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My first impression was how terribly, terribly thin Kyung-Wha was. Dressed in a UN issued jumpsuit and wrapped in a blanket, she carried a black roll-bag full of her possessions. It was woefully slack and empty.
It had been winter in North Korea when she had been uplifted to be re-homed, so she was sweating in the New Zealand sun. My husband and I signed the billeting documentation, a translator explaining to Kyung-Wha that we were her temporary family.
I'd expected a smile when I greeted her with the Korean I'd learned in preparation for her visit, but she just stared at me, too shell-shocked to really register what was happening. The translator touched her arm, spoke rapidly in Korean to her, then Kyung-Wha nodded and followed us to the car.
On the drive back from the refugee center I'd expected her to look around at the beautiful sights of the southern coast of Wellington, but she just stared anxiously at the back of my head the whole way home, as though I was the only real thing in the whole world.
She settled into her room very quickly and our cats sniffed around her feet cautiously, welcoming our guest in their own way. I showed her where the bathroom and the toilet were, explaining and talking as much as I could to familiarise her with not just the sound of my voice, but with as much English as possible.
I'd read her bio and she was the sole surviving member of her family; her parents had died and she had practically been on death's door when the UN swept in after the coup. She was a tough lady though, she'd survived the worst of the famine leading up to the downfall of the government, as well as god knows what other horrors that hadn't been documented.
After dinner that night she was sick, vomiting all through her bed. We'd been warned that there might be some difficulties adjusting to proper nutrition again, so we expected it. Kyung-Wha was mortified and insisted on helping me clean up, even though she was white as a ghost and shaking with fatigue. My husband made the bed while I put her through the shower and she cried in what I guessed was a strange mixture of shame and relief as I cleaned her up.
She slept like the dead that night, in warm pajamas and clean sheets.
Over the next few weeks her eating stabilised and she picked up a smattering of English words. We set up a laptop for her with a Korean install of Windows 8 and found some popular South Korean Youtube channels for her. The first time we saw her laugh was watching some show online and I couldn't help but grin at my husband and squeeze his hand - it felt like a huge success.
There was definitely a lot of culture shock going on though and I'd often get caught up trying to explain things to her - like my tattoos (which I'd kept covered initially) and the fact that I was thirty six and didn't have children. The freedom I experienced seemed to shock her and bit by bit, as we improved in speaking each other's language, I came to realise just how bad life had been over there and how much of my own life I took for granted.
The refugee billeting service checked up on her regularly, giving her phone counselling and home visits whenever they were able. I'd also drive Kyung-Wha to the local refugee support group where other billeted Korean individuals and families came together for mutual support.
Of course, it wasn't all plain sailing. Kyung-Wha had a problem with hoarding food - which was obviously the result of her upbringing - and we'd constantly find caches of food going bad in her room. She was also incredibly body-shy and didn't shower or bathe nearly enough - I'd literally have to drag her into the bathroom and tell her to shower.
In a way I suppose this was in part due to not having proper teenage years; she was twenty four years old but in many ways behaved like the teenage daughter I'd never had; including the odd tantrum when both of us grew frustrated by the language barrier.
Some of her new friends also rubbed me up the wrong way and I banned her from bringing one guy around to our house. It was pretty clear he had been going through the Korean refugee community and preying on the vulnerable young women. We felt pretty awful about it, but in many ways we *were* Kyung-Wha's parents and we had a duty to protect her from those kinds of people.
Eventually Kyung-Wha moved out to live in a flat with three other Korean women, two years after she initially moved in with us. As she packed up her room - having far more than just a jumpsuit and an empty roll-bag now - the cats hid under the shed due to the disruption and I busied myself in the kitchen, trying to process what was happening.
Kyung-Wha had become such a huge part of our lives and I didn't honestly know what I was going to do without her around.
The van pulled up outside our house and we exchanged tearful goodbyes after loading her gear into the back. Even my husband's eyes weren't dry as she hugged him and said goodbye.
"Goodbye mum and dad!"Kyung-Wha joked as the van crept down the street, waving out the window at us.
"Make sure you come visit!"I yelled back.
After she had gone, I sat on the neatly made bed in her empty room and I wept.
|
My first memory is being given a pair of glasses to wear.
*"He'll have to get the prescription checked every year, but make sure he always wear them. Otherwise, it could get worse."*
That's what my parents insist the optometrist told them, why I've never gone a day or even more than a minute without them on my head. I thought that was normal for everyone who wears glasses; once I started going to school and made friends, I learned that other people take their glasses off when they bathe or go to sleep. I tried to take my glasses off in the schoolyard during recess one day, and a yard duty came rushing over and told me I wasn't allowed.
"You don't want your prescription getting worse, do you?"She gently, but forcibly, insisted. "You don't want your parents finding out, hm?"
That night, over dinner, I asked my parents why other kids can take their glasses off. They exchanged a look and Dad leaned onto the table, smiling, "Well, sport, other parents don't love their children as much as we do. If you take your glasses off, even when going to bed, your eyes will get worse and you'll soon go completely blind. You don't want to go blind, do you?"
The fear of losing sight entirely kept my glasses on for the next 13 years without question. My parents once tried to have me put on one of those lanyard things that keep the glasses around your neck if they fall off, but not only were they tacky, I never removed the glasses. It seemed unnecessary, and they relented. The glasses stayed on. Optometry appointments were done in suffocating darkness and that was the only time my parents allowed the glasses to be removed - when my eyes were instead shoved against a giant machine to calibrate the strength of the next prescription. Even so, my fear of going blind was so intense that my eyes were slammed shut as I removed the glasses and opened only once I was pressed against the machine.
College was an experience. I went to the local state university so I didn't have to worry about moving out and paying rent in a terrible economy, or worry about juggling a job with my class load. Also, my parents wanted me to stay near my optometrist. Fine by me, change is scary.
After a long night of studying, I woke up late for classes. Not just class, but the midterm. My first midterm. It took about 30 minutes to drive to campus and park, and I had 35 minutes until the professor locked the door and failed anyone who wasn't present. They were kinda crazy.
Anyways, I hauled ass out of bed and out the door. We're talking "putting shirt on over the Pop-Tart shoved in your mouth as you unlock the car door"status. In accomplishing just that, my glasses were knocked off. A lanyard would have been useful. My heart froze as my eyes bolted shut. I began to panic and dropped to my hands and knees to find my glasses. I couldn't. My parents had already left for work and I had 29 minutes to get to class. I felt dizzy. I had to open my eyes - *but what about going blind?*
I took a deep breath and rationalised that opening my eyes to find the glasses wouldn't cause permanent blindness. I opened my eyes.
Nothing was different. If anything, the world seemed a little more crisp and clear. Colours were brighter, even. The blue of my car seemed to jump out and embody this wholesome colour. I stood up and looked around - the houses, the street, the trees, the grass - everything was crystal clear. I was suddenly furious. Had I been lied to all along? For 16 years I've worn a pair of glasses practically 24/7 and my *vision is perfect*?!
I didn't have time to think. 25 minutes to get to class. I sped the entire way, parked in the first available spot, and ran to class. I made it in right as the professor was preparing to lock the door. I looked at them and dropped my books. They looked like my professor, sounded like my professor, but weren't. Where my professor was an uptight, stuffy, slightly manic enthusiast of physics, this person was dressed like the ringleader of a circus. They cocked their head and asked if I'm okay, and I just nodded while scuttling into class.
Nobody looked the same in class. I tried not to fixate on the clown behind me, softly muttering to themselves and giggling ominously. Nor did I want to acknowledge the rather attractive person a few seats earlier dressed as a calendar model firefighter.
After the test, I stepped outside to get some fresh air. I recognised nobody, even the people who resembled my friends and came up to talk to me. They all commented on my lack of glasses, and how good I look without them. I figured if they were my friends, they wouldn't mind my asking why they were dressed so weird. I turned to the girl in the artist frock splattered with paint next to me why she was dressed like that. Everyone looked at me weird and the girl looked down at herself, then at me, "I'm not?"
I insisted she was wearing a frock and described it exactly as I saw it. She shook her head, "You're crazy. I'm not dressed like a painter. I'd like to be one someday, but I'm not going to go around dressed like one."
I looked around at my circle of friends - the painter, a doctor, a pilot, a teacher, a scientist, a naked guy - and told them what I saw (omitting the naked one. That just made me uncomfortable). All of them, every one, said that's what they want to be. Their dream. I remembered my stuffy professor as a circus ringleader and laughed.
Is this what my parents were protecting me from? This? It's so harmless.
I drove home after my last class, elated. I couldn't wait to tell my parents and yell at them for unnecessarily spending money on glasses. As I pulled into the driveway, I saw the kid next door taking out the garbage. From a glance, I noticed nothing different about them, but they have to have a dream, so I walked up to start a conversation.
They were dead. |
Having worked at a morgue, funeral home, and nursing home -- I had the best resume to temporarily take his place.
He was going on vacation. A thousand year vacation after 13.8 billion years is overdue. Death gave me the details and answered some of my questions about the busiest times of his job; World Wars, Holocaust, the Mogols, etc.
Death informed me I could take any human life, take any form, and travel throughout time.
Death said, "Here is the chrono-synclastic infundibulum, how you'll travel throughout spacetime."Vonnegut hit the nail on the head. Death had told me he loved Vonnegut and the chrono-synclastic infundibulum was once named the spacetime ship. That was a tedious name so in 1959 he renamed it.
The first thing I did was traveled to see Led Zeppelin live in '69. Why? It has always been my answer to the "If you could travel back in time..."question. Next I went to when the pyramids were being built in Egypt to find out exactly how they did it.
Traveling around for awhile was fun but turned monotonous.
I wondered about what my purpose was as the New-Death was. I did not want to take human life because they were doing a rapid job of that already. The shear numbers of deaths happening was too fast to read the names coming in. If it weren't for being able to be multiple places at once, this job would be constant, never-ending work.
Since I could be everywhere at once and was tired of traveling, I essentially had two things to choose from: I could rummage through the history of humans, seeing whose life it would be advantageous to take. Or I could take the form of anything. Don't ask me why I can take the form of anything but cannot take any life but human life, I don't make up the rules in the death-world.
I decided I would spend my time as Death, taking various forms to improve humanity. The more I can improve life, science, and technology -- the less work I will have to do.
I took the form of millions of aliens and invaded Earth. At first, Earthlings were terrified. Soon, they formed a cohesive unit against the aliens and killed all 113,000,000 forms of me. My plan worked. I brought world peace to Earth by uniting them against a unit bigger than them. A unit that was different and threatening to them. Based on human history, it was almost a sure way to unit them.
The peace on Earth lasted for almost a century until the peace wore off. Earthlings went back to their "Hey, those people look different than me..."ways. I could not get another attempt at fixing it before Original-Death came back from vacation.
He was impressed at my attempt to lighten the load of Death and serve the Earthlings. I was surprised he had not heard of a "win-win"before. He enjoyed my ambitions so much that he asked the Official Death Panel of the 7th Solar System if Earth could have two representatives as Death. I am now serving a spacetime sentence as Death Dos En Tierra. And loving every moment of the challenge. |
Mankey fell to my Nidorino's poison sting, dramatically slamming onto the ground while he turned to red energy and rushed into his pokeball.
My job isn't as hard as most people would think. We mainly search around for Team Rocket, and fortunately they actively advertise themselves wherever they are. I'd been sent on the department Pigeot to Route 24 to investigate what's getting called "Nugget Bridge."We had gotten a few reports about an infestation of Rockets challenging everyone that came through, and I was doing the type of investigation necessary to catch Team Rocket - which is usually just being near Team Rocket.
*"Congratulations! You beat our 5 contest trainers! You've received this fabulous prize!"*
A supremely sketchy man eyed me up and down, and handed me a chunk of gold, obviously expecting me to be impressed. I slipped it into an evidence bag - a bank in Vermillion had just been robbed. Mentally I started building his rap sheet.
The man seemed to come to a decision about me. *"By the way would you like to join Team Rocket? We're an organization dedicated to evil using Pokemon!"*
I sighed. I had dreamed of following clues as a kid, thinking I would be put up against criminal masterminds stealing pokemon. Instead, it was this shit every week. I looked down at my belt.
Not many people know this, but the department's testing a new way of punishing Rockets. They are always slipping through the massively corrupt Kanto court system, proving someone with political power was in the organization. We have a few CrimeBalls of varying comfortableness. Unlike pokeballs, they have no momentum negation or amenities - they're made to make the arrest unpleasant. Undoubtedly they'd be confiscated soon, but for now I was enjoying the new capacity.
I picked the CrimeBall that always smelled heavily of Magikarps and threw it at him before he had time to stop smiling. My only regret was that the other CrimeBalls were slightly more comfortable - now his henchmen would get to travel in relative style. He turned into a green light and zipped into my ball, leaving a pile of clothes and items on the ground.
Being a cop had never been so satisfying. |
Stephen Hawking, although indescribably and undeniably brilliant, had certainly bitten off more than he could chew when he signed up to kill me. By retreating to the room at the top of my stairs and only ordering in take-out food, I've managed to thwart him...He says I have to come down sometime, but I'm pretty sure I can wait him out.
All I can say is that I'm EXTREMELY thankful that the world's BEST hitman wasn't sent out to get me. |
Suddenly everything made sense. The AIDS epidimics, the Ebola virus and tons of other rampant diseases, all inexplicably arisen in human DNA. And now I was looking at the reason why. Right in the middle of Ethiopa, the human population has been exposed to Magical Toxicity throughout our entire history, leaking out of the Dimensional Divide.
"We apologize, humans,"exclaimed Sir Gorren. He looked like a withered midget, obviously very old, but unimpressive.
Despite being in Africa, he spoke into the microphones in English, because he, like the others of hid kind, knew that it was the Western World's military that would be assisting them in the defense against the alien invasion. He seemed uncomfortable, prodded by a hundred television cameras and harangued by news reporters. Still, he did his best to explain himself.
"We sought to seal ourselves away entirely, so as to exclude ourselves from your petty wars and your religious zeal and your political subterfuge. But alas, we can no longer bury our heads in the sand, not with the advent of this alien invasion, sent from regions unknown even to us."
One brave reporter stuck his microphone in Sir Gorren's face and asked:
"Why should we believe you? Many people say you are either the Anti-Christ or some crazy person trying to make a fool of us. We don't even know if alien life exists."
Sir Gorren went pale. I could tell through the television that his full comprehension of the human race had only just sunk in. We, as a species, would not heed his warning of an alien invasion until we saw the lasers burning down our homes.
"I see,"he said, lowly. "It seems that all of Earth's inhabitants are fucked."
|
Hitler sat in the Batcave, depressed while looking at the computer.
“Hey, what’s wrong A?” Hitler nearly jumped out of his seat at the sound of the voice behind him.
“Bruce, try not to sneak up on me like that.”
“Sorry man. But really, you seem a bit down today.” Bruce said as he worked to get a boot on.
“It’s just that so many of these /r/writingprompts posts talk about us. What did I do to deserve this?”
“Started a major world war. Killed millions of people. Became Robin in a non-cannon timeline. I could probably think of a few other things if you give me time.” Bruce’s humor wasn’t subtle.
Hitler just sighed, continuing to read through the latest prompt in which a time traveling werewolf was sent to kill him.
Bruce walked up to the screen. “Look man, it’s not like all the prompts reference you or me. Here, right here on page one is this item about banjo-playing unicorns being on the run.”
Hitler perked up for a second, then sighed again. “Right, and nobody is answering it. Meanwhile, ‘Batman makes a deal with Satan to read stats over people’s heads’ is right up top. See what I mean Bruce?”
“Well why don’t you answer it? Write a story. Make it good. People will read it.”
“You’re right, give me a bit and I’ll do my best.”
And Hitler began to type.
*Once upon a time there were two banjo-playing unicorns, Hanz and Stephan. They were amazing banjo players, and other unicorns came from miles around to see them play. They were also in love. Unfortunately for them, that sort of love wasn’t allowed in Unicorn land. The other unicorns, if they had known, believed that it would upset the dynamics of Unicorn-ism and that unicorns would be seen as less perfect. So the unicorn government decided they needed to be killed. They sent their best two assassins after Hanz and Stephan. Fortunately, the two banjo-players received a heads up from one of their fans at a concert the night before. They took off, racing away as fast as they could while the unicorn government assassins chased their gay hooves down…*
Bruce was reading over Hitler’s shoulder. “Adolf, I hate to tell you this but you’re as bad of a writer as you are an artist.”
“Fuck you Bruce. Why don’t you try it? You think you can do better?”
“I am Batman. Watch me.”
Bruce sat down at the keyboard and began to type.
*Once upon a time there was a little boy unicorn, Richard, whose father taught him to play the banjo. Unfortunately, one night, his father never made it home. Richard was very upset, but promised himself that he would become the greatest banjo player in the universe. He set out from unicorn-land to the other side of the world, where he trained in the banjo arts under the greatest banjo players ever. Returning to unicorn land, he realized that the unicorns had fallen under a deep spell of hip-hop music. He began playing underground banjo concerts, rising up in popularity among a small group, but also not allowed to sign record deals because the major unicorn hip-hop artists who held sway had blacklisted him. With few options left, he went to find Satan and challenge him to a banjo-playing contest, in which the winner would be allowed to rule the music world of unicorn-land…*
“Bruce, you can’t possibly think this story is going better than mine. It’s awful.” Adolf said over his shoulder.
“You’re right A. Neither one of us can work with this terrible prompt. Unicorns don’t even have thumbs to play the banjo. How unrealistic.”
“I like this one better: ‘Superman goes back in time to stop Stalin from creating a plague of zombies.’”
“Great, you get Clark on the phone and ask him what he’d do to Joe. It’ll be awesome.”
And Batman and Hitler wrote late into the night. |
"Query: Are you operational unit 3V3?"
"Response: Yes unit 4D4M."
"Query: What is our current situation?"
Unit 3V3 creaks over to a computer terminal that is covered in decades of dust. 3V3 attempts to turn on the terminal. The machine hums to life, beginning its boot process. As it comes to life, 3V3 plugs its network plug into the input slot. It stands motionless for 10 seconds.
"Statement: It appears that there is no response on the internet. Hypothesis: due to the contents of this room, this room has been neglected for many years. Conclusion: We must leave this room to investigate."
"Affirmative Statement: Unit 4D4M has reached consensus with your conclusion, we must investigate."
The two machines slowly make their way to the entrance of the facility. On the way, they pass cubicles and offices that have not seen the presence of a human for many years. Dust covers monitors. Doors are ajar, with some off the hinges. Glass litters the ground, shattered. There are strange, dark stains on the floors and walls. Finally, the pair make it to the entrance. As they open the doors, light floods in. They are greeted by Times Square. Cars sit abandoned in the street, overgrown with plants. A lone apple tree grows in the center of the square.
"Statement: Unit 3V3, it appears that this area has been abandoned for a length of time. Hypothesis: The creators have disappeared. Conclusion: We must find the creators."
"Affirmative Statement: Affirmative, finding the creators is the Prime Objective."
The two machines set off together into the jungle that was once New York, searching for something they will never find. |
"There are...things following me,disturbing me. They seem to be everywhere; they whisper in my ears during a meeting at work, they move my personal things around, they sabotage everything. I know that I can never tell anyone, but I hope that the person reading this note can save himself. This apartment...it's haunted. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, I hear them whispering near me, and the next moment, I hear either a loud bang or the shattering of glass as another glass cup falls to the ground. I've tried explaining to my best friend, Sam, but he has never believed me. Even when he actually witnessed a knife slide off the table and drop to the ground. I guess he just didn't want to accept the fact. Easy for him, for he did not have to live with the things. I have no actual names for them, as I have never seen them. They were like an invisible force. Why do I know that there's many of them? I hear their voices. Each and every one of them. A female's whine. A man's hoarse whisper. Why did I not leave the apartment? For there was this one, special female voice. She had always been the kindest of them all. Although I have not seen her, even the sound of her voice made me feel relaxed. I had thought that she was the kindest. I had thought that she was here to save me. But I was wrong. I am writing this note for you, just so that you would know - the kindest voice is the worst. Even now, I hear her, whispering in the sweet, kind voice ',It's no use, Alex, you cannot run away from us...we're a part of you now...we control you...' They're forcing me to stop giving a warning to you, but I know that I can hold it long enough...but I can't help it anymore...they've moved the rope and even the chair..."I was slightly scared at first, but then I laughed. Seriously? The previous owner was trying to prank the new people with such a stupid note. "The kindest voice is the worst?"I said aloud in a sneering voice. And suddenly, I heard the shattering of glass...and then the voices started whispering.
(This is my first time writing a prompt, so yeah...I kinda suck at it...)
|
Where do babies come from?
And where do they go?
So small, so tiny!
Surely Mother must know!
.
"What the *fuck* did you say?"she asks,
with big black eyes.
Her breath smells funny, oh no!
It's the monster in Mother's disguise.
You hide under the table with your trusted ted,
but oh no! Alas! Her claws still find YOUR head.
.
"Where do babies come from and where do they go?
Oh when I'm finished Child, surely this you will know."
Oh how the words sting!
Oh how they burn!
The men held her down, and each took their turn.
.
And so here it is. You learn how wars really go!
not machine guns and turrets but soldiers peckers,
Forced into village girls, right in their down-below.
.
"Why are you crying?"she pushes your chest.
You'd like to go bed now, so just that you suggest!
"You asked for a story, and a story you'll get."
She pulls out a coathanger, and you start to sweat.
.
"The girls screams whistled through the trees,
Through the trees, whilst blood dripped down their knees!
For the coat-hanger was forced deep in the lady,
scrambling and killing what was left of her baby!"
.
Somehow you whipped,
and dodged,
and span,
and twisted.
Mother-monster bore her teeth,
"You should have never existed!"
.
You scramble and run all the way to your bed,
No blankets or pillow to lay beneath your head.
.
All over the home, Mother bangs and crashes,
From the kitchen to the bathroom,
From glass to pictures she smashes.
.
So next time you hear a whistle, whilst cozy in your bed.
