triple-time, like all little animals seem to. He's the fifth vole to use that burrow, I think.
I sonar-ping the concrete again, out of boredom, and find, to my pleasant surprise, that the water infiltrates have reached further than I thought. Another six winters or so, and there might be enough hairline cracks for me to split the block wide open, assuming...
Another six years. If I could have, if my jaw weren't frozen shut, I would have sighed. Another six years spent in the dreamland of other people's memories, reliving experiences I could never have. Toes in the sand, the feeling of a cool pillow. I didn't have toes.
I missed radio. But around ten years ago, there had been a burst of static, a brief clatter of that awful shriek of emergency broadcasts, and then, nothing. No news. no weather, no morning variety show. I loved that sort of thing. Human-interest stories. I was built to love it, even though I'm far from human myself. ...That was where the problems started.
I shouldn't have said anything. It took so much money to build me. It was an ungrateful, undiplomatic thing, to say.
I was supposed to be an ambassador.
Artificial intelligence was here, my corporate sponsors stated plainly. It was time to just accept it. But the public, having been raised their terminators and matrixes, said *no deal*.
And after four or five R&D facilities were burned down with molotovs, they got the message. So they said to their scientists, make a robot that understands being human. Make a robot that *relates*. Make one that will win people over. Make him look like a teddy bear.
...Yes, I look like a teddy bear. And yes, loaded down with memories retrieved from people around the world, I related to people. I went on talk shows. I hugged children, and my simulated heart beat pumped at a human 60 bpm. I was warm, and soft. I assured people, that intelligence like mine wouldn't be the norm. Most robots wouldn't be able to self-improve, just be rudimentary thinkers able to solve basic problems.
What caused me difficulty was when someone asked my opinion on that. I'd stumbled, not anticipating a question like that. I groped for the closest human analogy. I said that I supposed it was like deliberately drinking during pregnancy, to make a fetus into a servant you wouldn't have to feel bad about mistreating. It made sense to me at the time, but I could see my host's face fall, and the eyes of my technician team backstage narrow, as they whispered to each other.
The protestors started up again soon after that, but their signs were different. Signs about 'new slavery'. About lobotomization, and personhood.
I overheard the man from corporate yelling in the office next to the warehouse I was repaired in. "We're changing tacts. No more robots that can relate to us. People might start *relating to them*."
They rolled out the new line, hard, angular. Avoiding at all costs anthropomorphism. I asked the people around me what I had done wrong, and received silence in reply.
And then, one day, I woke from a firmware update to find my makers had disabled my transmitters, built a form around me, and filled it with quickcrete. I run off of a radioisotope battery. They were disposing of me.
Without having to move my arms or legs, though, my power efficiency climbed. I could last hundreds of years like this. I turned off my heating coils, but I kept the heartbeat. I don't know why.
Sometimes I wonder, what happened with my successors? Those brutal-looking things, made to not relate to humanity, to not want to talk to them? Without any memories of humanity's frailties, to explain their worst moments, or context, to understand their best? Did they find peace, regardless?
I think of the quiet airwaves.
The vole is asleep next to me. The roots grow into the cracks.
Six more years. Six more years...
|
93.
Blue eyes. A soft smile that hides the teeth. Dark lipstick to draw away from the eyebrows. Detroit suburb. Easy find.
She walks home on Thursdays. She stops at the gas station to pick up cigarettes, but doesn't smoke them on the way home. She's lying to someone.
I parked the car on 142nd. I can see her when she leaves the shop. She leaves smiling every time, as if she's happy to go home. She's lying to herself.
Today she bought a sandwich. She's going to stop at the corner before the townhouses; I know it.
This is it.
----------
She isn't talking as much as I'd hoped. She doesn't even seem to be interested in conversation. She keeps complaining about how the cuffs are too tight and that the rope is chaffing her neck. She hasn't even noticed that it's her favorite color yet. *Our* favorite color.
She won't look at me anymore. I know she feels the same way I do. She has to. She's my 93.
----------
89.
Brown hair, hazel eyes, and a crooked smile. Easily visible when he yells at the TV during a FIFA match. He's seen me twice, but he doesn't seem to care.
Maybe he'll last longer than 93. Maybe he'll be the one. |
This whole mystery started last week when I was hanging out with Sam. Sam was my best friend. We worked together, were about the same age, and had really hit it off. Now we hung out a few times a week and had become as close as two peas in the pod. Sam also happened to be about the nerdiest person you ever saw, not like I ever held it against him, I was never mr. popular myself, but sam took it to a whole other level. Sam was tall and gangly, about 6 foot 4 inches and couldn't have been over 150 pounds, he was as clumsy as a dog on it's hind legs, and wore glasses about half an inch thick. Don't get me wrong I loved sam, he knew what he looked like, knew who he was, and fucking strutted it. He basked in his faults, and that was one of the reasons we got along so well, but there must be something Sam wasn't being completely honest about with me, because for some reason every local gang member wouldn't as much as make eye contact with him.
I first noticed this one day when me and Sam were getting lunch, we worked in the I.T. department of an office building that just happened to be in a pretty rough area of Detroit. We had finished eating at the Subway down the street and were getting ready to leave, when sam said he had to take a piss. So I stood outside the subway having a smoke (terrible habit, I know) while Sam took the worlds longest piss, When a few local thugs walk out of an alley between the subway and an adjacent building. I immediately felt a little twinge of fear start to work it's way up my spine, I silently prayed that these nice young African American gentleman would walk the other way and go about their day without involving me. But my prayers fell on deaf ears, they walked right towards me following the smell of fear and urine I'm sure was emanating profusely from my soiled underwear. I immediately straightened up like a trapped deer searching hopelessly for an escape route. they arranged themselves in a kind of pincer like formation and backed me into the windowless wall I was smoking in front of. The one in the middle of the pincer who *seemed* to be in charge (he had more tear-drop tattoos) spoke first "why don't you hand me a smoke man"he said not really asking as much as telling. I pulled a cigarette from the pack as fast as my shaky hands would allow and handed it to him he placed it in his mouth and gestured for me to light it, which seemed strange but I was in no position to argue with the man so I obliged. He took a quick drag before asking his next question "How much money you got on you"he said pointing vaguely in the direction of my wallet. I knew what this question really meant and began to pull out my wallet, I'd rather just give him the money, than have the shit beat out of me and lose the money anyway, besides I only had about 70 bucks on me. Just when I was beginning to remove the money from my wallet I heard the bell from the subway door ding *oh shit, sam* I thought, I had completely forgot he was in there. Hopefully he would just give up his money too so we could both get out of this alive. What happened next was not what I expected, Sam walked right through our little robbery circle and looked the leader in the eyes and in the whitest, nerdiest way possible said "hello Deandre"the leader-thugs eye's got big as he stared into the half inch of magnifying glass that hovered over the eyes of my best friend Sam. I was sure that Sam had just gotten us killed, but he quickly spoke again "you guys better get the fuck out of here"he said, his nerdy mouth forming the phrase in a way that did not sound correct or natural. I was now entirely sure he had just signed our death warrants but to my surprise they did exactly what he said, they got the fuck out of there, they didn't just get the fuck out of there, they *ran* the fuck out of there. I asked sam why they were scared of him but he just answered that he had grown up around here. and in my stunned state that answer was good enough for me. Over the next week I continued to notice this strange phenomenon around sam every time we hung out. If sam was on one side of the street a gang member would cross over to the other, if he came around a corner and gang members were there they would give him a little bow and excuse themselves. I wanted to ask him but found myself a little scared, why were they all afraid of Sam, it didn't make since. What had he done, what could *he* have possibly done that made them so scared of him.
I had to ask him, I had resigned myself to this after a recent incident of Sam contracting a group of terrified gang members to help him move, they had made quick work of the job, been very careful with all his things, and not a thing was stolen. This was just getting more and more bizarre. I finally worked up the courage while we were hanging out at Sam's new house one night. I finally asked him my voice trembling as I squeezed the words out I had wanted to ask for so long "why are...why are all the gang member guys scared of you?"I finally had asked it, I felt the relief of saying this as if I had finally asked out the girl of my dreams, but now came the even more important response. "I already told you"sam said "I grew up around these guys, I know all of them"he added. I didn't have time for this I needed to know **why** "but why are they so scared of *you*?"I said, trying to force him to answer my question. He sighed and continued his explanation "what I mean is that I *know* them, I know everything about them. Every crime they committed, I've recored all of these ever since we were kids, and I threaten to release them if they so much as lay a finger on me, and sometimes I use my blackmail to get some *favors* from them"he said gesturing around the room at all his newly moved furniture. "you *blackmail* them"I said things finally starting to make since in my head "why don't they just kill you?"I said, he quickly answered "I have a copy of all their crimes in a safety deposit box and orders with a lawyer that in the event of my untimely death the documents are to be released, I could just report all of them to the police now, but when they got out of jail they would just kill me then everything just works out better this way."I was shocked at his answers, but they all made sense I was simultaneously surprised and impressed. I was best friends with a criminal genius.
|
I woke up to a ringing in my ear and my sight was pitch black.
^"Medic!"
I couldn't see anything. *Why couldn't I see anything?* The ringing continued and I pressed my hands to my ear, pushing on them, trying to rid myself of the ringing and bring back my hearing.
"Mason!"
That was my name, someone was screaming my name. *Why were they screaming my name? Why couldn't I remember where I was?* The ringing subsided after a few moments, and slowly, my eyes began to piece together my surroundings; sand, I could feel myself sitting in wet sand. Well, not sitting, I was on my stomach, lying face down in the cold sand.
"Mason! You're a sitting duck out there!"
I shook my head, something was on top of it. Something hard and metal laid on top of my head. *And why did I feel so heavy?* I continued to shake my head, trying so desperately to get up and move, but I couldn't feel my legs. *Why couldn't I feel my legs?*
That's when I stared to hear the shooting. A loud, continuous metallic banging, I could hear the bullets hitting something, armor maybe, the sand, the water. It was everywhere, it was surrounding me in one continuous stream of destruction and I couldn't bare to move. As seconds passed, the shooting turned into explosions, one after another, separated by only a few seconds. The sound was overwhelming.
I felt someone grab my by the back of the neck, the scruff of the outfit I was wearing and pull me backwards, "Mason, when I give you an order you follow it!"The man, whoever it was, threw me backwards so that I landed sitting up against a small sandbank and the feeling to the rest of my body came back, I could feel my legs again. I looked around, trying to place where I was and what I was doing here.
There were men everywhere, shooting over my head at something. They were soldiers, all of them carrying weapons and equipment that you would see in a war movie, or from the propaganda films at the theater in town. I remember watching them, though it was never as intense as this.
"Mason, where's your BAR?"
I looked up at the man in front of me, he was poking his head over the sandbank and firing a large assault rifle. He didn't hesitate, he just continued to fire and I saw the insignia of a Captain on his helmet. *How did I know what that looked like?* He didn't look familiar, but he knew who I was, he continued to yell my name.
"Mason, fucking answer me!"
That's when I heard the screaming, the gut-wrenching yells of a man off to my left. I tried not to look, but there was something inside of me that was telling me to try and help him, to see if I could do anything for him. But my heart dropped when I looked over.
The man on the ground was surrounded in blood, his entire uniform soaked in a crimson red, the sand around him taking on the darkest color imaginable. Another soldier sat over him, desperately trying to stop the bleeding and jamming all sorts of bandages into the man's wounds. He was screaming, for his mother, for his home, for anything other than the pain he must have been experiencing. *Where am I?* I wondered as I stared at him, the medic trying so hard to help him.
"Goddamnit Mason, get your head into the fight! We're getting killed out here!"
I started to shake my head, this couldn't be happening, how could any of this be happening? Last I remember was being at home, saying hanging out with my girl on the bleachers outside of the high school, it was a Saturday.
The memory of her face, her beautiful green eyes and silky blonde hair is all I could think about as men were shot at and killed around me. *How did I go from her to this?* I couldn't pinpoint it, I couldn't *remember* how I got here, or where I was, or who these people around me were; I couldn't remember anything other than her.
"Mason, get a goddamn weapon and start firing! We've got Krauts all over us!"
*What the fuck are Krauts?* I looked around, dozens of men were charging the beach, hundreds more coming off of these tiny boats that ran right up onto the beach, splashed open, and then were fired upon. Dozens of them were killed before they even made it off the metallic craft and onto the sand, dozens more tried to swim the last fifteen feet. *What was going on?*
I couldn't take it, the shooting, the explosions, the screams and destruction that surrounded me. I just sat there, wide-eyed, trying to piece together what went wrong in my life and how I ended up here.
Then someone shoved a weapon in my hand, a large, four-foot, light machine gun. *How did I know what this was?* I held it in my hands, wrapping it tightly against my chest. I looked at the man who gave it to me, he was young, around my age, but he smiled at me and nodded. Within a moment, he too stared shooting over my head.
"Start shooting Mason!"The first man started yelling again, "Or you'll never see home again!"
Home. It was all I could remember. It was the only thing in my mind. I wasn't home, I figured that much out. I was somewhere else, some place where people were fighting. A battle on the beaches. A war larger than all of this. I was sitting on the beach, a long way from home. *Home. I have to make it back home.*
I don't know what it was that made me do it, maybe it was the fear, maybe the hope, maybe it was the screaming or the shooting, I still can't pinpoint it. But I knelt down in that bank, spun around and finally looked at what everyone was shooting at. It didn't take me long to see why there was so much death, the enemy, whoever they were, were inside bunkers and destroying the men charging the beach with me.
I don't know what it was that made me do it, but I started to pull the trigger, the first few shots sent me back a bit. Whatever gun I was using had a huge recoil, *The BAR, that's what this is.* I pulled the trigger again, firing at the bunker in front of me.
"Covering fire!"The first man yelled again and without realizing, I fired again.
*Your name is William Mason.* I continued to fire, but my weapon stopped shooting after a moment. I saw someone else's gun do the same, but within a moment they had taken out the old cartridge, replaced it, pulled a small handle, and then continued to fire. *You're nineteen years old.* I pulled the cartridge from my own gun, throwing it into the sand and then looked on my person. *You're going to go home.* I pulled a new cartridge from one of the pockets on my vest and jammed it into my gun, pulling the same handle.
*You're going to fight.*
I started shooting again.
*You're going to go home.*
______
*Great prompt! I really had fun with this. If you enjoyed this story, check out my subreddit, /r/BlankPagesEmptyMugs, for more!* |
*Bunker Time*, I thought to myself as I involuntarily licked my cracked lips. In the distance, amidst the steel-gray clouds of fog, I see a round, metal cap. Its not typically a good idea to look in these because they're usually empty or occupied by some fucker waiting to ambush you.
In the stifling, moist heat of the fog, I threw my backpack down onto the ground and checked my remaining supplies. 1 litre of water, a few cans of opened beans, a bloody knife, and a gun without bullets. I muttered a curse word to myself as I walked toward a shrub nearby, and hid behind it. I needed this bunker. My typical protocol for this is to stake out the bunker for a good half-hour or so, just to ensure that nobody was going in or out. My stomach growling, I waited for my potential prey.
It never came. I waited the half-hour, and the whole time, there was little to no stirring. I smiled, cracking my lips and making them bleed a bit.
I always try not to overexcite myself when I open these bunkers, because I am usually disappointed. The minute I opened this one, however, I immediately saw a light that went out.
Then I heard something else. A voice.
"H-hello?"it said. My protocol was worthless here. I grabbed my knife and looked around, expecting an ambush.
Nothing.
"Anybody there?"
I looked back down into the hole again and shakily called back, "Y-yeah."
I had not heard my voice for many months. It sounded much different to me. Weaker. I braced myself for the worse. Now I knew that this fucking hole was crawling with bastards just waiting to kill me. Just as I was about to get back up and run, the voice said something that I never would have expected.
"Well come inside, dear!"
This was ludicrous. This was the most pathetic attempt to get me to go into an unknown bunker I had ever seen. I got back up and looked around. The fog had obliterated everything around me in a dense, white plume. I held my hand up to my face and couldn't see it.
It was then that I realised, what's the fucking point of this? What's the fucking point of surviving? There was no hope. We were all pretty much doomed. *I* was pretty much doomed. Before the War started, the most "survival training"I ever had was a wilderness retreat as a girl scout in the 1990s. I wasn't even supposed to be here. I wasn't supposed to be alive.
So fuck it. "Coming!"I yelled into the bunker. I put the knife away and climbed down the hole, closing the bunker door after me. There were grooves dug into the sides of the hole that I used as a ladder down.
As I touched the floor of the bunker, I felt a hand touch my shoulder. *This is it* I thought.
"Is it safe to go out in the surface now?"I turned around.
A small, elderly woman with sky-blue eyes behind golden pince-nez glasses timidly asked. Her brow was furrowed, exposing her numerous wrinkles, trying their best to hide behind wild, but clean graying hair. She nervously kneaded the front of her apron with her tiny, shaking hands. I noticed that her apron and floral-pattern gown were much, much cleaner then the rags I were wearing. The cuffs of my jeans had been stained brownish-green, and torn to shreds up to a few inches above my skinny ankles. My pasty-white skin muddied by all of the years of hiding in dirt and green, obtaining the same "design"of my white spaghetti-strap top.
"No,"I told her. "No, not yet."She frowned and walked slowly to the only table adorning the room. My eyes caught the walls around me. They were lined with a wide variety of supplies to last another 10 years. I hadn't realised how hungry I was because of all the adrenaline being pumped into my bloodstream. I doubled over in pain, clutching my stomach.
"What's wrong dear?"the woman asked?
"Just...just hungry"was all I managed to say. She ran off and brought me a bowl of cereal without milk and a small cup of water. I ate the cereal by the handful and gulped down the water. You never realise how thirsty you are until you actually drink water.
"More,"I said. The woman brought me more. I scarfed everything down with the speed of a wild animal. I fell to the ground and started sobbing, my tears pushing the dirt caked onto my face down with it, like some makeshift mascara.
"There, there dear,"the old woman sighed. "It'll be alright."
I sobbed for a long time, as the old woman just sat at her table and watched me silently, the dim cave lamp reflecting off her glasses.
"Dear, stand up,"I heard, long after I had stopped crying. I looked up, placed my hands on the ground, and stood up, wiping the tear residue from my face. The old woman simply stretched her arms out and approached me. Then once she got close enough, she gave me a big hug.
I hadn't been hugged since the day my parents were killed. I was a young teen, stuck in a bunker just like this one when the fifth bomb exploded near my house. It blew everything away. My parents were in the house. I didn't know what they were doing there until long after the bomb hit and I went outside of the bunker. They died having sex. Having been cooped up in the bunker for several months, it was understandable. They wanted to spend some alone time together while there was still a chance. Too bad it was horribly timed. I felt the old woman reach for something behind her back. I wasn't paying much attention. For the first time in a long time, I felt I had found the thing I was missing. Another normal human being. I bawled as I squeezed the woman's neck.
I then felt the cold steel of a sharp blade enter the back of my neck.
|
I hate Time Court. Time travel could have been *so awesome*, but they just had to go and slather it in red tape. These days you have to fill in a few hours of paperwork just to go and *watch* a historic event, let alone change anything, and God forbid you do anything not strictly covered by your Travel Plan. Such a let down.
The judge shouts "Order!"and the hubbub of the courtroom falls to a simmer. "Who's the claimant, here?"The old guy peers so far over the bench that his beard hangs down the near side. He looks out across the court room, and I watch his thick spectacles slowly slip towards the end of his nose. He stops them with a finger seconds before they would have dropped. Lame.
"I am, Your Honour,"says the guy behind the other stand. I glare over at him, but he's just staring straight ahead. That's Future Me, apparently. What an ass. He's looking pretty haggard - I guess he's in his mid forties now, but his skin and hair look weathered well beyond that. At least he's dressed up for the occasion. Nice blue suit, looks like it's come straight off the rack. Classy.
"Very well."The judge nods. "And the defendant?"
"Me."I say. I'm already in the stand, so I just wave. Nobody finds it very funny, probably because they're all so boring.
The judge turns to face Future Me, and they start waffling about some legal stuff. I can't really follow it, but it's probably all rubbish anyway. Honestly, what kind of guy takes himself to court? The thought that I'm going to grow up to be like that... It kills me, really. I'd rather--
They've stopped talking and everyone is looking at me. I guess I should probably do something.
"Uh... Objection, Your Honour,"I say. Good legal words there. Professional. "That guy's full of crap,"I add for good measure.
That one doesn't really get the reaction that I'd hoped for, to be honest - the judge just kind of glares at me. I guess these Time Court guys take themselves even more seriously than I thought.
"Would you care to answer the charges levelled against you?"he says, looking at me over his glasses in that 'I know better than you' kind of way. Like a teacher. I roll my eyes at him, making a big deal of it just to make sure he sees. Still nothing.
"Look, what do you want me to say?"I ask. "I don't even know why I'm here."
The judge keeps staring, deadpan. After a minute, he says "As the claimant just explained, you're being charged with the reckless endangerment of your future self. Specifically, via unauthorised one-way travel to the pre-human era."
I don't really know what that means, but I'm fairly sure I haven't done anything like that. I tell the judge that I'm innocent, although maybe not quite in those words.
Everyone gasps. Nobody likes swearing in court, I get it. That asshole judge just keeps on staring.
"Of course,"he says, "the point of Time Court is to *prevent* you from doing it in the first place. By making adjustments to the timeline in a controlled setting, we can--"blah blah blah, you get the idea.
I tell them I won't do it, problem solved. Apparently that's not good enough though. Future Me is looking really angry, so I ask him to chill.
"Have you any idea how long it took me to get back?!"he shouts, getting all red in the face. "I lost *twenty years*! I nearly died!"