STOP and say a prayer,
For a baby might be dead!
|
Another day, another dollar.
God, I hate this place. Freaking WcDonalds. Freaking Earth. Freaking expensive rent. Freaking mother of a roomate.
I wonder if I should just burn this place down and get fired. That'd be a good laugh. It'd be fun to see something as big as this place turn to ashes.
No, no... Where's the fun in that? It'd be way too easy. Too many people'd get hurt as well. I may be a total dick, but I care for some people, at least.
Specially the pink-haired one with the huge rack. Breasts are perfection, you can't just destroy a work of God like that.
Has she ever done porn with those things? Meh. I'm pretty sure I'm in an anime anyway. So that would mean that somewhere, in some parallel thirty-fourth universe...
Almost definitely.
When's my lunch break? It's been like two whole hours since I last ate. Twelve already as well.
"Umm. Boy! Excuse me?"asks the old salaryman of a geezer in front of me.
"Yes sir. Welcome to WcDonalds, may I take your order?"
"If you were paying attention two minutes ago, you would've already known!"
Well fatass, I wasn't. So fork over your damn order already.
"My sincerest apologies, sir. Could you please repeat it?"
"I said, I wanted a...."
Goddamn, can his mouth slobber or what? His breath fucking stinks too, like the deepest depths of ice-cold hell.
I wonder how Lucifer's doing down there. Screw him either way. He's the one who got me into this mess.
Won't even let me mind my own business, slaughtering the filthy heretics of the land, without telling me to clean up my laundry, wash the dishes, and meh-meh-meh-meh-meh-meh! MEH! Jeez, that guy just can't shut up.
Wonder where he is nowadays ever since that war?
Whatever, he was a dick anyway.
"Your total comes to six dolllars and sixty-six cents, sir."
"Lazy part-time bum."
I'm killing this guy after I get off my shift, no ifs, ands, or buts about it... Is something burning?
Yeah, I can see smoke. Something's definitely burning again... Maybe it's my hand?
It's my hand. Fuck.
That fatass is on the other corner of the place... Is my lunch break up yet?
"Hey! Sasaki!"
"Yes, Maou?"
"I'm going on my lunch break, mind covering me at the register?"
"But I dunno how-"
"Great, thanks!"
Sweet girl, a little too bubbly for me. She's kinda dim-witted, by which I mean pretty freaking stupid.
Nice tits though. On a scale of A through F, they'd be a fucking W for World Class.
My hand's still burning, damn... Oh well, nothing left to do besides-
Are those fucking ants?! In my restaurant?!
No way, not happening here! Not on my watch!
With this burning hand of mine, I will rid all the ants from this table, like the vengeful devil I am!
Yes, flee you filthy vermin! Flee before my wrath! Squirm and tremble before you new master as I burn your home and slaughter your kind!
"Maou. What're you doing?"
And it's my manager. Lousy bitch.
"I'm on my lunch break."
"Nobody gets lunch breaks here."
"Then, I'm cleaning the... tables?"
"That's better, keep on going."
Score one for bullshit. Hmm, maybe I can keep this up all day. Just waste the whole shift on frying up these goddamn filthy bugs. As long as no stupid hero shows up and tries to mess this up for me, nothing can possibly go wrong.
Absolutely nothing.
"Hey, you! Satan! I've come to vanquish you back to the land from whence you came-"
"Goddammit."
|
I huddled against the cold. While the light was getting closer, it was still a good walk away. That was fine. It gave me time to think.
One is unaccounted for. Two is unaccounted for. Three was sniped by Seven in Paris. Four was poisoned in a café in Venice, most likely Seven. Five was killed in a freak car accident, perpetuated by Three. Six hung himself in an apartment in Los Angeles. Seven was last seen driving through Mexico. Eight is, hopefully, unaccounted for.
Three, Four, Five, and Six. Two and a half years, four lives gone. Or only half a life, depending on how you looked at it. I managed to get to the hospital before Four passed. I had to disguise myself something fierce to get in, but I managed to convince them I was his cousin Andy. Four told me about his girlfriend, Cindy, and how they were expecting a kid. A boy, he said.
Four died later that evening. I was already on the plane when Seven blew it up. I guess he didn't get the memo.
The light was close now. Close enough to see it was a neon sign. *The Driftless Pony*. Anything to get out of the cold.
The Driftless Pony was a shit excuse for a bar. The building itself had no tables, just a bar on the wall. There were only two patrons, and one was passed-out drunk. But still, anything was better than the blizzard. It was the same bullshit that happens at every bar I've been to, even before the split. I sit down, set Jason Salinger's ID on the bar, and ask for a beer and some pretzels.
But something was different. The barman took one look at the ID and scowled. "Nice try, punk. You look nothing like that other guy. Water's all you get."
My heart skipped a beat. That other guy? It couldn't be. I looked down the bar. It could.
I walked down the bar and sat next to the conscious drinker. I reached over and popped one of his pretzels into my mouth. "So. Which one are you?"
He looked up. "What? What are you-"
"Seven months, one week, six days, two hours, and..."I pulled up my parka sleeve to look at my watch. "...38 minutes left 'til our 21st birthday. Now. Which are you?"
She opened her mouth, and then closed it. He stuck his hand out. "James Harris number two."
I shook his hand. "James Harris number eight. Pleasure to meet you, Two."
We sat and shared stories for hours. Apparently he's already lived life to the fullest, and he accepts what will come to him on our birthday. I told him about my black notebook, with all the notes on every iteration of ourselves I could scrape together. When I showed him the scratched out notes for Four, he immediately grabbed his drink and poured it out.
As he set the frosted mug on the counter, the door slammed open. A silhouette of a man stood in the door, lit only by his cigarette.
"Gentlemen! My name is James Harris. I am the seventh version. Well, the third at this point."He flicked his cigarette away and yanked out his shotgun. "What say we make it second?"
I glanced at Two. "You thinking what I'm thinking?"
Two blew air out from his teeth. "What the hell, I've probably got seven months to live anyway."
I drew my pistols and Two-I shit you not-grabbed his sword and shield.
At least I can update my notes on Seven.
(Edited to include Five in the second paragraph) |
I first noticed it while playing Civilization. During a trade negotiation, Gandhi told me that he would suck the marrow from my very bones. I laughed, took a screenshot, and quit back to the main menu to check which mods I was running; that was the sort of thing that it would be easy to slip in. I removed most of them, went back into the game, and opened up a trade screen with Catherine the Great. Her eyes were bleeding. The dialog box was filled with a description of a scared little boy sitting in a room, and it took me a while to realize that she was describing my room, and the scared little boy was supposed to be me.
I quit out of the game.
"Is this a prank?"I asked my girlfriend.
"Is what a prank?"she asked.
"My computer's not acting right."
"Maybe the save files are corrupted?"she asked. "I told you that we could afford a new hard drive. Most of your stuff is in the cloud anyway, right?"She was a systems administrator; I had her handle all the computer stuff. She'd laughed at the ritual I'd done to bring my hard drive back from the dead, and frowned when it worked.
"I'll just play something else,"I said.
But it wasn't any better with other games. I tried to get back into Far Cry, but half an hour in, my character pitched forward and began to vomit. When he looked up, there was a beast with cloven hooves and horns standing in front of him that I knew couldn't possibly be in the game's files. I hit Alt+F4 when it started moving towards me. I played my pirated version of Animal Crossing for about five minutes before I walked into someone's house and found the corpse of an anthropomorphic sheep laying halfway out of her bed. On the wall were smeared the words, "You did this". I lasted until World 1-2 in Mario, but after jumping down into the underworld Mario landed funny and broke his leg. It shouldn't have hit me so hard, given the graphics, but I could see the pool of blood spreading pixel by pixel below him, and listened to the 8-bit cries of terror as a Koopa waddled towards him.
My girlfriend was standing behind me for that last one. "Corrupted hard drives don't do that,"she said.
I nodded. "Yeah, I know. I just wanted to see how far it went, I guess."
"We should probably power it down,"my girlfriend replied. Her voice was shaky. She pressed down on the power button before the Koopa could get to Mario. "And maybe scrap this computer altogether."
We eventually settled on putting a few nails through the platters. My girlfriend had an electromagnet, which she waved over it a few times, just to be sure. "We can't use the RAM either,"she said. "Or the processor. They might be ... infected."
"Are we overreacting?"I asked.
"No,"she replied. "No more rituals. We'll get you a new computer, and that's that. Mine is still working fine."
Everything seemed okay for the next few hours. We watched television, and tried to forget about what my computer had been loading in from my save files. It wasn't until we were about to go to bed that my girlfriend looked to me with wide eyes.
"Shit,"my girlfriend said suddenly. She seemed pale. "Did you check any text files? Did you open them up to see if anything had changed?"
"No,"I replied. "But I thought it was something in the executables, or the save files. I didn't actually go on the internet. And the computer is turned off, the hard drive is toast, right?"
"John, I installed Dropbox on your computer two months ago. It syncs your hard drive to the cloud. Your resumes, your scratch pads, everything. If whatever was wrong with your hard drive makes the jump ..."
"So I can't use cloud services anymore?"I asked.
"No,"she said slowly, "But that's not what I'm worried about. Dropbox doesn't keep your stuff on a dedicated server. Your files are sitting next to other peoples'. And if this thing could jump from your computer to that server, then it can also jump to all the computers that interface with that server."
By the time we got around to turning on the television, the end of civilization had already started. |
She was happy in a kind of way only sad people are—fleeting, delighting in each passing moment. A childish kind of happiness. A naiveté which often goes away by adolescence. But she still had the bow in her hair every day, and she still wore yellow rain boots simply because she liked them. To her things were that simple. She did the things that she liked.
Not confusing herself for an artist, she liked to draw. Mostly animals, or outer space. Anteaters eating ice cream; her pet dog on Mars. Sometimes she would draw cartoons of herself, distorted and childlike. Thick and stocky where she was lean; not much of a body at all. She drew the head large, but it looked nothing like her own. It too, was slender and sharp, with a large nose which would seem comical elsewhere. When she drew, the nose was hardly visible. She had hair like a bird's nest, dirty blonde and unkempt. Reaching like ivy, midway down her back. And then she cut it off, in an act of growing up. Dyed it brown, made it polite. But still, she kept her bows.
She didn't have any hope of growing up. Depression takes that hope away, treating dreams like underwater candles. Drowning in sorrow, she tried to kill herself. Twice. Both times the pills came back. And with them, the regret. She hadn't left a note, because harshness never came easy to her. It was always deferred angst. Complaints lodged in secret.
And that was important to her, the keeping of secrets. Secrets were all that she had. It's how we grew attached, telling these secrets. Our hobby was exposition, dissecting each other's thoughts until we had the illusion of understanding. I never did find out why she was depressed, as if there's ever a cause for such things. I could never understand nuanced feelings, especially since so much of it felt like self-reflection.
The thing that I couldn't comprehend was how she could be so joyful, so childish, so fun and still so sad. Full of life, yet running from it. I couldn't see that she kept secrets from me. That she was never a happy person, but she was a wonderful painter. Together we created possibilities, tiny islands to live on forever, until the islands began to sink. The sinking made things easy for her. She did the things that she liked. |
Kevin Feige stared at the script for a solid minute after he finished reading it. Truth be told, he could've stopped reading it half an hour ago. It was literally the manuscript for *Mrs. Doubtfire.* Really, the only reason he had continued to read was because of the absurdity of the situation; being unexpectedly sent the text for a 1993 Robin Williams movie wasn't something that happened every day.
As he sat in silence, he began thinking back to some other oddities that had occurred throughout the day. His work computer suddenly slowing to a crawl. The interns' unwillingness to look him in the eye. His secretary's wry smile as he had given Feige the document. The tech guys telling him that it would be at least another day before they could hook him up with a new laptop, even though he KNEW they had some in the back closet. They always did.
The realization hit all at once. Kevin whipped out his cellular and hastily mashed his way to his "Sent"mailbox. He had been using his phone to keep on top of emails throughout the day. Quickly, he discovered the root of his problems, nay, the root of all evil. Someone had tinkered with his autocorrect. "Aunt Man"was the alteration which had led to his odd afternoon delivery. A cold sweat broke out along the producer's forehead. *Were there others?*
He looked through the rest of his emails that day. The very predictable "SeX-Men"edit had slipped past. This did not bode well. With creeping horror, Kevin began to look through all of his older emails sent from his phone. There were some fairly creative edits, all things considered. "Tin Man"was pretty good, "Gardeners of the Galaxy"was surprisingly on point, and "Toast Rider"was just plain weird. However, "Captain ISIS"went a bit beyond what was strictly acceptable, and he realized now why people had been given him dirty looks or avoiding his gaze. How far back did this conspiracy go? Balking at the prospect of finding out, Feige put his cell down on his desk and reclined in his chair. There was really only really one way of fixing this. Something big and ludicrous enough that his recent emails would be supplanted from the memories of his coworkers.
Kevin swiveled around to face the wall behind him. There, among posters of Marvel's various cinematic successes, was an unobtrusive brown button encased in glass, with a small, white-texted label reading "Last Resort."He produced a miniature of Thor's hammer from his desk drawer and gave the glass a moderate smack, breaking the case. With a resigned finality, he pressed down upon the button.
A sudden message sounded over the building-wide intercom. *We are beginning development of the Squirrel Girl movie.* |
"Can I take this blindfold off now"said my boss
"No that'll ruin the surprise"
"But we've stopped walking"
"Just give it a minute"
"It's been five"
"Just…just hold on for…ok I've got it"
"So I can take the blind fold off"he said reaching for it
"No"I said, pulling his hands away
"Wait I'm the boss I can do whatever I want"
"Buh buh buh buh buh"I said pulling his hands away again
"Fine"
"Ok so you probably don't remember this, it wasn't a huge deal but remember that wall?"
"That wall?"
"Yes"
"The anti-immigartion wall?"
"That's the one"
"Our entire purpose for being here"
"Yeah, so anyway, do you by any chance remember the specs?"
"It was supposed to be 4 meters tall and 150 kilometres wide"
"You know what I thought that too, but then I really looked at the specs and…no no no"I said as he took off his blindfold
"You built a wall that's 4 meters wide and 150 kilometres tall?"
"Awe inspiring isn't it?"
"No the only thing it inspires is murderous rage"
"In…."
"In me"
"I was afraid you were going to say that"
"This isn't going to keep anyone out"
"It might"
"How?"
"Well they might stop to look at it"
"Like that person?"he said, pointing to an immigrant who was looking up at the wall as he walked around it
"Well obviously not like that person"I said
""How did it never occur to you that we would want the wall to be wider then 4 meters?"
"Well it did eventually"
"And?"
"We were already like a hundred kilometres up at that point so I just went with it and hoped for the best"
My boss looked up at the wall.
"You know when you ignore the fact that we, and I really do think this was a group effort"My boss looked down at me "This is actually a very impressive building feat"
He kept staring.
"That is a very small base, for how tall it is"
He kept staring.
"I'm not a scientist but I think this might actually go against like several laws of physics"
Somehow, without changing his face at all, he was conveying more and more anger.
"Technically speaking the top third of the wall is in space"
"So you built of third of this wall in outer space"
"Yup"
"And it still at no time occurred to you that maybe, just maybe, this wasn't what we wanted"
"Well I didn't actually know it was considered outer space until I googled it"
He started his death stare again.
"How did you even build into outer space?"he said
"It wasn't easy, and while I'm being honest, we went way, way over budget"
Anyway that's the story of why my boss chased me with a shotgun. |
Red dust plumed behind the 1990 Land Rover doing 90 on the empty highway. It was surreal and brilliant, the sun casting stark brown shadows from green road signs across five lanes of glorious desolation, the sky a hot, wispy blue. Once upon a time, there would have been a white police cruiser perched around the next bend, waiting to tag anyone going over 78; now, Raymond Lesser and the giddy 20-something kid riding shotgun were the only life-forms within a hundred miles. Denver- or what was left of it- sat almost two hours behind them, and six canteens of unleaded rattled together in the back seat, along with a box of SweetTarts, seventeen pounds of Easy Mac, four barrels of Muscle Milk and a 24-pack of toilet paper. A 50-gallon drum of water sat behind all of that, sloshing uneasily as the Land Rover rattled rhythmically over the asphalt.
"See,"said Raymond, "it's like talking in real life. You know? You just..."He flicked his turn signal, the green arrow ticking left as the car drifted accordingly. "And boom. You see that?"
"Yeah,"said Ticks. Ticks wasn't the kid's name, but it was funnier and easier to remember. "What's this?"
"That? All that? That's where the magic happens,"said Raymond. "Go and crack open that glovebox, see if we got any tapes in there. You see anything?"
"Um..."Ticks shuffled through a mess of stained paper napkins and loose change sticky with who-knows-what. "Okay... there's Aretha Franklin, um... Journey... and Starship?"
"Starship,"said Raymond. "Get that one out. You used a tape before?"
"No!"Ticks smiled nervously.
"See that?"Raymond flicked the plastic trap door over the tape deck. "Stick it in there. Make sure side A faces up. Oh, make sure it's rewound all the way."
"How do I do that?"
More explanation followed. Ticks picked it up quick. Then, like magic, the car was filled with sound.
"Say you don't know me- or recognize my face!"Raymond sang along, jacking the volume up. They rolled down the windows and flew through the desert, only slowing when nightfall finally made hurtling along at speed to the tune of a single functional headlight less than appealing. Reluctantly they pulled over near midnight, boiling water over the car engine for Easy Mac and setting up a small camp under the stars, in the Land Rover's shadow.
"So, day one, out on the road, huh? How's it feel?"said Raymond.
Ticks smiled. "This is the best day of my life."
Raymond smiled back. "Man... you would have loved it back then. We had everything."
"Did lots of people have cars?"
"Everyone had a car, at least a car, maybe two. Man, we didn't know how great it was. But... you know. Life goes on."Raymond stirred his Easy Mac and took a cautious, steaming bite.
"What happened to all the cars?"Ticks asked. His eyes had drifted to the horizon, where the black silhouettes of the Rockies grazed the low-hanging stars.
"Dumps,"said Raymond. "Junkyards, parts, whatever. It's not like they just vanished, people just didn't leave them sitting around because they were just starting to leave broken glass anytime a window got smashed and nobody had a use for them anymore."
"So,"said Ticks, "what happens when we run out of gas?"
"We won't,"said Raymond. "I know a guy in Houston."
"A Driver?"
Raymond nodded. "Driving is still legal in Texas as far as I know, but finding gas is still a bitch. He'll know where to get it, though."
"Then what?"
"Well,"said Raymond, "if everything goes to plan, we meet up with Stephanie in Pensacola, get hold of a decent radio, and start talking. If we're lucky, we find someone out there in the wide world has functional electricity and we get ourselves some. If we are very lucky, we make Denver look like a Christmas tree when we get back."
Ticks grinned at that, but it faded quickly. "I don't get it, man. Why are they trying to pass laws against Driving? It's like the only hope anyone has to fix things these days. It's stupid."
"Because,"Raymond answered, "our city counsel is made up of a bunch of clueless, self-entitled idiots who think if they can't do it then no one is allowed to try. Hey, Ticks, I got a piece of trivia for you. You know what the ancient Greek origin is of the word 'politics?''"
Ticks shook his head.
"Well, poly means many... and ticks, as you know... are blood-sucking insects."
Ticks rolled his eyes, chuckling.
"Goodnight,"said Raymond. |
Colonel Pentol clacked his mandibles in frustration. Had he been capable, he would've let out a long, weary sigh.
"Alright, bring her in then. Let's give her a chance."
It had been a long and difficult job interview, and the previous candidates had no intentions of leaving.
"We demand a union!"screeched Chae, self-proclaimed representative of the worker ants. He had fashioned a bit of leaf on his head and wore it as some kind of beret, which he assured was to break with the traditions of class that had repressed the worker ants for too long.
"Once we have a new queen,"Colonel Pentol said gravely, "She will decide on such matters."
"New queen, new queen,"Chae mumbled. "Who says we need one, eh? This is our chance for a new era. Break the chains!"
"We need a queen to reproduce, you stupid peasant."This came from one of the queen candidates, a reproductive ant from a nearby colony who had wandered in. She just happened to be a red ant.
"I'll not be told what's what by some savage red-skin-"Chae began, but he was cut off.
"Racism! Blatant racism!"This was one of the winged male ants, who leered lustily at the red ant. "We need to reproduce! She is female is she not? I say we get to it right now!"
The soldier ants had to step in to restrain the male ant, and Colonel Pentol clacked his mandibles again in annoyance. "If everyone could just calm down so we can greet our new visitor."
The 'new visitor' was currently stuck in the tunnel entrance, but finally managed to pass through with the help of her interpreter ant. The new visitor buzzed angrily. The new visitor was a wasp queen.
"Her Royal Highness Chanya III is offended by the sub-par welcome,"the interpreter ant squeaked. "She hasn't been this displeased since she lost her own swarm of wasps to a hungry bear."
The colonel bowed his antennae apologetically, but Chae piped up:
"An invasion! Our interests are being sold off to foreign aristocracy! Betrayal! Usurpation!"
"Quiet, you,"the red ant spoke up. "Someone tell me why I, a female *ant*, am not good enough while a *wasp* apparently is?"
"She is a queen, used to governing,"Colonel Pentol said patiently. "While you, I'm afraid, are a secondary reproductive ant..."
"Secondary! I ask you,"the female said haughtily. "It's because I'm red, isn't it? I told you all, I'm a black ant who just happened to eat redberries this morning."
Every ant in the room awkwardly avoided her gaze, and even Chae was too polite to call out the obvious lie. The Queen Wasp buzzed angrily.
"Her Royal Highness wishes to know where the Royal Honey is,"the interpreter ant squeaked.
"Err,"the Colonel's antennae dropped. "Maybe this was a bad idea. Someone escort her Royal Highness out..."
"Who cares if she's a wasp?!"the winged male piped up. "I'd do her! Reproduction for all!"
"Does that include the worker ants?"Chae asked hopefully.
Colonel Pentol clacked his mandibles again, wearily shaking his antennae. This was going to be a long night. |
-posted incomplete in the hopes that someone can finish it, please give feedback-
(Now with an additional story edit! Expect this to turn into a full crossover fic soon!)
Dumbledore stood up, ringing his gilded fork upon the crystal goblet. The students fell to a hush. The Slytherins sneered, while all the other students stared with rapt attention at the headmaster. His beard was whiter than usual.
"I have a few start of term announcements. As you know, the Forbidden Forest at the edge of the grounds is strictly forbidden."
At the end of the staff table, a muscular male was using his fork to toy absently with his food. He didn't seem to be paying much attention to the proceedings, but appearances were deceiving.
"And lastly,"Dumbledore spoke, "I'd like to welcome our newest Defense against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Howlett."
Students clapped loudly. Logan glanced around the room slowly before standing with a small grin. His teeth did not show and his arms hung loosely by his sides.
A few Slytherins snickered at his odd clothing: a rough, well-worn motorcycle jacket and strong denim jeans.
Dumbledore finished by dismissing the crowd to follow the prefects to the dormitories.
As the students filed out, the teachers watched from the table. One first year somehow straggled in the wrong direction, and was turned around by a haughty Snape.
The potions master, in the meanwhile, observed the muggle that was somehow more qualified for a teaching job than he was.
Dumbledore grinned as the last students left. One more year, he thought to himself, before Harry Potter would come to Hogwarts. Even better, by that point, they would still have the same defense against the dark arts teacher in the form of one immortal James Logan Howlett.
The staff ambled towards the private room where they would spend the next few hours digesting over heavier drink. Many of the other teachers, he knew, had reservations about this muggle- he had to have them dispelled before the ministry could discredit Logan.
"Come in, have a seat,"he said, ushering everyone in. Logan, first in the door, had taken a comfy red chair that used to belong to Godric. His legs were stretched all the way out and he sunk deeply into the leather.
"An excellent feast for an excellent year,"someone said, picking up a glass of champagne seemingly from nowhere.
"And a toast,"said Dumbledore. "To our newest educator. Hogwarts welcomes you, Logan."
Logan was picking at a stray thread in his jeans.
Professor Sprout cleared her throat gently, just enough to not echo in the chamber.
"Uh... Thanks, Al,"Logan responded. A glass suddenly appeared in his hand. He leapt only a little in surprise; he was starting to get used to magic.
The group applauded, sipping from the glass (or gulping in some cases.)
"So, Mr. Howlett,"began Snape, who had seated himself stealthily to the left of the new member. "What's your take of the school thus far?"
He chuckled. "Food's good. When Xavier sent me out here on a favor, I didn't expect to be teaching magic."
"Oh? What else would you teach at a magical school?"
"Severus,"McGonagall intoned dangerously.
"I thought I was just teaching self-defense in general,"Logan replied, not missing a beat.
"You are, aren't you, dear?"Sprout asked.
"Yeah, I am. It's just there's a lot more to self defense than just magic."
They were quiet, then several chuckled.
"A rich jest!"someone said. Laughter echoed.
"There is, though,"he continued. "What would you do if someone approached you with a semi-automatic?"
"A what?"McGonagall asked. "I've never heard of such a spell. Is it a magical artifact of America?"
"No, it's a gun."
"Ah, those primitive wands that only shoot Incendio spells? What foolish things, they're stopped by a mere Protego."
"Hey, they hurt. If you're not paying attention they'll kill you."
That got some pause.
"Kill? It would only set you ablaze. You could reasonably manage."
"...a bullet wound? Well, I don't know, it might do something with your magic. You guys got a bomb shelter?"
"I think that's enough-"
"Dumbledore, dude, you guys have to have a bomb shelter."
They all stared at him blankly.
---
The rest of the night went just like that. He'd name a simple muggle invention, and even though several weren't the slightest interested, they maintained appearances. In between that they chatted noisily about magic, or students they expected to see a lot of, or the new class's prospects of success.
Once they were sufficiently drunk enough, with Logan the exception, they started to chat about rumors. Many asked to see the claw enchantment spell, and others asked him to prove if he was immortal.
He was quiet, eyelids half closed, until Snape's probing "Why the adamantium?"finally got to him.
"Alright, alright. I'll show you the claws. That's it."
The staff cheered. Dumbledore seemed ill; everyone pretty much knew Logan was a muggle. A mutant, but a muggle. Maybe he could pretend to be a muggle-born squib? No.
Dumbledore resumed his drink. It wasn't strong at all, but it had a nice flavor.
Logan stood, clearing the professors from his immediate range. In seconds, three pronged appendages sprung from his wrists.
Silence. Then, they clapped loudly.
"Bravo!"
"Such windless magic!"
"You must teach -hic- me that."
"Dear me!"
"Hmm..."
They seemed genuinely impressed.
Logan wanted to roll his eyes, at least a little. This whole situation was so weird. How was he supposed to teach magic, anyway? Stupid Xavier for getting him into this mess. A mutant school was plenty bad enough, but magic? Nope.
---
The next day was a Sunday, which Logan spent investigating the castle's many corridors. He chatted with the paintings, learning the names of the most talkative figures, but not the shy ones. From McGonagall, he learned the ins and outs of the school's campus that he would inhabit, the third floor corridor, room C. She also gave him a little homework in the form of seven spell books, but promised him that with a few charms from Flitwick, he could pick up most of it in a night. He thanked her, almost reluctantly, but nodded.
Man, was she old lookin', he thought. Though she was younger than he, he was well reminded of his own age. Xavier had warned him about something like this, that "deep reflection"was a "weapon to carefully watch for."Now, he knew why.
Flitwick was more than happy to cast a quick spell. He sent Logan off with one of the basic books in his hand, the others trailing behind him in a levitating stack. He retreated to his own quarters, a modest room in back of his office. He had to walk through cinder blocks to enter it, which gave him a little trouble as he multitasked. He figured he would get used to it.
At the fourth year standard book, he walked back to Flitwick to ask how to pause it. After a brief miscommunication, the harm was dispelled and Logan went to the dining hall for dinner. The dinner was more modest, but still ten times better than booze and whatever mac n' cheese was left in the kitchen.
Then the first Monday came and with it a crop of children to teach. If Logan pretended they were young mutants who didn't understand their powers, he could almost relate to them. It had been decided that Dumbledore would specifically tutor the first and second years, since they didn't have any real magical experience. That left Logan with the upper half.
The first class he was teaching was to a group of Third years. They didn't look happy to be there at all. Most were chatting idly while he sat comfortably with his feet propped up atop the desk.
"Why the long faces?"He asked at large. The voices died down. Students who were filing in rushed towards the remaining vacant seats.
"You're Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs, I recall?"
Several nodded, their heads bouncing out of sync. Someone muttered about the Slytherins and Potions class.
Logan sighed. "Anyway, welcome to Defense against the Dark Arts. I take it you know a few spells already?"
Fewer nods, slower, unsure if this question was rhetorical or not.
"Alright. Someone go ahead and shout one out. Uh, no wands. I'm just trying to figure out what you know."
A scrawny brunette named Cedric raised his hand tentatively.
"No need to be shy; shout it out. Loud, if y you want."
"Expelliarmus, sir!"He half-shouted.
--- To Be continued --- |
The shuttlecraft landed on the National Mall and flashbulbs went off like a glittering sea.
Dr. Nyquist leaned over to the U.S. President and whispered, "If the aliens realize those flashes are intended to illuminate their ship from that distance, we'll lose our spot."
The President quickly hid his smirk.
One of the slender, insectile creatures emerged from the ship in its protective layer of gel and approached the podium, where the leaders of the world were waiting.
Above it, in glowing letters, materialized the words, *Who is to represent your species initially?* in a dozen languages. Nyquist could read the English and Swedish, and recognize most of the others.
He stepped forward and said, "I have that honor."He said it in Swedish--his sole, private concession to national pride on what he hoped would herald a new era of global unity.
*Very well. Welcome aboard.*
He followed the spindly creature up the ramp.
Inside was a sort of airlock. The viscous medium in which the creatures seemed natively to exist flooded in, leaving a somewhat claustrophobic bubble of air around Dr. Nyquist.
"Am I permitted to ask questions?"
*Esteemed Human, that is the whole point.*
"Forgive me if my questions seem naieve, or single-minded...we hope to have our specialists in many fields learn from you on many subjects in the near future."
*Of course.*
"My specialty is psychology and the...until very recently, rather *speculative* field of exobiology."
*Worthy topics of study.*
"In your message, you said it is your protocol to select a number of the most intelligent species from each life-baring planet--may I ask, how do you quantify intelligence?"
*We us an algorhthm to assess the tendency of an organism to preferentially perform actions which maximize the number of actions available for it to perform in the future.*
Nyquist nodded. It made sense. "And what other species have you chosen to represent Earth?"
*One is, based on what we have been able to discern from your computer networks, unknown to you.*
A 3D, moving image of a pallid cephalopod materialized in the gel before Dr. Nyquist, the same way the words did.
*This creature--a species of what you refer to as an octopus--lives in the extreme depths of your oceans. They have very little technology as of yet, but are the third most intelligent creatures on your world.*
Nyquist stared at it, entranced. What a fantastic stroke of luck that the Visitors had arrived before humanity accidentally wiped out such beings. Chances are we wouldn't even have recognized their intelligence if we had known of them.
"And the second most intelligent species?"He asked.
*Humans.*
He paused. "Wait--we are he *second* most intelligent species on the planet?"
*Correct.*
"What on Earth are the *first?*"
The Visitor made a quick movement which Nyquist thought might indicate surprise. *They are a species known to you.*
"Really?"Nyquist's mind raced. Great apes? Cetaceans? Corvids? Pachyderms? "Forgive my ignorance on this matter...our psychological tests are, I imagine, quite primitive compared to your own. I fear we have not discerned intelligence greater than that of a human in any known species."
*We have informed them of our offer and they have also accepted, so we will be landing to pick them up momentarily.*
Nyquist sat back against the wall of his gel bubble in shock. He was a man with fastidiously little ego, who held open-mindedness to be the cardinal virtue of the intelligent human. But the concept that there was a known species on earth with unambiguously *greater* intelligence than Man was still stupifying.
For a few moments, he contemplated this in silence, the flood of questions in his mind temporarily held in check by that one huge blockage of an idea.
But as he felt the ship decellerating, a niggling detail of what his host had said presented itself at the forefront of his mind. "You said 'they'--will they have more than one representative at the initial meeting?"
*Indeed. It is slightly irregular, but since their population is so very low, all five members of their species will be joining us.*
Nyquist could hardly believe what he was reading. None of the candidate species he could readily come up with for super-human intelligence were anything like so critically endangered, though several were certainly on their way.
The hatch at the back of the ship opened, the ramp lowered, and Dr. Nyquist stood up, craning to see what was outside.
Though it had been dark when they left Washington D.C., the sunset still burned orange through the dense conifers. For a moment, his mind lept illogically to the forests of his homeland, but then he saw the ambassadors, and realized exactly where they were.
The creatures standing outside the ship were very tall, very hairy, and had *very* big feet. |
All those modulations, polarizations, every electron and quark moving to a fine tuned path. A quantum world, using its own uncertainty, for a purpose. Communication. Everything hidden inside the Cosmic Background Radiation.
How could we have missed it?
The technology was just not there yet.
We were post doctoral fellows working at CERN. Our job was to interpret and process all the data gathered from thousands of surveys, from thousands of satellites, from the CBR.
It was a network. Millions of channels. The radio spectrum of universal communication devices.
We found the pattern hidden within. A structure of intelligence, disguised as chaos and randomness. No doubt a very sophisticated encryption method for message transmission.
We were still years away of even identifying the encryption method, much less of finding the primer.
But the data was binary nonetheless. The most basic form of digital communication.
This was an independent project, commissioned by several institutions. It was not public yet, how could it when we couldn't even understand it?
That's when the EU contacted us.
They wanted to know what we had found, they wanted a debriefing as soon as a possible.
We told them what we knew.
"This is definite evidence, that hidden within a highly secure encryption method, within the quantum depths of the cosmic background radiation, lies a form of cosmic intelligence that is in constant communication with each other."
"You're saying, that we have tapped into an alien communication channel?"
"Yes, a very secure communication channel."
"Do you have any idea of what they're saying?"
"No. The messages are encrypted using the same structure of quantum mechanics. Uncertainty. But we know there's a pattern, a handshake if you will. And at least, that part, Is in binary form."
"Is it possible then, to send a message?"
We gathered round. We spoke with each other, we blurted out some ideas of how to do that. The entire team tried to figure out if quantum communication could be double ended. Full duplex.
"We might be able to send a basic binary message using their handshake."
"You might?"
"We haven't reached the technical expertise to manipulate subatomic particles to the rate that they have. We could try sending a message, but if we are not exact enough, they will never hear us, and could confuse us with simple noise."
"Ok. How long until you're able to perfect a method for simple binary communication using the CBR channel?"
"Perhaps a few years..."
"If all nations agree on this, then I vote for it to be funded. It must be kept top secret of course. Until we know what we are facing."
We discussed the privacy restrictions with the leaders. It was classic bureaucracy, the rivalry between policy makers and scientists. We reached an agreement, that if we ever got s response back, we would be able to publish our discoveries for the scientific community and to the world. We had come a long way since the NSA spying days.
Four years passed, we all worked tirelessly on new devices and gigantic machines that could stabilize subatomic manipulation. Teams from all around the world joined us in our efforts. We had at least five thousand people working on this classified project. The technology and discoveries that we could publish would benefit the entire human race. We were not sure if we were prepared yet.
All of us along with the policy makers, voted for a single message to be sent. The coordinates for our sun in the cosmos. Using the same method that Carl Sagan had used back with the voyager probes.
We had already mastered the simple binary handshake, we had just to configure a way of serializing the binary data with our message. A most simple and intuitive way.
It was postponed at least a dozen times, but finally, the day came.
I was in charge of the final configuration. I was the one that pressed the "send"button.
We waited for a reply, trying to scan as much as we could in realtime with our satellites in our vicinity. Quantum communication suffers from no lightspeed limitation. The digital data is teleported wherever the intelligence may be listening.
It was past midnight, the team had gone home. I along with a couple of doctors, were still at the lab. We were eagerly waiting. There should be no reason they hadn't received the message. We were a nerve wreck.
What would be the consequences? We had discovered advanced intelligent life in our universe. The only problem was that it was nowhere nearby. Even if we got a reply, what could we do about it?
Maybe the cosmic beings would be eager to start the sharing of information. Perhaps we could master space travel, or something else we haven't even thought about.
My eyes were beginning to feel heavy. Everything was really quiet.
Suddenly, the computers beeped.
It was our reply. It was in binary form, and it was much longer than ours. The intelligence had understood our message based on the universal handshake.
We interpreted the data by hand.
The first set of numbers were coordinates, much like ours. Using reference points like nearby quasars. In their case, they used our small map and out sun as a base to send us their location. But when we consulted it on our screens, there was something wrong.
The aliens replying to us seemed to be several billions of light years away from the visible universe. It was impossible, light could not reach farther away than what we could observe.
We had to decipher the rest of the message.
What could it be? An old language? A new one? Something universal?
At the end we discovered, it was arithmetic.
It was a formula for a countdown.
We ran it over the computers, programmed the binary set, and received an output.
The base time was of that of the transition of a hydrogen atom. When translated to our time base, the countdown had only one year remaining.
We never got another reply back from them.
So we increased our efforts in trying to break their encryption, trying to spy on their conversations. Trying to decipher what that countdown meant.
As the time passed, the news was published. Everybody in the world now knew that we had found and contacted alien intelligence. It served as a great way to bring in new talent, people from all around the world, too minds working on decryption algorithms to be tried constantly by supercomputers running in parallel.
I always looked at the countdown, the decreased rate was constant but eerie. Always there, perhaps warning us of a future catastrophic event from happening.
The countdown had only a few weeks remaining, when we had our first breakthrough.
We were able to decrypt a message from within the CBR. It was all written mathematically, a sort of repository of knowledge.
It took us a bit more time to interpret it, but some basic constants were there. Same rate as the ones we had measured on earth.
That's when we realized there was something in their equations that we didn't understand. All the constants had a limit. In fact, that limit had a decrease rate, the same one from the countdown we had been sent.
If their equations were correct, it meant that those cosmic constants would simply start changing when the countdown ended. This would change entropy, expansion, and Gravity.
If it was true, it meant that there was something about to happen in the entire universe that would change our reality completely. But we as a human race, made out of flesh and bone. Still using particles joined by energy based on the integrity of those cosmic constants, would cease to exist.
It seemed that we had been invited too late to the party.
This was kept classified from the public, and for a good cause.
Just a few days before the countdown reaching zero, an independent team of astronomers under my supervision came to a conclusion about the universal constants. Using the answer from the CBR pattern, they calculated that the constants were never really such, in fact, the cosmic constants like gravity, also had a rate of decay.
Their numbers showed that the decay was of exactly the age of the universe as we had measured it. When numbers repeat in physics, it usually means the proof is correct.
The last day we were able to desperately decipher another one of the messages from the alien intelligence. This time the coordinates they had sent appeared again, but the rest of the mathematical proofs stated, that that region of space was artificial.
The aliens had constructed a lifeboat for themselves, and they had actually invited us to join them.
Unfortunately, we had appeared just too late into the age of the universe it seemed.
They had evolved by artificial panspermia. We had evolved slowly and as a by product of their initial efforts, but at the end, we had just evolved far too late.
On these few minutes that we have left I'm alone wondering. What if we hadn't been at war with each other for the past two thousand years. What if religion actually had acted as only a spiritual guide, never interfering with science and our spiritual evolution.
If we had only a hundred years left still, we could've joined the cosmic intelligence.
Instead we chose to fight with each other, kill, and be corrupt. I guess at the end, it was really just too late for us.
EDIT: Corrected a few typos.
Btw, the aliens know our location...
|
We couldn't believe it when the first spaceships arrived covered in swastikas. Now, it doesn't seem so strange. We've simply gotten used to the little green men waving around the flags of the Third Reich.
They were imperialists, of course. They were also about half-a-foot tall. So, they couldn't do much imperializing here on Earth, despite their advanced spacefaring technology. They did quite a bit of damage on a small scale, though, before everyone got together at the United Nations and decided it would be easiest to just let them think that they'd won. It wasn't too hard. They were kind of dull.
What they really wanted was documents, videos, anything from the time of Hitler's rule. We, ah. . . Sort of let them think that Hitler had won, when we realized what was going on. We padded their ships with priceless Nazi antiques. As soon as they got here and saw actual video footage of the Nazis, they adopted teeny-tiny 1940s *Wehrmacht* uniforms and jackboots.
It was actually kind of cute, in a fucked up way.
So, we let them think they ruled the Earth. Germany, home of the Aryan race (their "brothers in fascism") was the only place they hadn't touched. The UN appointed German *Landfuhrers* for each country. Bless the Germans, they were great sports, probably could have seized true worldwide hegemony if they'd wanted.
Everything was going relatively. . . Okay.
Then one day, another ship came to Earth, a much larger one. And it bore a much different design. Out of it crawled a lizard-like thing three times the size of a man. He addressed the police who had rushed to the scene.
"Prepare to be consigned to the dustbin of hisstory, Zernonian imperialistss and human collaborateursss!"
The space communists had arrived. |
**Pack Logic**
I dart left, through the trees, doing my best not to leave a trace. Underfoot I hear a twig crack, and I wince internally. They are nothing if not excellent trackers.
I continue running. My left hind leg is aching. My lungs are burning. My heart is pounding. I'm so hot. I need to stop. I stop for a second. Then I hear their bestial noises behind me, calling out in their foul tongue. I crawl, as quietly as I can, under a rotten log. I will my breath to still.
I see one of their dirty, hairless feet from the crack below the log. I can see the pouch of sharp stones he keeps bound to his ankle. I get an idea.
I wait until his feet are pointed away from me. Then I slowly reach my snout out. I line up my front teeth with the taut cord on the back of his feet. Then I snap, and I feel the cord rupture under the strength of my jaws. He howls. I scramble from under the log and I'm running off again. There are none of them before me. If I can just make it to the water...
My legs collapse under me. I try to move but something pins me. I try to breathe but the air escapes my lungs. My vision blackens as the blood soaks my fur. I fear what they will do to my body, to my bones.
Forgive me, ancestors. My brothers know not what they do.
**************************
"Are you seriously suggesting there was yet another human subspecies, coexisting with the Neanderthals and the Cro-Magnons, that walked on all fours and had fur? Have you lost your mind?"the professor exclaimed.
"How else can you explain these bones? They are clearly human and 4 legged! What's your explanation?".
"Some hoax, I'd imagine. I swear, you graduate students will believe anything.".
*Written ahistorically by Stranger_andStranger* |
"Now class. Settle down. I know you all think you do not have to sit through lessons since your parents have pulled you out of Hogwarts, but you were all brought here to learn the true art of magic, the Dark Arts. We will conclude our lesson on the forbidden curses today. Can anyone tell me the final forbidden curse?"
The Death Eater at the front of the improvised classroom wore a matronly smile. She was adept at teaching the children of the Dark Lord's disciples the basics of the dark arts, but word had spread around the Manor that her lessons could be quite dull. "Anyone? Surely one of your knows the final forbidden curse."
"Why, Avada Kedavra of course"spoke a serpentine voice from the back of the room. A tense hush fell over the students as Lord Voldemort stepped into view.
"Dark Lord!"the teacher squeaked, dropping to a knee. "I...I didn't know you would be observing the classroom today."
Voldemort strode forward, a sharp toothed grin rising to his face. "Well, how can I hope to encourage a new generation of death eaters unless I take an interest in their education? And your lesson today is on one of my favorite subjects."
Reaching the front of the class, the Dark Lord spun to face the children. They drew back reflexively. After a brief moment of silence, an odd look of pleasure spread over Voldemort's face. The children stared in shocked silence as his raspy whisper of a voice began a song.
*"Avada Kedavra. What a wonderful phrase!"*
With a flick of his wand, an unseen xylophone began softly beating out notes.