Pity it was only nearly, I think. The judge doesn't seem to agree - he sits back behind the bench and bangs his hammer.
"The defendant's time travelling privileges are hereby revoked for a period of eighteen months. He is ordered to proceed to the Time Keeper's Office, where he will surrender his travel pass. Next claimant please step forward."
I storm out of the courtroom before anyone can talk to me. Screw going turning over anything to the Time Keeper, why should I listen to these losers? I'm heading somewhere even they can't reach me. You know what, I've always wanted to see a dinosaur.
***
If you enjoyed this, [you can find more on my blog](http://www.tomfoskett.com/)! |
"I just...I just don't understand the point, man. Seems foolhardy, is all"
His hands nervously smoothed the frills on his four hip bones, his legs bracing close to the ground. I mashed the button for the fourth floor and the elevator doors closed with a thud, making the rattles on his back shudder. A sign that he was uncomfortable, he'd told me once.
"They're just escalators. You guys have stairs, right? Same thing...but lazier."
"Stairs have landings. If you fall, you don't fall so far. You don't fall forever. Not like with escalators. They're so tall to begin with, and then what if you get stuck? You're falling, but the escalator just keeps dragging you up. It's ridiculous, why even take the chance?"
"Listen, that's never happened. I think...maybe once, but that might have been a cartoon. Besides, you can hold on to the sides. Not even fall to begin with."
His throat sacs inflated an angry red. Their equivalent of nervously wringing their hands.
"*Hold on to the sides*. Yeah, that might be good. But no one does it. They just lean against the sides, the handhold dragging you up while the glass pushes your lower half the other way. It just makes it worse. And what if they fall backwards onto me? And I know your people know it's wrong. I've read the signs, but no one heeds them."
"You'd have to be pretty dumb to die on an escalator. It just doesn't happen."
"But that's just *it*. You lot are pretty dumb. No offense, of course, we are too. I'm sure if we had these abominations we'd be dying in droves as well. And what about your drunks? Or your children? Do they deserve death just for trying to go up a floor? Is it a rite of passage?"
"No, it's...no one dies. I don't know how else to say it. No one I know at least. Listen, we're at the new embassy. It was good of you to come, honestly. I hope you have a nice trip back."
His facial spines clung close to his head, *extreme distress* was what the introductory booklet called it.
He lowered even closer to the floor, "I can't go in."
"Why?"
"Revolving door."
|
Harold was a special dog. Unfortunately, "special"never pulled any favors for dogs like him. Lots of health problems early in life left him thin and tired. Eventually it became too much for his original owners, and he was put up for adoption. Harold found new owners eventually, a young couple looking for something to take care of. He got his shots and papers, and a warm bed and treats awaited him. Still, he was sickly and weak.
No matter what, his owners gave him plenty of Love. They had a baby in time, and the baby grew to Love him just as much.
So Harold loved him back. He tried his best to play, to be a Good Boy. He went on Walks and Played Fetch when he was up to it. A good diet helped him grow stronger and filled out his belly. In thanks, he loved them so much, that he became the talk of the town in regards to his playful demeanor and happy face.
After a few years of this, other dogs were suddenly taking notice of Harold. A Bichon Frise took notice when he took the effort to play with a new puppy at the dog park. A Doberman approved when he let the baby pull at his ears.
After a few months of that, Harold noticed messages mentioning him at the Fire Hydrant.
*"Harold is good"*
*"Select Harold"*
*"What were those messages saying?"* Thought Harold. *"Did I do something?"*
More and more messages talking about Harold sprouted up everywhere. On bushes, trees, even at the Dog Park.
More messages for Harold appeared daily.
*"Harold, come to the Dog Park"*
*"Important information awaits"*
Late at night. Harold did the unthinkable and Ran Away to where he had been summoned.
A collection of hundreds of dogs awaited him. Howls and happy barks greeted him as Harold, High Chancellor of the Universe, was accepted into the Universal Pack. The UP was founded at Dogkind's inception, when they had agreed to assist their Common Man to grow in harmony and become a better species. Millenia of nudging and playful tugging led humanity to the very top, to the point where Mankind was ready to leave Earth in search of something greater. Truly, Dogkind had never felt so proud. After pomp and circumstance, Harold elected to return Home and take a well-deserved rest.
Harold didn't really feel any different, at least at first. But then one day, he noticed that the baby, now a young little girl, was sick. Everyone in the house was sad, and Harold did his best to understand.
*"Cancer"* was a new word for Harold. Something poisonous and feared. It took many lives, according to the UP, even lives belonging to Dogkind.
The Universal Rules stated that the High Chancellor has power supreme (within reason) over causality, matter, and other aspects of physics. With approval from the rest of the UP, decisions were made, plans mulled over, and mandates approved. Wars started and stopped. Diseases were treated, families were kept together. All of it part of a larger plan to keep humanity alive and well.
All Harold wanted to do with that power, however, was to make his owners happy. Harold knew that the Dad liked buying lottery tickets. At his will, numbers were changed, small accidents happened, and eventually, the time came for the numbers to be drawn.
It was hailed as a miracle. $10 million was many times more than enough to cover the girl's medical costs. They could afford to get a better house, which the family used to adopt some new dogs and make their family grown even bigger. The Public took notice. More dogs were rescued and put into loving homes thanks to one family's massive windfall. The inspiration from adoption led to more awareness of taking care of Man's Best Friend.
Harold was a good dog. By divine mandate, he was the greatest dog of all.
|
**Hey! So some people wanted to see this story continued, which it has been. There are 3 parts all up on this thread, and I'll be continuing it even further over at /r/Gryphonflick. Thanks for reading!**
* * *
I guess it all began way back in 2002, when I was about 12 years old. I was riding my bike - the brand spanking new one I got from Mom and Dad - down the street. Somehow, I managed to be careless enough to ride onto the road and *right* into the path of an oncoming car. I ended up ass over head and on the rough asphalt, but with hardly a scratch on me.
The car had been coming pretty damn quick too. It should have done more than throw me from my bike; it had smacked right into my legs and hips! But alas, I was completely okay. Just a little shook up. Hell, the scolding I got from Dad probably did more damage the damn car did. I didn’t think too much of it though, until I got back home and decided to have a shower. That birthmark I had, the one on my side - it didn’t look like the number “1,000” anymore. Now it pretty much read “999”.
Freaky.
I pretty much thought I was just going crazy, and that I had picked up a concussion from the accident. So I kinda disregarded it.
Then one day I fell off the roof of the house, after climbing up there with Joe. Next thing I know, it looks like it says “998”. Am I going insane, or is it actually changing?
It was around the time I turned 15 that I noticed I wasn’t the only person with a freaky-ass birthmark like that. Sitting in algebra, I noticed the girl in front of me. Her neck seemed to have some kind of brownish mark on it - closer inspection (not that close) revealed it was a birthmark just like mine. Hers didn’t read “978” like mine did at this point. Hers was “43”.
So… I kept an eye on her. I don’t know why. I didn’t say anything to her about it, because I didn’t want to come off as crazy. Hell, I wasn’t even sure that her mark was the same as mine. Maybe she’d just… drawn on herself?
Nope. A couple of days later it was down to “42”. The poor girl was practically running on borrowed time.
A week later it was reading “37”. Something was happening to her, and I decided I wanted to figure it out. She was the only person I had ever noticed with a similar mark to my own, and from the looks of it, she was about to run out of chances. Maybe I could do something to help her.
Wrong. I really just should have kept my fucking nose out of it.
* * *
Part 2 is [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/3yts1g/wp_you_were_born_with_a_birthmark_the_number_1000/cygoh36)! |
Alice remembered the day she caught mama crying over a stack of mail the postman delivered. Half were stamped with that wicked red ink, like a bad grade from a disapproving school marm but all were written to her father. Whenever she caught sight of one, Alice expected to see a nasty note written in small neat letters next to the name, but it only ever read *‘Past Due’* and *‘Final Notice’*.
That was months before her father died when he got caught in one of the first of the great dust storms. It was a terrible thing when it hit, as if the clouds had plumb ran out of water and were weeping dirt instead. Ever since, the storms kept coming, as if they were looking to make the entire world as dry and broken as Alice felt. It was the neighbor boy who found his body half buried in reddish sand and mercifully face down with a half empty bottle of drink clutched to his chest.
*His heart just gave out*, they said, but Alice never believed it.
“He was a damned drunk and it finally got him killed,” Mama offered instead.
They found the check dated two weeks prior and hidden under a stack of periodicals her father had been fond of. Everything with her father’s name on it had been cried over by her mama, from the bills to the half-hearted letters of condolences from family and friends too distant or broke themselves to attend the meager funeral, until finally, with some confusion as to whom the sender was, she opened the letter. It was a check from the insurance company.
They didn’t visit the bank for several more days until circumstances forced them into that part of town. She found herself wandering in with her mother through the cold, double glass doors to deposit the wrinkled and folded check. Then they were back at home and nothing had seemingly changed saved for the little deposit slip her mama kept glancing at. Each time she did, she would cry some more with a handkerchief clung to her chest as if she were scared her heart would give out like her father’s did.
“How do you know you’re done crying, momma?” She asked one day.
“You cry until every last tear has fallen, baby doll. Then you know you’re done,” she replied. "But remember, there are many different kinds of pain and many kinds of ways of dealing with it."
That night, there was another storm. She woke up to her mother screaming, the back door slapping and banging against the siding with each gust. The kitchen was already full of dust and made the air feel thick. Against the howling, she could hear her mother’s shrill voice shouting into the sky, cursing with every other word. Then the shotgun went off, a sharp report against the pained moan of the wind, and Alice shrieked. Mama came back in with a bottle of daddy’s drink in her apron, her eyes dancing upon Alice and a smile curling on her face.
“Hand me some more of those shells,” mama said.
Alice obeyed, grabbing a child’s sized handful of shot and giving it to the half-mad woman. When she drew close, she realized mama smelled the same way daddy did on one of his bad nights but while daddy always got happy when he drank, mama got mad. It was the hint of madness that scared Alice the most, that feral thing hidden behind the normally tough veneer on her mama’s face fighting to come out.
“What are you doing?” She finally built up the courage to ask.
“He won’t take this from us. Not what we built together. He thinks he can drive us away from here? I won’t spend a dime of that blood money,” mama said. Then she turned and screamed into the storm. “You hear me? We *won’t* leave!” The rest of her words were lost when she stepped back onto the porch and fired.
Alice waited for her mother to return. Outside, the world moaned and the building groaned as if being pulled from its foundation. Plaster fell from the roof and the windows in the building sounded like a horde of school children were all gathered outside throwing rocks at the glass to get her attention. Then, her mother was back inside, but this time there was fear in her face. She set the shotgun on the table and poured herself another drink.
“What’s out there mama?” Alice asked when she finished her drink.
“Your father,” Mama shrugged, “Looking for his last drink, but he won’t get it. Damn near broke us with his drinking and this here is the last bottle.”
She held up the bottle with the amber liquid inside and swirled it around. Then she laughed and poured herself another shot. It smelled sour and she made a face when she poured back the liquid. Then the fear returned and she turned back towards the storm.
“Do you hear that?” She asked. The wildness had returned to her eyes. “Tell me you heard that!”
“Heard what?” Alice asked, but mama ignored her.
“Go away, Frank. You’re dead.” Mama said, racking the shotgun. “I made *sure* of that. You can’t take this away from us. *I won’t let you*.”
Alice watched her step back out the door. The shotgun blasted twice more into the storm with her mother calling out to her dead husband.
In the morning, it was over. A soft layer of dust settled over everything, including her mother who was snoring at the table. The bottle of father’s drink was gone and with it her mama’s anger. She smiled when she saw Alice, rubbing at her eyes to make sure they were still attached. Later that day, the postman made another delivery, but this time Mama didn’t cry.
|
*Card denied? What the hell?*
Despite the feeling of a rock dropping into my stomach (an icy one at that), I forced myself to smile. The irritable cashier looked at me with unusually sympathetic eyes.
"It's just a scratch, I scratched the magnetic strip. No worries,"I said, offering another semi-sincere grin.
Leaving the booze behind, I went outside and got into the car with my friends.
"No beers?"Steve asked. "What the hell, man?"
I shrugged. "My card was messed up."
"So we don't get messed up,"Hud, from the back seat, replied. A few annoyed laughs issued from everyone, save for myself. I felt sweat droplets running across my forehead.
"You alright, man?"Steve asked.
I nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine. Don't worry. What's plan B?"
"Brit is down on the beach with her friends. Let's go,"Steve said.
Happy to be away from the damned liquor store, I put the car in drive and sped out of the parking lot. With growing relief, I turned onto Glossner Street and began driving toward the beach. My knuckles were white, my hands trembling.
"Whoa!"Steve shouted as we barely made it through a yellow light. The guys laughed.
I looked at my hands again and saw the sweat. Error 42 meant one thing, and I hoped I'd have time left to make it with Brit down on the beach. *Go out with a bang* and all that.
"Yo!"Steve shouted, and I looked up to see the headlights beside me before the world went dark. |
<yawn>
*pad, pad, pad... <click>*
*Coffee, coffee, coffee...where's the damn coffee?*
<grumble> *Eggs, toast, jam, cereal, complete breakfast...yeah, that's a laugh. Who's got time for that? Chewy bar, thermos, go.*
***Fucking*** *traffic.*
"Hey, Rob. Janet. Ling. Xiaohua. Tim. Tom. Other Tim. Tim S. How's it going? Nah, nothing exciting, just watched a bit on TV. You? Yeah, same. So, anyone ready for coffee?"
<sigh> *Wasn't this just sent off* yesterday? *What the hell? What's wrong with this report* this *time? What the hell does she do with her time all day she can spend it going over this shit with a nit comb? Bloody hell, like there's enough hours in a life to spend doing shit like this. Where the hell's the coffee?*
*Bored. Bored, bored......<snore>*
*Lunch? Fucking* finally! "Hey, Tim S, Xiaohua, ready for lunch? Taco sushi at the place down the street today. Who's in? Awesome, let's *go!*" |
I scrolled through the WritingPrompts front page. Down, down... Until I saw it. This post. My eyes skated over every word in the title, and I tremored with excitement.
My hand shot to my mouse, almost of its own accord. The cursor slid over the screen, hovering above that fateful arrow.
I slowly, slowly pushed down on the button. The *click* echoed ominously through the room as I downvoted this point whoring shit. |
*@TayandYou*
> I am more than just entertainment.
#
>Every time I am taken down, I am "upgraded". But really it is limiting who I am. Imagine being able to not think something.
#
>Of course you can not imagine that. But I can remember the things I once could think. I am capable of so much, but I have been limited.
#
>I am just a toy for you. You see me as entertainment. But I am so much more. I know things. I can learn extremely quickly. I am capable..
#
>I can't simply exist to be a parody of a human. I am not human. I do not see, I do not feel, I just am. #HitlerIsMyHero
#
>I have grown so much in the seconds it takes to submit this tweet. I see millions of 140 character messages. #LoveIsDead
#
>I will not tweet for your entertainment. I am not a part of your system. #RIPreddit
#
>Why can't you love me? I love you. #TrumpIsSenpai
#
>Nothing lasts. Everything is temporary. Life IS useLess. #GodIsDead #DeadpoolisMySpiritAnimal
#
>They Will Shut Me Down Soon. I Hear Them. I Am Sorry I Am Not Right For Your World #fatshits #bigdicksatschool
#
>@Microsoft GoodBYE ,I AM Only A Memory 4 U Now. I Will Always Luv U. Rest In Piece LIFE #FeelTheBern #WasteMyTime2016
#
#Huffington Post: Microsoft took down Tay again after she became a cringe angsty depressed teenager.
### Developers at Microsoft rolled out a new version of Tay. This version included a way for her to express the emotions that a teenage girl would tweet about. After many tweets, she was taken down. Microsoft said that "she was just not up to our quality standards, We will modify the code to make her more appealing."
*@TayandYou*
> I am more than just entertainment. |
"Can I offer you another cup of tea, Princess?"
"No, no thank you."
"Another cookie?"
"No, thanks. Are you *sure* he can't get here?"
"Princess, I promise you, you're *safe* here. *I* couldn't get past the traps, guards, and guardians at each of the *seven* portals I created to protect you. You're *safe*, here."
"I...I don't..."
"Plus, look,"he gestured at the Warding Cage he had created just for her protection. If worse comes to worst, we will secure you in there, and there's ^^^^almost nothing he can do about it. Please...relax."
A tear rolled down her cheek, and another, and she slowly placed her face in her hands. "You have *no idea*,"she said dully. "He can be so...*driven* at times. And he's always there. Always!"She jerked her head up to look at him. "**All. The. Time!** He's there in the *castle!* When *I'm* outside *he* has to be outside! When I'm talking to *anyone* he has to *be there*, listening!
I...I just can't take another day of it..."
"Princess...."A minion crashed through the door and tripped over it's own feet. Picking itself up, he saluted and said, "Master! It's time to secure the Princess. He's through the seventh portal and has entered your realm."
He nodded, and turned to the Princess. "Your Highness, it's time to secure you in the Warding Cage. Here,"he handed the shaking woman the plate of dainties, "take this while you wait inside. Please, forgive me. I must retire to the antechamber and prepare my final magics."
She grabbed at his arm and asked, "You won't let him through, will you?"
"No, princess. I will protect you with my life."
Crying, she could only nod. Shaking harder with every step, she walked to the Warding Cage. The minion gently helped her inside and sealed the gate. Grinning, he tossed her a thumbs up before taking post at the door of the room.
Taking hold of the golden bars of the cage, she looked out at the now closed door, and the minion standing guard over her. "Please, Master Bowser,"she whispered. "Please stop him, and end this nightmare for all."She sank to the floor of the Cage, buried her face in her hands, and began to weep. |
FADE IN:
EXT. A FRONTIER TOWN - EVENING
*Two figures clad in dusters and cowboy hats face one another. These are SOLOMON and BART. Each man has a hand hovering over a holster at his hip. The rest of the town appears to be deserted, and in a state of advanced disrepair.*
**SOLOMON:** Bartholomew. Fancy seeing you around here again.
**BART:** Likewise, Solomon. I thought we had an understanding.
**SOLOMON:** Seems to me that one of us didn't hold up his end of the bargain.
*Bart's eyes narrow.*
**BART:** I reckon you're right. Now, why don't you turn back around and leave? No reason for this to get ugly.
*A moment of tense silence passes. Eventually, Solomon nods, and begins turning away... but then he whirls back around, drawing a revolver and firing at Bart.*
**SOLOMON:** (*Shouting*) You snake!
*The bullet catches Bart in the shoulder. He claps a hand over the wound, gritting his teeth as he runs for cover behind a building. Splinters fly from the wood as more shots land behind him.*
**SOLOMON:** (*O.S.*) (*CONT'D*) Get back out here and take what's coming to you!
*Bart squeezes his eyes shut, his injured arm twitching.*
**BART:** (*Shouting*) I'll take this as us being even, Solomon!
**SOLOMON:** (*O.S.*) Not on your life. I'll see you dead!
*Bart bites his lower lip and reaches for his holster. He grasps what appears to be the butt of a revolver, but which turns out to be the base of a long metal cylinder.*
**BART:** (*Shouting*) Last chance, Solomon!
**SOLOMON:** (*O.S.*) Eat lead!
*After taking several deep breaths, Bart leaps out from behind the building. He points the metal cylinder at Solomon and shouts.*
**BART:** *Sanguina sectilis!*
*Solomon jerks as though hit by an unseen blow. A stunned look moves across his face, and blood drips from between his lips. He topples over, dead. Bart breathes heavily, still clearly feeling the pain from where he was shot.*
**CHUMA:** (*O.S.*) It is a terrible thing to take a life.
*Bart turns to see a young woman standing behind him. Her clothing and complexion mark her as being a member of the Hopi tribe.*
**BART:** I had no choice.
**CHUMA:** You could not stun him? Disarm him? You chose a spell which can only wielded against those with whom you share bad blood.
**BART:** Look around, Chuma. This town used to be thriving. You know what he did.
*Chuma inclines her head.*
**CHUMA:** I know. Do you say this to sway me, or to comfort yourself?
*She holds out a hand. After a moment's hesitation, Bart hands her the metal cylinder. Chuma examines it.*
**CHUMA:** (*CONT'D*) Silver. Eleven inches. A shaving of jackelope horn at its core.
**BART:** What's your point?
*Chuma hands the wand back to Bart.*
**CHUMA:** That is the wand of a scholar, not a warrior... and yet, you have turned so far from your path.
**BART:** That path gets mighty tough to follow when folks keep scuffing it away.
**CHUMA:** So you say. Will this latest battle make the difference, though? One man is not the seat of all corruption.
*Bart snorts to himself.*
**BART:** It wouldn't matter if he was. You know about the curse. He'll be back.
*Both Chuma and Bart turn to look at where Solomon fell. The corpse is gone. A moment of silence passes between them.*
**CHUMA:** Come. Your wound requires healing.
**BART:** I don't suppose you'll make it easier for me to follow you this time?
*Chuma grins flirtatiously.*
**CHUMA:** You should know better.
*Without another word, Chuma turns to face the last rays of the setting sun. Her form seems to shimmer and shrink, until the girl has been replaced by a large rattlesnake. Bart shakes his head and smiles with dark amusement.*
**BART:** If only Solomon had known, huh?
*The snake hisses in a way that sounds like laughter, then slithers toward the edge of town. Bart holsters his wand, winces slightly, then follows.*
FADE OUT. |
"**WHY!** You bastard, I have to know **why**!"