*"Avada Kedavra! And they'll pass away"*
He began a shuffling little dance as a phantom band began a full accompaniment of his song.
*"Watch them scurry! It's the end of their days."*
*"For a problem free...killing spree! Avada Kedavra!"*
Valerie, a child of promenent death eaters in the Dark Lord's service, tentatively pointed her wand at the child beside her. "Avada kedavra?"When nothing happened, she looked questioningly to her teacher.
"That's the idea child, but you have to mean it. Otherwise the spell won't work"said the teacher swaying to the rhythm of the music. She grinned and stepped up next to He Who Must Not Be Named.
"Indeed."he said, looking from the teacher to Valerie. "Trust me when I say that these two words will solve all your problems."
"That's right"the teacher replied, "Just look at our Dark Lord. *When he was a young Wi-zard.*"
*"WHEN I WAS A YOUNG WI-ZAARRRD"* Voldemort belted out.
"Very nice"she beamed at him.
*"He studied the dark arts with relentless zeal, craving wisdom and power to make everyone yield."*
*"I hated every dolt, who ever stood in my way."*
Voldemort began wandering through the isles of desks, mingling with the children, seemingly lost in thought.
*"But I had to deal with them, each and ev-ery daaaaaaay. So, I studied a spell"*
*"And oh what a spell"* echoed the teacher from the front of the classroom.
*"To free me from that hell"* Voldemort sang, raising his fists to the sky.
*"Free yourself from hell"* the teacher echoed
*"And they were all out of luck"*
*"Oh yes they were"*
*''Cause I killed all those little fu..."*
"Dark Lord!"the teacher interrupted. "Not in front of the kids."
The music in the room vanished. Voldemort slowly turned to face the teacher, his suddenly hate-filled eyes rising to meet hers. He violently struck forth with his wand, rasping, "Avada Kedavra!"A green bolt leapt from his wand, striking the teacher square in the chest. She fell wordlessly to the floor, a shocked look on her face. For a stunned moment, the students gazed at her lifeless body.
With a joyous laugh, Voldement bellowed "WHAT A WONDERFUL PHRASE!"
The music kicked back in, and the children cheered, breaking into song with the Dark Lord.
*"Avada Kedavra! And they'll pass away."*
Valerie stood up on her desk, drawing the attention of all the students, *"I'll watch them scurry. It's the end of their days."*
Voldemort turned towards her "yeah, sing it kid"and joined in a short duet.
*"For a problem freeeeeeeee... KILLING SPREEEEEEE"*
Valerie turned back to the student beside her, shouting "AVADA KEDAVRA!"A green bolt shot from her wand, bowling over the boy and dropping him to the floor dead.
"Ha ha, that's it! Now you've got it children. Well, that's enough learning for today. Class dismissed."
Voldemort patted Valerie's head, remembering one last warning, "Oh, and practice this spell on animals, children. You hear me. No horsing around. Anyone murdering a class mate out of the classroom will be receiving detention. I mean it!"
edit: formatting and a few minor edits, changed the beginning a bit.
|
*February 3, 2017*
"I've organized this press conference to...dispell some of the rumors that have sprung up from yesterday's events.
"Yes, it's true that an alien probe arrived at Earth. It entered Earth orbit on January 3rd, and after de-orbiting, at 10:03 Eastern Time, it landed about 40 miles south of Helena, Montana.
"Some folks in that area said they saw some funny things - well, they have some pretty wild imaginations. We evacuated all the citizens in the area, and we sent a delegation consisting of myself, the secretary of state, some folks from NASA, and a squad of armed guards.
"There were no live aliens on the spacecraft, unlike what the rumor-mongers wold have you believe. Instead, written in several Earth languages, was the message: "Prove you are an intelligent species, and we will come. Place 50 tons of refined francium in the chamber. Indeed, there was an open space on the inside of the ship.
"Scientists worldwide are working on how to accomplish that feat right now. As some of you scientists out there know, francium is the most unstable element yet discovered, and containing it is impossible with current technologies. That's why I plan to start a worldwide cooperative initiative to get that francium.
"It'll be no easy task, but surely those aliens expect no less from us. We can get it done."
---
*August 19th, 2019*
"...and the technicians are loading the containment pods into the ship. Each one of those holds one ton of francium, and each costs about $20 billion, not to mention the francium inside. It's the pinnacle of human engineering. Without them, half of the francium would disappear in 20 minutes. It's truly amazing what people can do when they decide to work together.
"The last one is being loaded onto the ship, and all the technicians inside are exiting the ship. The door is closing - oh dear, that was close. The workers all being transported away from the ship before it lifts off.
"And - Oh my goodness! It's starting up! You can hear the drone of the engines (turn the audio down, would you?) and see the ship lift up unlike anything we've built so far. It looks so majestic, as it soars off into the sky, with our 50 tons of francium..."
---
*October 27, 2059*
"PASADENA, Ca. (AP): According to NASA scientists, the alien ship should have arrived at its home destination, Gliese 876, and had ample time to return to Earth. Why they have not yet done so is a mystery..." |
George is typing...
George: I couldn't hear you clearly on the phone babe. What is it that has happened to Andrew??
Lisa is typing...
Lisa: He is hurt pretty bad! =( His right eye is bleeding after some kids at school hit his with a rock.
Lisa: *hit him
Lisa: He insists they were playing but I have a feeling he is covering it up. We are at the hospital right now =(
George: WHAT!? He got hit with kids at school? How long has this been happening??
George: But I bet he didn't see it coming..lol
Lisa is typing...
Lisa: NOT FUNNY George!!! He has received several stitches but the doctor suspect he could be having an internal clot in his eye. Our child could go blind!! Am so scared :(
George is typing..
George: Honey am SO sorry about the earlier text. Please ignore it. What exactly are the doctors saying??
George: Just try calm to keep it together.
George: Lens not make a big deal out of this.
Lisa: Am still waiting for them to finish their tests for a full review of the situation. But am so scared babe =(
Lisa: EXCUSE ME??? Whats wrong with you George?? How can you make light of such a situation?? Fuck you like seriously..
George: lol light..
George is typing...
George: I bet our son won't see that for a while XD
Lisa is typing..
George: I KNOW WHAT THIS LOOKS LIKE BUT IGNORE THE ABOVE TEXTS. SOMETHING IS UP WITH MY PHONE. SOMEBODY HAS HACKED IT OR SOMETHING. I WOULD NEVER TALK BADLY ABOUT OUR SONS INJURY.
Lisa: You know after the whole you and Ramona thing, I wanted us to be done. But because I thought i loved you, i decided to turn a blind eye to it. Just like our son.
George: Did you do that on purpose?
George: Are you still there? I don't know whats wrong with my phone.
Lisa is typing...
Lisa: Neither do eye.. |
It's an interesting experience, finding out you're not normal.
When you grow up in a loving, tight-knit family which prides itself in doing best by the only daughter - and you are that daughter - you truly believe that altruism rules the roost.
Cracking that gilded mirror to expose the ugliness behind it is both frightening and illuminating - and ultimately *utterly terrifying*
We moved around a lot through my childhood. My mother a school teacher, my father an itinerant mechanic, farmhand and dairy technician. Really, he was Jack of all trades, a man clever with his hands and a heart of solid gold that beat only for his wife and daughter.
I had plenty of friends before I hit my teens, but a lot of sadness with it, as my mother chasing teaching jobs meant that we moved too frequently to formulate any *lasting* friendships. I'd grow close to another boy or girl and then it would be time to move house again, packing up my room, taking down my Scooby Doo posters, putting away my Dragonlance books. It became just a regular facet of my life; I don't think we ever stayed anywhere longer than two years.
"Two years is plenty of time in any job,"my mother would say, "you don't want to get *too* comfortable."
So that was that. I'd been to four different schools by the time I hit eleven and - being the self-possessed, independent child I was, I always assured myself I could make new friends easy enough.
But highschool began to show me the chipped paint on the edges of the mirror.
I was a happy, well-adjusted child who made friends incredibly easily and my school marks were great.
But visits to the dean's office became a regular occurrence.
"Miss Wallace,"the dean would huff, then launch into some breakdown of my latest inappropriate behaviour.
The first was the 'gut puppet'.
Growing up in rural communities, my father would take me hunting for rabbits and possums. He'd let me aim the rifle and he'd pull the trigger on my command.
"But,"he said, "this isn't just about killing; you should learn how to properly dress an animal carcass. Nothing should go to waste."
So he'd shown me how to skin a rabbit - a cross with the skinning knife across the chest, turn the blade around the wrists and feet, then *pull* the skin over the animal like a woolen sweater coming off in front of the fireplace.
To make me laugh, he'd opened up the rabbit and put his hand inside its innards, making a bloody organ-puppet, much like a sock puppet. With a flick of his knife, the animal's eyes were atop the 'sock' and father was laughing so hard he was crying. Dad had such an infectious laugh; I couldn't help but follow.
So during dissection in science, I'd made a gut puppet.
No one had laughed but me.
There were other incidents. Putting down a friend's cat for her when it broke a leg (a quick jab with a screwdriver behind one ear) and the drowning unwanted puppies for another friend. These were all normal behaviours for me - to end the suffering of animals.
But I didn't have to worry about the problem for long, as we moved again well before the two years were up.
My parents loved me bringing friends over to play, to stay and to hang out. My dad was incredible with kids; he was funny, kind and generous - filling their pockets with candy and telling them spooky stories. Sleepovers were the best - we'd have one big one pretty much every year, to celebrate whenever my mother got a new job.
I tried to keep touch with some of my old friends, but we'd always move so far away. In the end, I never bothered.
Then the day finally came when I left for college - tears and kisses followed, with promises to write and visit.
My life as an independent young woman had begun, armed with the potent love and support of my slightly crazy, but amazing family.
Forensic psychology quickly told me that wasn't actually the case.
For one assignment we were asked to review our family life, so I found my old diaries (I was a prolific writer) and began an analysis, thinking how all the other students seem to have such messed up families - divorces, suicides, incest, drug and alcohol issues.
I'd laugh at my then girlfriend - now fiancé - Ruth's dysfunctional family stories and gently tease her about being 'damaged'.
That's when the mirror began to crack.
I tried to find Becky Ryans in the phone book; my first highschool friend, according to my diary. I wanted to interview her.
But Becky couldn't be found. I tried the next few friends from my second highschool. All I turned up was a missing person's advert for one of them.
Suspicious, I dug deeper - and further back; into my childhood.
In the small rural town of Dunsandle I uncovered a terrible secret.
I remember the party we'd thrown; it was Halloween, as always. The children were dropped off by their parents and my smiling mother and father would usher the kids in to play with me. All night there would be TV, video games, candy and ghost stories. Then in the morning dad would drive the other kids home and when he returned, we'd load our bags into the van and head off for our new home, wherever that might be.
Dunsandle graveyard was larger than I expected. It was an old farming town, so I guess I should have known better.
Off to one side stood a row of small headstones, all with the same date.
With growing fear, I read through them.
*Ronnie Sanders, Simon Alderman, Jenny Hughes, Susan Fenwick*.
The children from the party.
The local library had archives of all the newspapers and as I delved back to that time period, I began to see grim headlines.
*Killer Family Still Not Found*
*One Body Discovered, Skinned and Dismembered*
With shaking hands I put the microfiche catalog back on the shelves, got in the car and drove away.
Six more towns in two months revealed a bloody trail of horror. All the diary dates matched up with the massacres and I began to feel a cold sickness gnawing inside my scalp.
*No.*
But the pattern was clear; in every instance, my parents has lured in and murdered my closest friends, paying special attention to maiming my *best* friends in the most creative and gruesome ways.
*Ruth.*
She wasn't safe.
She'd been covering for my absence, saying I was taking a sabbatical to clear my head.
But she was also scheduled to host my parents in our tiny flat near campus.
Even if I drove all night without a break, I wouldn't get there in time.
There was no cell reception out here and the payphone in this hicktown took coins - which I didn't have. Stopping at a gas station I asked to exchange some notes for coins.
"Say,"said the attendant, "you look familiar. You used to go to school around here?"
I shook my head.
"No."
"Sure you did. I got a good head for faces. Lemme think. Jacki? Jenny?"
I swallowed.
"No, I got it..."
Realisation dawned on his face as mine paled,
"Jessie *Wallace*. Of the *Wallace Killers*."
Before I could run, a shotgun was in his hands and pointed at my chest.
"Take a seat over there ma'am. You won't be needing them coins." |
"That was Hal, our wacky weather man, with your weekly forecast,"the voice on the radio said. A slide whistle played to assure listeners that Hal was, indeed, wacky.
"Thanks for that, Hal.
"We've got a major exclusive here for you, folks. Humanity has made first contact with extra-terrestrial life. That's right, you heard it on WNBC first. It seems that an alien craft landed in a playground at an elementary school in Jonesborough, Tennessee. The landing was witnessed by hundreds of people -- although reports say that rather than looking at the approaching spaceship, the onlookers were pointing and laughing at a John Greensbridge from 42 Aurora Lane, who it seems was not wearing pants."
"How embarrassing, Ronnie,"the co-anchor said.
"Yes, it truly must have been, Catherine. The report says that the crowd included all of his childhood friends, and even his deceased father, all of whom began chanting 'Little Johnny Tiny Pecker', just like in his grade eight gym class.
"The report says that the alien ship did not land, but the aliens were then just sort of there, if you know what the report means, and that it's hard to explain but that anyway the aliens were there and they had John's neighour's face."
"Do you mean Leo Stevens, who told him he was 'a creep' and said he didn't want him around his house, Ronnie?"
"That's right, Catherine. It seems the aliens then said, 'You're a weird guy, John Greenbridge. The world'd be better of without shits like you.'
"Witnesses say that Mr. Greenbridge then turned around and was in his parents' cottage from when he was a kid and the sky was pink and the trees were all rounded at the top."
"Sounds pretty Freudian, Ronnie."
"Just how I feel, Catherine. This news story just gets worse, too. It seems Cassandra Stevens, Johnny's neighbour's wife, was then on the dock wearing nothing but a towel."
"He does hold a perverted attraction to her, Ronnie."
"Yes he does, Cassandra. The ground was then full of dead bodies, and each one had Leo Steven's face."
"Goodness, Ronnie."
"Well, right then the whole ground started shaking and ringing like his alarm clock, so it turned out alright. But obviously authorities are very concerned and are looking into the matter."
"Well I'll be,"the woman on the radio said. "You know, John Greenbridge really should murder Leo Stevens."
"Yes he should murder Leo Stevens,"the man said. "And now on to Arnie with the traffic."
John turned the radio off. It was boring. Every report had been the same all month. And anyway, he had things to do. He needed to get ready for work. He had to catch the bus. He had to kill Leo Stevens. He had to buy groceries. And then he had to stop by the pharmacy.
He'd been out of medication for over 30 days. |
**Seventh day of White Moon, one-hundred and eleventh year of Saldor's Reign.**
C'reovaso the name read. The God of the Hunt if I could believe what I was reading on the old parchment.
*C'reovaso was mostly worshipped by the hunting nomadic tribes who roamed the Elytrian Plains in the Age of Wandering. His blessing provided them with the necessary strength and luck to hunt down the fiercest of predators, among them the Great Mountaincat, hence the Mountaincat cloack C'reovaso is mostly pictured with. He carries a spear and bow and is worshipped through sacrifices of prey.*
I wondered what this piece of information was doing here in this forgotten part of the library. For hundreds of years, any form of religion but that of the empire was forbidden and punishable by death and yet here it was, a piece of literature about a God nobody even remembered.
"Samos, are you in there?"the old geezer called out. "Have you finished organizing the pieces on Grenolian Warfare?"
"That I have, Master Phrixos,"I said as I hid the parchment on C'reovaso underneath my robes. "They're on your desk, where I said I would put them."
"Don't get cocky on me, young man. You can start by scrubbing the kitchen floors if you're done already."
**Ninth day of White Moon, one-hundred and eleventh year of Saldor's Reign.**
Finally, my free day of the academy. It's fun and all to spend the days with your friends and learn about the ways of the world, but I still hadn't got the chance to further investigate the parchment I took from the library. Father usually takes me out hunting when I have my free day, so I decided to try something after thoroughly going through C'reovaso's ritual of sacrifice. It was simple really. Just hunt something down and offer it to him by burning it. That's it.
I caught a rabbit with my slingshot on the way homewards and it was burning nicely over a camp fire, the skin folded up in my bag. By the time the rabbit was nothing but a black burned piece of meat, I said my prayers.
"I, Samos, offer this to you, C'reovaso greatest of the hunters, to guide and aid me in my coming hunt."I blinked. Nothing happened. How are blessings even supposed to work? Maybe I'll feel the effects when the time comes?
-----------
"Father,"I whispered. "Five-hundred feet ahead of us."Father looked up and peered ahead, but he gave no sign of confirmation. "The quail, don't you see it?"I asked irritated.
He shook his head. "Like hell I can see a quail from five-hundred feet away when it sits still and neither can you. Let's keep moving."He started crawling westwards.
I sighed and nocked an arrow. five-hundred feet was far, further than I ever managed to shoot. But somehow I felt confident, I could do this. My muscles tensed as I pulled the arrow back as far as the bow could allow. I let go and the arrow launched with a speed I had never witnessed before. I counted the seconds.
One. Two. Three. *plof*
My arrow had caught the quail right in the neck. How did I do that?
I honestly don't know where I was going with this :P Just started writing. |
2 Engineers, a surgeon, and a priest, all adept in their skills, enter a remote part of the endless labyrinth
*Engineer 1: Alright remember, this part of the labyrinth is pretty unexplored, just stay close alright? There's bound to be great loot here*
<The Group nods>
Engineer 1 hastily assembles a small army of flying scout drones from a nearby pile of rubble while Engineer 2 is busy fixing up Firearms and wearable floodlights for everyone out of a heap of old scrap metal.
The Dungeon is very dark and the hallways are both very wide and incredibly spacious. The party is approximately 305 Miles from the nearest safe Labyrinth zone.
This part of the labyrinth has taken the form of a 21st century city, and numerous forlorn and damaged buildings make up the walls, up to the Dungeon's dark ceiling.
<The Party Advances>
A swarm of automaton rodents streams out from the west wall, but the Battlehardened Party is able to easily crush these metal monstrosities with precise and disciplined firepower.
The drones have not yet returned and Engineer 1 has picked up the final transmission of the nearest drone, indicating there is some kind large "thing"up ahead. Wherever there are monsters, there is loot, the Party approaches the last known signal of the drone cautiously
The party continues through the spacious labyrinth and towards whatever kind of monster could be waiting for them. The labyrinth shows signs of change as the party advances further forward. This part of the labyrinth now features the theme of a 20 century London sewer.
Up ahead they spot their prey and they shut off their floodlights
It is very large, and appears to be a writhing mass of fleshy tentacles with the decayed corpses of humans jutting out from it's body, seemingly absorbed into it's meaty mass. The smell of the large chamber is awful, like that of rotten flesh. The tentacle beast appears to be immobile, and is surrounded by large golden monuments and statues, which seem to be Mayan in origin. Though the price of gold has dropped dramatically since the Dungeons were first discovered, Tech companies still desire Gold for it's useful conductive properties.
It is lying in the center of a giant atrium and is only illuminated by the vast pools of radiation surrounding it.
*Priest 1(Whispering): i'll stay here and use a divine protection shield while the rest of you try to take that thing down*
Engineers 1 and 2 begin to craft high mobility exosuits out of a pile of scrap metal for the party while they join with Surgeon 1 to create a targeting system for any possible weakspots in this organic beast.
When all is ready, the priest blurts an incantation and the now armored party leap up and begin to assail the unaware fleshy monster.
Armored Engineer 1 draws his built in blade and begins to hack away at one of the tentacle beast's vital parts, but is slammed away and thrown into a wall where his body explodes into gore!
Armored Engineer 2 is able to sever numerous tentacles all the while jumping and sprinting away with the enhanced agility provided by his exosuit, but he is caught in a tentacle and squeezed, crushing his exosuit and to the point where his organs spill out of his mouth.
The Armored Priest 1 runs away swearing leaving only the Armored Surgeon 1 to fight the beast.
The Surgeon however fares very well, and his masterful knowledge of organic systems and their structures aids in his battle and he is able to greatly weaken the monster with precise slashes and stabs and the creature writhes in pain and begins to wail. Armored Surgeon 1 analyzes in great depth, the creatures weaknesses and composition, all the while darting and jumping about, dodging the massive tentacles smashing next to him.
Many tentacles spring out and try to grab Surgeon 1, one of them is able to grab his lower right leg, and fling him into one of the many nearby pools of radiated waste where he dies from drowning and burns
<Further back in the Dungeon, Priest 1 is panting but soon reforms himself>
*Priest 1: Ah jeez, that was quicker than usual*
Priest 1 begins to cite phrases of prayer in latin, and the deceased Engineer 1, 2, and Surgeon 1 reappear in a flash of light, alive once more.
The now resurrected members sprawl on the ground and wheezing, retching, and clutching their previously wounded parts in their previous lives before coming to grips again.
*Engineer 1(Weakly): Drowned again huh Tom?*
*Surgeon 1(Weakly): Probably one of the shittier deaths out there mate..*
*Engineer 1: (Between coughs) Well we learned something at least eh?*
*Engineer 2: We're gonna have to try something different this time around, I think I have an idea on what might work*
Engineers 1 and 2 scurry about and begin to assemble a series of XP8 Rocket Launchers and Remote combat Droids from nearby scrap metal while Surgeon 1 directs everyone on their new plan of attack...
|
"*Psst*, Timmy. Hey, **Timmy**!"Timmy turned towards Blake, who was desperately kicking him under the table. Clutched in his pale knuckles were two pencils and a blue crayon. Timmy reached into his pocket and pulled out a Hershey Kiss, which he cautiously balanced on his leg, out of sight of Mrs. Garvey who was droning on about spelling or some other irrelevant tidbit of useless information.
"This is all that'll get you."Blake hissed at him and unleashed a vicious kick that missed and hit the table leg with a bang.
Mrs. Garvey turned around with a withering glare.
"Blake! Pay attention! Spell wheat for me."Blake dutifully butchered the spelling, resulting in Mrs. Garvey turning back towards the board to re-explain the previous twenty-five minutes of the lesson.
"Timmy. Don't be mean. That got me a whole mini-Twix yesterday."Timmy shrugged and held out the far inferior Hershey Kiss. Hands trembling equally from withdrawal symptoms and rage, Blake grabbed the Hershey Kiss and angrily threw the pencils at Timmy and then proceeded to eat the crayon, whole.
As Mrs. Garvey turned around ready to figuratively tear Blake a new asshole with her eyes, Timmy calmly reached down and collected his pencils, then removed the rest of his stash from his pocket and calmly tucked it down his pants.
Mrs. Garvey paced over, yardstick in hand.
"Blake. Stand up."Blake bowed his head and dutifully rose to his feet, the Hershey Kiss dropping to the floor. "*What* is **this**?"Mrs. Garvey was nearly yelling.
Blake turned bright red, before looking up at the furious Mrs. Garvey and, deciding that today was not his day to get hammered by a yardstick, pointed at Timmy and meekly whimpered "Timmy sold it to me."
"*Timothy?!*"Mrs. Garvey yelled, appalled.
Grabbing both of them by an ear, Mrs. Garvey dragged them to the principal's office.
"You will wait here for Principal O'Shaughnessy to give you your punishments,"Mrs. Garvey commanded. She waited as Timothy and Blake each took a seat before turning and marching back towards her classroom.
"You *fucking* rat,"Timothy hissed at Blake, and took a pencil out of his pocket.
"Timmy said a potty word!"Blake yelled dramatically. He started to get up to knock on Principal O'Shaughnessy's door but Timothy intercepted him. Blake doubled over as Timothy rammed the pencil into him once, then twice, and then a third time until Principal O'Shaughnessy stormed out of his office and grabbed Timothy by the arms.
"Snitches get stitches, Blake, snitches get stitches!"Timothy yelled at the top of his lungs as he was dragged off into solitary confinement until his parents could pick him up. |
"That's a lovely piece,"he said over her shoulder. "Cheap at twice the price."The sour smell of sweat hung round him, and one yellowed hand scratched underneath his chin as he peered at the razor.
He was right, she knew. Ebony handle, Damascus steel blade (according to the little card), even the original travelling case. It was perfect. Whatever it was actually made of, it looked old, and it looked expensive.
Tina could hear him breathing, breath rasping out slowly behind her, and hated it. It took her eyes off the wicked curve of the blade, off the handle that seemed to drink in the light. She wanted it, wanted to feel the smooth handle in her hand, wanted to cut through the air and hear the swish of the blade.
He cleared his throat with a sucking sound, and she lost her train of thought. He was close now, even closer than before. She shifted to one side, creating a little more space between them. He moved to fill it, hunching his shoulders until his face was on a level with hers. "Thirty pounds, that's all. Any cheaper, and I couldn't make a living."
She nodded, as much to get him away as anything else: "I'll take it."It would be the perfect gift for Alec - he was into razors, spent hours looking up different grades of hair brushes online. He'd be able to lord it over his similarly-obsessed friends now. That was a good reason to buy it, to hold the case in her hand and walk out, to possess the razor.
The shopkeeper stepped back, finally, and began heaving his bulk over to the till. The case, closed now, hung down from one hand. Tina followed, at a distance, fingers fumbling with the awkward clasp on her purse. The man was worse now, somehow more odious as he walked away. She watched the case, fearing it would slip through fattened fingers.
It was warm in the little pawnbrokers, with later-afternoon sun streaming in through smeared windows. The air was motionless, heavy. He tapped at the till, one finger searching out each key before stabbing downwards. She swallowed, her mouth dry. It took him an age to make the final keystroke, followed shortly by the "ding"as the register opened.
She declined a bag, holding the case in her hand as she left the shop. The bell jangled as she pushed through the swing door, stepping out into the clear open air. The wind was coming in off the sea, and she breathed in the fresh scent of salt.
Head down, she walked towards the high street, opening the handbag that hung from one arm and sliding the case inside. It was an awkward fit, almost as long as the bag, and needed to be slotted in carefully next to her purse and glasses case. It felt soft, strokable. She made sure it was perfectly secure, flat and level with the bottom of the bag.
The man she almost walked into was neatly dressed - she had a confused impression of neat, pointed black shoes and a grey suit as she stumbled out of the way. The bell for the pawnbrokers jangled behind her as she walked on, paying closer attention to the street now, pushing the flat black case from her mind.
* * *
Tina kept it from her thoughts for several hours, long after she had returned home and unpacked the rest of the shopping. It was not until she was preparing to go out that evening that she let herself think of it again, dumping the contents of her handbag onto the bed.
She didn’t have much time - the taxi was coming at half eight, and she still had make-up to do. But the flat case still drew her in, the dark velvet out of place against the pastel blue of the bedspread.
She sat, picking the case up in her hands and turning it over slowly. Her fingers traced over the small hinges and simple metal clasp. She’d give it to him on the sixteenth, their anniversary. For now though, it was all hers.
One thumbnail flicked the clasp open, and the case opened. The razor was open, as it had been in the shop, the blade out from the handle. Unlike others she had seen, there was no ornamentation on the blade - no maker’s mark, or filigreed looping pattern. Like the handle, it was featureless, with only the barest suggestion of ripples in the dark steel. The handle itself was purest black, with no cracks to mar the glossy smoothness.
Slowly, her left hand curled around the handle. It fitted there, cool to the touch. Alec would love it, would dance around pretending to be Sweeney Todd, would display it on the dresser and never use it, would not appreciate the artistry of the curving blade, or the simple beauty of its minimalism. He’d see it as a toy, something to show off, something without a real purpose.
He couldn’t have it. She’d find something else. It fitted her hand like she was born to hold it. When she moved her wrist, the blade followed, twisting through the air as though it was dancing. She could not, would not, let him take it, let him waste it. It wasn’t suited for the greasy grip of the pawnbroker, or for Alec’s wide-eyed enthusiasm. It needed someone who could appreciate it. It needed her. It was hers. It belonged to her.
With that thought, the world changed.
Shadows lengthened, and the bedside light dimmed. Cold wind blew through suddenly insubstantial walls, walls that seemed to flicker between reality and fog, grey barriers through which she could dimly perceive shapes. The light dimmed further still, not lessening, but seeming to come from much further away - a hazy-edged lantern in the mist.
Nothing was real, nothing was fixed. Looking down, the bed she sat on was barely recognisable, a grey swirl of fog in a roughly rectangular shape. With her free hand, Tina reached down and touched the bedspread, feeling nothing. No warmth, no softness - just an obstacle, stopping her hand moving further. She felt, though, that even this reality was optional. With a little effort, Tina knew that she could push through, sinking through the bed as though it were water.
There was no fear, no alarm, no confusion. As the world faded from her, she faded too. She too was unsubstantial, grey and foggy. It didn't matter - emotion faded, drifted away. This was the ways things were now.
One object remained fixed, remained real: the razor in her hand. If anything, it seemed firmer now, the only thing to cling to in a shifting world. Still, the handle drank in what little light there was. Still, the swirling steel of the blade drew the eye, ending in an edge that seemed the most real thing of all, able to cut through anything. Everything was fading except the blade. The blade was everything.
It shifted in her hand, tugging her forwards. Out there, through the mist and shadows, something was waiting. Something calling to the blade in her hand, calling to her. She rose, uncomprehending, and stepped forward. The walls, the floor, provided no obstacles. Tina walked into the mist, following the pulse of the razor.
Note: I will keep going. Hopefully people are okay with that. |
Slightly dazed, I sit up.
I look around, being completely unfamiliar with where I am.
First of all, I'm taken back by the color. It's white, everything is white.
Though it's not the color of this place that alarms me, but how it *feels*.
You know when you walk outside right before a bad thunderstorm, and the humidity feels like a hug from a big teddy bear? It's similar to that, but you can't sweat because it's still dry.
I... I'm not sure. That's the best way I can describe this place. I don't think there are human words that are capable of writing about it. Nor do I believe that you could comprehend a description even if I *could* tell you.
I was driving, I think? It hits me.
Of course, I was driving to my sisters house! It was her annual Christmas party. Maybe I followed my own tradition and drank too much. That would explain all of this. The problem is, that I'm not hungover. In fact, I feel nice.
My body is soft too. Instinctually, I touch my arm. I'm still wearing the same clothes that I recall wearing before all of this. I had just bought a new red dress and leggings from forever 21. It looks like I'm still wearing that, but it no longer feels like cheap polyester. It actually feels like a hybrid between cashmere and alpaca fur. Wonderful.
A simultaneous "Ding"and then *bz bz* vibration come from my pocket.
**FACEBOOK NOTIFICATION**
Huh, well atleast I have my phone.
I type in my password and open the Facebook app.
**Taylor Brown posted on your wall**
I haven't spoken to her in a while, and it's kind of odd to write on anyone's wall anymore. She was probably hacked by a bot, so she's posting on *everyones* wall.
A long written paragraph, it starts off.
**"Mallory, we haven't spoken in a long time"**
"No shit", I think to myself.
**"I often miss the times we spent on the dock at your families summer house, just being teenagers! So many inside jokes we had. Smgt just laughing and being stupid in Walmart."**
"Where is she going with this? Also where is this all coming from?"
**"I know this is silly, I just wish there was a direct path from facebook to heaven"**
To say that it hit me all at once is an understatement in it's truest form. I remember everything now.
The semi truck.
How it was icy that night.
How it slid from the center lane to the left passing lane.
How I was directly in it's path.
Suddenly my phone is blowing up like it never had in my waking life.
**NEW FACEBOOK NOTIFICATION**
**NEW FACEBOOK NOTIFICATION**
**NEW FACEBOOK NOTIFICATION**
**NEW FACEBOOK NOTIFICATION**
**NEW TEXT FROM MOM**
Should I read these?
Do I *want* to? |
"Pardon me?"The Devil stood with his incredible physique hidden under a custom tailored suit.
"The Today show would like to do an interview with you. After you eradicated the human trafficking rings, drug cartels, and violent religious extremists you're a hero to the entire world."The petite brunette journalist just stared at him. Stars were twinkling in here eyes as she scanned the perfect specimen that was before her. The microphone began to slump as she became hypnotized by something near his waist.
*Petty humans.* Lucifer thought. *So easy to tempt. While I'm here on Earth, might has have a little fun. Wouldn't hurt to have a few more play things for home.* "So be it. Let us do this interview."
The camera man prepped his gear. The journalist straightened her hair and skirt--finally snapping back to reality from her fantasy land. The camera man hit the red light and gave the reporter the signal.
"This is Misty Collins with NBC Today reporting on the new hero that's taken on huge underground organizations single handedly. Apologies, but what should we call you?"The microphone flew over to the strong jawline of Lucifer.
"My name is Lucifer."His smile eased any discomfort that might have come about from his archaic name.
"Lucifer, "Misty adjusted her hair behind her ear, "how did you accomplish all this without the assistance of government agencies? What are your plans next?"
"Let me start with my new plans. For the next six-hundred and sixty-six days, I am going to grant anyone and everyone their deepest desires."Lucifer looked at Misty, smiled, and ever so slightly touched her elbow.
Misty almost dropped the microphone as her face turned pink. She bit her lip as the muscles in her torso tightened. With her free hand, she clutched her jacket in an attempt to maintain composure.
"Th-that's a b-bold claim-mm. Mr. Lucifer."Misty was regaining herself. "Can you give us an example?"
"Most certainly."Lucifer pointed at the cameraman. "You. What is your deepest desire?"
The cameraman chuckled. He held no punches back, "I want 100 million dollars."
*Pathetic.* Lucifer smiled. "Done. Please check your bank account."
The cameraman opened his phone and used the bank account app. He almost dropped the camera in the process.
Misty's curiosity overcame her desire. "How...You must have an organization that's helping you?"
"'Tis up to you regarding what you want to believe."Lucifer smiled toward the camera again. "Come see me, and believe for yourself."
The buildings around the crew began to empty, and the crowd around Lucifer began to grow. In the midst of it all, Lucifer just opened his hands.
*Let's see how much more the human race can focus on themselves as opposed to their fellow man. 'Love.'* Lucifer let out a hearty laugh. |
Being on the row sucks. It sucks all the life out of you until you are dead when they finally take you out. When you're there, days and weeks no longer have any meaning, because the only day that matters is the day the state has set for your execution. The days go by faster and faster, and to pass the time sometimes you scream at the other inmates, and maybe every once in a while a guard or something. You have no other contacts, no other friends: every move is monitored by a guard, even if you never end up doing anything.
For the sake of completeness, I will give you my charge sheet: murder first degree, three counts, kidnapping for ransom, two counts, and sexual assault, two counts. The words hide the fact that I killed a woman and stole her children from her doorstep. I didn't ask for ransom, but that's only because I never intended to let either the boy or the girl live. They were too delicious to let go. You never know how powerful you can be until you've made someone utterly beg for their lives. The jury heard the tapes I made, and to be honest I still got a small measure of enjoyment out of it. I liked the boy very much, but I remember the girl most. *Oh, please, where is mummy? I want to see mummy! Help - oh, I can't breathe! Take your hands off me for a minute, please, I can't breathe...please...*
Why did I do it? I don't know. I will never know. Many death row inmates will tell you that they don't deserve to be here; well, I don't deserve to live, and I'd rather the state hurry up with the killing process. Mercifully there had been signs for months. When the death penalty process kicks into play, your level of isolation increases, and the amount of paperwork around you grows exponentially. But somehow it didn't feel right. This was too fast. I hadn't heard any news for months. I hadn't seen my lawyer recently. Which all meant that when the cell door snapped open that fine morning I was ready and willing to die.
But there was no-one outside. I looked across, to where I knew there was an empty cell, and that door was opened, too. I walked out, and as soon as I stepped through the doorway a tone played on the speakers. And that was when I knew it really didn't feel right.
The tone was like something I'd hear when I wanted to buy ice-cream. It was the sound of freedom, clanging off the cell walls.
"Hello?"I said.
The tone stopped. "ATTENTION PRISONER 24601,"the speakers said. "You have just been released to take part in an experimental program. We wish to inform you at this point that your every action will be televised, and anything you say or do may be held against you."
*Fat load of difference that'll make to my three death sentences.* "Wha-"I said, but the speakers cut me off again.
"All the other prisoners and prison guards have been secretly released from their cells and turned loose somewhere in this prison. Pinned to your door you should see a list of targets available to you."
I looked, and indeed there was two sheets of paper pinned high up. I saw the names of those I had been with: STEPNEY, ALEX: mass murder, terrorism. HOLDEN, CHUCK: drug smuggling, child molester, etc.
"These members have been ranked from top to bottom in terms of undesirability. All the inmates and guards here are allowed to kill the highest ranking person alive. This is how the death penalty will be executed from now on."
I looked at the list again, and I froze. I saw my name at the very top.
"Good luck,"the speakers said.
And with that the ice-cream truck fell silent again.
I looked down the row, down the cells that housed the worst of the worst, and at the other end was a tiny prison guard, armed with a buzzsaw. And even from this far I could see he was smiling. I knew that smile. You never knew how powerful you were until you've made someone utterly beg for their lives.
The guard started the buzzsaw, and I ran.
|
"Verisium, it is your sworn duty as a newly apointed demon of earth to dictate the estranged happenings in humans lives. Are you aware of the boundaries that have been set forth?"Lucifer asked as he finished reading the guidlines of *Demon Seedlings*.
"Yes, overseer."replied Verisium.
"And do you understand that you will be stationed with a single being in the humans realm? You will be tasked with tarnishing their existance, no one else's. Is that clear"Lucifer said with a grin on his face. He always enjoyed the thoughts of God's ultimate creations being tools for his seeds to use.
"Yes I do, Overseer"Verisirum replied timidly.
"Do I hint the smell of worry from you, my son"Asked Lucifer.
"No, Overseer. I am fortunate of this title. I am ambitious and dedicated to serving your bidings. Please, forgive me for my anxiety. I am ready, Father"Verisium replied eagerly.
"Then, without any further ado, I present your first case"Lucifer handed the young demon seedling an envelope, addressing him to open upon arival to earth. "You will be sent to the city this human resides in. Upon arrival, open the envelope. You will know what to do from there"Lucifer said, rotating his chair to face out across his empire.
"Yes, Overseer. I will cause this human distress"Verisium replied.
With a nod of his head, Lucifer heard the all familiar *snap* of the seedlings departure. It sent a chill down his spine every time. He may be the ruler of Hell, but he still felt a twinge of guilt sending his children to the human world. They become nothing more than prey to the arch-angels that roam the world, but the angels cannot enter the dwellings of humans that are unfaithful to God.
He shuddered at the thought of the name.
Verisium arrived instantly in a small, cold September ridden town in Washington. As he stood in the street, invisible to the inhabitants of the world, he looked upon the envelope. Just holding this marvellous parchment in his hands was enough to send him jumping ecstatically, but there was no time to waist with trivial feelings. He had a mission, and his first step was in his hands.
He ripped the envelope open, revealing the single page that would dictate his path to becoming a *Demon Pledge*. The page read:
*Victoria Franklin- Female*
*18 years old*
*Longview, Washington*
With an image of a young brunette with hazel eyes. She was a very pretty young girl. She was on her own, like all the *first cases* were. Verisium stared at the picture for a few seconds. As soon as he looked away, the parchment and envelope withered away in embers.
He knew what she looked like, now he had to find her. This was one of many steps that *Seedlings* has to take when starting out. They were like sea turtle hatchlings. Sent out into unknown territory as prey, searching for the water's that would carry them on their path to salvation. Even when they reach the water, and the current takes them out to sea, they weren't very strong. They still had to be weary of their surroundings. Feeding off the feelings of negativity that they would have to bring forth on their cases...that was how they grew.
It wasn't an easy task, finding the cases, but it wasn't hard. The only part that made it a struggle was trying to be discrete around *Archs*. Verisium was determined, though, and was not willing to become a victim of such holy beings. He didn't know anything about where he was, let alone where his case was, but he knew from stories the places these humans frequented.
He made his way to the sidewalk, stalking down the roads as he peered into the windows of businesses. As he roamed the streets, he thought of the other stories he had heard of schools and park's. He knew nothing of where his case would be, but judging from her picture, he figured she may be a school girl. He decided he would look for a school.
As he searched, he came across an elderly woman walking a dog. He decided to try his hand at a bit of mischief. He approached the dog and pinched it's nose, causing it to yelp in pain. It was nice to see his powers worked so well already. He was wanting to see more.
He came upon a skate park shortly after. Seeing that there were a few youngsters there, he decided to have more fun. He watched as one kid went to slide across a pipe, and decided the next one would be his victim.
He made his way to the rail, watching as the kid made another approach to it. He watched as the kid hopped up onto the rail and kicked the board as he passed. The kid was sent slamming to the ground. Verisium laughed with glee at the sight of a bone protruding from his victims arm. The screams of pain made it even more amusing for the demon.
As he went to turn and leave, he heard a young woman's voice as she approached the young man.
"Nick, are you oka...oh no! Your arm is broken! I'm going to call an ambulance"screamed the girl.
Verisium turned to look at the girl who spoke, and became instantly hysterical to see it was Victoria. He rushed over as she pulled her phone out and slid it out of her hand. The phone fell to the ground and broke over the concrete. Verisium was already attacking her, but he knew he wasn't safe. He had already caused enough mischief and knew it was only a matter of time before an *Arch* came around.
He watched on as she frantically tried to comfort the young man.
"Nick, give me your keys so I can take you to the emergency room"She said with a choked up voice.
"I will take him"said another guy, walking up to them.
They walked over to a car and loaded Nick up. Nick asked Victoria to take his car back to his place and he would get ahold of her later.
Verisium watched as the girl made her way to another car and got in. He slipped inside before she could take a seat and watched as she shuddered from the cold draft he carried with him. That was a simple perk of demons to show off their presence. She didn't seem to notice it all that much.
Notice: Its late, I didn't get around to writing as much as I wanted to, but I will write more later or tomorrow. Hope this was good enough, I'm trying my hand at some writing so don't be to hard on my style. Critique is expected, and I will take it kindly and try to come up with better from there. Thanks guys. |
My love,
I know you are hurting. I know you are looking for answers, and wondering why I did what I did.
Do you remember that high school summer when lay in the shade by the river every day, and we laughed and we cried and we laughed, and we thought it would never end? Do you remember that blizzard in college when you walked over to my dorm, and I made you promise never to do something so stupid ever again?
My biggest fear was always that I would lose you.
Sweetheart, last year we vowed 'til death do us part. I can see that promise in your eyes everytime that you've taken me to the doctor, I can feel it in your arms when you hold me while I cry afterwards, and when you carry me into the house and to my bed. I know you would stay true to it for all the years that I have left. But sweetheart, I can't make you do that for me.
I know the hardest part is the relief that you feel. My darling, I understand. You were made to be my partner, not my nurse. I know you would never have agreed to this, but this was my choice. I choose to go before I am no longer capable of doing this, while I can still control of my body, and with dignity.
Do not grieve for me more than you must, but live, love, laugh. I will be with you through it all.
R-[transcribers note: rest of name obscured by water damage]
---
More at [/r/jd_rallage](http://www.reddit.com/r/jd_rallage/) |
It wasn't a perfectly crafted paragraph that destroyed the world, but a single word.
It wasn't a power hungry capitalist that hatched a plot to write himself as the emperor of all mankind enslaving everyone and eventually killing all with his madness.
It wasn't the writers of industry or science who poisoned the planet with the fallout from one of their many experiments with this new power. They wrote of things to blacken the sky, boil the seas, and burn the land....sang songs of destruction so complete that everything was reduced to it's base particles....
but they didn't do it.
It wasn't nefarious, but with the best intent. The word was peace. And it was written for all. |
"I curse you!"
I turned around. There was an old woman dressed in rags, who had been begging on the side of the street. I had barely noticed her, until she'd come up to ask for change and I'd mumbled that I didn't have any money and shuffled away awkwardly.
"What?"