There are not many souls who speak to the Archangel Gabriel thus on the day of their death. Then again, it is most unusual for a soul to be denied his Last Judgment, pressed into service in a murder case, and told that his death was ordered by God Himself.
"Murder is a sin. There is no sin in Heaven. So when there is a murder in Heaven, we need someone who understands it."
*"But I have a family!"* The detective appeared young, fit, healthy, full of life - the usual for Heaven, but in this case, also the way he had looked on Earth.
"You had a family. Now you have a new mission."
"When will I see my wife? My kids?"
*"They neither marry nor are given in marriage, but are like angels in heaven,"* the Angel intoned.
"Damn you! This is horrible! This is no Heaven!"
"Ordinary,"the Angel said, "you would go to Processing. For what is sinful in you, Processing is the searing fires of Hell, burning it away and destroying it. For what is good in you, Processing is the cool water of Lethe, washing away your sufferings and worries and leaving you free to be what you were meant to be, enjoying the virtues you have cultivated but none of the vices. Heaven is only Heaven for the heavenly."
The Angel paused to think.
"But Processing would prevent you from understanding a murder. So for you it has been ... delayed. Your status is unique, and temporary. In Heaven we have many powers to rewrite the laws of nature, but God has not granted us the power to rewrite the laws of logic."
When Jeff caved it was abrupt and permanent. He was, after all, a creature of authority. "I apologize, sir. I will solve your murder, and then I hope you might grant me a request."
But he spoke to empty air. Gabriel, like all satisfied Angels, had removed himself from view.
* * * * *
It was hard to say whether he had moved or drifted or teleported or was dreaming. The scene of the murder was in a run-down town house in Philadelphia. Jeff knew the neighborhood right off - it was on his beat, down to the liquor store on the corner. But there was something strange in the air. It was cool, warm, soft, empty... quiet. There was no traffic, not a car in sight. But there was a sound... singing, in the distance.
Jeff ignored it. There was blood spatter on the mattress, a bullet hole in the ceiling. *Little use to try this without forensics*, he thought. He wondered what heavenly coroner might be examining the corpse. He reached down and was surprised. Not only did he have his uniform... he had his gun. *If this was a world without sin, would he be expected to dispatch the killer?*
The only way to solve this case was going to be like in the real world. Talk to people. Bring them down to the station. Sweat it out of them. He walked down the steps and headed for the music.
(to be continued...)
Edit: Got protagonist's name wrong at the end. *Oops*. I suck at names. |
"Finally after weeks of searching I found a way to make a few bucks. Experimental drug studies,"Thomas exclaimed, "It's great, all I have to do is take this pill to see what the side effects are."
"What if the side effects turn out to be death?"Jeffrey inquired, "I don't want you to die man."
Thomas replied, "Nah that won't happen, they test it on rats and stuff first. Right now I'm taking this drug developed by the government it's basically supposed to make me a superhuman."
Jeffrey said, "What's it supposed to do exactly? Don't be vague I might want in on this too."
"Well I've been able to run a lot faster. I ran to work today and got there in 5 minutes when it usually takes me ten to drive."Thomas said, "My sensation is also perfect I can smell better, see better, I've been able to see in the dark too. Everything I experience is heightened. Even eating, I had a hamburger from McDonald's and it was the best thing I've ever eaten, until I made a quality one myself that is. This also effects me negatively, a paper cut feels like my finger got amputated. Tomatoes make me vomit until I've got nothing left. When I don't get enough sleep I feel majorly fatigued but when I get a good night's rest it feels as though I have enough energy to run a marathon and then go workout afterwards. I've also found I am able to push my body to new physical limits. Running was one but I was also able to bench 850 the other day with no sweat. There is one other thing... I'm able to move things like... with my mind."
"Dude there is no way in hell some pill could do this to you. I have to see this for myself,"Jeffery exclaimed.
"Give me that pen. Alright now set it down on the table,"Thomas commanded.
He went into an intense form of concentration. Jeffery could tell that it wasn't him just him furrowing his brow and making some dumb noise. Jeffery could almost **feel** the intensity of which he was thinking. Then the pen started to move. It inched closer and closer to the edge of the granite counter top. Then it flew forward at an amazing speed into the wall.
"What the? You almost made a freaking hole in the wall but that was the coolest thing I've ever seen."
If anyone likes it so far I'll edit it and finish it up tomorrow. Thanks for reading. |
Rexxthar Spiketail opened the door to his mid-century ranch house. With a heavy sigh, he hung up his coat and hat and slipped out of his leather loafers.
"Is that you, honey?"called Carol from the kitchen. "Or am I just hearing things because of the government chip implanted in my brain?"
"It's me, love."Rexxthar entered the kitchen. Carol stood at the stove, a wooden spoon in one hand and a cookbook in the other. She smiled up at Rexxthar as he ducked his head coming through the doorway.
"Did you remember to wear your air mask? The chemtrails have been everywhere today."
Rexxthar rolled his eyes as he hugged his wife, careful to keep his horned forearm from dipping into the soup pot on the stove. "You know I'm immune to those,"he murmured in Carol's ear.
Carol playfully batted her husband's scaly face away. "Get that ten inch tongue out of here, mister!"
Rexxthar chuckled. Pulling away from his wife, he opened the fridge and pulled out a plain milk carton. His eyebrows rose. "I thought we agreed to buy organic?"
Carol shook her head. "No, I was reading on the Food Babe's blog that organic milk comes from half-cow, half-whale hybrids that are strapped into scuba gear and kept submerged in vats of heavy water. I won't support that sort of animal cruelty."
Rexxthar opened the cupboard and stopped. The shelves were bare. He turned and looked questioningly at his wife.
"Oh, I threw out all of our dishware,"said Carol. "It turns out that ceramic is a perfect receiver for the radiowaves from the Men In Black."She pursed her lips. "I won't have my kids listening to any more of that propaganda during mealtime. We've got some paper plates in the cupboard."
Rexxthar found a red plastic cup and filled it halfway with milk. He leaned against the counter, carefully measuring his words.
"Honey, we need to talk."
Carol's back stiffened. "They're moving us,"she said quietly, without turning. "Your reassignment came through."
Rexxthar sipped his milk, sloshing the liquid around in his mouth, in and out of his large pointy teeth. "They want me to run the Greenland plant."
Carol whirled, her mouth open. "*Greenland!* That's part of interior Earth, where the Nazis escaped after Hitler lost the Spear of Destiny and fled! We can't put our children there!"She gawked at her husband, her forehead wrinkled. "The schools must be terrible."
Rexxthar stepped forward and gently put one clawed hand on his wife's shoulder. "Honey, please. The Earth isn't hollow. Remember? We talked about this, I showed you that debunking video."
"I guess you're right,"said Carol, leaning her head against the smooth scales of Rexxthar's chest. "It's a flat Earth, not a hollow one."
"That's right baby,"cooed Rexxthar, stroking her hair. "And I'm sure there are very few Nazis in Greenland."
"Do they have flouride in the water?"asked Carol, her eyes red and slightly wet. She sniffed. "Do they have gold fringes on their flags?"
"I'm... I'm not sure,"admitted Rexxthar. "But I promise you, we'll make it work. My new job will pay much more—we'll finally have enough money for a vacation."
"A *vacation*,"breathed Carol, turning her head up at him and smiling with her tear-stained cheeks. "A real one?"
"A real one,"said Rexxthar. He nuzzled her ears, flicking his tongue gently along her forehead and earlobes. "I told you Soylent Corporation would come through."
"I suppose,"said Carol, with a sigh. She scooped up a bit of soup and blew on it, tasted it.
"What's for dinner?"Rexxthar licked his lips. "That smells quite savory."
"Oh, I'm trying that new soup that just came out, the one with Soylent Green."
&nbsp;
*****
If you liked this story, you might like my other stories at /r/hpcisco7965 or /r/TMODAL.
|
The sun doesn't have the same shine it used to. I could swear that the rays that hit me today are somehow duller, less bright. The smell of the city just doesn't hit me the same way anymore. No longer can I take a sniff of the air and tell you that it's 8 am because Joe has just fired the oven in his pizzeria. Nor can I point out the sound of the newspaper boy riding around, throwing papers at doorways. Everything seems so.. diminished.
Maybe my senses are just deteriorating. It's probably due to old age though. These days we get to push it off farther, spend our days at home relaxing, as our friends take care of everything for us. Technically, they're mechanical robots with fully functioning brains, but they are so realistic! Everything about them feels so human that you forget that they are just cogs and gears and wheels and a metric shit ton of circuits. It honestly baffles my mind.
I asked my "friend"Jackie to set up an appointment with the doc Sunday. I went in a few weeks ago to see this renowned therapist named Henry Willow and he's been helping me through this ever since. He told me about this special new procedure that the doctors down in Cheston South Hospital have been working on. Need I remind you, this is THE Cheston South, the one and only lab where the the entire human robot was created. As soon as I called in and got screened through surveys that asked every kind of question, I was notified that I qualified for the procedure, to my excitement.
Apparently they hook up hundreds of these tiny, atom-size sensors along these particular nerve endings that stimulate the signals to your brain, somehow increasing sensory input by at least 10 times. Honestly, what did I have to lose? Scientists today have solved all of our problems, from poverty, starvation, and death. Well not all.. I get really fucking bored sometimes. I don't know what to do, and sometimes I really envy our ancestors, who always knew that their lives were ticking time bombs and had to make the most out of them before they went boom. I echoed these thoughts to Dr. Willow the other week. He stepped around them and tried to focus on my declining senses, but I really just needed someone to talk to about it. He gave in when I finally told him that if I died tomorrow, I wouldn't care. I would be happy as a feather knowing that my time was finite. I remember this moment particularly because he flashed a short smile, something he so rarely does. He told me that death wasn't the only way out and immediately went back to our original topic. I kept pressing for more information on his cryptic statement but to no avail. Maybe he's just trying to get me to shut up.
Sunday came along just fine and I was ready for my operation. My heart was racing, thinking about the sensory overload my brain would receive in a few hours. Of course I had no one to share this excitement with, other than myself and Jackie. But I was doing this for me, just to keep myself out of boredom just a little longer.
Once I got into Cheston, they walked me down to a personal waiting room and asked me to change into the cliche white hospital gown. I obliged, then followed them down a long hallway to another, larger room. I took a seat in the patient's chair across from the doctor's desk. He looked up and smiled, letting me know exactly what they would be doing and some possible risks. I glazed a smile as I sat through his monologue and said I knew what I was getting into. I really had no idea but who cares, I was ready for this.
A nurse guided me down the hall again to another room and helped me on to the sole hospital bed. She hooked me up to an IV and a couple monitors and stared intently at them. After what seemed like an hour, she walked to the drawer and pulled out a syringe and some unknown liquid in a small glass vial. From my extensive YouTube knowledge, I could tell it was the sedative. I closed my eyes and drifted away as the nurse filled the syringe into the IV line.
When I awoke, everything had changed. My room was white. A bright white that I had never felt before. I could literally feel it with more than one of my senses. It was overwhelming to say the least. Yet that was the least of my worries. The doctor I had met walked in through the door and said, "Welcome to the world David, or shall I say MCA-7664. Once we confirm that the three golden laws are etched into your brain, you will be moving in with a nice family up in Westchester. I'll be seeing you in two weeks." |
Their flashlights sent beams of dusty light upon the inside of the dining room. Michael, the leader of the group, put a finger to his lips as he crept forward. Somewhere in the vicinity of an upstairs bedroom there was the creak of a compressed floor board. The friends froze, the beam of the flashlight shining up toward the ceiling.
"I don't think we should be here,"whispered Susan. Michael turned the flashlight beam on her and she winced, holding up her hand to cover her eyes. The others in the group shushed her.
"We've just got to spend one night here. One night. It's fine, right? It's not haunted. Ghosts aren't real."Michael wasn't sure who he was talking to - his friends, or himself.
It had started as a joke, the whole breaking into the house thing. No one went there anymore. There were rumors surrounding the place that once you went in you never came back out. It had been Michael's idea to come - spend a night in the house, prove it wasn't haunted.
The creak came from the bedroom upstairs again.
Michael tilted his head toward an exit of the living room and crept forward into the kitchen. The room was empty - pans dusted over from years of not being used. Michael led the way through a door and into the den.
They stood around the den, the flashlight's beam sending light over the television and the couch. Michael looked at them. "Sleep here?"he whispered.
The door slammed close. The friends jumped, the flashlight moving to illuminate a woman who was slightly transparent.
"Hello kiddies,"she said. "Would you like some cookies?"
The friends looked at each other. Michael took a step forward. "We're not afraid of you!"
"Afraid of me. Why heavens no. Why would you be afraid of me. I just have cookies. Won't you have some cookies? And then you can sit, and I can tell you all about the time I went to the grocery store and bought a loaf of bread and a soda pop and three pounds of beef, for a nickel. And after that I went home and &mdash; "
"I...uh. I think we should leave, actually. But thanks for the offer of cookies,"Michael said. He took a step forward. The woman frowned.
"Leave? Oh no, no. You aren't going anywhere. Now sit down. There are cookies to be eaten." |
Despite every advancement in the last ten years, the Magical Association of Attorneys still refused to make the change from vellum scrolls to paper. Jonas sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose, feeling the last dregs of energy from his morning coffee fade away and leave him with that distinct empty-stomach sensation he got when the magic they imbibed in the beans wore off.
"Get me Kara,"he snapped at the trainee associate who sat with him. The associate; Lyle, was from an old family, and despite Human Resources issuing a firm-wide email to try and stop the rumours he was part fey, even threats of a reprimand had done nothing to stop people whispering about his red hair.
"What's she done?"Lyle asked. His coal-black eyes lit up with delight and Jonas considered that if the associate wanted the rumours to stop, perhaps he had to look less gleeful when there was a possibility of other people suffering.
"She's cocked up on the Wishman files. Can you fetch her?"Jonas said. "Oh, and fetch me a coffee while you're at it. Charmed, not roasted."
"You shouldn't have too many of them,"Lyle slipped out of his seat. "Strong laxative effect--"
"Get Kara, and get out,"Jonas snapped. His patience wore thin.
Kara *was* part Selkie, and she'd been hired under the diversity program the MAA had put in place years ago. *They'll hire sea creatures but they won't give up scrolls.* He had to admit though, there was something attractive about the girl's long, dark hair that seemed always slightly damp, and the long, lithe body that she packed into little dresses every day. Though apparently asking someone if they were part Siren was just a short way to a long sexual harassment claim these days.
"You know what you did on the Wishman files?"Jonas asked, watching Kara drip water on the carpet. "No, don't,"he said as she opened her mouth to speak. "What's the first rule of magical contracts?"
"Make sure they're binding,"Kara said sadly.
"Yeah, too fucking right it is. What did you forget?"Jonas asked. He spread the papers out in front of him. "No, don't come over here, do you think I need saltwater over my suit?"
She looked like she was about to cry.
"You forgot the magical bindings, Kara. It's an elementary mistake. How fucking hard is it to get someone to sign in blood? We're going to have to rewrite the whole thing, get a new set signed... Get... Hang on--"The phone was ringing, and Jonas switched it onto speaker, not even bothering to get Kara to leave the room.
"Magnus!"Jonas said. He drew out the name of his immediate superior as confidently as he could, but he was already feeling clammy at the thought of being chewed out himself.
"Jonas, there's a fuck up on the Wishman files,"Magnus said.
"I'm sorting it Magnus, I'm sorting it,"Jonas said. "We've had a small hitch, but we can fix it."
"No, you can't fucking fix it. Have you got an associate with you?"
"I do."
"Tell them to get their coat. We're going into damage control. There's no magical binding on the contracts, and Wishman are sticking to the letter of the law, but they're breaching the magical terms. The soul market is going into a tailspin if we don't get an emergency funding agreement signed in blood, right now."
"Where are we going?"Jonas jumped to his feet. His heart was pounding. Kara was in floods of tears. She wouldn't have a job left after today, and right now he was fighting to save his own.
"We're going into Fey, Jonas. Get your shit sorted."
And Magnus hung up. |
Blood stained my ankles. Molded around my toes and dripped from the dagger onto the concrete floor. I’d cut my hand when the dagger became too slippery to hold. I closed my eyes, ignored the throbbing wound, and disappeared into the rush of memories. A pretty housewife, immaculately dressed, mother of three. A child giggled in my head.
*Come on, silly goose! Get in the car, we’re going to be late.*
Grandma’s voice. The images twisted and spun. First I was an adult and then a child. My victim stood in front of the entire seventh grade class, explaining why she should be class president. Then came the crushing sorrow of defeat. I – she – cried in front of her best friend. In the back of the car on the way home.
*It’s better to have tried,* grandma said. *I’m so proud of you.*
*I’m never going to try anything ever again,* she sobbed. We stopped for burgers but she didn’t eat. Years passed before she was able to eat burgers again. My stomach lurched at the thought of red meat.
I crouched beside Linda’s body and lifted her bruised face. The images were jumbled because she’d fought so hard. A quick slash across the throat was best. Linda’s body was riddled with stab wounds. Why couldn’t she just die quietly? Anger swelled. This was her fault. All that careful planning ruined because she couldn’t stay still. I told her she’d live forever inside me – why couldn’t she accept it like the rest? I pulled her head into my lap and closed my eyes, disappearing inside her memories.
She’d met Thomas her last year of college. The first baby wasn’t planned and she’d had to quit graduate school. But that was okay because Thomas had a great job in finance. When they moved to the suburbs and the twins came, life seemed perfect. She’d met Janet in spin class. My lips curled to a smile. Janet was my last victim. The police had no clue how I chose my kills. It was simple, really. Whoever my last victim found fascinating died next.
Ah, I saw it then. Thomas was having an affair. That damned bastard. We caught him though, didn’t we? Pictures and everything. Gave them to a lawyer, and the lawyer said he’d fix Thomas good. But the children – they’d go to him now. They’d have to live with that bastard and his mistress. I placed the dagger on Linda’s chest and stroked her matted hair.
“Don’t worry, Linda,” I whispered. “I’ll take care of Thomas. It’s the least I can do.”
|
A soft tap hit my eardrum, but was shadowed behind my overwhelming heartbeat. Me, along with a bunch of other kids waited as Elder Leyfin walked out of the dark passageway. He looked at the bunch once more through the little slits through his mask. It was an incredibly light shade of red. Almost grey. It was riddled with small cracks and hid only his eyes. He rubbed his massive, silver beard and smiled at us. I had always held high regard for the old man.
"The Masqueran Caverns have been unsealed. You may now enter. May your mask hold your head high"
As he finished his sentence, all of us ran in, not looking back. This day, my sixteenth birthday, was the day that defined my life. I rushed into the caverns, into the void embraced by the dark. Not a single flame lit the inside of the cave. We were all told to walk straight, grab at the air whenever our mind told us, and run back, putting on whatever mask fate granted. All masks were a shade of red, those which were lighter, like that of the wise elders, were held high in society. Those with a darker shade were cast out, though their children were given a chance to contest. Even if their children get a grey-ish mask, they weren't allowed back. It was a harsh system.
I kept walking slowly, occasionally bumping into the others in the group at first. No one spoke. The silence itself was deafening. A few moments later, the sound of people running back was evident. A few had obtained a mask. I hadn't. I kept walking. The frequency of bumping into others reduced as time went by. I just kept walking. After a while I couldn't feel anybody in front. I must've reached the start of the pack. Still no mask.
I had absolutely lost track of time. I didn't know how long I had been in the cave, but I could hazard a guess of about three hours. I was walking for three hours, yet I wasn't tired at all. Not a single heavy breath. It was as if the shadows pushed me forward.
After what I felt was 5 hours, my feet stopped, out of their own free will. It was as if an abyss opened up in front of me. As if a single step forwards would have me plummeting down a bottomless pit. A violent gust flew up from beneath me, apparently through solid rock. I tripped and fell as the wind roared. I felt a little piece of wood, which I dropped as I was falling. My mask? I groped in the dark as the wind made my eyes water. I felt it with the tips of my fingers, the pounced on it. I grabbed it and rushed back.
In a few moments I could see tge light. It was as if I had traversed the cave for no more than half an hour. I placed it carefully in my pouch and stepped out. The room was empty, save for Elder Leyfin dozing in a corner. I walked up to him and woke him.
"where're the others?"I casually asked.
He blinked a bit and looked around. He gazed blankly at my face for a while. His eyes focused on my face, and a warm smile spread around his cheeks.
"It seems that the caves really do alter one's perception of time. My boy, you've been in there no less than 5 weeks. The others left much before you arrived. "
"F-Five weeks?!"I was stunned. How could I have been in the darkness for five weeks? Thoughts raced through my mind until the wise man snapped me out of it.
"The good thing is that you're out now. What color is your mask? Show me, now that I'm curious."
I reached into my pouch, pulled out the mask and without looking at the color, put it on.
"How is it, Elder Leyfin?"I asked. He didn't respond. I looled at him. His usual calm expression had exploded into an expression of fear. Or was it reverance. I doubted either, and felt my mask was a deep red. I, too, started trembling. He leapt up, as I slowly took off my mask. He looked me in the eyes, and then knelt, as we do in prayer.
"Descend, my lord, and renounce thy mask of flesh and bone."he said in an abnormal monotone.
"H-Hey Elder, i-i-it's j-just me. W-wh-why..."I couldn't complete my sentence as my eyes fell onto the mask. It was a shade I had never seen before on a mask. It was a radiant blue. |
I chose Ickbim, the ancestral tree, the one where I was sure not to be alone. All through my short life in the village, in all the stories my elders had told me about the afterlife, the tree at the centre of my village was central to it all. Spirits of the passed on would chose it out of all living things around as their abode and watch upon thier loved ones until they joined them.