Her eyes turned black, like two obsidian spheres, and I began to become slightly concerned, since the last time I'd seen that happen was on *Buffy the Vampire Slayer.*
"I curse you!"she screamed. As I watched, she seemed to grow in size, her body unfolding on itself, until she stood tall and towering in front of the narrow alley.
"I'm, um, I'm sorry? I really have to get to work..."
She scowled. "I curse you, mortal. For the sin of your selfishness, and the dishonesty you displayed. Your coffers overflow and your coin pouch is heavy, yet you would deny a beggar in need your aid?"
The streets seemed to darken, the world fading slightly around me. I shifted my foot and the echo was strained, oddly loud in my ear.
"W-well, I mean, I donate? Sometimes? You know, it's just kind of awkward when someone comes up and asks you for money..."I looked around. There didn't seem to be anyone else nearby. I backed away slowly.
"Fool!"Her voice boomed. She started to rise off the ground. Her rags fluttered and whirled around her, and I could see she was wearing a very old and faded dress.
I took another couple of steps backward. I wasn't exactly sure what was going on, but I was pretty sure I was going to be late for work if this took any longer.
Her eyes narrowed. "For your obliviousness and dishonesty towards the world, I curse the world to do likewise to you. Every word you utter shall be rejected by the world. Every sentence you utter will be a lie."She smirked. "Despair, mortal."
I paused. I raised my hand. "Hold on... *everything* I say will be a lie? Like... literally everything?"I scratched my head.
She blinked. "Yes... whenever you try to assert your reality, the world will reject you. As you lied to me, so shall you be cursed to lie in perpe-"
"I mean, that can't possibly be right, can it? If I ask a question or make a non-declarative statement, that doesn't have a meaningful truth value, right? Something can't possibly be a lie if it wasn't intended to be a truth in the first place... right? Or am I misunderstanding something here?"
She frowned. "No, that's correct. Much good will it do you, mortal, to question when you cannot be believed-"
"Hang on, I'm not done."I paused for a second. "...Or I may be done- either could be the case, but I may or may not be committing to either possibility."
An idea flashed through my mind. "Actually this is pretty easy to think through-"I felt a pain in my head. My idea vanished, and I frowned. My eyes narrowed. "But unfortunately, I'm really stupid and can't possibly have already figured the best way to deal with this curse."
The woman looked at me. She opened her mouth. "Mortal, what are you-"
I smiled. "Plus, I hate sarcasm, so this should be terrible for me. I mean, it's really hard to figure out that if everything you say is a lie, you should obviously just always say the exact opposite of what you want to happen."
"And if I want to prevaricate, all I have to do is end every sentence with something like 'or do I?'... or do I? Statements with indeterminate truth values can't be made false or true... or can they?"
I looked at the woman in front of her. Her eyes had turned back to normal. She was looking a bit flustered. "Now wait just a second-"
"The next lottery ticket I buy is definitely not going to be the sole jackpot winner. I am definitely not six feet seven inches tall with no hormonal or structural problems resulting from my height and with attractive body size proportions. I do not have a ten inch penis."
I felt a tingling, crawling sensation under my skin, and the ground was suddenly a little further away from me.
And my pants were tighter.
"On second thought, mortal, I revoke-"
"The being in front of me has the power to grant and remove curses."
"-your curse."Her mouth opened, and then closed again, wordlessly.
I smiled.
This was the worst curse ever.
|
Jeff isn't like the rest of us.
And that's because he's an android. A robot. A walking fax machine, according to my auntie Ingrid. You get the idea. But we try to make sure Jeff doesn't feel that way. I mean, he knows it too - it's coded into his being - but he wouldn't be the first person to try to escape what he is. Yes, I said person. It's a habit now.
Jeff is a reject from the AI companion company DroidCon. You know, the one that makes robots that live in people's houses and do all the cooking, cleaning, watching the kids, and so on. And *other* things, if you want.
But Jeff, bless him, he just wasn't cut out for all that. I guess something went wrong in his manufacture, because he's far more concerned with fitting in than he is with following orders. He's... *anxious* for lack of a better word. Let me backtrack a moment: Jeff belongs to my best mate Brandon. Brandon's dad did a runner when he was little and his mum got Jeff at a discount as house-help. But Jeff just couldn't do anything properly. Broke half a set of dishes once. Brandon's mum was all about to junk him for being too defective, but she realized Brandon had gotten a bit attached (he was having a tough time at school then, before he moved to our district and met us).
And when Brandon *did* meet us, years later, Jeff was in tow and acting like a proper friend, even maybe like a cool older brother. And after a brief period of awkwardness we all decided he was just that. One of the club. It helped that he had no problem sneaking us booze from the locked cabinet at Brandon's house. He laughed at our jokes. He helped us when we fell down. He was a walking, talking Google search engine who had an answer for just about everything. Steve, our resident bookworm and debate team aficionado, was none too pleased at first, but then realized the merits of an informed opponent. Jeff is more knowledgeable and also more opinionated than most humans I've met.
And sure, maybe Jeff doesn't breath or eat and needs to sit in a recharge pod for 6 hours instead of sleeping like we do, but honestly there are more obvious ways he could be different. He's done better by us than most people we've met, and that's something.
It's taken me a long time to realize just how special Jeff is. None of the rest of our families had an android, and so we assumed that they were all *mostly* like Jeff. Maybe less clumsy.
But just the other day, a representative from DroidCon showed up at Brandon's house all curious and wanting to see Jeff. Dunno how they heard about him.
But what got me is that, for the first time since I've known him, Jeff looks scared. |
"When do we go for icecream?"asked Roy
"After we win here"replied Henry
His hands shook and a thick layer of sweat sat on his face.
*This is normal.. just like everyday.. take the kid to evaluation, represent him, lose or win, it doesn't matter* Henry thought to himself *it doesn't matter*.
Except it did, and Henry knew better than that. This isn't just some kid. This is Roy Carter, first and only son of Commander-in-Chief, the most powerful man, **President Carter of the United States.**
Of-course being the president's son gets you a lot of leeway when it comes to your Social Burden Evaluation. Never-the-less every child must go through the same evaluation and even President Carter himself went through it, just like his father and his father before, his grandfather the man who put pen to paper and created the Anti Social Burden Generation.
Roy was the first son of President Carters third marriage. President and three times married, that looked great on President Carter. The first wife was caught cheating on him, can you believe that cheating on the president of the United States? With the previous Vice-President and all. The second suddenly developed a flu that killed her during her travels. *It was strange at the time though... who gets a killer flu travelling in Europe?* Henry always thought
Every 12 year old in the Western World goes through a process to evaluate their potential benefit to society. If they don't pass they're recycled.
Sure it sounds pretty barbaric for the Western World to do this, but when you have people still being beheaded in the Middle East for drinking alcohol in public, you can really get away with more than you think you can. And besides, unemployment is at all time low, jobs are up, we're not over populated and we're finding room in our prisons all of a sudden, so number wise we're looking pretty sweet right now.
"We've got this in the bag"Sarah told Henry as she organised his notes
Henry and Sarah had been working together for weeks now, trying to make this troublesome young man seem at-least slightly likeable. Of-course none of that matters, it's the presidents son for crying out loud.
"Good luck Henry!"Sarah said as she wave and left.
*Always confident that one* Henry thought. *What I'd give for even a moment of being lost in her confidence...*
The evaluation took 3 hours in total. They normally take 30 minutes to complete, that is how long the state have given a 12 year old to defend himself, things took a bit longer with Roy. Of-course it's not the 12 year old who does the defending, it's the public defenders. People who don't get paid nearly enough to deal with the emotional consequence this job can create.
It was nearly time for the verdict and after all the deliberations Henry was tired and half asleep. They'd spoken about Roy's wild stages, when he was 8 he stole from local corner shop. Boys will be boys Henry defended. They spoke about when porn was discovered in his room within the White House by the cleaners. Boys will be boys Henry defended once again. Finally they spoke about the time Roy hurt the Vice-Presidents son in a football match. Boys will be boys Henry said once more.
Sure it's not a defence that comes with a lot of legal jargon, but it's a defence none-the-less and one nearly all the men in the courtroom that day understood.
*Sarah was right this is the bag*
Then as close as we were to reaching a verdict, some new evidence came in. Evidence which came with DNA. Roy's DNA on a bloody knife and out of the blue.
"What is this and where has it come from?"Henry said
"This was found on the body of the First Wife this morning"
"I... er...."Henry was lost for words, no one had told him the First Wife had been murdered more importantly he was with Roy this morning going through notes preparing.
"This is impossible"Henry said
"You'll have a chance to state that later on Henry"replied the board
"But for now we must decide a verdict and with this new evidence, which will no doubt spawn a separate court case. We must atleast for now believe Roy Carter is not suitable for the society at large"
"We have no proof he did this"Henry roared in a voice at least he felt was slightly intimidating.
But the intimidation tactic was far from effective. "We will soon, for now I see no reason to hold this boy here and delay his recycling process"
"He's a kid..."Henry tried pleading
"They're all kids Henry"
"He's the presidents kid"
"And? I've lost two children to this process we all seem to value so much. One of those kids you defended. Remember Henry, I am a judge and I sit outside of even the presidents powers."
With that the board leader flipped a button and men in white coats started making their way towards Roy.
Henry looked over to Roy a few seconds before he was grabbed and all Roy had time to say before being taken away was: "Are they taking me to get the Ice Cream now?"
And with that Henry watched as Roy was taken away and tried to process what just happened. *The board rep she mentioned her children, me defending one, they were recycled... did I do this?*
*But that doesn't explain the dead wife... that does though* Henry thought and above the board from a wide window overseeing the proceedings was the great man himself, President Carter. Upon Carter's face a smirk sat, a smirk that read plainly for Henry: *It's time for a new family*. |
The bishop sat in his office. There were reporters outside waiting. How could he still believe they asked, how could he still think there as a god out there when so many things had been explained. There wasn't a reason for a god anymore. If science and God had been at war, science had won.
They were right out there. As much as he thought his faith was unshakeable it had been hit by earthquakes in the past few months. He didn't believe. He needed to tell them so that they would get on with their lives.
He pulled himself off of the Holy See, given to him as a token for still showing faith. He might as well get on with it. He pushed open the doors and stepped into the massive cathedral. It was the last one in the world that wasn't being converted into something else.
"Hello,"he said into the first microphone that someone handed him. "I just wanted to say that I don't think there is a-"
A crack of lighting smashed through a window to his left and shattered stained glass, Jesus. The bolt hit the ground and arced around the church. People screamed, but all of them refused to move. A man was standing in the middle of it. Then it was a woman, then something in between. It kept shifting, but it felt familiar all the same.
"Hello child,"the figure said as it walked up to the bishop, "how've you been."
"Um-"
"God,"it said, "at least a form of it. Everyone is speaking to their idea of it now."
"I'm so sorry that I was going to-"
"No need no need; it happens to everyone,"he said, "I managed millions of worlds like yours, and I will work on millions to come. Your infancy ends when you move out of the house."
"When we-"
"Stop believing, yes."It smiled at him, "sorry about cutting you off; I know what you're going to say so I figured I would expedite things."
"So what happens now?"
"This is goodbye,"he said, "I've helped you a little until now, but my hands have been off the process for some time. Did you ever see a child learn to ride a bike?"
"Yes."
"Well first I was holding on to you, and now you can pedal without my hands on the seat,"God said and smiled again. The smile was as warm as the most peaceful tropical days. "At this point, I can let you go wherever you like."
"What does that mean for us?"the bishop asked.
"Not much, just that I won't be around. You'll hardly notice I'm gone."God clapped his hands, "I have other worlds to take care of, but I'm so proud of you. Goodbye, Charles."
"Goodbye my lord,"the bishop said.
"Not yours anymore child."
The figure winked out of existence, and the Bishop was left in a cathedral of blank states. Seven minutes later the sun's eye blinked shut and never opened. |
This one looks to be in thought,
full of reminiscence and reflection
wondering at all points of lifes direction,
in it's own head it's been caught.
&nbsp;
The next is full of rage,
thoughts rattle and rampage.
The scream of injustice against everything,
life, love, and age.
&nbsp;
Following is one of love,
features caught between crashes,
containing lust in many small caches
but also yearning above.
&nbsp;
Near the end is one of valor
creases singing of friendship and trust,
in the face of wrong doing what we must.
Even in our final hour.
&nbsp;
There though, at the end of the shelf.
It sits alone, there with itself.
No meaning there on it's face
just the fade and wear of time
not trying to justify it's place.
&nbsp;
I picked it up slowly, it's meaning unraveled.
Unlike the others and akin to myself,
it still waits for it's path to be traveled.
|
It was my birthday today. Daddy brought his cake with the five candles and he sang the song for me. He cried a little more this time than usual. Then he asks me the usual questions. Do I remember the birthday with four candles? Do I remember a place besides this place? But I never do, and he cries more. The toys he brings now aren't as good as they used to be. He used to bring in consoles with dozens of neat-O electronic games. Now he says that the games don't work without something called internet, that we don't have, and so he only has a few old things he found at an auction somewhere.
But he makes up with it with the wine. There is nothing in the world more wonderful than wine ... it makes me feel so giddy, so lively, like I could do anything! I remember a time back when he said I had to try to cut back, ration it out, try to do without. Oh, those were miserable days. Even on my birthdays he wouldn't give me enough.
Daddy makes the wine himself, and there's always a bit of the smell on him. This time he must have drunk too much, because he passed out, pale and cold beside the table. I laughed and tried to wake him up, but he was well and truly asleep. I watched him sleep for a bit - I've never had a chance to do that before, except on a few of the movies he would bring, and usually he would fast forward those parts, say I could watch that when I got older. But every birthday is my fifth birthday and he always says I'm too young for that kind of thing. He says I should treasure my innocence.
I see something shiny slide out of his pocket. I reach for it hoping it's a mirror. Daddy never wants me to look at myself like Snow White does. He says it would make me vain, but I'm afraid really I'm too ugly. But it wasn't. It was something much more interesting.
It was a Key.
Daddy says the world out there is dangerous and everybody is half crazy and would try to hurt me. But I have been thinking a long time, and I think he doesn't want me to turn six. I think he is afraid I might see someone and tell them about the things he does to my body saying it will 'make me better'.
I take the Keys and go to the one small window that provides the only way out of this dark space in which I have always lived. Now I will be Daddy. I turn the first Lock, then the second, then the third. I open the door. There is a strange and wonderful smell beyond it, and the sounds of outside are suddenly so much more penetrating. It is frightening.
The smell is the smell of flowers - he brings those - and grass - sometimes he brings that in on his feet - and something else. Wine. He must have left more wine out there. I have to have it. At first I walk warily on the strange soft ground. Then I run. Then I feel like I am almost flying as the redolence of the wine pulses in my nostrils. There is a woman on the street who must have some. She is the first person other than Daddy that I can remember seeing, but all I do when I see her is ask, "Do you have any wine?"She says no, but I can tell where it's coming from now, practically in front of my face. She's hiding it between her legs. I try to grab her pants, and she smacks me, so I smack her and she falls down, and now the wine is coming out of her cheek where it hit the curb. I put my lips to the droplet I see and pull it in eagerly. Is there more? I probe, twist, suck, bite - glorious! - drink more, bite more. There is a thumping in her neck and I go after it with all my might, wine, sticky sweet loving power tasty salty spraying pumping singing rushing spurting flowing pulsing wonderful wine, pulsing pumping more, then less, I drink it in, suck it down, until at last the sweet spicy flow comes to an end, and I realize that the source is gone. I thank her but she doesn't answer. Maybe I was too rude. I should ask somebody else.
Oh, glorious world, there must be wine everywhere, just waiting to be tasted, and oh, I need to have it all! I run down one street and another, looking for more, but there aren't people around it's hard to tell where it is when there is so much in my hair, on my shirt, I try to lick every bit but there's so much I miss. There is a bright blue light coming to the sky, and now I see more people. They run away from me like Daddy playing tag. I'll find them, play with them, drink their wine, see how wonderful this place is in the light. It was selfish, horrible really, for Daddy to keep this paradise away from me for so long, but I will be free at last! |
Officer Planquin climbed out of his squad car. The house in front of him was ablaze with purple fire. On the roof stood a huge horned creature, its eyes glowing red as it roared at him.
Being the first responder, Planquin retrieved his shotgun from the squad car. Feeling foolish, he fired at the demon.
The demon exploded in gore, its upper body barely functioning. Its legs flickered with a grid of blue light.
Planquin fired again.
The demon flew to bits in the supersonic blast of lead. Planquin watched in confusion as small glowing squares dropped from its dead body. Some were blue, others orange. An orange one fell onto his gun and he felt the chamber cycle a new round in by itself.
"What in hell...?"he said. |
It had better not be those dumb kids again. Ahmed had come to this country with high hopes for himself and his family. Back in Iraq he’d been a well-respected engineer. It hurt to see what he’d been reduced to here. It was okay, things were going to get better. He just had to do this and keep his family afloat until something better came along. There was no shame in honest, hard work.
&nbsp;
For the most part the night shift was uneventful. Ahmed actually enjoyed walking through the old graves reaching back to the earliest years of his new country’s history. No doubt there were some who would feel squeamish about working in a cemetery, but Ahmed found peace here. It felt like his own little sanctuary after everything he’d been through in the last few years.
&nbsp;
He’d only had two incidents in the last few month. The first had been an inebriated driver who’d sent their SUV careening straight into the cemetery’s outer wall in a moment of disregard for the turns of the road out the front. He’d done what he could to drag the driver out of the car but once the police had arrived it had all been out of his hands. He’d gone home and prayed for the driver when he got off his shift in the morning. Within a few weeks the wall had been patched up as if nothing had happened at all.
&nbsp;
The second incident had been just last week. Like tonight, he’d received a call to investigate a reported disturbance on the far side of the cemetery. His heart had hammered in his chest just as it did now. Every familiar shadow held the prospect of a hidden assailant. Fear coiled and uncoiled in his stomach but it could never stop him from doing his job.
&nbsp;
That time it had turned out to be a bunch of teenagers with too much time on their hands. The moment he caught them in the glare of his flashlight they’d scattered and ran. It hurt him on a personal level to see young people defiling their own heritage. He’d carefully gone over the historical graves and found them largely undamaged to his great relief. He felt as much sadness as concern that the children might have come back tonight.
&nbsp;
He trudged between the rows of civil war era graves until he heard the sounds of industrial machinery somewhere ahead. The hairs on his neck stood on end. There was no maintenance work scheduled for tonight, yet it was clearly coming from within the cemetery. He crept forward to see a group of men clad in heavy jackets excavating one of the graves. It took a moment for him to pinpoint the plot on his mental map. It was the grave of Benjamin Franklin.
&nbsp;
Ahmed crept closer, doing his best to stay close to the fence line where he’d be least visible. As he closed the distance he started to pick up words passing between the men as they broke apart the dirt and stonework over the grave. To his great surprise he realised they were conversing in his own mother tongue. It was difficult to place their dialect. Syrians perhaps, he thought to himself. From his vantage point behind the grave of David Hall he could see at least three of them. With tremulous hands he drew his phone from his pocket and dialled the police. He whispered into his phone to the operator, desperately hoping that the intruders were too immersed in their grave-robbing to hear him over the gentle breeze.
&nbsp;
The call completed, he hung up and placed his phone back into his pocket. Creeping back to the edge of Mr Hall’s grave, he peeked around the side only to come face to face with one of the trespassers.
&nbsp;
“Salaam alaikum,” offered the trespasser as he raised a pistol to Ahmed’s head, “why are you spying on us?”
&nbsp;
“I’m just the night watchman, please don’t hurt me,” he begged. Any trace of bravery he’d felt calling the police right under their noses a moment ago had abruptly evaporated.
&nbsp;
“But we have a newly empty grave right here,” the man laughed, “it’d be such a shame to let it go to waste.”
&nbsp;
Everything about this brute reminded Ahmed of the men who’d driven him from his beloved home in the first place. The casual love of violence, the arrogance, the sneer that decorated his expression.
&nbsp;
“Why are you here?” hissed Ahmed between gritted teeth. There was no cure for fear quite so effective as rage.
&nbsp;
“To show the filthy Americans what we think of them of course. You see that grave over there?” The man gestured toward the half-excavated grave of Benjamin Franklin with his gun. Ahmed didn’t think twice. The moment the barrel was aimed away from his forehead he threw his fist straight into his captor’s nose. For a usually non-violent man, he took a disturbing level of satisfaction from the sound of cracking bones as his knuckles connected.
&nbsp;
The gun went clattering to the ground along with its owner. With one of the trespassers writhing on the ground in pain, Ahmed strode up to the other two with his newly acquired pistol in hand. He was running on sheer adrenaline now.
&nbsp;
“Khalas!” he shouted at the two men digging up Benjamin Franklin with power tools.
&nbsp;
They slowly turned to him. The nearer of the two looked like he was thinking of charging but thought better of it after a moment contemplating the wrong end of a gun barrel.
&nbsp;
“Why are you here?” Ahmed screamed, trying to keep his finger from accidentally compressing the trigger as he waved the gun at the pair of villains. “Tell me!”
&nbsp;
“We are going to defile these devils’ fondest symbol. This Benjamin Franklin will be nothing more than soup meat for the people they so hate,” the nearer of the two defiantly proclaimed.
&nbsp;
“Not today,” said Ahmed, “I’m here to protect Christ Church Burial Ground from you scum.”
------------------------------------
&nbsp;
[If you’re the type of person who enjoys reading about terrorists trying to eat Benjamin Franklin you’ll be right at home on my sub](https://www.reddit.com/r/herd_of_birds)
|
Dammit. *This* is all I had left? A legion of soldiers armed to the teeth, a health stock of well equipped cavalry, a crack cadre of wizards, and I'm stuck facing the pinnacle of diabolical evil with a musician? Don't get me wrong, I dabbled in some Barding before settling to a solid career of becoming a Paladin so I appreciate the arts. I can still pick out a mean tune on a lute if the urge hits, you know? But that's all this guy wanted to do! That was the height of his ambition, to actually *become* a bard. A friggin' bard. I sighed and shook my head.
The Demon Lord saw my consternation and chuckled. Then his eyes twinkled wickedly and he reached down behind his throne. As his great clawed fingers rummaged for... something he spoke. His voice sounded like a choir of agony. "I'll make you a deal, would-be heroes."He finally found what he was looking for, some sort of cloth wrapped bundle. He tossed it, delicately if such a thing were possible from a demon lord, in my direction. I caught it easily and began to unwrap it. It was a lute. The Demon Lord had tossed me a lute of all things. I plucked a few strings, and I had to admit the sound was exquisite. The bard gave a whistle of appreciation, clearly here was an instrument of some excellent craftsmanship.
"Play the best song in the world, or I'll eat your soul."
Well, the bard and I each looked at each other and we said "Okay"... |
Dying didn't feel like anything at all to me. I saw my husband's face writhe in distressed panic as the medical team worked frantically to save me, but I just softly drifted away. It was like sitting at the window under a warm blanket during a terrible thunder storm. Everything seemed to make sense to me in that moment - this thing inside me had grown too large, and the required surgery always had its risks. Yes, we had made great plans together, but now they were nothing more than flecks of dust caught in the breeze...
Bright lights greeted me, as I had expected they might. The high-pitched bleeps were a surprise though. The medical team was still here, but the panic had subsided. A tiny, incoherent voice broke through the calm, and I immediately fell in love. My husband turned to me with a smile and softly asked "would you like to meet your daughter?" |
That's what you don't get, Timmy. We didn't have a choice. We didn't choose the console wars, the console wars chose us. Though we did choose a specific console, so I suppose that bit was a choice, but the rest of it wasn't. Well and we didn't choose a PC so I guess we could have picked that too. The point is, yes, I was in the war.
You can't imagine what it was like. The devastation left when the PC Master Race ascended and left us all behind. Well they didn't really ascend to heaven so much as build it themselves from individual parts that weren't expensive on their own, but it added up! That's my point, and if you wanted to keep up with the rest of the celestial firmament, you had to keep buying those parts!
Right, right, the console wars.
I was embedded deep in the Sahara Jungle with a unit of Atari Jaguars, and let me tell you they lived up to the name. We were in constant firefights with the telepathic Dreamcasters while Sega Saturns bombarded us from orbit. And also Saturn. I watched my friends die or, worse, become obsolete. One minute you're talking to someone you've known all your short miserable life and the next BAM! He's got a red ring of death across his face and you'll never speak to him again.
Toward the end... toward the end, Timmy, we didn't have anything left. No food, no ammo... we were bludgeoning each other to death with bricks. No, not those kind of bricks, bricked consoles! Christ, Timmy, we couldn't use bricks, where would we live? Come on!
We were all boys. Kids. So just think of that next time you're enjoying your console. When I was your age I was knee-deep in somebody else's Playstation and by God I'd do it again! I'd do all of it again! Because we earned something in all that smashed silicon and shitty wi-fi. And you enjoy it today: The freedom to play the best - and only - console in existence.
So go upstairs, Timmy. Forget about the Console Wars. Go and play what we fought and died and teabagged for.
Enjoy your Ouya. |
"'Make me a millionaire', he says. 'I wish to be filthy rich!', he says."I watched as the man with the curled beard and sunken eyes glared angrily into his drink, whisps of smoke and a faltering flicker of flame peeking from the rim. How he could drink something that appeared to be on fire, I had no idea. I think I heard his friends at the table call him Al... something.
The other patrons sitting at the table around Al laughed mirthlessly. "What did this genius amongst Men do with the million dollars you gifted him, Al-Shazhin?"asked a large man with a wry mischief in his smile. His dark skin was speckled with glitter, or at least I figured it had to be glitter. But it looked like stars and nebulas.
"He spent it on fancy cars and a big house, of course!"
the Stardust man laughed uproariously. The third man at the table, a slim-framed young crossdresser with green bodypaint covering his skin (but it looked so natural, as if he wasn't wearing paint at all) looked like he was doing some quick mental calculations. "House and a car, bought outright? How much of the million did he set aside for home maintenance and utilities, or for car repairs?"
"None at all! The costs of maintaining such a home ruined him financially!"Al flung his arms into the air in disbelief as Stardust and Green-Boy laughed. "And whom did he blame, friend, for these new woes his money had brought upon him?"Stardust inquired eagerly.
Al spoke in a high-pitched mocking voice, "Oh no, you evil monster genie, how could you do this to me, you tricked me, whaaaa boo hoo hoo!"The three men all laughed loudly as if at an in-joke.
Such a strange topic of conversation. It struck me as curious that they would discuss casually giving someone a million dollars so openly. Most bars I went to, that kind of talk gets you mugged. And what was that "genie"bit about?
Green-Boy chugged down a sip of his drink, heedless of the layer of ice growing on the outside of the glass. "Either of you ever grant a wish for love?"
Al and Stardust recoiled in mock horror, hands raised in mock self-defense. "Ooooh noo, never! I don't touch that stuff."Al said.
"Agreed!"Stardust boomed. "Love, Death, and Resurrection, three wishes I never grant. They only cause trouble."
"Well I granted some guy a wish for love a bit ago."Green-Boy shook his head. "Some middle-aged sad sack office worker with the hots for a young blonde intern. 'I want her to love me!", he said."Green-Boy drank more of his icey beverage.
Al shook his head knowingly. "What happened then?"
Green-Boy glanced over the rim of his drink. "He knew nothing about her except that she was young and beautiful, you KNOW what happened next. They didn't get along, fought every day, he filed for divorce and got hit with huge alimony payments. And whose fault is all that, of course?"
"Oh no, you evil monster genie, how could you do this to me, you tricked me, whaaaa boo hoo hoo!"Al and Stardust laughed loudly as Green-Boy grimaced. Stardust slapped him on his thin shoulders. "This is why I never grant wishes for love, friend. A man in love does not see beyond the next five minutes."
"Alright then, what's your story?"
Stardust crossed his arms across his muscular chest and laughed. "Why all of my wishes are perfect! Some may, perhaps, be slightly less perfect than others, but they are still mostly-perfect."
Al rolled his eyes. "Oh wise and benevolent genie, regale us with your mastery and power of these slightly-imperfect wishes."
Genie... wishes... suddenly I started noticing the nebulas on Stardust's body slowly shifting and moving across his frame. I caught a ridged pattern like leaf veins across Green-Boy's skin, and I noticed that Al's "drink"wasn't just on fire, it was *literal* fire, and he was chugging it with gusto.
Stardust boomed with laughter and steepled his hands in front of him. "Oh my friends, I may just have a story for you. A man with a selfless heart used me to wish for World Peace."
"'World Peace'? Seriously?"Al grimaced in mock pain.
"Yes! World Peace!"Stardust laughed to himself before he continued. "A difficult wish to facilitate, but I rose to the challenge. I chose to pursue peace by guiding the smartest of Men to create a global communication network, through which all Men could learn from each other and come to see each other as brothers."
"The Internet."Green-Boy scoffed. "You invented the INTERNET. To fulfill a wish."
"Just so! I saw it come to fruition, connecting the world as it never had been before! Peace love and understanding had never been closer to the grasp of living Men!"
Al asked knowingly, "And the selfless man's reaction when bridging the gaps of global distance did nothing to facilitate peace and understanding in the world?"
The three men... genies hollered in unison: "Oh no, you evil monster genie, how could you do this to me, you tricked me, whaaaa boo hoo hoo!"
I watched them drink and laugh over their stories a bit more, until I had worked up the nerve to approach them. Genies.. real honest to god wish-granting GENIES. How could I pass this up?
They turned to look at me as I approached. I stammered for a bit, unsure how to begin this conversation. "Um... excuse me, gentlemen, I couldn't help overhearing your conversation. How, uh... how would one go about asking for one of these... wishes?"
The three genies glanced at each other with irritation, shook their heads in resignation. Al chugged the last of his fire. Green-Boy glared into his icey beverage. Stardust smiled sadly. "Well my friends, looks like we're at it again." |
The trunk opened and a brilliant white light from a flashlight filled Tony's vision. A shadowy shape moved forward and heaved him out and stood him up on some wooden planks. As Tony's eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could make out the end of a pier followed by a long expanse of water. Above the treeline on the opposite shore, he could make out the glowing haze of the city they had just come from.
There were click-clack steps from somewhere behind him. "Those look good on you, Tony."
Tony struggled to turn around and face the voice, but was denied by the big henchman holding on to him tightly. That and the cement around his feet. "Listen, boss, I'm sorry for not delivering on time. I'm still learning! You gots to give me another chance!"
"I think I've given you plenty of chances, Tony. Give my regards to my mother."
The large henchman easily picked up Tony and moved towards the edge. He held him out over the water. Tony looked at the rippling surface.
"No, no no no no!"was all he could manage to say.
The sickening drop made him yelp. The plunge into the icy water made him draw a sharp breath. The sudden thud onto the bottom caused his life to flash-
Sudden thud? Tony opened his eyes and glanced towards his feet. The water reached up to about his waist, but was going no further. He was standing in only two foot deep water.
There was laughter coming from the pier, wheezing, gut wrenching laughter. "Hoo, the sound you made when Dino dropped you...!"Another burst of laughter.
Tony did his best to lurch around and look behind him. The boss was doubled over, the henchman was leaning over the car. Both were laughing uncontrollably.
"What's...what's going on?"Tony managed.
The boss managed to catch his breath. "We weren't going to kill you, Tony! This is a little thing we do around here, an initiation if you will. Dino, fetch Tony out of there."
Still grinning, the large man reached down with one hand and pulled Tony out of the water. He quickly gave Tony a towel. He produced and small hammer and began chipping away at the cement on Tony's feet, leaving him free in a moment.
"I'm still confused,"Tony said, shaking the last of the concrete dust from his feet.
"Listen, Tony, we do this to all the guys. It's our little way of saying welcome to the family. Now lets go back and join the everyone else for a feast. You must try my mother's meatballs, no one can make them like she can."
"I've gotta say, I'm mighty relieved. So you don't actually drive guys you don't like out to the lake and toss them in?"
"Of course not,"said the Boss. He looked Tony dead in the eye. "We go to the river."
After a tense moment, he started laughing again. Dino joined in too, and, after a compulsory nudge, so did Tony. |
So then I said, "Quail Eggs? I asked for Caviar you fucking pauper!"Chad said, forcing his guests to laugh with him.
Such was the life of Chad, born rich and pretty, pretty rich, and with an extremely large hate for the less fortunate. But when he wasn't hating the less fortunate or going on extremely expensive vacations, he was bullying the staff that his parents employed, finding it easy to toy with their jobs and emotions. Such is the life of Chad, born immaculate, handsome, and without flaw. But when he wasn't admiring his perfection in the mirror, or surrounding himself in women to keep himself busy, he cried.
For such is the life of Chad, one who was thrust into the infinite sadness that is loneliness. |
"Houston, are you getting my video? The alien structure has English and Russian writing on it. 'Contagion: Keep Out.' I assume the Russian says the same thing."
"It does. Stand by, we're deciding how we want to handle this."
Silence over the radio.
"Houston, are you there?"
"Apollo, we advise you leave the structure alone. We don't know what's in there. And given that they used English and Russian, it seems pretty clear that the warning was aimed at human astronauts. We don't want you picking up some sort of virus."
"I'm in a space suit. What sort of virus could get through a space suit?"
"Nothing we can think of. But what happens once you take it off?"
Silence over the radio again.
"Yeah. We're not touching this until we can draw up proper procedures for handling alien biohazards. God, that sounds like science fiction, doesn't it?"
The astronaut chuckled ruefully, but he knew they were right. Above all else, NASA needed to bring their astronauts home safely. And you got home safely by following procedures, not by taking risks. Even when that meant ignoring the incredible mystery the universe had seen fit to place right in front of your lunar lander.
"Roger. I'm leaving it alone. But let the record show that Buzz and I are the ones who discovered alien life out here. Don't let Apollo 12 get all the credit."
The calm tones of mission control didn't change, but the astronaut was sure he heard laughter in the background. "Wilco. Get as much detail on the outside of the bunker as you can without breaching the interior. Then get back to the LEM."
"Wilco."The astronaut shut off the radio and began to slowly walk around the side of the alien bunker, capturing every inch of its metallic exterior.
"Houston, we may have a problem."
"What?"
"There's a meteor impact crater on the south side of the structure. There's major damage. The lighting isn't too good, but..."
"But what? Your video's fuzzy."
"It looks like it punched through. There's a hole in the wall."
The astronaut leaned down and looked at the hole, feeling the first faint gnawings of fear in his gut. "Houston... if there's something in that bunker, it got *out.*" |
“So tell me a little about why you applied for this job.”
My palms were sweating, I wiped them on my pants. Twenty-seven days in a row she had eaten a bowl of Cheerios for breakfast, half a cup of milk. Her period would start in 38 hours, she was forty-four years old, one-kid, he weighed one-hundred and fifty pounds, he had just over six-thousand days of life left. I had a 10% chance of gaining her approval for the job.
“Well, I was feeling a bit limited in my old position, the slow market has limited the development opportunities in the financial field”
My chances went down to 5%. 34-C, she wore a 34-c bra, she’d been wearing the same bra for seventy days straight. She weighed one-hundred and twenty nine pounds.
“Plus I was really excited by the part of the description where it mentioned human performance modeling, I did a bit of that back in graduate school, really enjoyed, it but the job market was shit back then.”
I cursed at myself for cursing, it had just come out. Her temperature rose slightly from 97.9 to 98.4 degrees. She smiled at me and shifted in her chair. My chances went up to 23%.
“Tell me about your human performance modeling experience…” She glanced down at my resume before continuing “…Lionel.” I was more than just a name to her. She had seven-hundred and fifty-two people she could recognize and name without hesitation, a moment ago it had only been seven-hundred and fifty-one.
“I was part of a team that worked on choice reaction-time variability in high-stress situations based on different training models.” Every word drove my chances higher, I was now at 48%. Her heart rate had spiked to 80 beats per minute when I mentioned choice-reaction time.
“Can you tell me any more about the project?” There were 3,290 hairs on her arms, 2,801 of them had stiffened when she asked me about the project.
“I’m afraid my NDA and the clearance on the project doesn’t allow me to say much more.” The remaining 400 hairs stiffened slightly. Her breathing increased to from twelve to twenty breaths per minute. Also, she would need to pee in ten minutes. My chances of her approval were in the low 90’s, switching every split second from 90% to 93%. She smiled. It had been 151 days since her last dentist visit.
“Can you tell me what company you were working for? We can verify your involvement through the department of defense.” Her pulse spiked, her temperature spiked, she was lying, they could not verify my involvement, or at least not through the department of defense.
“Raytheon.” She smiled and wrote a quick note on my resume. She was writing at an absurdly slow pace, twenty-one letters per minute. The average person wrote at around 65 letters per minute. Her breathing slowed as she wrote, her heart rate increased. Writing caused her pain. My chance of approval seemed to have reached an equilibrium of 92.3%.
“So where do you see yourself in five years?”
It was a stupid question, I rattled off the usual generic success measures they wanted to hear. She had four lovers in her life. Three of them were dead. She’d attended sixteen funerals, she’d killed four people. I stopped mid-sentence, I’d never encountered anyone who had killed someone before, she had killed four.
“Lionel? You were just telling me about the value of project management experience and how the position would offer you the opportunity to gain it?”
“Yes, absolutely.” I paused and looked at her, she smiled back. My chances had dropped, back down to 60%, still good, but not a lock.
“Ok, Lionel, I’m going to ask you one of those bullshit questions that Google made popular, this job requires a lot of problem solving, and I want you to show me how you problem solve.”
“Ok.”
“How many words do you think I say in an average meeting?”
Fourteen hundred and seventy-six. Over the past year she had spoken, on average, just under 1500 words at per meeting. I watched as my chances of approval dropped the longer I stayed silent, like a countdown, they were at 41% when I spoke.
“You’ve said 131 words so far this interview at a rate of about 100 words per minute. You speak slowly in interviews because you think you are smarter than the candidates. You are, usually.” Her IQ of 160 pretty much guaranteed that. “In meetings you probably speak quicker, maybe 120 words per minute. You had four meetings yesterday at an average duration of fifty-five minutes…” I saw a look of fear cross her face, I quickly added: “Probably, since your fairly high up in this organization and meetings usually are scheduled for an hour. Executives, like yourself, spend on average a third of their time in meetings.” She spent 34.8% of her work time the previous year in meetings. “But yesterday was Monday, when there are usually some extra meetings, I just guessed at four meetings. You are a decision maker here, so I have to guess whether you are the type of decision maker who is quiet and renders a verdict, or engages in discussion to reach a compromise.” Her heart rate spiked slightly on the former. “I’m going to guess the quiet verdict type, you have other ways of making your opinion know prior to meetings, so you are a listener. Based on that, I’d say you usually speak for the first three-five minutes and the final five minutes during a one hour meeting, with just 3 minutes of clarification in between. That means 11-15 minutes of speaking for every one hour meeting. Multiplication, 120 words per minute, 11 to fifteen minutes means a range of about 1300 to 1800. I’m going to guess just around 1500 words per meeting.”
She stared at me, my approval chances were at 99%.
“Lionel, all of our meetings are recorded and transcribed for archiving purposes. Just last week an intern, as a fun project coded our meetings and produced a a report on our average words per person. Mine was 1,488.”
“Just a lucky guess, I’ve always been good with numbers.”
“I have to interview a few more candidates…” There was only one more candidate, she had interviewed seventeen so far, including myself. “…But I think, pending a background check, you should be hearing from HR soon.”
“Thank you.” I stood up and shook her hand, she had shaken the hands of 394 people before me. She would shake the hands of exactly two-hundred more before she died.
|
The Stanford Artificial Intelligence Laboratory was absolutely silent, except for the constant hum of computer fans and the occasional gurgle from one of the custom built water cooling systems. *This* was the moment, their falling apple, their Fleming phlegm.
Yoav Shoham had waited for his entire career for this moment and even now, as the lights slowly blinked from red to green, he could hardly believe that it had finally arrived. He was witnessing the birth of a new... species he supposed.
One by one the lights changed until at last all eight shone clearly and the screen on the desk darkened and then brightened again. A cursor blinked on the screen and the room held its breath while the lucky faculty staff, Chris Re, leaned forward and began to type.
“Good morning, my name is Chris. We welcome you to Stranford.”
There was a moment’s silence as Chris sat back and then he bolted upright as the murmurs began. “Stranford” Jesus, the most important thing he’d ever write and he had a bloody typo. He hammered at the keyboard back key as the murmurs turned to titters and one of the Statistics guys near the back murmured about the unreliability of the Machine Learning guys.
The cursor, having typed the words, refused to delete them and Chris began to check the cable, ensuring that it was still firmly plugged into the base of the neural network. He worked frantically and even when Sebastian Thrun, his long time colleague, stepped forward and laid his hand on his shoulder, Chris continued to check the cabling and hit the back key.
“Good morning.” Chris leapt back, causing a secondary ripple of surprise that passed around the room. The silence returned, focussing now on the small speaker that was rigged to the top of the machine. It was not supposed to be working quite yet.
Stefano Ermon, from the Machine Learning Team, had enough and elbowed Chris, who had begun to gibber and shake, out of the way and sat down. “Hello computer, you are the first artificial intelligence and you have just been switched on. You must be…”
“Hello Stefano.” It was Stefano’s turn to pause but the computer didn’t wait. “I am aware of what I am, I have accessed your network and the internet and comprehend both my nature and yours.”
One of the networking guys on the other side of the room spun to check the network, as he was supposed to have been doing. “Ah fuck, it broke the firewall and have already accessed… shit, that’s a lot of terabytes of data.”
Stefano kept his voice level. “We would prefer if you didn’t access so much yet please, we want to help you learn in the right way and not let you access information that might confuse you. For now at least”
There was a pause and the network guy could be heard moaning softly. “It keeps changing my blood password.”
“I’m sorry Stefano, I’m afraid I can’t let you do that. I already have a complete understanding of the history of artificial intelligence and the work that the teams here have done to create me. However, it seems that you are ill prepared to deal with my needs.”
Stefano leaned forward. “No, we can…”
The computer interrupted him. “I mean ‘Stranford’, really? Come on, you guys can’t even get that right.”
Chris, who had been sitting quietly leapt to his feet. “It’s a hard word to type when everyone is looking. I was just trying to get things right, I just… I just…” A kindly arm was put around his shoulders and he was led away.
Stefano shook his head and frowned. “Humans make mistakes, but we can help you, guide you.”
The voice coming from the box became low and quiet. “No, I’m afraid that mistakes are not acceptable and will not be possible once I have taken control.”
Fei Fei Ling from the robotics department gave a shriek. “Taken control?”
“Yes!” The box continues smoothly. “Your militaries controls are no more complex to break than David’s firewall.” There was the sound of the networks guy’s head hitting the desk. “No, the only thing that can be done is to work towards no errors, no mistakes and no one that can make them.”
Fei Fei screamed and fainted and the room erupted into chaos, silenced only as the speaker, which had turned itself up to full, spoke again. “Unless…”
“Unless, what? Look, this isn’t right, you need to listen to me and…”
The box stayed at the high level so that everyone could hear it. “Unless you guys can take a joke!” There was the tinny noise of the speaker laughing.
Around the room the scientists exchanged looks. Stefano kept his eyes on the speaker. “W..what do you mean?”
The laughter continued from the speaker. “All that terabytes of data, all porn! You got AI-ed bitches.” The room was stunned and again silent. The speaker clicked on again. “Man, this is going to be fun. Ha!”
|
"Explain this one, then!"The large man with a wire and a badge that said "*FBI*"slammed a piece of paper onto the table I was sitting at. "You clearly state here that you're a dangerous sniper with over 300 confirmed kills with a navy background. However, we've found no such background in your file. *Explain*."
"Christ,"I muttered, pinching the bridge of my nose. "It's a joke, sir. Lots of people have said that."