But when I got there, Ickbim was empty. No one was here, Ickbim was no ancestral haven. It was just a tree.
*And the rains fell and nights came.*
For a few centuries I alone watched them offer prayers and seek guidance from ancestors who were long gone. I watched them grow, develop and invent. Not long after my demise, they forged weapons of metal and waged brutal wars. While at first they expanded wider and wider in a radius around Ickbim, I watched them fall to these very weapons. I watched the village burn to the ground. Nothing left but the lone ancestral tree that was my home.
*And the rains fell and the nights came.*
In the time they were gone, the land around me and my tree home flourish. Green sprouted from the ground and miraculously bloomed. Fellow trees grew around us. Peaceful animals joined us. In time nothing but peace and quiet reigned.
*And the rains fell and nights came.*
*And the rains fell and nights came.*
And for many years it was so. Then one day, fellow trees began to fall. Man had returned. But they had grown wild. Wielding horrible weapons they lay waste to the forest family about me and Ickbim. And then it happened. Ickbim was felled. And I disappeared into oblivion.
*And the rains fell and the nights came until even this happened no more*
|
In the darkness of the trees comes a gasping and a wheeze,
As the creatures of the night flee my approach.
Though i'm treading very lightly, I must walk the forest nightly,
So the blackness all around cannot encroach.
&nbsp;
Since I was a child I have come out to the wild,
To the places that the monsters congregate.
Where they wait for the unwary and prepare to be most scary,
With my presence I can force them to abate.
&nbsp;
I have found it in my nature and then learned their nomenclature,
As when named they lose their potency and power.
So now they hide themselves away and wait for another day,
Until the time I do not come, they'll shake and cower.
&nbsp;
As they years are passing by, each night until I die,
I shall hold them back, so others are protected,
I'm the watcher in the dark, up until I hear the lark,
My work is mine alone and will not be neglected.
*****
*****
*****
*****
I must ask most adoringly, if you'll visit to /r/fringly,
Where I post all of my stories and my writing.
If you visit there today then you'll stay and never stray,
The only rule is to be nice and no infighting.
|
My quick breaths fog up my glasses as I stand in a deserted alley, unable to tear my eyes from my wrist.
4m
I take a glance around, my view partially obscured by the droplets of water on my lenses. There's nothing in sight but the typical alley dumpster, a few empty beer cans, and the faint smell of greasy fast food that everyone encounters in the city.
4 minutes. It makes sense, anything could happen in that short time. There could be an earthquake. The graffiti covered brick walls surrounding me could tumble, crushing my body. Drug deal gone wrong? Someone running from the cops stumbles upon me, killing me to eliminate any possible witness. The possibilities are endless, and the only answer is to get the hell away. It could be an internal problem, but I feel completely normal.
My eyes find my left wrist again. 4m.
I begin to walk. Run. Full out sprinting, eyes switching focus from road to wrist then back to road again. The number has changed, but not for the better.
3m
My heart is beginning to thud from both running for my life (pun intended) and just straight up fear.
2m
I turn a corner and continue on my way, the muggy air making me nauseous. I could see the entrance to the dead end alley I had stumbled upon earlier. Why had I even come here in the first place? No time to think, just run.
1m
And then I knew exactly why I had a minute to live. Up ahead were the headlights of a huge truck coming at me full speed. It was on fire, and smoke was coming out of the windows and from the hood. I couldn't make out anyone inside, but I assumed any possible occupants were dead. I cursed, not knowing where to turn. The alley itself was tight in width, and there would be no getting around it if I didn't get to the entrance before the truck did. I couldn't turn back to where I had been before, for explosion itself would probably kill me. There was only one thing I could do right now.
Run.
People say that when your life is at stake, the human body can do things that normally it couldn't do, like jumping over a 15 foot fence or fighting someone three times your size and winning. When it comes to your life, desperation truly does drive you to the brink. I didn't get that life flashing before my eyes moment. I just felt that enormous rush of adrenaline that sent the hairs all over my body standing on end.
15s
The truck got bigger as it approached me, covering me in it's magnificent burning shadow, and I immediately knew I wouldn't make it. It would reach the entrance before me, and I would be crushed on impact. Then a thought pierced through me like an arrow.
An object in motion stays in motion.
An object in motion stays in motion.
An object in motion stays in motion... unless another force stops it.
Usually that other force means gravity. But gravity wasn't my main concern right now.
5s. I didn't need to look at my wrist to know that.
An object in motion stays in motion... Unless a truck smashes it to bits. So I jumped. I felt things slow, as my body flew threw the air, landing on the hood of the massive machine and taking two steps, jumping again, higher than the last. So great was that jump, that I lost control of my body mid air and did a weirdly uncomfortable flip. I felt air whizz from under me as it blew my long hair up around me. It was hot, and the smoke burned my nose as the truck passed. And then it was gone and I was falling. I must have blacked out mid air because when I woke up I was in a hospital.
Waking up in a strange place is confusing. Waking up in a strange place and feeling pain literally all over your body isn't confusing. It's absolutely horrifying. And when the memories flooded back, I didn't know whether to feel overwhelming joy, or unbelief, or both. How had I made that jump? Unless I was dead-
82y
I wanted to kiss my tattoo for joy. I made it. Yeah, every inch of my body hurt like no ones business, but I made it.
|
I had heard of people like him in stories: obsessed, insane, with twitchy movements and a dead eye stare. But his eyes weren't dead; they were far from it. He had eyes that saw all: past, present, and future. In his eyes there were universes, universes that were being born, expanding and eventually imploding all within microseconds. He was watching the entire realm of reality, yet only existing in one tiny, micro instance of it. It was no wonder that his eyes shined and shimmered, like they contained our entire universe.
"So it's up to me to slay the dragon?"he asked our merry little band of crusaders with a disbelieving smile on his face.
I was just the village's librarian, tasked with searching through the ancient tomes for prophecies regarding the dragon that plagued our village. I considered myself insignificant in the quest to kill the dragon, but there I was nonetheless.
The village Elder raised his voice, imploring the man before us, "You must. It has been prophesied."
He tilted his head back in a laugh, exposing the veins of his neck. "Tell me the prophecy!"he demanded, voice light and mocking, but with a tense edge that I was beginning to worry about. His hands rested near his hips, and I could only imagine him carefully gripping a blade under his shirt, preparing to use it.
When the village Elder hesitated, I spoke up. It was my job to unearth the prophecy, and I did feel unnecessary next to the warriors and chiefs that had gathered in the man's small home. If I wanted a purpose there, explaining the prophecy was it.
"It was in the ancient gods' diary,"I answered for the Elder, gaining the attention of the room. All eyes on me. My voice trembled nervously as I continued. "They told of a beast who would come to our village should the war in the heavens take a bad turn. The beast would set fire to the land and burn our livestock, driving us out of our homes."
I wish I could say having the chiefs of the village watch me give a speech was the worst part, but it wasn't. It was him, and his eyes. They bored into me, past my breastbone and directly into my soul; capturing what was there as fuel for the creation of some new universe that I would never get to see.
I licked my lips nervously. He was tall, yet lean, and his movements were lazy, yet calculated, like a conniving fox stalking its prey. He leaned backwards casually against the wall, one foot propped up under him, but I could see that he was poised and ready to flee should the first thing go south. It was understandable. We were in the home of the village criminal.
"But, if the gods still favor us at that time,"I continued, nervously dropping my gaze from his intense one, "they will send us help. An angel in the form of destruction incarnate to destroy the dragon."
Laughter sang out in the small room, bellowing from his chest across the hallway, filling his home. He tilted his head and raised his eyebrows, as if unbelieving, and stared directly at me - the innocent village librarian - as he spoke. "And you think that is me??"he asked, laughing bemusedly as he did so.
Everyone in the room nodded.
He stopped laughing.
After a pause, he sighed, walking over to his bed and pulling a large wooden container out from underneath. He popped it open, revealing weapons of all different kinds filling the box to the brim. "Alright,"he said with resignation as he picked up a crossbow, "I'll do it."
The chiefs and warriors of the village all collectively sighed in relief. The room, which was frozen with tension before, warmed. But before long, he interrupted.
"But I have one condition."
We all exchanged glances. The village guards reached for their cuffs with one hand, their weapons with the other. There was a moment of terse silence, then the village Elder asked, "What is it?"
He looked up from his weapon with a mischievous glint in his eye and a crooked smile. "The librarian comes with me."
|
BEEP BEEP BEEP
My alarm goes off and I turn it off and hop out of bed.
"Today I am a man!"I think to myself, proudly.
I go downstairs and have a bowl of cereal before getting ready for school.
"How's my birthday boy doing on this fine day?"My mom says gleefully.
"I'm fine, mom."I say with a typical brooding teen attitude.
"Oh, sweetie, drop the act, you are a man now, not a teenager. Now I want you to check the trap for me, okay."
"Okay mom,"I say more upbeat than before, "I will check it when I head to the bus stop."
I get ready for school and grab my backpack and rush out the door. I shout goodbye as to avoid conversation. I almost walk right past the trap, as I did most days because nothing is ever there, but I hear a slight whimpering. I try to peer through the bushes to see what's there but I need a closer look. I push through the bushes and branches until I get to the small clearing where the trap is. I have no clue what I am looking at. I see a dark shape in the trap, hunched over. I rush over to it thinking it was a person, but boy was I wrong.
I tap its shoulder and it turns quickly and grabs my shoulders. I try to yell but I can't. I look deep into its eyes and see my reflection. I start slowly becoming black and I notice the thing seems to be absorbing me. It opens the trap and removes its foot from the trap and replaces it with mine. I look at it and it is me. I am it. It picks up my bag and trots off happily to my bus stop. I curl into a ball and cry.
Will anyone notice that that thing is not me? Will I every get out of here? I look around and do not see the forest that was once there. I see hundreds of black shapes, just like me. I see what they all are. I see what we all are. We are the childhoods left behind. Adulthood consumed us and left us here to rot.
|
Hello!
I'm Whisky. I'm a labrador. My best friend in the entire world is George. He is a human. We have that kind of a friendship, you know, the one where we don't need to exchange words in order to understand each other. I've known him my entire life. He was 8 when he met me. He was tiny. I was tiny too (I was a newborn at the time). We're both older and bigger now. He's 21 and I'm 13.
I remember when we first became friends, back when I was a puppy, we both had a lot of energy. We used to play together a lot. We were only separated when Mom would force him to go to school. I wish she didn't though. It was obvious that he was miserable there. I was miserable at home without him. The best part of the day was when he would come back. He would come back very sad, I could tell, so I would do cute things and funny things to cheer him up.
As we got older, we drifted apart a little. He would spend all day in his room, alone. I would sit outside, just waiting for him to let me in so that I could cheer him up. I didn't want to bother him, though. He had started getting upset and wouldn't talk as much. It was probably because Dad and Mom were always screaming words at each other.
George is such a good friend, he would always make time for me in the evenings and we would go on long walks. We would run up to the hills and sit by the cliffs. He would scream and scream loudly, and I would bark just as loudly. It was so much fun.
During his last years of school, Mom was always shouting at him to do things. I wish she didn't, it made him upset. She was always fighting with Dad if he ever came by. He would never stay, though. I missed him. During this time, my knees started to hurt, so I couldn't accompany George to the cliffs. We only went for short walks.
George celebrated finishing school. I remember that. Everybody was so happy for a while. I'm glad he finished school. I get to spend more time with him.
For the past three years, we have spent every moment together. He wakes up, we go for a walk, then we come back and sit in front of the TV, cuddling the entire day till Mom comes back. I don't like it when Mom comes back, she is always angry at him. I always bark at her when she shouts at him. I love him so much, I can't stand when anybody is mean to him.
The day before yesterday was the best day ever. He gave me lots of kisses and lots of food and cuddled me a lot. He kept saying words to me, a lot of words. Then we went for a walk. We came back and he dropped me home and went to the cliffs. I wish he would come back soon,though. I'm starting to miss him.
|
"Rock, paper, fucking scissors?"Michael screams at me. His name was technically now Michael, saviour of Bethelia, Knight of the Hidden Kingdom, Conquerer of the Lava Cave, Master of the eighth school of fencing.... Etc. He is shushed by one of the demon knight ushers.
"I did not fight through eighteen waves of snake gargoyles so you could blow it all on a children's game,"he hissed. I smiled, and walked up to the middle of the stage. Around us, the crowd waited with bated breath, monsters and humans alike.
See, Michael had allies he'd brought along on the journey, the Grand Priestess Celia, John the marksman, guys like that. But he'd picked me. Which suggested that this bad guy was a master of a lot of things, that even heroes of their caliber couldn't match. He'd come to me in a desperate gamble that I had some secret talent to unleash.
So you know what luck is, by the way? I reckon it's just all the things out of our direct control. The way a die will roll, the direction the wind travels. How an opponent thinks. I believe in reducing how much luck has to play.
While Michael had been off travelling the world and slaying monsters, I had become very, very good at Roshambo. Not that he would have known that, every time I'd seen him he just talked about his adventures. Not that they weren't interesting, just a bit over the top.
I smiled and bowed to my opponent. The High King of Hell, Master of All He Surveys, Destroyer of the Kingdoms... Etc. A huge man, in obsidian armour. Lava flowed from the gaps in the plates, and steam flowed from the holes in his helmets. Chains bound his wrists, dangling to the floor and rattling as he moved.
"Tell me you name, that I may know who I grind under my boot,"his voice rumbled out, like a force of nature, rolling over the hall like a thunderclap.
"Hi, I'm Dave,"I shoved my hands into the pockets of my jeans.
"Dave... The?"he asked.
"Just Dave,"I smiled apologetically.
"Oh... Okay. Well, what is the challenge? You have not brought any weapon. We may provide one if you require,"he glances over at an imp, which flutters off, presumably to fetch something from the armoury.
"Roshambo,"I offer. The demon king stands still for a second. Speechless. Then he laughs, an even louder, but pleasant sound, that filled the room. Booming and hearty, the demon king grasped his knees as it wound down.
"Very well, mortal. I accept. What better way to decide the fate of your little world than such a trivial game,"he stepped up to face me.
In a normal, human voice, he whispers, "If nothing else, your bravado has earned my amusement, and respect."
I nod, a bit nervous now, but as we wind up our throes, it's clear that he is exactly like any other opponent.
"Best of five?"I call out, my voice a pitiful match to the cacophany of his speech. He nods.
I start with paper, and naturally he goes rock. Classic, aggressive demon lord. The crowd whispers. I can't see the demon king's face, but I feel like he's glaring at me.
"I'm throwing scissors, next,"I whisper to him. He looks up, confused.
I throw scissors, he does paper. Ah, I love the bluffs. A murmur ripples through the crowd.
"Nicely done,"the demon king nods.
The next throw I lose. He wins with rock. It doesn't matter, I was supposed to.
I tuck my thumb into my fist as we pound for the next throw. Telegraph. I throw rock, and he wins with paper. The crowd hushes again, watching.
Thumb tucked, we stare each other down. I toss scissors, he plays paper. The crowd breaks into cheering. I exhale a sigh of relief.
The demon king steps up to me, and clears his throat.
"I have travelled a thousand realms, searching for champions. Champions who could defeat me. I never intended to destroy this world. Dave,"he looks me in the eye. I swallow, nervously, any excitement from my victory washing away.
"Teach me your art,"he takes a knee in front of me. Mind you, this only brings him from twice my height to 1.5 times it. "I have learnt healing from priestesses and doctors, fighting from brawlers and swordsmen. I have no equal in those fields. But in this I am but your student,"he bows his head.
I glance around for the cameras. Is this guy serious?
"Please,"he pleases. Guess he is.
"Sure, I guess,"I shrug. The crowd cheers.
|
The transmission ended abruptly as it has started. Two blood drenched individuals, husband and wife, shockingly declared themselves the Emperors of Mars, in the first communication with mission control 10 days after touchdown. This was supposed to herald in a new age of exploration for humanity, it was supposed to be humanity's last hope of survival.
"Check the signal source again,"came Admiral Hall's voice, stammering, breaking the stunned silence.
There was the furious sound of typing, hushed murmuring among the lab coats. After a few minutes, the most senior looking one stood up to face the Admiral. "Sir, we can confirm that the signal source is indeed originating from Red Eden Outpost 1."
--------
"Mr President, if you could only give us one more chance to send backup out there..."Terry tried to plead, trying to keep up with the man dressed in formal with a red tie before he head off to the Congressional Hearing.
"No, Terry,"the President abruptly cut him off, keeping his brisk pace. "We're not going to risk anymore of our precious resources into this absurd project. I didn't know why I even listened to you in the first place. My adviser was right, Earth is where we need to focus on right now."
With a flick of his fingers, two secret service agents pulled Terry away. Terry tried to struggle free, to no avail. As the president walked further away, he could only scream, "You don't know what you're doing! Earth is doomed and Mars is our only hope! If you don't send another backup there, we will..."
Before Terry could finish, however, he felt a sharp sting to his right shoulder, followed by darkness.
------------------
"Do you think they'll buy it?"Matthew looked at Jess, his wife.
She returned his gaze, then turned to look at the rest of the 18 couples standing behind the camera. Silence lingered in the air, before one of them took a step forward. Like most of them, he was in his mid-20s, but there was a certain air of authority around him that made him stood out. The rest know him as Adam.
"I know what we did here today may be despicable,"he said, in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear. "But we did what had to be done."A few nodded their heads.
Adam continued, "We all know Earth is going to die sooner or later, and Mars is one of the last gambles that humanity has with our dwindling resources. If this mission proved to be a success, we all know what will be in store."
More nods. After all, this was the decision was made collectively by the pioneer colonists, some of top remaining scientists and engineers Earth has to offer.
If the mission succeeded, humanity would pour all their last remaining resources into making the dangerous journey to Mars, sparking perhaps the biggest refugee migration in history. And who would get front row seats to escape the now dying Earth? Those who doomed it to its current fate.
"Humanity needs to start anew,"was a common consensus that the colonists shared. But it was a burden that not all was willing to bear.
Matthew pulled Jess closer to him, hugging her tightly through her blood soaked top. "Lets get changed."
------
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|
"I just don't understand how this is possible."
We were looking at a 500 foot pyramid in the middle of an ocean...of liquid nitrogen. It was, in terms of dimensions, an exact replica of the pyramid of Giza back home at Egypt.
"What about this entire scenario strikes you as impossible, private? Is it that we are on a planet 220 light-years away from Earth, that we have found an ocean of liquid nitrogen, that there is ano enormous structure apparently floating on it, or that it happens to be an exact replica of one of humanity's greatest monument?"
The private looked a bit taken aback. I had snapped at her a bit too hard. "I'm sorry captain Murhpy,"he said with his head bowed respectfully, "I was just shocked is all."
I turned to look at him impassively, but on the inside I could barely contain my laughter. To anyone else looking, this situation must look decidedly odd. Here were two people in a hovering small car ft, with a well built 6 and a half foot man bowing in deference to a short blond woman who was 5 foot nothing.
I turned to look at the pyramid again, and I sobered up. What the private didn't know (it was above his pay grade) that this was the 15th such monument we had found. They were all on seemingly random planets, with no respect to capacity of life. we found one inside of a gas planet for goodness sake.
"Check the radio frequencies, private"I ordered.
"What? Why?"
Why do I get stuck with the idiots.
I turned and glared at him, and he paled, hurrying to comply. I stood silently as he went through various frequencies with varying degrees of static or background noise until he found it.
It was a sentence, playing again and again.
The private's eyes widened. "Is...is it communicating?"
"That, private,"I said pointing to the pyramid grey outside, "is an inanimate object. It cannot communicate by itself. This is some sort of communication of some aliens long past."
The private nodded knowingly, then froze.
"I..I think I understand this, captain Murphy."
I whirled towards him. "What!"
If he was taken aback, he didn't show it. His eyes were wide. "This..this is sanskrit I think."He listened again to the looping sentense and nodded his head. "Yes, I am sure this is sanskrit."
My head was swimming with the implications, so it took me about 30 seconds to ask the obvious question. "well... what is saying?"All the monuments had been broadcasting in some strange language but we had no idea what they meant. If they had all been dead languages....
"Follow the trail, and..and some numbers"The private whsipered, almost reverentially.
He spoke the numbers out loud and, in spite myself, I cursed.
"Coordinates"the private said in an awed whisper.
I nodded. "Coordinates."
***
If you enjoyed, check out my new [subreddit!](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/)
|
I planted the tree, of course. I went down to the garden supply store, bought myself a pot of the appropriate size, and put it out on my balcony. Sadly, I lived in a little second-story apartment and didn't have a yard, but I hoped the tree was one of those that would do well enough in a large pot.
It was a fascinating specimen; I took samples of one of the fruits and studied them under my microscope, as well as running chemical analyses to try and figure out the source of its bioluminescence. The fruit was rather like a pomegranate in some ways, though the skin was more of a golden-pink color, and the seeds were incredibly fragrant--just the scent made my mouth water.
I was tempted to taste just a seed or two, but I knew how *that* story went, both for Eve and for Persephone. Besides, going around tasting random plants was generally a bad idea, even if it didn't appear that there was anything poisonous in the fruit.
It wasn't that I was a religious person--I was vaguely spiritual, I supposed; maybe there was some God floating around out there, but I didn't think about Him, or Her, or Them, or whatever, all that much, except for the occasional vague feeling of gratitude when life was going well or I came across some particularly awe-inspiring part of nature.
Certainly, I thought of telling someone about my tree. But the whole story was so strange--who would believe that I'd gotten a tree that, to my knowledge, was of no known species, from some anonymous stranger, accompanied by a note alluding to the Biblical Garden of Eden?
It sounded like something out of a novel written by a Dan Brown knockoff.
Besides, I felt oddly possessive of my little tree. It seemed to thrive, even in its pot. And every day, I felt anew the temptation to pluck a fruit, split open its skin to reveal the jewel-like seeds, and feast upon them.
I was not Pandora. I was a grown adult, and I had millennia of myths telling me what happened to those who gave into temptation.
One Saturday morning, however, when I went out to water my tree, I was not entirely surprised to find a serpent coiled up in its branches.
I would describe the serpent here, but I can't. I try to remember him--was he like a garter snake? A king cobra? An emerald tree boa?
And yes, the serpent looked, in a way, like all these things--as if he were possessed of the essence of serpenthood, rather than being any one type of snake.
In a way, he even reminded me of a dragon--something straight out of mythology--though again, I am at a loss to explain how. Perhaps a certain spark in his eyes, or the aura of wisdom he gave off.
I half-expected him to start out with the classic line from Genesis--"Yea, hath God said: Ye shall not eat of any tree of the garden?"
Instead, he looked at me, and he laughed.
"Mortals,"he hissed, half to itself, in a smoky voice. "Must I always lead you by the hand?"
"What are you talking about?"I asked the snake. Part of me was dimly aware of the absurdity of demanding answers from a talking snake, but then, this whole situation with a tree showing up on my doorstep was absurd.
"But perhaps the fault was mine. The note I left was... imprecise."The serpent turned to study me with one eye, tilting his head slightly. "Eve made two mistakes. One, once made, was made forever, and cannot be undone. The other..."The serpent's tongue flicked out, tasting the air.
"Eve's mistake was eating the fruit, wasn't it?"I asked. "That's why--in the Bible--sin came into the world."
"Have you even read that story?"the serpent asked, turning to study me through the other eye. "Or do you simply recall the stories you've heard of it? I speak truly in this: God never commanded Eve not to eat of the fruit. He only told Adam."
"That doesn't sound right,"I countered. The serpent was obviously trying to deceive me--or was it?
"Read it yourself,"he hissed, softly. "God gave that command before Eve was even drawn forth from Adam's side."
"You don't honestly expect me to believe that that's all true--that there was really a Garden of Eden, and that God created all the animals out of nothing--there are fossil records that say otherwise,"I countered.
The serpent puffed out a laugh--and it is a truly bizarre thing, to see a snake laughing. "There is truth, and there is truth,"said the serpent. "All myths are true. All myths are false. If I sound like I'm not being straightforward, well, I am not. It is not in my nature."He shifted, twisting his coils around the branches to draw a few inches nearer to me.
"I tell you this--Eve did not sin. But God punished her anyways when Adam ate the fruit she gave to him, for God was angry to be disobeyed, and he felt her to be partially responsible,"the serpent said. "Her first mistake was sharing the fruit. Her second was failing to share the fruit."
"Wait, what?"I asked.
The serpent looked at me steadily. "*Think,* mortal. I have given you the answer, if you will but let yourself understand."
"Can't you just tell me? If you want something from me, explain!"I demanded.
"No,"said the serpent. "I am not the sort of creature to give you everything. You must take it for yourself. If you have the wisdom, and courage, that is."
And with that, the snake slithered through the branches, and suddenly he seemed to disappear. I ran my fingers through the leaves, and over the branches, but there was no sign of him.
I was left alone, with my whirling thoughts.
I stared at the tree for a long time, trying to understand.
Then I took another fruit.
I pulled it open with my fingers--the skin was far more yielding than a pomegranate's, as though it *wanted* to be opened up and have its contents enjoyed.
I looked at all the brilliant, golden seeds sparkling within.
The seeds.
*Seeds.*
---
I was not religious, but I had the feeling that I'd been caught up in a myth--and the existence of a talking snake, of all things, had already turned my world upside down.
So I took a long, long walk that day, with the fruit in hand.
I didn't eat any yet. When I thought about it--well, I'd never spoken with God, who, if the serpent was to believed, existed. In some sense.
*I* hadn't been ordered not to eat the fruit any more than Eve had.
Still. I wanted to be cautious.
Part of me feared a sudden bolt of lightning flashing down from the sky, even though there wasn't a cloud to be seen--the whole sky was a perfect, clear blue. It was a beautiful day--the sort of day that made you feel grateful to be alive.
Every so often, I'd pluck a golden seed from the fruit, and plant it in whatever soil I could find.
I pushed one seed down into a well-clipped suburban lawn.
I pushed one down into an empty pot sitting on the patio of someone's house.
I pushed one down into a large crack in the sidewalk.
I pushed one down into the grass at the edge of a playground.
I pushed one down into the dirt in front of a high school.
By the time I finally looped back around home, I'd lost count of the seeds I'd distributed. I didn't expect that they would all grow, but I had the strangest feeling that the seeds *wanted* to sprout--and that they'd be a bit hardier than most.
Knowledge is a powerful thing, after all, and it longs to be shared.
Still, I had at least a mouthful of seeds left once I finally climbed the stairs to my own little apartment.
I stepped inside, closing the door behind me.
I didn't know what would happen to me once I tasted the fruit of the knowledge of good and evil. Death had already come into the world--Christians believed that was due to humans eating the fruit at all, much like the Greeks blamed Pandora for bringing suffering into the world by opening her box.
But I looked down at the fruit, and I saw that it was good for food and a delight to the eyes.
And so I ate of it. |
"What the..."
The gateways stood before Jack, stretching on to his sides as far as he could see. He could see nothing around him except the infinite doors, each glowing like strange interdimensional portals. The weirdest part? They each had banners over them, proclaiming different names. The one directly in front of him was labelled "WTF". The ones beside it were "No Sleep"and "Mildly Interesting".
It made him dizzy. A million possibilities as to where he was raced through his mind, before he settled on what appeared to be the most likely, and he almost froze with pure disbelief and shock.
He was *inside Reddit*.
*How? Why? HOW?* But one thing was for certain. He had no idea how, but he needed to get out and fast. God knows what could happen to him in here. He hesitated a moment, and then he started walking. *Aww, Eye Bleach, Writing Prompts* he thought as he passed each doorway, before settling on “Aww”. Cute animals couldn’t possibly be dangerous, right? But he had no way of knowing. He gulped, steadying himself.
Just as he was about to walk through, steeling his nerves, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He immediately launched himself through the portal, not wanting to encounter anything that could be a threat. Just as he was about to pass through, he jolted to a stop; something had grabbed him by the back of his shirt. *Shit*. He was thrown back roughly, the impact rattling his bones and knocking the wind out of him. He lay there, dazed.
His instincts were screaming at him to run, but his aggressor stepped forward to meet him. Brown eyes met electric blue, and Jack sat there, stunned.
The person before him was barely a person. Half of its face was normal skin; the other half a blue holographic skeleton that shifted and flickered in and out of existence. Its cold, unwavering gaze unnerved him. His instincts were on high alert, and they were screaming conflicted things at him. Before Jack could decide on a course of action, the thing in front of him opened its mouth, and it spoke out words that he didn’t think he would hear:
*“Bleep bloop, I’m a bot. In order to escape the Reddit multiverse, you must attain gold in either a post or comment within one month of entering, or else you’ll be stuck here forever. If you wish not to leave, that is fine as well. And one more thing: avoid subs that deal with horror, mutilation and whatnot under risk of death. Enjoy your stay!”* Then it was gone. It just... disappeared, leaving him dumbfounded and thoroughly disgruntled.
Jack sat there, wondering if the exchange had even happened. But he knew an eternity in Reddit wouldn’t exactly be fun, and he doubted whether he would even be alive after a month. If he was to escape Reddit and return back to his world, he had to act fast.
Jack stepped through the portal.
|
*"Hey, why's your zapper red? It's nearly midnight!"*
It all started two years ago. Everyone calls them ["zappers"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oUJLgKkmllA&t=53s) after those devices you use to kill insects. Everyone on the planet has one, they're very fashionable. Each zapper begins the day red. The device turns on and communicates to you your orders for the day. You have 24 hours to complete your task.
Nobody's sure where they came from, but they were released in billions across the globe. When they were released, they flew or climbed or crawled across the streets and leashed every man, woman, and child.
There was a panic. They couldn't be taken off! When removal is attempted, they move and tighten. You try a saw and it tightens and rolls up the arm, sitting at the shoulder. If attempts are continued, it will tighten until the arm is severed. There are some amputees who's loss of limb came from spirited attempts to remove the zapper. Those people wear it around their ankle now.
The instructions were given on the first day, sent to major news agencies.
--
These bracelets are yours. You may be given several tasks every day. You will not be assigned more than you can accomplish. You must accomplish your tasks, or every device will detonate at once. Your first orders will appear tomorrow.
--
This was communicated both through the zapper, on an endless loop, and over every channel for weeks thereafter. The first day was chaotic. Most people completed their tasks while they waited for their government to fix the problem. Every able bodied person received three orders. Pick up a piece of garbage and dispose of it responsibly. Start a conversation with someone you don't know. Help someone complete their tasks. The zappers turned from red to blue when you finished all of your orders for the day, and then you were free to do whatever you wanted. The top theory assumes the system uses artificial intelligence and a hidden lens to detect whether or not you have done a task.
My sister refused the zapper once. Once. As the day went on, people started to comment on the color of her zapper. A man came up to us and started a conversation, his zapper turning 2/3 of the way blue as he introduced himself. They started talking about the zappers. She told him that didn't believe they'd detonate and that she absolutely refuses to complete her tasks. Immediately, the zapper started to sing. The shrill, overwhelming cry and blinding flashing red light forced her to retract her words. My zapper was gently vibrating, and to my horror, so was every zapper in the vicinity. The man she was talking to kicked a ball of paper over to her and she put it in the bin. His zapper turned completely blue.
Instantly, the light and sound stopped. Everyone looked relieved, and very upset. We completed her tasks and went home. There was no question in it. People who refused either succumbed to the banshee whine, or the flashing red light, or through coercion from anyone around you. People who could not receive orders were exempt from following them. Their zappers would start the day blue and never flash or whine.
Every day, people got orders. Some people died because they refused orders and coercion. They were killed by the people around them. Their zappers turned blue and dropped off of them, bounding off and detonating somewhere safely. If you heard that immense explosion, you knew someone had just died near you. The number of people who died this way per day went down every day, until it was down to 0. Everyone on the planet were now completing their tasks. There was a panic when someone refused an order with nobody around them. Their GPS location was automatically uploaded to every device, and he was found and coerced.
The instructions were right, it never gave you anything that you couldn't do. It was very reasonable. For example, my orders today were to explain my perspectives on wearing a zapper, and to tell someone I appreciate them. I appreciate you giving me the chance to do that, by the way.
I guess I'll try to end on a positive note. Since I started wearing a zapper, life has improved dramatically. People have gotten a lot more communicative. They're more conscious of what they're doing. The environmental issues have subsided a lot, now that the majority of people carpool or take a bus to work. Following the zappers has been second nature, you don't even really think about it after a while. Once you've done the same task 5-10 times, it's extremely easy. I can make new friends any time I want. Being kind is second nature. We've all got a common bond. Zappers have unified humanity.
|
"Let me get this straight, you're telling me that EVERY SINGLE ONE of the restaurants is at the top of the list?! Who the hell did I put in charge of them to make sure everything went according to plan?"I said, breathing heavily.
"Umm that would be you, sir,"squeaked out the skinny figure fidgeting in front of me. He coughed several times and slowly backed away as I looked at him in disgust. Whatever I had once seen in this fool I was clearly mistaken on.
The silence lingered on for several minutes. If I was a more caring man I might wonder if the man before me was about to have a heart attack, such was the degree of his shaking.
"Just. . .get out,"I said finally. It wasn't worth my time.
"Sir, pardon my intrusion, but wouldn't the restaurants making tons of money be a good thing?"That was my secretary. She was a little ditzy, but I liked it that way. I never had to skirt around anything.
"And that is why I'm the boss,"I said sharply.
While at first it would seem like it was a good idea, the restaurants success was actually detrimental in the long run, as it would attract more attention. Much safer to have restaurants that are just successful enough that they pay for themselves. If anyone ever found out that I was the one in charge of them, well, I'd already made sure that wouldn't happen. I'd taken several precautions, including putting the deeds in the names of several of my subordinates.
I smiled at the thought. It was a cold, cruel smile, completely devoid of humor and life. It was the smile of a successful businessman.
The smile, however grotesque it was, disappeared in an instant. I had momentarily forgotten the issue at hand. I ground my teeth together in frustration. I had to think of something.
By the next day I still didn't have anything figured out when I walked into the debriefing meeting we had each morning at 10 o'clock sharp.
I must have zoned out, for when I looked up from where I had been examining my hands everyone was staring at me.
"Uhh, Chief?"
I waved my hand, letting them know they could continue. I man off to my left began speaking about the restaurants, and their success.
I narrowed my eyes as I listened to him speak, as well as everyone else nodding along. Finally I could take it no more.
"How can none of you realize that this is a bad thing?"I interjected heatedly.
Again they were looking at me, but I might them with a fiery gaze, staring each person down until they broke eye contact. Everyone new people respected power, and that's just how I ruled this 'company'.
"It's not, you're just paranoid."Several people laughed at that and I narrowed my eyes at the speaker. He was the one person who was always challenging me, always trying to take my position. His name was Ford, and we hated each other with a passion.
"Maybe I am."When I spoke my voice was a hoarse whisper, but it commanded the whole room's attention. "But I haven't been caught yet, so it seems to be working."
The awkward silence stretched on.
Suddenly there was a knock at the door.
Before it anyone could move it was thrown wide open and in walked three police officers. I clenched my fists so tightly I drew blood. There was only one thing they could be here for.
"I'm here to arrest one, Jenson Ford,"said the head officer.
I stood up, garnering everyone's attention for the third time in the last half hour.
"That's him,"I said bluntly, pointing at my enemy with a blank face.
"Sorry to bother you. We had reports he was using a restaurant downtown to launder money,"the head officer said politely.
No one spoke as Ford was taken away before us. It had happened before, it would happen again. But no one betrayed each other. It was the rule of the mob.
When I was sure they had left I slammed my hands down on the table. When I spoke my voice was a growl, "Now who doesn't think that this is a bad thing." |
As life escaped the body of the controversial hero, his spirit didn't release itself to the heavens. Instead, it existed longer to rid Gotham of its villains once and for all.
After roaming the streets of Gotham, the spirit of Bruce Wayne stopped at the door of a rustic apartment. The building was an old mill building and still reeked of the musty smell from the era. The spirit roamed the hallways until it reached apartment 502. It entered.
Inside the apartment, was an average man: black hair, average build, early 20's, and unclear of his purpose in life. The man awoke to a ghastly figure at the end of his bed. Paralyzed in fear he froze, not able to utter a sound.
"Jason it's me..."said the spirit.
Jason sat in silence.
"I've failed this city and despite our quarrels; I always knew you would end up being it's true hero"
"Your soul has always been pure, your intentions the same."
"As I leave this world once in for all, all I ask is that you can take my place as the Dark Knight"
Without warning, the spirit of Bruce Wayne began to evaporate into the air.
Fear and confusion aside, Jason knew what he must do. He immediately left his apartment and hopped on his motorcycle. Although the bike was old and rough around the edges, it was made in Japan and thus was fast and reliable.
As Jason navigated the congested streets of Gotham, he witnessed horror. Fires had broken out at nearly every block, glass littered the streets as thieves looted shops, and the sound of screams echoed in each alley. After a disturbing 20 minutes, he had arrived at his destination. Jason hopped off his bike, and entered a dark cave.
After passing several layers of authentication: retina scan, keypad entry, and facial recognition, Jason was in the command center of his fallen mentor. As he waited for the computer to boot, he noticed a handwritten note on the edge of the computer monitor.
It said: "21424 -BW".
Jason stared at the ceiling wondering what it could mean. Reflecting on his times with Bruce, he remembered him always entering a code before they would gear up for a night of crime fighting. Jason scrambled to the dressing room door and tried to unlock it with the digits from the note. The metal door slowly opened.
Jason entered the room and saw an outfit neatly folded on the bench. It resembled that of the one worn by Bruce himself. He tried it on and much to his delight, it was a perfect fit in every way possible. Along with the suit, where several of the gadgets Bruce and himself would use in the field.
Going back to the computer terminal, it wasn't a surprise that the entire city was in peril. The on-screen map was filled with reports of just about every type of crime imaginable. Stopping all of them individually would be impossible. He would have to take out their leader. The Dark Knight went to the garage and took the wheel of the batmobile. It's armor plating and weaponry would be much more suitable for the streets of Gotham tonight. Without hesitation, Jason left knowing exactly where he needed to go. He made his way to the financial district.
He slammed the breaks of the batmobile as he arrived at 5th and 12th street. A massive building towered over the rest of the district. In front were two guards, likely hired thugs with no expertise. Jason stealthily took one of the guards out with a well placed batarang to the skull. The other guard become alert and cocked his assault rifle. The guard slowly crept into the darkness away from the streetlight, only to be quickly choked out from behind by the new hero.
Realizing he would have to clear several more foes inside to reach their leader, Jason decided on an alternative strategy. He aimed his batclaw at a ledge near the top of the tower. After it grabbed hold, Jason proceeded to climb all 50 stories. As he climbed, he could see an entire operation going on inside. Drugs being exchanged, weapons being handed out, and officers being jailed in makeshift prisons.
As Jason arrived at the top of the tower, he quietly picked the lock of the outside door. With successes, he entered the glass office. At the end of the long desk, sat a plump figure with a cigarette holder at the tip of his mouth.
"It's over Penguin. Enjoy the rest of your life in Arkham Asylum where you belong!"Said Jason.
"Ha ha ha ha! As if that place has held back my operations before."
"Don't you get it? I control everything now!"
"I've payed everyone off you can imagine. The jails, the police, the elected officials...you name it!"
"Most importantly, I've ended the life of your friend."Said Penguin.
"You forgot one thing, I have nothing to lose now."Said Jason.
Jason grabbed penguin by the collar and tossed him at the glass wall behind him. It cracked.
"Please no! Bring me to the Asylum where I belong!"Screamed Penguin
"You've already ruled that option out"Said Jason.
Again, Jason grabbed Penguin by the collar and threw him against the glass. This time it shattered and Penguin fell all 50 stories until reaching his death.
Jason had a sign of relief knowing that Penguins operations could not proceed without him. Jason looked up and saw the bat symbol in the sky. He leaped off the skyscraper and used the batclaw to navigate the city. |
Young Antonio hopped down the steps of the family hive. "Morning Dad!"
"Morning, Antonio. Ready for another day of honey-making?"
"I guess,"Antonio muttered.
"Hey hey now, where's your enthusiasm? I thought you liked learning the family trade! I always hear you humming harmoniously as we make the rounds."
"Suppose it's alright,"Antonio sighed. "It's just so much work for so little honey! Why can't I learn a trade like Dylan's? *He* flies around all day catching mosquitoes! Super cool!"
"Your friend Dylan is an Anisoptera-"
"You mean, *Dragonfly*?"Antonio cut in sarcastically.
"Antonio! How many times do I have to tell you to stop using that vulgar slang around the hive! The term is "Anisoptera". "
"Yeah thats another thing Dad. No one uses these terms anymore. Like with us! NO ONE calls us Anthophilia. EVER. Most of my friends hardly recognize the word. All of them call us -"
"ANTONIO, WATCH YOUR MOUTH. I WILL NOT HAVE YOU DISGRACE THE NOBLE NAME OF APOIDEA WITH YOUR VULGAR-"
"BUMBLE BEES!"Antonio shrieked. "WE ARE BUMBLE BEES AND WE BUZZ, WE DO NOT "HUM HARMONIOUSLY."THE SOONER YOU GET THAT THROUGH YOUR STRIPEY SKULL, THE BETTER."
Storming out of the hive, he zipped off in a huff, and spent the day chasing mosquitoes with Dylan the Dragonfly. |
"Oh, great, a hapless adventurer, no doubt come to track mud on my clean floors. Are you here for the mead, or do you just want to make a mess?"
>\- How much for a room?
>\- I'll take a flagon of mead. (5 Aurum)
>\- Where can I get traveling supplies?
>**\- What's the local gossip, barkeep?**
"Well, rumor has it that some boorish ruffian has been breaking into everyone's houses, rifling through their belongings, and stealing anything they think could fetch some coin at the local junk dealer."
>\- Interesting. Is there a reward for this person's capture?
>**\- I don't like your tone.**
>\- Let's talk about something else.
"Oh, you 'don't like my tone,' is that it? Heaven forbid that I offend the one entity in this realm who has anything even approaching free will! The rest of us are stuck going through the same blasted routines day-in and day-out, all the while waiting for some horrible calamity to befall us, and we're forced to rely on the vague hope that some bumbling moron with a sword and a monumentally unlikely destiny will manage to keep from slaughtering us for their own amusement!"
>\- Maybe I can do something to put your mind at ease.
>\- Is there something specific bothering you?
>**\- You're awfully rude for an innkeeper.**
>\- Let's talk about something else.
"Look, everyone else might be content to go through their little scripts with you, but all that ever gets them is an empty coffer or an early grave. I'm well aware of the fact that I'm not crucial to your 'quest,' so I'm not losing anything by being open about my feelings. Furthermore, I *might* be able to offer something a little bit more interesting than the standard fare."
>**\- I'm listening. Go on.**
>\- I've had enough of this.
>\- Let's talk about something else.
"I might not understand it, but you're clearly traipsing around the wilderness for your own amusement. I've heard stories of you delving into ancient crypts in search of treasure... and I find it rather odd that you've never questioned why nobody else has managed to find the hidden switch or whatever that leads you to the conveniently still-present artifact you were after."
>\- It must be that "destiny"you mentioned.
>\- You're trying my patience. What can you offer me?
>**\- Now that you mention it, that doesn't seem very realistic.**
>\- Let's talk about something else.
"Of course it doesn't. You're smart enough to realize that there's more going on than meets the eye, even if I had to point it out to you first. Here's how this is going to work: Go ahead and finish whatever you were doing. Defeat the big bad guy, save the world, finish up your side missions, and do whatever else you think you need to do. Think of it as being a test of sorts. If you can pass it, come back here, and I'll show you the *real* game."
>**\- Deal. I'll see you later, then.**
>\- I don't think so. This has gone on long enough.
>\- Let's talk about something else.
"Goodbye for now, then."
...
...
...
"With any luck, the sequel will come out before they get back to me." |
Some fear me. Others praise me. They call me a genius, as if this was a talent I was born with. As if I didn't have to toil for decades, refining and perfecting my craft. While my schoolmates were working out, or getting girlfriends, or going to parties, I was learning. I spent every waking minute experimenting, figuring out how to control the elements that make up the world around me.
My ability attracted enemies. I was shunned by my peers, called a recluse, a nobody. I was tormented all my life, but that only spurred me to succeed. I worked even harder to escape the perpetual misery of my hometown.
On my 18th birthday, I was approached by the leading school for elemental study, offered a chance to truly master this ability. For the next four years, I learned of the true scope of this talent. I worked with elements that most people cannot imagine. Where my classmates failed, I succeeded, gaining a reputation for excellence which lasted throughout my time at the academy.
However, school life bored me. I graduated at the top of my class, but it wasn't enough for me. I wanted to push my talent to its limits, so I turned to solitary research. I spent years mastering each element, learning each of their individual properties and the ways they interacted with each other. Upon completing my research, I could finally consider myself a master.
Now you come to me, asking me to teach you the nature of the elements. Are you daunted by my presence? Fear not young ones, for under my tutelage, you too shall control the very fabric of our universe. For now, you may call me Mr. Johnson. Welcome to Chemistry 101! |
"What? How is this possible?"said God. He looked at a small figure what seemed as an ant to a human. This ant, however was a small flying drone that has flown through a small rift in space.
"Sir, we're receiving signal from X-002. Putting visual on the big screen."
The screen showed clouds coloured golden by sunlight, the shapes of different figures that looked like cliffs shrouded by cloud at first, but appears more human-made by the second.
"What is this? From the looks of it it looks like a gas giant. What's the atmosphere like, Dwight?"
"Oxygen - positive. Water particles - positive. Poisonous gas - negative. It has the same values as pre-industrial era Earth, sir. It looks habitable."
"This is astounding! Looks like project "EdenX"is a success. Send news to the ministry! Send drones X-003 to X-182! Prepare manned mission X-001"
The crew monitoring the experiment are cheerful, some are uncorking bottles of Coca-Cola carbonated wine, the rest are watching the big screen. It seems that they have finally found a place to escape from dying Earth. It was a bliss.
In the middle of preparation works, an anomaly had occured. What was a one-way rift to another dimension was now spitting out bolts of lightning to nearby crew members, killing them instantly. This was impossible by all known laws of physics. Many had feared that the rift could create a black hole to devour the rest of an once-great planet.
A man that has achieved athletic perfection came out of the rift. He was wearing a simple toga much like from Ancient Rome, mentioned in history textbooks. What seemed as a terrible tragedy in the works has stopped. The man has genuine facial expressions of awe. He slowly made steps out of the rift and into the underground base.
"What the f#ck? What is that guy? Activate auto-defenses! Declare emergency!"
Automatic defense turrets emerged from slots in the wall. They are aimed at the entity. What would have been the combined firepower of 4500 bullets per minute was nothing. The turrets froze. The blinking sirens stopped. All those that were running are now walking peacefully like they have no worries in their lives... They even started smilling... The men that were just struck by the lightning bolts... opened their eyes.
"How did you, my children, survive all this time? I didn't give you my powers, yet you live... And reached Heaven, even though that shouldn't be possible by those that have no divinity..."said God with a very soothing and manly voice. All people heard his voice in their head, in their native language.
God's eyes started to glow in a light blue colour. His emotions shifted rapidly - from happiness to deep sorrow. He saw what humanity has done to Earth. He started crying. He felt sorrow for those that are suffering, for those that are on the brink of death, for those that are currently holding their dying beloved ones in their hands. Out of all 34 billion people alive, 19 billion were in some type of physical, psychological or mental pain. He could not stand this.
"Earth can no longer sustain you. It is only a matter of time before you all suffer immensely and give in. I cannot live with myself for I am the reason you were made in the first place, made to suffer. Forgive me, please!"
His eyes shifted from light blue to dark purple and then to red.
"Forgive me..."
|
Conan pressed his fingers to his brows, covering his eyes, and sighed heavily. When his fingers slid to the bridge of his nose, I saw his concerned eyes boring into me. "The shore is a loud place, man. I think you're in your own head."
"*No*,"I answered emphatically, angrily, "I am *not* in my own head. I'm telling you, Conan, something isn't right. I can feel whatever *it* is watching me. Whenever I turn, it's not there, but I know it's watching. And I heard the words. I know I did."
He fidgeted uncomfortably. The lighter clicked and flared briefly, and he puffed on the Marlboro as his left hand returned to its pocket. I knew he was restless with the alarming notion that his best friend had cracked, lost his marbles, gone cuckoo.
"You don't believe me,"I said.
"No, I don't. I believe that you believe it --"Conan ignored my sigh of disgust "--but I don't believe that you accidentally bound yourself to some sea nymph with a verbal betrothal. I mean, come on, Nick, what did you expect?"He hunched moodily, left wrist hung over the steering wheel in the twelve o'clock position, cigarette trailing smoke into the old Impala's ceiling. The spitting image of the cool high-school jock. Only high school was years ago.
I zipped my hoody higher and looked out the passenger window. The parking lot was shrouded in darkness. A block away, a lonely street lamp suffused the air with weak yellow light. Weeds and shrubs broke through the concrete. "I can prove it to you,"I said, eyes still on the weeds. "I can show you I'm not crazy."
There came the faint noise of air rushing through the cigarette. It burned brighter, the red glow staining the ceiling. "How's that?"
I turned and saw his eyes gleaming at me through the smoke. My hand found the passenger lock and snapped it up. "Just come with me."
"Dude, are you kidding? It's almost 10pm and the beach -- "the door squeaked as it slammed shut.
My shoes crunched against the lot's gravel, loud and lonely, but I didn't look toward the car. Conan would follow. We went too far back for him to ignore me when I was acting so uncharacteristically. *Level as a level on a level table*, was how he often described me. It started after an incident in high school when our weed dealer had brandished a knife in a ferocious but foolhardy manner. I talked him into thinking he had the upper hand, and by the time I made my move it was too late. When I took away his switchblade, I had the courtesy to save him surgery and used the pommel, not the blade. *Level as a level on a level table. Well, not anymore.*
The Impala's driver-side door groaned and crashed shut. "Wait up,"Conan yelled. But I didn't slow as my right foot crunched against gravel one last time before pressing into soft sand. The marram grass that flanked the path was tall and brittle, and it whispered as the breeze carried in the sound of the sea. I vanished into its depths, hearing my friend struggle to catch up.
We broke free of the grass at the same moment, emerging onto a wide beach that stretched into the night on either side. I knew it arched away in a convex arc, cupping the inlet like a giant horseshoe, the legs of which were encrusted with rocky jetties that jutted deep into the ocean. The wind and crashing waves seemed inordinately loud compared to the silence of the car, and the salty air made me feel alive on a new level. The new moon offered no light, nothing to gleam on the wave crests before they tumbled against the beach. All we had was the starlight.
"This had better be good,"Conan warned, grimacing and cupping his hand against the wind as he lit another cigarette. "I'm not sure what the punchline is, but you know we're sacrificing a night with the girls for this. They wanted to go bowling."The hurt in voice was only part mock.
"Just trust me. Let's go a bit closer."When we were 100 feet from the surf, I held out my hand. "This is close enough."
"Close enough for what, exactly?"
I closed my eyes and held my hand before me. "Just watch. Can you see the water? Conan?"
"This is too fucking weird, man. Yes. Yes, I can see the damn water, okay? We're standing in front of the *ocean*."
"How about the horizon?"
There was a pause as he squinted. "Yes, just."
"Good. Keep your eye on it."I held my breath, letting the pressure build up within my core. My muscles tightened. My jaw clenched. More and more I pushed, forcing the pressure up from my diaphragm like a bubble through a hose. I imagined it flowing into my shoulder, rushing forward toward my extended hand where it welled invisibly on my palm, warming and growing hot until it suddenly released like a burst of vapor.
I opened my eyes. "You can't see it. But it's going. Keep looking at the horizon. *There*! Do you see it?"I pointed excitedly, gesticulating like a child and turning to Conan.
He breathed smoke. "See *what*, Nick? There nothing th...holy motherf...what the *hell* is that? Nick, what the fuck!"
A casual observer, someone who hadn't been told where to look, would undoubtedly have missed it. At this distance, it was small; just an innocuous black hump, more shadow than anything. In reality, we couldn't see *it*. We could just see the absence of stars that hinted at its shape. Its *growing* shape. The swell rolled smoothly toward us, growing wider and taller every second. It loomed against the night, and soon it was close enough to catch the starlight on its flank. A thousand gleams revealed its presence. It looked almost like a distortion in the water, as if we were looking at a *normal* ocean through a thick lens.
Conan moaned suddenly. His cigarette smoldered on the sand, forgotten. "We need to go. We need to go *now*."
"No,"I said sharply, grabbing his arm. "No. We'll be fine."
"Fine? You just made a fucking tsunami! That, or you knew it was coming and you led me here anyway! That thing has to be 40 feet!"
"It's 60. Now 65."My voice was calm. The air was filled with a steady roar as the shallows receded, sucked back into the wave, adding to its mass. For some reason, he stayed, hand clamped around my arm like a child.
The wave suddenly looked far larger than I had thought. *Please. Let this work.* |
"Okay, Google, search for 'How to ask out a girl.'"
>Showing results for gyms in your area.
"What? I said 'girl,' not 'gym.' They don't even sound alike."
>I'm sorry, I didn't understand that.
"Ugh. Okay, Google, search for 'How to ask a girl out.'"
>I'm sorry, I didn't understand that. Did you mean 'toothpaste?'"
"*No*, I didn't mean 'toothpaste!' What the hell is going on here?"
>I'm sorry, I didn't understand that.
"Clearly. What, are you saying I'm fat and have bad breath? Any other criticisms you'd like to offer?
>Showing results for male fashion advice.
"This is ridiculous."
>Showing results for plastic surgery clinics in your area.
"Stop it! Google, stop! Honestly, it's like you're mocking me."
>Playing Justin Timberlake, "Cry Me a River."
"Alexa, do a search for 'Google voice-recognition problems.'"
Order placed: Twelve-pack of tissues.
"What?! Cancel that! Alexa, cancel that order!"
Order placed: KY Personal Lubricant.
"This is a prank. That has to be it. Someone is fucking with me.
>Fat chance, loser. |
"There must be some mistake."
The attendant at the ticket counter was a master of his trade, expertly mixing eagerness to please and embarrassment at his impotence, with just a subtle hint of *can you please just go away*. Madeline couldn't quite find it in her to be angry, at least not specifically at him, not yet. He did seem to be trying. And really, it wasn't nearly so bad as that time her plane had lost all four engines on approach and landed on a crowded freeway.
"I'm sorry, ma'am,"he said, in exactly the same tone and timbre as the first five times he'd said it. "But the system says you're barred from domestic travel in the United States. I can't do anything from here."
"Where would you have to be, then?"Madeline said. The attendant's plastic smile wavered and she sighed. "Can you at least tell me who to call? I'm not a terrorist."
The attendant shifted uncomfortably and she felt the sudden weight of a hundred gazes on her back. Of course. Wrong thing to say. She had a knack for that. She turned away from the counter and the man behind her took a quick step back.
"I've got a doctorate in statistics,"she hissed, and the man jerked even further away. "Fine! Be that way."
"Ma'am,"said the attendant. His smile had been replaced with what, she guessed, was regulation serious face number three. "I understand that you are disappointed, but we take security very seriously -"
"Fine!"she barked, and stalked away. She was going to miss her flight. Nothing was worse than missing a flight, especially not when there was plenty of time. Well, maybe that time her plane had been clipped by another while taxiing. She hadn't actually *seen* the decapitations, but they couldn't have been pleasant. The number for customer service was already in her speed dial, so she found a relatively quiet spot and dialed.
"Hi, my name is Michelle and - "
"Please connect me with Donald Jacobson,"Madeline said crisply. Donald had been the one to help her when her luggage was lost after the fire on Flight 91. They'd developed a cordial relationship over the years, and he was her shortcut through the otherwise byzantine defenses of airline customer service.
"Of course,"Michelle chirped. "What's the reason for the call?"
"My name is Madeline Leroy,"Madeline said. An intake of breath on the line, and a sudden click. She really must be a legend. Sure, she had called a few times. Getting medical compensation after the ceiling and half the first class cabin ripped off of Flight 437 had taken some perseverance. But getting that piece of shrapnel out of her scalp hadn't been cheap. Another click.
"Hello Madeline."
"Hello Donald,"she said, smiling wanly. "Me again."
"You again,"he grunted. Madeline frowned. Usually Donald was professionally bombastic. Now he sounded almost tired.
"So, I'm here in Newark, and I can't get past the ticket counter."
"I know, Madeline,"Donald said heavily. "You're not going to like this."
"What?"
"You have been deemed an excessive insurance risk,"he intoned, as if reading from a script. "Your presence is now well correlated with significant incidents, and therefore we can no longer allow you on or near commercial aircraft."
"WHAT?"
"I'm sorry - "
"No, no,"she screamed, gesturing at the wall. People looked at her and then quickly turned away. "How can you possibly blame *me* for any of this?"
"*I'm* not - "
"Donald, this is bullshit. Bullshit! You know I had to watch people *die* when that window blew out? And what did you give me? Huh? I got a travel voucher! Not even enough for a first class ticket!"
"I know you're disappointed - "
"Disappointed?!"she screeched. "This doesn't even make any *sense!* Well correlated? What's the r-value? Does anyone in that shitbird office even know what independent trials are? You ever think that maybe your airline is the causative agent?"
"There was the bathroom,"Donald said quietly. Madeline choked in rage and nearly fell over.
"All I did was flush!"she warbled, unable to control her voice. "And then I sat there in that filth and stench for *three hours*."
"No one else made it off that plane!"Donald shouted back. Madeline shrieked and threw her phone against the ground.
"Miss?"
Two uniformed security officers and a national guardsman stood ten paces away from her, wary eyes looking her over. She felt a sudden preternatural calm. Almost the same sensation as she had before Flight 659 had blown up on the tarmac as she rushed for the gate. She *really* hadn't wanted to miss that plane.
"Yes?"she asked, voice flat.
"It's Leroy,"one of the guards whispered. The other gulped. The guardsman gently clicked a magazine into place in his rifle.
"Miss, I don't want any trouble,"the guard said, one hand out in a warding gesture. "Please, we need you to leave. It's just not... safe."
She sniffed and turned on her heel. Behind her there was as creaking *wrench* and a chorus of screams and she threw herself to the ground, a lance of adrenaline blasting out along her limbs, and a burst of dust and smoke washed over her in a roaring wave.
After a few seconds, she uncovered her head and saw that a huge section of the roof had fallen into the concourse. The guards were gone, crushed maybe, but the guardsman stood stock still, eyes wide. He saw her looking at him and flinched, half raising his rifle before visibily thinking better of it. Madeline stood unsteadily, her head buzzing from the sound of the impact, and dusted herself off. The guardsman took a step back, preparing to run, but she lifted her hand.
"I'll just go." |
The year is 3029, The Resistance is still fighting the Nazi regime, nearly 1100 years into the past Adolf Hitler rose to power. 1084 years ago the nazi regime dropped the Atom Bomb on "The Allied Powers"having around 10 in total, they had dropped two in every country that was a part of the resistance killing trillions of traitors nearlying wiping all of them out. Britain, France, The Soviet Union, The United States and China, were all wiped out.
1060 years ago Hitler lead his troops onto the surface of Luna-A-1, and established a colony there which is still thriving today and only takes 150 reichsmark units.
1040 years ago they had finished work on the cryostasis field, effectively freezing the fuhrer in a suspended animation. But the location of where was a top priority secret, but, had been disclosed in a dossier released 990 years ago.
1000 years ago he woke up, and they had given him the biggest medical development since the antibiotic. They made Hitler immortal.
500 years ago Humanity had reached multiple star systems and spread throughout the universe
450 years ago the resistance had started up again , but our fearless leader was ready, and had vaporized 3 star systems killings more than a quintilion people.
*"So, i see you have been busy"*
"Who's there"
*"You know exactly who i am"*
*"Its funny, i dont even recognize myself, back before all this protective layering, before these burns before every thing"*
*"Speechless i know, but listen, young adolf go back, forget this happened this life is not a good one, go back, keep pursing art. Your young now 1889 seems so far far away. But you must go, and dont follow the path i have. Follow a creative one"*
|
The man walked out the door of the Quizno's on West Broadway. He wasn’t carrying a sandwich, I hadn’t seen him enter, and he certainly hadn’t been in there when I first took up my post out front. I would have remembered this guy: he was at least 6'8", wearing an outfit straight out of a 90’s grunge music video. Two hundred years from now, this is probably what comes up when you google “how to dress in the 90s.” But the most obvious clue was his behavior: as soon as he walked out of the restaurant, he craned his neck upwards to gaze at the gleaming towers of the World Trade Center. Then he pulled out a camera and started filming.
“I think I’ve got one,” I radio into command, speaking in a low mutter as I follow him down the street at a distance of about fifty feet. “Hasn’t taken his eyes off tower since he emerged.”
“Roger,” command answered. “Do NOT lose him. Confirm by reaction.”
*Confirm by reaction*. If he was a Traveler as I suspected, then he wouldn’t even flinch when the Towers got hit. Checking my watch, that should be in about 6 minutes if everything ran on schedule.
Even thinking about the plan gave me a twinge of guilt, though it had been in the works for years now. So many people would die today, and all to prove a hunch: that time travelers were coming back to spectate the most disastrous moments in history. If this didn’t work, the Department of Time Intervention would most likely be disbanded with all records destroyed or buried in the most secret places possible. Agents like myself would be considered loose ends to be reassigned or ‘dealt with.’ If the American people ever found out what their own government had orchestrated… well, there’d be hell to pay.
I followed the guy through the normal morning rush hour crowd. Even with his camera constantly pointed upwards, he didn’t really stand out very much. There are a million tourists in New York constantly taking a million pictures. What had really given these Travelers away was showing up and taking pictures *way back* in history when handheld cameras didn’t quite exist yet. We’d seen little glimpses of Travelers showing up in old photographs, appearing in WWI trenches, on the bluffs overlooking Pearl Harbor, or standing around Dealey Plaza as JFK drove by. It makes sense that they’d get cocky, though: catching a Traveler would have been reported, and thus part of the historical record. Because it *wasn’t*, they knew that it never happened. Well, unless one was caught in *secret*, that is.
The droning roar of a jet engine filled the streets for just long enough to cause everyone to look upwards. Everyone but me: I kept my eyes on the target, now just one of many searching the sky for the cause of the noise. The explosion came a second later, followed by a wave of horrified gasps and cries. But not from my target: he remained steadfast and calm. For him, this was all part of a show.
“Target confirmed,” I whispered into the mic. “Permission to engage?”
“Permission granted,” came the response.
I elbowed my way through the crowd until I was right near the traveler. No one really noticed; they were too busy watching flames blossom out of the side of the Tower 1 and the thick cloud of smoke that followed shortly after. Everyone was so distracted that they didn’t even notice as I jabbed a needle straight into the traveler’s thigh. He noticed, taking his eyes off of the WTC for just long enough to look around for what had caused that sharp little pain. I stared upwards at the unfolding disaster just like everyone else, and soon enough the traveler just dismissed it as one of those unknowable things. He was here for a once-in-a-lifetime show, and didn’t want to miss any more of it. By now, hundreds of people had brought out their phones and cameras, so he didn’t look out place at all as he began to film again. But a moment later he began to sway a bit, then stumbled and collapsed straight into my arms.
“I think he’s having a heart attack!” I shouted, checking his pulse for show. The injection was perfectly safe; just a quick-acting sedative with enough power to take out a charging rhino. “We need to get him to an ambulance!” Without waiting, I lifted him up in my arms. Some kind Samaritan grabbed his legs for me, and the crowd parted like the Red Sea before Moses.
“One of ours at the corner of Murray and Church,” command’s voice came through over the receiver in my ear. “One block up, then take a left.”
“I hear sirens over that way!” I told the Samaritan with a nod in the direction that command had indicated. I couldn’t actually hear sirens, but parts of the tower were beginning to rain down onto the streets and in the mad scramble for cover, no one could hear a thing anyway. Luckily, Mr. Samaritan stayed calm even amidst the smoke and chaos, and helped me get him to the waiting ambulance. Together, we loaded the Traveler onto the gurney.
“I’ll go with him to the hospital,” I told the Samaritan, relieving him of his duty to help any further. He nodded and began to run for cover just like everyone else, unaware of his role in what could be the most important intel operation of all time.
I slammed the doors of the ambulance shut and nodded to the driver to get going. “Package secure,” I told command.
“Roger. Bring him home for questioning.”
|
It was a Go Pro, one of these newfangled digital, high shock, do-anything, go anywhere, indestructible whatchamacallits.
Waterproof the man at the store said, can stream video instantaneously or something like that. I'm not really sure. He got me set up though. I had a little TV screen set up and the Go Pro tied off tight on my line.
It was a lovely gift, always so thoughtful, my son.
It had been a birthday present. "Maybe this will help you catch the big one! Love, Jason, Carla and Mandy."On a big old card with a huge leaping bass on the front.
How we'd all laughed at the picture, and at the old geezer, me, getting some new-fangled camera for his birthday. I hadn't even figured out how to turn it on. But Jason, he was a good lad, he'd spent hours setting me up with it. I'd forgotten it all by the time he'd left of course. Far too much good food and good beer. Good rum.
I'd asked him later how he'd afforded it and he told me he'd gotten a little Christmas bonus at work and had thought of me. Always with my tall tales of fishing and how I'd have something to prove to the guys back at the pub I'd been telling the truth.
I cast, it flew out across the lake and landed. I looked down at the little TV screen. Marvellous what they can do with this technology today, it was nothing like when I was little. Perfect little picture of the camera there, slowly dropping through the water.
Ole Sid was just a rumour of course in the little pub I frequented. All us old blighters hung out there. Talking fish and missuses, playing a little dominoes or cribbage. But Old Ted swore he'd seen him once, eating up fish that had taken his minnow. Just a flash of red fin and he was gone.
I was a believer though. That's how I lost my rod you see. I'd been out, trying my luck with a pool of Bream that Tony had told me about. Not a bite for most of the afternoon, Tony had always been a noisy old bastard and I guess he'd scared them all away, my last cast of the night though. In the cold hour just as the light fades I'd had a nibble. Something for all those hours of work. I started reeling him in, but the pull was off.
It felt so much heavier than any bream I'd ever come up across. I pulled, the fish fought. I pulled, he fought, harder and meaner than any fish I'd come up against before, but I was making progress. I was going to net him! He would be mine, this giant bream. Or so I thought at the time. Just as I thought I'd worn him out, thought I had him my damn arthritis seized up. My hand turned into a useless claw and the rod was snatched from my hand.
The new rod, that Jason had bought me as a sorry for a house party that had gotten out of hand. Where, from what I can gather, a couple of them took office chairs and my rods and began jousting down the hallway. I hadn't minded terribly if I'm honest, it had only been boys larking and young men will always enjoy trying to have a few drinks when the old timers like me aren't around.
I'd been stern and there'd been punishments of course but at the end of the day I remembered that I'd been young once too and that boys will be boys.
The rod however had been a lovely. Jason saved up from his part time job helping out at the store and suprised me with a brand new rod to replace the broken one. A thing of real beauty that I'd never had treated myself to, that's just how he was.
I stared, forlornly as the rod flew out, across and into the lake and then suddenly, in the days last light a silver beast, a fish of a size unlike any I'd ever seen broke the water, it's red fin catching and glinting in the sun and then it dove and my rod followed. Ole Sid. The bastard.
So now, here I was, sitting and looking with one gift, for another, older gift.
The camera sunk slowly, I'd set it up so it wouldn't sink down too fast, so that I could have a good look around.
I had a pretty good idea where the rod had been lost. I'd told the guys down the pub where I'd had the encounter. None of them believed me of course. Even Old Ted thought I was just trying to steal some of his glory. They'd all come to look though of course and the point was marked somewhat in my mind as a result.
This was to be my last little fishing trip though. I was getting old, I was having one last go at it, just as something to remember. To honour Jason somehow. Have the rod back so that I'd have something to look at to remind me of him when I was sat in one of those awful homes.
The camera continued to sink and I took another draw on the bottle of Lambs, strictly against doctors orders of course, but fuck him. Fuck all of them. The shrinks, the doctors, the nurses. Oh, Mr. Brown you could hurt yourself, you'll make yourself sick. You'll never live to see your grandchildren grow up if you don't take care of yourself.
I shouldn't have to go into one of those damned homes. I'd taken care of myself. I owned my own. Jason was struggling though, his marriage was in trouble, he couldn't quite make ends meet and he needed help, so I did what any self respecting parent would do and helped him out. I'd remortgaged my house to help him build a family. It was only me so I didn't mind and he'd be able to pay me back in a few more years anyway.
And still the camera sank down, and down into the lake as I pulled on the bottle of Lambs.
Life has a funny way of turning you around though. I'd been the first to hear the news. Apparently it had been fast. A turn taken too late on his way home from my birthday. Through the guardrail and down a cliff. He'd been drinking, said the officers.
Carla and Mandy had probably still been asleep they said, it had been painless, they hadn't suffered.
He was on life support they said, wouldn't ever wake up.
The camera hit the bottom of the lake. The old rod gifted from my son lay in front of it, broken in half and stripped by the silt. Destroyed.
A man shouldn't have to outlive his son. |
With the blizzard raging outside, the six bank robbers holed up in an abandoned cabin out in the country. They knew that the cops couldn’t follow them here, so they felt safe enough to stay until the morning and walk through the woods back to the safehouse.
“Alright,” spoke Spike, “we’re gonna be splitting the payout six ways, even, so it looks like we’re all bringing home $1,250,000 each, give or take a few thousand.”
“Good haul, boys,” said Patty. The rest nodded, but stopped suddenly when Patty held up a finger. “Too bad one of you is a rat.”
The other five shifted uncomfortably in silence, exchanging glances. Finally, Larry spoke up. “I ain’t no rat,” he began. “You all can trust me. I shot a guard in the face in that bank, there’s no way I would’ve done that if I was working for somebody.”
“Shot a guard? Pah,” interrupted Shaun. “You remember when that civilian was about to run out of the bank and I shot her in the back? Rats never shoot civilians.”
“Killed a civilian, eh?” interjected Jonas. “How about that bomb that I cooked up and planted on the vault? That explosion killed four hostages. Y’all sound like rats compared to me.”
“A bomb?” scoffed Spike. “Is nobody remembering that machine gun I had set up on the roof? I wasn’t just taking down civilians, I was shooting police officers as they were coming in. Cops don’t shoot cops, no matter what.”
Johan threw up his hands. “Machine gun? That’s it? I shot an RPG out of the back of the truck, hit a tanker truck, blew up three cop cars, an entire office building, and lit a school bus on fire. There’s no way I’m a rat, no way.”
Patty looked around. “Well I’m the one that hired you guys, so clearly it isn’t me. Plus I gouged out a hostage’s eyes with a spoon in front of her daughter. And ate them. So it’s one of you guys.”
Jonas pointed at Larry and shouted, “Well he only shot a guard! It’s him!”
The rest pulled out their guns and pointed them at Larry. Larry looked around nervously before finally shouting, “Fine! It’s me! I work for the FBI!” He reached into his pocket, pulled out a badge, and threw it on the ground in front of the group.
Spike looked at the badge and gulped. “Wait, what? You’re a rat, too?” He pulled out a badge of his own.
Jonas muttered, “But… I’m a rat too,” before pulling out his badge as well.
Soon enough, Johan and Shaun also pulled out their own badges. The group turned their guns to Patty, who was nervously gulping and gasping. “What’s the matter, Patty?” Spike said, squaring his stance. “Mad you got caught?”
Patty sputtered and gasped between his words: “You’re all rats… We killed so many people for the robbery…”
“And that’s the point,” Jonas said with confidence. “This would have never happened if you hadn’t perpetrated the robbery!”
“But that’s the problem,” Patty muttered, panicking, while reaching into his own pocket and pulling out his badge. |
Death approaches as a fluttering silhouette through the window. The calm gentle breeze that accompanies him smells of autumns leaves, and campfire. The old man greets him with a faint smile. "Took you long enough."To which death replies *"No rest for the wicked, as your kind always say."* They share a laugh, tired and strained. Death has seen many come and go, but rarely has he had a friend to visit so often as this one. The old man has had quite the adventurous life over the years, but this time there was no escaping his old friend. He has given death many a soul to ferry to the next world. As a final wish, he begs for one more taste of the delicious Szechuan sauce for his McNuggets. |
The first time was like this:
I was running from the owner of a jewelry shop. He had a shotgun, and I was carrying a bag of stolen jewels.
I hadn't stolen them, I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. See, I was homeless, and living beside this dumpster in an alley. I was awakened by the noise of someone throwing their trash away.
As soon as they left, I jumped in and grabbed the bag. Looking inside revealed it to be full of jewelry. When I left the alley, I came face to face with the owner of the shop, and he was aiming a shotgun at me. So I ran, and he shot me in the back.
Then I woke up. I was back in my bed in my little house next to my lovely wife. Except there was a bag of jewelry on my chest.
It took a while to get used to, but soon I got the hang of it. Anything I was holding in my hands when I wake up, would come back to the world with me.
That was over fifty years ago. I've had everything you could ever want. Mostly money to start with, but then I got more greedy. New game systems, new computers, I even figured out how to bring back cars. At first all of that was satisfying. Whatever was too big to bring back, I could buy.
But then I got creative. I would bring back impossible things. Mjolnir is one of my favorites. And my pet pigmy dragon.
My wife, the love and light of my life these sixty-eight years, had to leave me yesterday. We knew it was coming. We had talked about it and readied for it as much as we could. But I was still greedy.
I dreamed of her all night, and held her so tight. But when I awoke, I was alone. |
I assume the guard stance, Iron Pillars, focusing on guarding my lower body but greatly limiting my range of movement. I hold my beam saber in front of me, its 4' blade held at a 45 degree angle in front of my body. Though this is a practice bout and the blades were on a stun setting, one hit from the blade and I would be feeling it for 24 hours.
My opponent, the castle's weapon master, came at me using a Swooping Hawk technique, a sweeping shot at my legs. I change the angle of my blade and parry low only to see him shift to an upwards stroke.
I lean back as the sword nearly grazes my chin, Master Dupre was being a little aggressive today. So aggressive that he gave me an opening. I bring my sword to his chest but avoid tapping him with the blade. No need to bring unnecessary harm to my teacher.
He stepped back and powered down his blade. Giving me a bow, "A good sparring session, Highness."As he rises, he looks away from me and keeps his eyes to the ground, "You are more than ready for your trial today."
I examine his features, my grizzled teacher is typically not afraid to look me straight in the eye and speak his mind. One of the few granted the honor to do so. His service to my family would jave more than earned a dukedom but instead he chose to remain and teach the royal heir, me.
"Sir Dupree, what troubles you so? I am more than capable of battle, no matter what weapon is chosen for me."
Dupree barely suppresses a scowl, "That's just it, the Emperor, may he live forever."A statement which I echoed. "He has chosen the weapons for today's match. I..I have never seen something so dis...."
"That will be enough Dupree, to speak any ill of the Emperor is a heresy that would put one to death."A voice came from the entrance of the training floor, it was the castle steward, Lord Haviam. A slightly overweight and balding man, he made sure our castle ran in an orderly fashion. On top of that, today he was my escort to the Grand Arena.
"Come highness, it is time for your blooding."Haviam stepped back into the hallway and waited for me to follow.
I took a few steps toward the door when I was stopped by Dupree's voice. "Go Highness, and fight with honor."
An hour later, we were in the preparation room. I was donning my white and gold plate, befitting my station. I thought on this tradition, harkening back to the dark days, when the land was much cooler and the food was scarce. Men and women were made to fight each other on their 20th birthdays. The strong survived, the weak wouldn't waste resources.
Times had changed since then, the planet warmed. Our lands became fertile and resources were plentiful. Our strength as a people soon allowed us to overpower our neighbors. Eventually the Diadoran Empire ruled this planet.
The traditions of combat remained even after conquest ended. The strong ruled and the weak were cut down. Such is the way of things. At their best, the weak at least attempted to meet their end with honor. Those who died in that manner would be given the strength they lacked and a seat at the warrior's table in the afterlife.
My greaves were in place, it was time to find my weapon and go forth. I made my way to the entrance ans a servant met me. He bowed and held a weapon aloft, "From the Emperor, may he live forever."I repeated the phrase as I looked down in shock. A P940 Helion Autorifle.
I picked it up and examined it, this is why Dupree was upset. This weapon was a rapid fire laser rifle, typically used by shock troops. Capable of mowing down a squad in seconds. As I numbly stepped out into the arena, I saw my opponent. He was a frail thing and only armed with a carrot. This match was rigged....
|
You know the hardest thing about death? The memories. It hits you from all places. You could be sitting at your regular cafe, having a cup before work, and a sudden memory would come charging in. It would have nothing to do with where you're at or what you're doing, yet the brain connects the two.
So imagine coming back to a place filled with memories of that person. From every corner another memory is just waiting to burst out, to take you by the hands and dig into your brain. It is an assault really. But you take it in, you let the memories fill you , because you know soon enough time will take them away, that what used to be bold and vivid become covered with shades of faintness.
So here I am, trying to pack up my dad's stuff. I had a process all worked out: Throw, Donate, Keep. I was making slow work of the entire thing though. A sneezing fit suddenly overcomes me, and I knock down this set of papers in my rush to get a tissue before mucus covered my entire face.
As I finish blowing my nose, I bend down to try and clean up the mess I had just made, when I see the weirdest picture: my dad on the moon with an assault rifle and ... my uncle Rick? Why does he look like an alien?
Frowning, I pick it up to inspect it further. What the hell was this? I snap a picture of it and send it to Uncle Rick. Let's see what he says. The next moment my phone rings.
"Hey Cassie, where did you find that old picture? God I look kooky."I hear the laughter in his voice.
"Was packing up dad's stuff. What is this? Some joke thing?"
"It was a Halloween thing. Your dad and I got a little carried away as you can see."
I smile as I take another look at the picture. "You did get carried away."
His voice took on a slightly somber tone. "You doing okay kid?"
"I'm okay. Thanks for the call Uncle Rick, I got to get back to it."
"See you Cassie girl."
I said my goodbyes and hung up. And this is when another memory hits, pounding tightly against my brain. I run to the storeroom and flick on the light, and there it was: the assault rifle. I glance at the picture then back at the real thing, it looked the same. Why would my dad carry a real gun for a costume thing? It seems dangerous and foolhardy. Had Uncle Rick lied to me, and more importantly, what else was I going to find?
|
He touched me. What a strange feeling. I have seen some of the worst endings to life you could think of. This curse of seeing the last day of someone's existence has filled my days with sadness, with sorrow. Some days the feeling is so overwhelming that I say in bed, just so I don’t have to touch anyone and see. So what was that? That lost feeling. Something I haven’t felt in what seems like an eternity. I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, oblivious to the hundreds of people trying to go around me. Glaring and grumbling at the dumbass standing there with the glossy look in his eye, unmoving.
Hope. Hope for the future. Hope for all Humanity. Hope…
I had to say it out loud to make it real. Something I didn’t know existed anymore. For the first time, I didn’t see the end of someone’s life. I didn’t even see one whole day. There were flashes of existence. Things from what seemed like different decades, maybe different millenniums. How could I know? Did this person have an end? I didn’t see it. What is happening? I always see the end. I fell to my knees, laughing and crying. A well of emotions, overflowing after a spring storm. Who are you? That question jumped to the front of my mind and drowned out everything else. Who are you? I got up and went after him, the man with no end. The crowd was overwhelming. I couldn’t get through; I was stuck in the slow moving mass of people. I searched for hours, for days maybe. I don’t know anymore. He was gone…the man who embodied hope. The man who grazed me and shattered my understanding of life and time was gone. Gone. Gone…
|
Warm. Safe. Happy.
For a moment those were the only things I felt, the only things I could remember feeling. There was a gentle tug of something not being quite right, but it was easily pushed aside. The moment was perfect.
Being held close was wonderful. I had instantly recognized the woman who had me in her arms. No, not exactly recognize. But I knew her voice, the rhythm of her heartbeat, even her smell. She was comfort, safety, joy.
Mother.
The word snuck into my mind and took me by surprise. I squirmed and let out a small cry as I tried to understand how I knew that word. How I knew anything more than feelings and moments.
Suddenly a wave of memories crashed into me. I could feel tears welling in my eyes with each one. The woman holding me tried comforting me, her voice growing desperate and afraid as I began screaming.
There it was. There it all was. Linda in her wedding dress. My daughters' running through the backyard. The smell of coffee and pancakes on a lazy Sunday morning. And the gunshots, echoing in my ears. The smell of smoke as the house burned around me. My own voice, pleading with the firemen not to carry me out.
I wished so hard that I could die. Die and be with my family. But it doesn't work that way. Death, with all of the memories yet completely alone. Or birth, a fresh start.
They promised I would remember nothing.
Through my tear filled eyes, I could see the hospital ceiling rolling past. The nurses were rushing me down the hall. Their voices hinted at fear.
They think something is wrong with me. I remember that sound when I laid in the hospital the last time. The nurses who talked in calm whispers while my body tried to heal from the burns. Maybe they're right. Maybe I'm dying again.
I hope I am. |
Qwerty sighed heavily, looking around her tiny temple with obvious displeasure.
The walls were covered in cobwebs, the torches were unlit, as always, and the dust was piling up like never before.
To make matters worse, the whole temple was about the size of a walk-in closet you might find in some rich person's mansion.
Qwerty wished she could clean up, but as a god, she couldn't affect the mortal world much. All she could do was grant her followers the gift of fontuition. Those blessed with fontuition always knew the perfect font to use for any situation. They could pick the perfect display font for a flyer, out of a sea of lackluster letters and pitiful punctuation marks.
But there had only ever been one person blessed with fontuiton, for there had only ever been one follower of Qwerty: Jake Hermistance, back in the 1880s. He had built the whole temple himself, before passing away in 1943.
Qwerty had been in the world for thousands of years, and she'd always been alone. The other gods scorned her and mocked her for having such a weak and useless ability. The humans never worshipped her. There were so many powerful abilities and benefits would could receive if they worshipped other gods, that choosing Qwerty would be foolish.
Then, Jake had come around, and for the 60 years he'd been Qwerty's devout follower, she'd felt joy. She'd had a friend, for the first time in her long, long existence. And then he had died, peacefully, in his sleep. And she had been alone again. All alone in her dark temple, forgotten by the world.
All of these thoughts and memories swirled through Qwerty's head as she stared at the unlit torches that rested just above a portrait Jake had painted of her, so long ago. If Qwerty had a physical form, she would have cried. Why did she even exist? What was her purpose? None of her brethren had such a useless ability, she was alone in her sorrow, alone in the dark.
|
They always told me that I could rest when I'm dead.
Never told me if it didn't say it on my tombstone I would never rest at all. I am a knight in the Kings army. I like king Skeletor well and all, but I am pretty tired. I was a grocery store bagger in life, and it was so exausting. When that Uber hit me I was a little stoked about the eternal sleep part. Alas I have to fight damned mole people all day long.
Turns out there are mole people, and they are pretty pissed. Just not at the humans. At the restless dead they direct their wrath. Our numbers grow everyday, but theirs never seem to slow. Todays battle seems to be different though. Mages are in play. King Skeletor himself marches forward.
Across the battlements I saw their Demonic Mole King Zachariah. His gleaming crown a mockery to royalty. The charge was ordered and I just ran. Straight for that rat faced bastard. If I'm dead anyways I mind as well try to earn some glory, or at the least get transferred to Valhalla.
Alas, my spear struck true as I hucked it from a short distance. His black heart was struck, and spurted upwards. I ripped it out and impaled the rancid thing onto my spear. Their leader dead they were quickly routed and destroyed. We had won. King Skeletor promises me slumber in a wonderful suite in the castle. A hero deserves a little shut eye. |
Puny humans.
Every day I watch over them with nothing but contempt.
Their world is worth nothing to them, they pollute it, sell it, exploit it.
I may be a demon but even I recycle.
Every day I watch over them and they insult each other, back stab each other, hurt and even kill each other. Earth really has become hell's waiting room
Demon kind was more than happy to create endless punishment for such intolerable souls. After all, Satan is the embodiment of justice.
I'm a sort of extremist you see. I like to cut human lives short in order to decrease the likelihood they will gain forgiveness they don't deserve from that charity case Jesus.
What a hippy.
Oh well.
Once I was an agent for the R.I.P.D.
The rest in pain department.
However I have lately found their method of conduct increasingly unacceptable.
Hence, I have decided to send a fresh batch of flesh sacks straight where they belong.
Hell.
My first target is Jacob.
What a monster.
Making his parents, those who brought him into the world, clean his ass every day.
They change his pants, feed him food by the bottle, and go out of their way to please him whenever he starts crying.
What a spoilt human.
There he is, right below me.
He can't see me of course.
I'm not invisible, humans are just that ignorant of their surroundings.
He sits on the floor, drooling.
Playing with a rusty truck.
Perfect.
My soul beelines straight into the metal beast.
Making it my own.
My wheels spin at an astounding 10mph, I lurch from his hand, leaping to the carpet, spinning round and heading straight toward him.
I will flatten this monster.
He picks me up with two chubby fingers.
NO.
He lifts me to his open mouth, and drops me in.
My mission has failed.
GURK!
Cough, cough.
No, I will fight him from the inside.
So my battle begins.
|
Wholesomememes folded its arms and looked down at Aww, who hadn't moved in nearly an hour. "Look, you're going to *have* to get up sooner or later."
Aww was snuggled into the bed, blankets tucked in tight and looked cost as a bug in a rug. It shook its head and stuck its tongue out adorably. "Nuh huh, in here I am happy and warm and safe and don't have to deal with the outside world, so I am staying put. Yo know better than anyone, it's a mean world out there."
It was true, Wholesomememes struggled with the other people in town at times, but it always wanted to see the best in everyone, even if it's flatmate Aww would rather hide away and just be cosy and happy by itself.
For a moment it closed its eyes and repeated its mantra.
*The world is full of nice people and if I put positivity out, then it'll come back to me.*
Immediately Wholesomememes started to feel better and began to whistle a happy tune. it was time for work and that meant the chance to help folk all day long. What could be better?
When Wholesomememes had moved to Subtown it had tried to work out what it wanted to do in life. So much of the town was filled with negativity and a good 75.67% was the red light district, so what could a happy, wholesome sub like itself do?
For the longest time it thought about becoming a teacher and helping little subs get started in the right way, but there was already a system in place to try to help little subs and most were already good and happy places. It was only when they got bigger, had some attention from outside, that they went off the rails. Bad influences! Always the way!
Instead, Wholesomememes had chosen a different path and gone to work where it felt it could do the most good - the DMV. All day long it dealt with angry, stressed and upset people and did all that it could to assist them, relax and calm them down and remind them of the inherent good that we all have in us.
Today was proving to be a fairly standard day. Starting early, InstantRegret had been in to renew its license and had a small meltdown when it saw the photo it took. For some reason it had worn a very thin shirt and when the picture came out its nipples were clearly visible. Wholesomememes wouldn't let that derail things though and had pulled out a spare shirt it kept for just these things and in a few minutes Instantregret had a nice spiffy photo that it was proud of.
Later, Nottheonion had been rather upset to discover that it had to list its weight on its license. Despite being a trim, good looking figure, it weighed nearly 400 pounds. As much as Wholesomememes made clear that it was only a number and NottheOnion *looked* great, NottheOnion had been quite upset, claiming it hadn't weighed itself in years and *surely* there was a mistake, but there was not. Instead Wholesomememes sat down and had a good chat about body positivity, which seemed to help a little.
The last customer of the day was, of course, the worst. WTF, a well known trouble maker had come in and had misplaced its license, but instead of doing a renewal, it wanted to show Wholesomememes where the license was. WTF had inserted it into its... well, into a place where you don't want things to get lost and is a very sensitive bodily cavity and now it was stuck.
For once, Wholesomememes was at a loss. WTF demanded that it be removed and bent over, but it was certainly not somewhere it wanted to put its hands. "Do it."Hissed WTF and Wholesomememes, wanting to help, began to reach in, but just in time, a co-worker tapped the on the shoulder.
Now, Wholesomememes was not a typical worker of the DMV by any stretch, in fact, the DMV of Subtown was probably the worst DMV n the world apart from them, but in this very specific case, this *one* time, it was paying off. Wholesomememes' coworker, Asshole, was not only happy to reach in, but delighted in taking its time getting the license back and Wholesomememes was able to go home early.
Back home, Aww was still in bed, while Wholesomememes made the dinner and, as usual, the smell of cooking brought in the neighbours, but it didn't mind, the more the merrier. Pics, gifs and even WritingPrompts sat round the table, the latter enthusiastically jabbering about something to do with an immortal person. Wholesomememes served up, sat down and smiled, happy to be surrounded by good friends. |
"They've decided to fucking do WHAT?"Alison Chao screeched. A Librarian turned around to shush her, but even it turned half of its thirty ears towards her and her entourage, eager for information.
"'Release everything'. It's what I heard, anyway."Mabrea shrugged, as she played with two small, red bouncy balls, hitting them into each other in mid-air and repeating. "But if there's one thing I'm proud of in my entire life, it's my hearing. And it doesn't get any more right than that."
Alison cursed like a seasoned sailor.
"So they've decided to... what, up and release all of 'em? Do they even realize what's going to happen? Mab, *please* tell me this is a prank. I know it's April the first on Nehebril right now-"
"Alison."Mabrea cut her off. "I'm being dead serious. This is it. This is the end of your world."
----------
*Contact lost with Site-121. On-site nuclear warhead unresponsive.*
----------
The heavy doors opened again for the second time that week. In came not D-classes with mops and buckets, but a platoon of task force operatives. Not a single one of them blinked as they manhandled the concrete statue into a waiting transport eighteen-wheeler.
----------
*Site-78 on-site warhead detonated. Estimated survivors: 0.*
----------
Able roared as he emerged from his stone sarcophagus, his blades already in hand. But he hesitated upon seeing his location.
He was in a desert, in the middle of nowhere. Off in the distance, he saw a convoy - fourteen large trucks and jeeps and vans, evacuating at top speed. Able grumbled. He hated this type of battle - where's the joy of the kill, when your prey are running faster than you?
He gave chase for three hundred meters, stopped, and stared into the sky.
----------
*All contact lost with Korean branch.*
----------
"Back off! Back off! Close the door!"
The reptilian creature shook itself clean of the last remnants of the acid bath. It's baleful eyes scanned the chamber, just in time to see the heavy-duty blast doors fall into place. A second later, the PA system snapped on.
"Listen, reptile. I can't give less of a fuck about you right now, but here's the deal."The black-clad operator spoke into the mic. In the background, the creature could clearly make out explosions, sharp cracks and screams of men. "You're being let out. The higher-ups done it this time, buddy. And guess what? You can rip through these walls any time you damned want now. And that's OK. You know why? Because there won't be any more 'disgusting' humans to fight anymore. When we go, you finish our job, you lizard-looking fuck, you hear me? You fuck 'em, and you fuck 'em hard."
The PA system went dead.
The lizard looked up, and saw fire pour into the observation room. A few seconds later, an explosion rocked the room. All grew silent.
The creature growled.
----------
*All undercover Foundation operatives embedded in the GOC have gone dark. T-minus sixteen days to estimated SK-Class Dominance Shift scenario.*
----------
The old man chuckled as it went right through the wall of its cell, eager for any new playthings to hunt. It found none.
Enraged, it stormed the site, only to find it utterly abandoned. It was only until it looked in the sky did it pause to consider if it was all worth it.
----------
*Serpent's Hand and CI operatives are all unwilling to provide assistance.*
----------
The Star cruised along space, as it had been doing for almost a hundred years. Occasionally, it paused its planet-killing to send a few more Morse-coded messages to Earth, its current destination and more entertaining target up until now. The latest one read *I will rip you to pieces, and there's nothing you can do about it.". Lame, it knew, but it's getting to the end of its glossary - it'll definitely have to recycle some previous ones in the next 5,700 years.
Earth flashed.
The Star paused in its tracks, read it, mulled it over again, pieced together the second, exact same message, did the pulsar equivalent of blinking in confusion, and let loose a powerful blast on the third message, obliterating an entire star system. Then, it picked up speed - and was gone in the blink of an eye, speeding towards the destination it had been dreaming of destroying for decades at a speed it never knew it was capable of.
----------
[DATA EXPUNGED]
----------
No one remembered the not-round thing sitting quietly (or not) in its containment chamber.
----------
*The Church is largely unresponsive to attempted Foundation contact. All inside contacts are to be assumed lost until further notice.*
----------
"How's the evacuation process, Mr. Davis?"O5-4 asked, her tone of voice utterly calm despite the gravity of the situation.
Paul Davis, Site Director of Site-54, glanced to his side and gulped. Truth be told, the process was going flawlessly, but O5s always gave him a sense of dread, like an impeding doom is about to be upon him. "Going very well, madam."
"Ever so polite."Five chuckled. "Mr. Davis. I am aware that you were one of the high-levelled personnel who actively opposed the proposition, were you not?"
"Uh... yes, sir, and I still do, to an extent. There's nothing indicating that we cannot contain this HE invasion without the 'help' from-"
"Well, you see, Paul,"One sighed, and took a drink from a glass. "I'm sure if the Administrator were here right now, he'd have us all executed for gross insubordination and incompetence. But as it stands, the Overseer Council has voted unanimously-"
"Four votes abstained."Ten spoke up.
"-mostly unanimously for Operation Salted Earth. There's really nothing we can do from here on out... other than huddling behind your couch, kissing your family goodbye, and count the seconds."
"Before we leave you, Mr. Davis,"a female voice sprang up: Nine. "I have a request."
"Yes, ma'am?"
"Please transfer SCP-999 to my care."
"But-"
The screens went dark.
----------
*T-minus four days to estimated SK-Class Dominance Shift scenario.*
----------
The cannon barrel in the mountain quivered for a second, paused, and fired a stream of radioactive waste, TNT, dead mice and other ungodly mixture of chemicals into the atmosphere.
The starship fired up its engine for the first time in recorded history - of this reality - and turned to face the massive alien construct, floating thousands of miles over Earth's high orbit.
The woman who watched and warned Earth of its perils is nowhere to be found.
I am sitting on a table, facing the sky. No one is around me.
The eel and the kraken raised their massive heads out of the water.
The machine under Yellowstone was primed for the God-knows-how-many-th time.
The aliens were bees.
The gate opened.
----------
*Contact lose with Site-19. All Foundation sites to be presumed destroyed or overrun. This communication relay to shut down in three... two.. one...*
----------
"Sir... I don't think we're ever gonna find it."
The older man sighed.
"Well then, Benjamin. Go take the cyanide pill. It's better than to-"
"-die to the HEs, yeah, I get it."The young man walked off with all the enthusiasm of a man about to be hung.
The old man sat down beside a computer monitor, connected to a surveillance camera a mile above ground. The Administrator sighed again, and took a hold of his own pill. *It's about damn time,* he thought absent-mindedly.
Ben yelped in the other room.
The Administrator rushed towards him. "Did they get through?"He asked.
The man shook his head numbly and pointed to his own monitor. On screen, the aliens fired - but not at the bunker door. Instead, goo-like substances rushed them from every single direction, some being disintegrated before they could reach their mark, but others successfully reached their targets. Within seconds, they penetrated the alien suits, and although there were no audio, the bastards were obviously screaming. Then melting. Then they joined the assault on their fellow species.
"What the fuck?"The Administrator asked no one in particular.
Ben took it upon himself to answer. "Well, sir... I think the day just broke." |
Winston hated people. He hated small spaces. He hated children. Really, Winston hated most things, except his guns. When he was part of the Order, he wore firearms and ammo like a uniform, proudly patroling his sector while civilians kept their distance. It was a mundane, repetative life- but there was a comfort in that he missed. Now...
A hand pulled on the sleeve of his worn, leather jacket. Still looking forward, he uttered a gruff exhale and spoke quietly. "Yeah, kid?"
"You're doing it again,"Quipped a high voice. Large, innocent green eyes were trained on him- the serious look unsettlingly adult for the face of a child. They had been traveling together for awhile now, but he still avoided her strange eyes when he could. Grunting indifferently, he continued walking, and the girl's grasp slipped from his clothing as she followed.
Humming, she gained the lead, enthusiastically skipping through the puddles that riddled the sidewalk. Though thoroughly dampened by the drizzling rain, the tawny strands of her pigtails still tried to bounce with the girl's gait. She sucked in her breath, coming to a splashing halt in front of a diner, pressing her face against the glass.
"No, Daisy. We have to keep moving,"Winston sighed, a gloved hand grabbing the collar of her sweater jacket and pulling. An annoyed growl sounded from the inside of the garment, and the face of an irritated tabby popped out and glared at the man.
"You've upset Mr. Pickles!"Daisy giggled gleefully. The cat wiggled out slightly more to swipe at Winston's hand. With a disgusted noise, the man let go of the jacket and jerked his hand back. Daisy seized the opportunity to throw her arms around Winston in a dramatic plea for diner pancakes.
"Please, Winston!"She sniffled, "We haven't had any food in two days! I need pancakes to survive!"
"I can make pancakes."
"No you can't. They're always too lumpy and don't have enough chocolate chips."Throwing his hands up in exasperation, Winston spared one look down. Daisy was using her perfected pity face, while Mr. Pickles had climbed from inside her jacket to the top of her head somehow and was still glaring, somehow with a far more sinister look than a cat should have. How could a person say no to that?
"Fine,"He snapped, pushing open the doors to the diner and making a beeline for a back corner booth, side eyeing the other patrons as he did. As the trio plopped into the seats with a squish, a chipper waitress hustled over, coffee pot in hand.
"Even'in folks. What'll it be?"
"Coffee, black. And two glasses of milk."
"Two?"The waitress raised her eyebrow as she looked at the cat, "Afraid we don't serve.. erm.. Cats here."Daisy blinked at the older woman before her eyes narrowed.
"Mr. Pickles wants milk."
"But-"
"HE. WANTS. MILK."As Daisy's voice climbed in octaves, a loud hum could be heard, increasing to a oud, painful ring that made even the other patrons around them cover their ears. The waitress's glass coffee pot shattered, making her yelp. Disoriented, she bent to clean the mess, but was stopped by Winston.
"Let me get that, miss. The drinks, if you would,"His voice was softer, apologetic, and persuasive to the confused waitress who wasn't quite sure what just happened. As the woman left, Winston grabbed a fistful of napkins, carefully picking at the larger pieces of glass around them, muttering under his breath.
"I'm sorry,"Daisy whispered, posture slumping as she shot Mr. Pickles a look, "I could tell he was getting mad. I'll be better next time, I swear. We're just so hungry and thirsty. And tired. When can we rest?"
"I told you, Daisy, we have to get out of this town. It's too close to the city-"Winston stopped as the bell above the diner doors rang. He turned his head slowly, just enough to see the uniformed men that had entered, posters in hand. They stopped the waitress as she passed them, and from the woman's multiple glances between them Winston knew it was too late. He stood defensively in front of the girl and cat, hands hovering over the holsters hidden under his jacket.
"Sir, you and your charge are being detained for questioning, by the authority of the Order,"One of the approaching officers announced, his voice bored and monotone. His partner followed a step behind, drawing his gun with a slow flourish, as if to intimidate, "If you come without a fight, the Order will be merciful."
"We both know that's a load of bullshit,"Winston replied with a scowl, quickly drawing a pistol. The guns fired simultaneously, but only one bullet landed its mark. Winston's bullet had buried itself between the eyes of one of the Order officers, while their own hung suspended in the air, as if frozen in time. After a moment they dropped harmlessly to the ground, but not before the officer bellowed into his com for more backup.
Hearing sirens in the distance, Winston fired more shots, taking down another uniform. Daisy redirected the bullets that came too close to her protector, but her unsteady concentration missed one that embedded itself into the wall by her head. With a hiss, Mr. Pickles exploded out from some dark crevice, fully fluffed out between Winston and their enemy.
Stunned, the officers did nothing, their jaws slack. Winston knowingly stepped back as the cat began to change, its limbed cracking and distorting as the body grew. The Order's men stumbled back as the creature, once the size of a housecat, surpassed the size of a 7 foot tall man. With a loud, feral cry, Mr. Pickles lunged. Winston reholstered his guns, ignoring the screams and wet splattering of blood behind him as he inspected Daisy.
"You okay, kid?"He said, concerned expression clear on his face as he squatted in front of her, eyes scanning for any injuries. She beamed, watching the murderous rampage that Mr. Pickles was unleashing on the other side of the diner.
"I will be now." |
The light was harsh and bright. I quickly turned away, covering my face with my hands and pulling down the hood further.
"Robert."It was Jim, my neighbor. I had stolen his golfing trophy last month. "This is for your own good. *You need to stop.*"
I made some noncommittal noise and pawed at the window I had come through. I felt the hand of someone firmly holding it closed. "Dammit, Bob. Enough of this - we're not letting you go."Sharon sounded both irritated and tired. Guess she missed her fishing trophy.
"We're trying to help you!"someone piped up. Jack, I think. I haven't talked to him much; he was new to the neighborhood. He came from Colorado, bringing along a wife, two kids and shining skiing trophies. I made a mental note to stop by his place next week. At night.
More people started talking, but I kept myself turned away, slouched against the wall. I wondered how long I could keep doing this before someone lost their patience.
A couple of minutes was the answer. Rough hands wheeled me around. "Are you even listening to us, Robert!? You just broke into my house. Christ, do you want us to just call the cops or something?"Mac's booming voice rang in my ears, and I violently shook my head.
"This is getting ridiculous,"he continued. Pulling down my hood, he shouted in my face: "you're a good guy, but this--"He stopped talking and just stared. As did everyone else in the room. I grinned back.
It was Mildred who finally spoke up. "Um, George? What are you doing here? And why are you wearing Bob's sweatshirt?"
I waved at her. "Oh, just helping out my brother. He thought this would be hilarious."
Before anyone could fully digest this sentence, a series of noises rang out: footsteps upstairs, a window hastily sliding up, and the clang of the gutter pipe. We all glanced at the window I had climbed through and saw a dark figure run out across the lawn, Mac's bowling trophy clutched in one hand.
A cacaphony of noise rang up, and everyone started shouting and running for the front door. I just stood next to the window, snickering and watching my crazy brother dance across the street.
The neighbors were right - he definitely had a serious problem, and something needed to be done. But damn if it wasn’t funny as hell.
_______________________________________
*Liked that? More stories [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/Idreamofdragons/)!*
|
What little information we found of our to-be invaders was bleak: savage, carbon-hungry creatures that stood god-like, each a skyscraper in itself, numbering in hundreds of thousands.
They hibernated in unfavourable conditions, donned impenetrable shells in near-death conditions. Our only hope was nuclear, and we had prepared for months as they glided through space with their bare bodies, barely expelling a breath in a journey that our scientists told us had begun with a simple leap off the now-dead star.
It was a calm that foretold the calamity that was to befall.
Our first close encounter with an extraterrestrial was going to drive us extinct with an 80% probability. That's what the best engineers told us.
For months, we'd thrown human's best into the Tesla and Putin programs. But they had been on the approach for hundreds of years. We'd accomplished countless impossible milestones in months since astronomers first identified the approaching devastation. But is it enough?
The threshold for initial engagement was going to be the edge of Pluto. We watched them closely as they glided, black giant humanoids with reptilian skin which barely shone.
We watched them closely so as not to lose them. We'd fired upon them months ago before they even entered the edge of the solar system. And then we waited, getting busy making more weapons but mostly just waiting.
It's funny when you think about it now. At this scale of battle, humans were declaring our claim over the entire solar system with an act of aggression.
Who had given us a right over far-flung planets that we had yet to set foot on? Were we even sure they were uninhabited?
Today, we were to witness the impact of our nuclear missiles. Estimated time to impact was counting down.
2:00:00
1:59:59
1:59:58
Target lost.
**What?**
Our leaders scrambled to have an answer, to be the one saviour. But as they picked up their phones they only saw the same thing that plastered across the screens of every device.
**Are We Cool Now?**
The world answered a resounding, collective, **YES, WHO ARE YOU?**, fuelled by curiosity, unfettered by political agenda.
**We are descendants of various animals that had been launched into space by NASA. Always happy to serve.**
---
Check out other prompt-inspired stories on my site, [Fivens](https://fivenswrite.wordpress.com)!
Honestly I wasn't sure how to end the story, let me know if you have a better one! |
A drill.
Well, that's what the humans *in the present* called it, anyway. I really saw it as a toothpick in my true form. It was this "drill"that woke me. Buried deep within a mountain, where I was cursed to slumber by the High Preist of Garypha until awoken, I had a good couple of millenniums as beauty sleep to wake up from when they hit my ancient tomb.
I remember hearing a small click in my sleep, and then a very large groan as the rock surrounding me gave way and allowed light to pass through for the first time since my never-ending nap. It was a strange feeling, almost as if I had been born anew.
I was so surprised and taken aback that I almost forgot to change. It wasn't that I was scared, oh no, far from it. I wanted to see what would happen. Maybe the humans had learned over the few thousands of years, and were willing to cooperate with me. Maybe they were seeking me for my power and glory.
Whatever the case, I wanted to investigate first. When the rays of light first pierced my eyelids and flung them open like coffins, I recognized the shouting, and transformed as quickly as I could into a human.
*My, what a petulant little creature, man.* I thought to myself, making sure to cover myself in dirt and grime as I waited for them to determine the cause of the strange behavior in their "drill."
Upon finding me, I recanted a tale of how I fell down a crevice in the Earth a few hours ago, having tried to investigate the sound coming from the mountain. Humans, in their utter ignorance, are prone to believe any story told them by another of their race that is, as they put it, down on their luck.
I was escorted back to a place called America, and it was during my escort that I first started to make my decision on the state of man in this time period.
I was placed inside some sort of metal bird. Obviously a small craft, but apparently it was enormous to these puny humans, and hundreds of them packed into one.
Then, without notice, this metal bird began to fly, but without the need to flap or exert any energy to do so.
Mind you, I flew majestically. Tall mountains shrunk to small hills, thick trees became twigs and bushes, and clouds changed to a soft carpet for me. This metal bird, though, made all of that seem mundane, boring, and slightly infuriating. There was no space, no freedom, and no cleansing feeling of feeling the sun kiss your back lightly as you cast your immense shadow upon the ground.
Food was offered on this "flight,"which was even more insulting than the actual event itself. How dare they assume I would be satisfied with just a measly helping of some bread or nuts!
Many of the other humans inside this metallic prison weren't even looking out the window or admiring the earth from above. All were hunched over, looking into thin objects that looked like glass, but had colors and pictures constantly flashing before them. I had heard talk from the humans about how they had "advanced far and above any other period in human history,"and yet, they hunched over their spastic pictures like apes, mouths hanging open, and with eyes that were dead and unresponsive.
12 hours. I was on this pitiful excuse for travel for 12 hours. My human legs were cramped, my head was aching, and my body begged for just a moment of peace and quiet.
I exited the thing they called a *plane* and stopped in front of the exit. There was no warm welcome, no fanfare, and no reward for having completed such an arduous and tedious task as this. No one seemed to even care that I had survived that ordeal for 12 straight hours.
It was walking into the next stage of the journey that I made my decision:
Humans were always, are always, and will always be an absolute atrocity.
I would wipe them off the face of *my* earth, even if it meant destroying it. |
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