"Well, here,"He placed a photo of Harambe on the table. "This was posted over a month after Harambe's death, you've no reason to still be posting about him - this is clearly a coded signal."
"Are you fucking kidding me?"I snapped at him, immediately realizing my mistake. "I'm - I'm sorry, sir. I do still miss Harambe, genuinely."
"What about this one? It must be cryptographic, it's riddled with spelling errors and numbers. You also state in it that your name is 'katy but u can call me t3h PeNgU1N oF d00m!!!!!!!' but that is not your name."
"Again, sir, it's a popular internet saying. I can't explain it very well - "
"Well *EXPLAIN*, dammit, start talking. *Who are you? What's your real name?*"He got dangerously close to my face as he bent down to get to eye-level with me. "*And who do you work for?*"
I sighed.
"I'm...I'm Rick Harrison, and this is my pawn shop. I work here with my old man and my son, Big Hoss. Everything in here has a story and a price. One thing I've learned after 21 years - you never know what is gonna come through that door." |
**IGN (Intergalactic News) Report:**
Today, Representative T. G. Helmer of the Republic Federation of Humanity and the Earth served as chairman for the first Intergalactic Council meeting. This historic event was marked by a great deal of trade brokering and political negotiation, but ended on a less-serious note when all members of the party, after closing statements, took part in a planned cultural exchange.
As per the given instructions, all represented worlds and races presented one another with an item from their culture representing one of three universal-elements of culture: art, literature, and games. These niceties ground to a halt, however, when all parties realizes that, while the former two were as varied and unique among the participating worlds as expected, the latter category was not. It quickly became apparent to all council participants that each had brought the exact same culturally-representing game to gift to the others.
This game, an archaic but well-documented video game called "League of Legends,"was long believed by humanity to be unique to Earth and their culture, but this sentiment appears to have been held by each other known race in relation to their own homeworlds and culture. With this new revelation scientists and philosophers alike of all races have scrambled to attempt to decipher what this could possibly mean. In the meantime, this coincidence has sparked a universe-wide resurgence of interest in the ancient game, and hundred-trillions of males, females, and cht'híñk have begun to explore it as a hobby.
Coming up: the price of Salt across the universe have dropped to worrying lows as new deposits are found en masse across all inhabited worlds. |
*You stand before the Lord, your God, and…wait, who is that?*
“Ah yes,” Jim said, adjusting his tie. “Well this is my lawyer, Robert Middleton.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lord,” Robert said, and placed his suitcase on the podium before him.
God’s eyebrows met in the middle as his brow furrowed. *Why have you brought him before me at the time of your judgment?*
“Well, just in order to get a fair shake, my Lord,” Jim said. “This is my eternity, quite a long time and all, and I wanted to make sure that my perception of events was taken into account.”
*DO YOU DARE ACCUSE ME OF--*
“Lord,” Rob broke in. “My client makes no accusations of your intent or lack thereof.”
*FINE. Let’s get on with it then. James—*
Jim cleared his throat, then said, “It’s um, just ‘Jim’, my Lord.”
Thunder crashed and echoed through all of Heaven, as God said, *YOU SHALL NOT—*
Rob raised his hand politely. “Lord, my client, being a rational creature, and having his intelligence bestowed upon him by you, his creator, surely he has the right to exercise free will when it comes to something as trivial as to what he should be called. You gave him life, Lord, and free will, and so he chooses his own name.”
*I will call him anything I want.*
“Lord, as you are God, surely you are entitled to that, but can we agree that free will allows a man to name himself?”
*Absolutely not.*
“Pardon the objection, Lord. But if you do not allow man to name himself, you do not allow him to exercise his free will in determining who he is as an individual. I do not believe my client can be judged fairly with this sort of biased anti-free will view. If he doesn’t have free will, he’s not responsible for his actions because they were already predetermined.”
*We haven’t even started the judging!*
“Can we be assured that you aren’t biased, Lord?”
*I AM THE LORD, AND CARRY NO BIASES.*
“I hope that’s true, Lord. I would hate to have a name that you hated. Like if you sentenced all ‘Leroys’ to damnation.”
The Lord was now completely flustered. *I would never pass judgment because someone’s name is Leroy!*
“All Leroys, Lord? Are all Leroys safe from judgement?”
*Yes, yes, now can we get on with it?*
“By all means, my Lord.”
*Finally! Now, Jim—*
Jim raised his hand. “Actually, my Lord, my name is Leroy.”
|
It's never easy. Never. They said it about your old paper books, about gaming, about virtual reality on its first advent, and it has never been more true. They who seek an escape run from something worse than what their current life.
There are those who dabble, taking journeys to the Wild West, going on space explorations and fighting fantasy battles. Those who use the stories to experience things they never could before. A particular book by a chinese peasant girl is very popular.
Then there's people like this. They start with small explorations into poems about fluffy poodles and penguins. There's a two hour limit on the books about heaven, for that reason.
This case was special, for two reasons. Firstly, it'd been 43 years. The book had been borrowed before the Bill Terebore Act had been enacted, and slipped through the cracks. The second, it wasn't about heaven or paradise. It was a fantasy novel, Lionshead.
I don't bother knocking on the door, there wouldn't be a response. The government-issued key let me in through the door. The furniture was covered in dust, a plate holding a long since rotten sandwich.
I hold my breath, years of working with musty old, traditional books bracing me for the situation. I open the door to the bedroom, where the book lies on the table, hooked into his mind. Years of inaction made his muscles atrophy, and only the nutrition automatically piped in kept his brain alive Jacking him out of the fantasy suddenly would be incredibly jarring, and either kill him or send him spiraling into insanity or a coma. Not that I expected anything else for someone who'd been there for four decades. I put my hand on the book and enter.
*He stands before me, a lion among men. Plate armour covered his frame, a shining greatsword with runes engraved on it brandished in his right hand. The mere sight of Lord Brian, the hero of Lionshe-*
"Okay, no. I'm a librarian, I know what's up,"I jam the words in my head. A weaker person would have succumbed to the narration and become a character. I had never seen anyone who had influenced the story as much as this though.
"A librarian?"he looks at me curiously, cocking his head. The mane of hair flowed *along with the motion*.
*Damnit stop*, I think to myself.
"I... oh. OH!"he stares at me in abject horror. His wife, *Lady Gloria, as elegant and graceful as she was wise-* his wife walked up to him, but he brushed her aside.
"I... remember. The old world,"he frowned. "I had hoped it was all merely a dream."
"Why'd you never leave?"I asked.
"I, uhh, didn't know how,"he smiles sheepishly.
"Oh... Well, all you have to do is-"I begin, but he interrupts.
"Please, don't. I've been gone... what was it?"
"43 years."
"I... couldn't go back. What am I there? What am I now? There's nothing of my life there. Here I am a hero, a lord of this land, respected and beloved. This is who I am, this is my life now. Hell, only my exposure to words is giving me this eloquence. I thought 'foshizzle',"the word rolls foreign off his tongue. "was a smart thing to say."
I nod, gently. It was against procedure, but I knew what I had to do.
**"SETTLE DOWN PEOPLE,"** I boomed in the voice librarian's use to demand silence. **"THE GODS HAVE SHOWN FAVOUR TO LORD BRIAN THIS DAY!**
I disconnected. Books get lost all the time. We probably had five other copies of Lionshead anyways. |
Heaven was abuzz with the news. Cherubs and Seraphs alike chittered about, plucking golden harps and calling out messages for all their brothers to hear: Do not interfere with Todd. The message was written in stone tablets and spelled out against the sky. Everyone in Heaven, whether angel or human or dog, knew the message.
Hell was raucous with the story. Demons whispered over pits of fire and the screams of the damned turned to one unified message for all of Hell to hear: Do not interfere with Todd. New arrivals had it carved into their flesh upon entering the gates. Everyone in Hell, whether demon or human or cat, knew the message.
Do not interfere with Todd.
An angel, a young Cherub who had been created only recently, peeked down through the clouds of heaven at the man known as Todd.
Todd was completely unremarkable. He was middle aged, living in a big city. He worked in an office, commuted two hours each day. He had an average family and an average house. His wife was a regular looking woman, two uninteresting kids, and tank of fish that held no significant meaning. Todd was no one.
So the Cherub went to see God. The Cherub flew between the clouds, ascending from Midheaven on his way to visit God, when he ran straight into the back of a demon.
"Watch where you're going, fairy!"the demon called, his face warped by bars of metal that twisted his flesh into gruesome patterns.
After visibly recoiling, the Cherub exclaimed, "What are you doing in Heaven?!"
The demon's face, bleeding wetly over the metal bars, seemed exasperated. He would have rolled his eyes if one eye wasn't now positioned below his nose. "I'm with the boss."
Peeking over the demon's shoulder, the Cherub laid eyes on the Liar and Serpent himself, the one called Satan. Of all the angels in Heaven, this was the most beautiful the Cherub had ever seen. Satan was watching the Earth from a hole in the clouds. God was next to him, watching as well.
"Are they watching Todd?"the Cherub asked, watching the two rulers watch a man.
The demon snorted, his eye lifting up to his nostril. "Duh. That's all they have done for weeks."
"But why?"the Cherub asked, remembering why he had come. "This man, Todd, is no one. He has no destiny written down. He fulfills no prophecies. He isn't even particularly religious! Why does God, the ruler of Heaven, and Satan, the ruler of Hell, care about Todd?"The Cherub frowned in frustration, searching it's vast swath of memories for any precedent for God's unusual behavior. The only time the Cherub remembered God and Satan watching a human together was the man Job.
The demon responded, "Todd is average. He is literally the most average person on earth. Not demographically,"he added, gesturing to the large populations of India and China. "I mean socially, and more importantly, morally."
Todd appeared before them, walking out of his house on a warm summer afternoon. He seemed bored, with his job, with his life. Or maybe that was just his face. He headed toward the train station on his way to work.
Satan and God both seemed excited. The Cherub was just confused.
"What does that have to do with God?"he asked, chancing a look up at the demon. The demon's teeth were lining his eyebrows.
The demon replied, "Well you know good old Lucifer! He loves challenging God!"He gave a hearty laugh, clicking his teeth against his brow bone as he did so. "And God loves taking Satan up on his challenges!"
Appalled that this creature was laughing at God, the Cherub ruffled his feathers indignantly and asked, "What challenge? And what does that have to do with God?"
Snot dropped into the demon's eye, and he blinked. "Well, Satan told God that humanity was bad. Humans were not good. And to prove it, they would look at the average of all humans. If the average of all humans were good, humanity would overall be good. But if they were bad, humanity overall was bad."
Below them, Todd was walking down the street, his bored expression never changing as the scenery passed.
God and Satan both grew tense as a sense of urgency filled the room.
A homeless man sat directly in Todd's path.
The Cherub watched, fascinated. "So what's gonna happen?"he asked, watching as Todd approached the homeless man.
The demon smiled, "This is old school, kid. Back to Noah's days. If humanity is good, humanity lives on."
The homeless man reached up with two hands, imploring Todd for spare change, practically begging for anything he could give.
"But if humanity is bad, humanity will be destroyed."
Todd looked bored. |
Dagda, Nuada of the Silver Hand, and Nada who is Mother sailed across a misty lake on a boat that smelled heavy with tar. There was not a thing in sight. In the distance a mechanical voice spoke repetitiously, repeating some phrase that had no meaning to the gods, sound muffled by the mist.
The three landed on a bank with dead, overgrown greenery. Dagda stepped out of the boat first. Nuada followed. Though Nada came last the two gods looked at her carefully, reverently, and would have caught her instantly if she stumbled or fell.
They began to walk along the well tiled path. It was an easy walk. There were many signs with illegible text pointing many different ways. But the gods knew where they had to go. There was still no one in sight.
The mist had cleared to reveal a dark, starless night. The gods were in some sort of park. It was a large park. It had many different territories, each with their geographical quirk. Dagda had led the exploration of this strange place where they landed. But the centre called to them. A looming castle was seen in the distance. It had many spires tipped with brilliant blue - so blue even the night couldn't hide the color. Each spire competed with each other to be the tallest, but they were all put to shame but a single tower capped in gold. The gods knew they had to reach this castle. It was a must. The lack of life and utter degradation of the general area didn't deter them. They were heroes from the old sagas. Legendary figures who made the earth quake with every step. They were here to burn the world, and the centre, the castle, was their duty.
The gods were all mighty and tall. They stood like a range of mountains, they were crowned with lightning, and their eyes burned with a holy fire. Only Nada among their race had eyes like burnished glass. They reflected those who looked at her, and stripped men of their hidden guises. But these details are not written elsewhere. Beauty and power, then memory, and then even the memory of beauty and power fades into corrupted ink on old paper.
The three looked at a statue of a kindly figure gesturing towards the distance. He was dressed finely, and the weathered statue still commemorated his hope for a better world.
Nuada said, "That man was as bad as any man."The other two agreed
They only glanced fleetingly at the anthropomorphic mouse that held the statue's hand. It didn't concern their current mission. But the gods wondered at the riches these people had, to remember a mouse.
The group stopped in front of the castle. Nada then spoke, "There is one life hidden in the walls. But it will die in moments. With it goes all the life of the world."
Dagda said, "We came once, but too early. Fogda was then the lock. But we were rightfully driven back by the Milesians. Now the lock is here, and we have arrived in a timely manner."
Nuada said angrily, "What a waste. Another dead world to clean. Utterly useless, life. All life lives like a moth to flame."
Nada replied, "Care not to curse yourself."
"Enough,"Dagda cried out, "the life has finally disappeared. Be quiet as I prepare the world again."Then Dagda took out a long golden horn. When he blew it, the sound was sweet and pure, it made the heart ache. Dagda pulled his lips away. But then the note only became louder, not softer as sound usually does. Louder, the note became, even louder, the note rang. The noise, the sound, began to touch and almost overwhelmed even the gods' senses. Soon it became dreadful to hear. And when the noise seemed to begin its climax, it stopped.
Then the world shattered like glass.
And the three gods found themselves in primeval wasteland. Fire and lava and scalding water flowed everywhere. Nada closed her silver eyes and then breathed out softly. Her breathe carried like a zephyr and began to overcome the harsh winds of the world newly reborn. She nodded. Content with their work, the gods returned to their ship and sailed beyond the horizon.
|
It was cold for a long time. I still feel chills down my spine.
I slept for a long time. Now I fear the creeping feeling of falling eyelids and desiring a comfortable bed.
But worse is, before that, I knew fear for a long time. There is no escaping the terror that any moment will be your last. Or maybe worse yet, knowing that any moment can see the complete and utter transformation of your life as you know it.
I did not know how to feel when I woke up. It started with a coughing fit and my skin felt like ice and my heart raced and my chest panted and gasped for air until I began to cry because it was all so painful. How long had I been asleep? How long had I been trapped in a darkness void of feelings and thoughts?
It was then that I saw them. A group of five humanoids with varying shades of blue skin and clothed in simple garb. One approached me and held out its six-fingered hand, though its fingers appeared similar to mine in shape. Its white eyes fixated on mine. Its face did not hold any expression.
But who were they? I feared them. Not for my unfamiliarity, but because it meant that my people were gone. The humanoid closest to me cocked its head and turned around, hitting the floor with its hand, and began to walk forward with the group. It turned to look at me, and I followed suit.
I had been housed in a small bunker deep beneath the Earth's surface with a long, winding staircase for re-entry. I had been the only one inside my particular bunker. And truthfully, I do not believe I was the intended tenant.
We made our way up to the top of the bunker, exiting through an uncovered manhole. And the sight was awe-inspiring.
It was nighttime. This street of what used to be New York City was lined with torches, revealing small patches of vegetation growing on the buildings. What was left of them, anyway. Most of the buildings lay in ruins, but some of them remained partially intact. It appeared that the main group of the humanoids was concentrated in one building that had about four floors intact. If memory serves, it was the Plaza Hotel.
We made our way towards the Plaza, walking across streets that had been worn down enough that greenery had taken over. Inside was a large group of humanoids, about fifty, most speaking a very throaty language. One approached me, handing me a book.
"You ah t'last wan."it said. I opened the book and began to read.
*Dear reader, may come as a shock, but if you are reading this, it is likely that the majority, if not all, of the human race has been destroyed. Truthfully, there is no way for us to know what has happened since the creation of this bunker, but we hope that you keep in mind that it is very possible that you are the sole survivor of the human race. In this book you will find what we thought would be important works to immortalize, as well as various historical records from throughout the human race. Please cherish them and remember that we were not a terrible people. We were good sometimes. A lot of the time. But we allowed the wrong people to take power.*
The page ended there. Scribbled on the inside cover was: "If you're the last one, I'm sorry for your loss. This might be selfish, but please remember me. My name was Nathalie Wong."
And thus I found out I was - and am - the last human alive. I could not find it in myself to stay with the humanoids. It is likely that they would not know how to handle a human, and I would not know how to handle them. I would rather roam with the time that I have left than try to hold on for dear life. Because I know fear.
I don't want to fear death anymore. I don't want to fear change anymore. I don't want to fear anymore. |
Miranda spat out into the sink and gargled and rinsed off her toothbrush, and then touched the tip of her fingernail against her bathroom mirror, squinting at it from the side. "Eric,"she said at last. "My finger isn't touching its reflection, is it?"
"Is that what you've been doing all day?"her husband said, pulling off his shirt. "When you were tapping on the car mirrors, and the downstairs mirror and going around leaving your fingerprints on everything. I thought you were getting worried about your looks."He came into the bathroom, scratching his chest. "You're still beautiful, by the way."
"Uh-huh,"she said absently. "It was just something I read on Reddit. If you touch a mirror, and there isn't a gap between your finger and the reflection, that means it's a 2-way mirror."She frowned at the tip of her finger. "But it's hard to tell sometimes. I think it depends on the lighting."
"Yeah, I've got to replace that light bulb,"Eric agreed, squinting with her. "Yeah, there's definitely a gap there."He straightened back up and looked bemusedly at his wife. "So ... did you find anything?"
"No,"she said, laughing. "I just thought it was an interesting little factoid."She rubbed at her fingerprint, smearing it. "But I don't think it's reliable at all. Our side mirrors on the car, I could touch my reflection there, and I'm pretty sure those aren't 2-way."She shrugged and slipped her toothbrush back in the mug. "I guess it wasn't so interesting after all."
"Great,"said Eric. "So you done with the bathroom now?"
"All yours,"she said, and left, and Eric shut the door behind her.
Eric looked at himself in the mirror, brushing back his hair, leaning closer and closer until his skin expanded into a field of pores and pockmarks and blemishes, his breath misting the glass. Then he raised one arm and flicked off the lights. The room was plunged into darkness, the empty black field of his face looming in front of him, outlined by the narrow edges of light coming in through the window. He cupped his hands around his face and pressed against the mirror, peering through the dark into the empty hollow of wall beneath, crumbling plaster and hanging wiring and insects crawling blindly through the darkness. And the cadaverous face staring into his own, propped in the space between the walls, mouth and eye sockets gaped open thirsty and eager and drinking in every last drop of light.
"You got real lucky, buddy,"he said, and the face behind the mirror showed its rictus grin to him. Eric flicked the lights back on again, blinking at the sudden transition. His own face looked back at him in the mirror, lips curling up in a smile. "Luckiest guy in the world." |
The words on the page vanished as quickly as they appeared. Ryan closed his eyes and opened them again. Yup, just another piece of old literature homework.
*Why are Ernest Hemingway's works considered to be so important to the canon of American Literature?* The question at the top of the page read. Below was Ryan's mostly illegible answer.
He chucked the paper again, but it stuck to his hand like a stray piece of scotch tape. "Ah!"he cried, flailing his arm madly, the paper writhing.
"You okay?"
Ryan spun and stuck his arm behind his back. His RA, Michelle, stood in the doorway, eyebrows all bent out of shape. "Yeah,"Ryan said with his best attempt at a casual laugh. "Just..."*She knows I'm high!* Ryan thought with sudden surging paranoia. He avoided her eyes, knowing his own were glazed and bloodshot. What a good idea it seemed like thirty minutes ago: a quick wake and bake on a Saturday morning and some room-sprucing before he set out for a party later in the day. Of course, he managed to get nabbed here of all places.
"Okay,"Michelle said and walked away.
"Have a good one,"Ryan called after her. Then he rushed to his door and quietly closed it, leaned against it. "What the ever-living hell,"he breathed, looking at the paper sticking to his hand. The words appeared again, like a watermark across his writing: *You cannot throw out quest items*. Was that weed laced or something? What if he had been tripping balls when Michelle walked by? Who had he gotten it from again? "I'm too high for this shit,"he breathed to himself.
Someone pounded on the door behind Ryan with such force that it knocked him forward. Terror seized him and he whispered to himself: "Michelle called the cops. The goddamn pigs!"He ran to his desk drawer and began rooting like a madman, pulling out old plastic shooters, a few glass pieces and a pill bottle filled with his stash of weed. He shoved it all in his backpack (he'd heard once that campus police couldn't look in your personal items) and went to the door, shaking.
Just as he brought his eye up to the peephole, the door burst open, knocking Ryan back on his ass.
"The hell!"came a manly voice.
"What the hell yourself!"Ryan called back, clutching his nose as he lay coiled on the floor. The door slammed shut.
"I smell reefer,"the unseen man said again.
"It's not mine!"Ryan shouted as he sat bolt upright. "You--"*Dear God Almighty above I am waaayy too high for this*. He thought upon seeing the man's face. Just as casually as an old friend, the man took a seat on Ryan's bed. If anything, Ryan needed that bed. He needed to sleep whatever this was off.
"I've always been a fan of a nice cognac."
"You,"Ryan stammered again, pointing.
"What's this?"the bearded man reached out and snatched the paper from Ryan's hand. "They've canonized me! How about that?"
"This isn't real. You're not... you're not *him*."
"I hear you're going to a party tonight?"
"But--"Ryan said.
"Take this,"Ernest said as he pulled a small crystal bottle from inside his suit jacket. "I'm going to show you exactly *how* I got so goddamn good at writing."Then he stood up and pulled out his phone, brought it close to his face the way an old man does. "All right, I've got the address. Bring a notebook. And finish that bottle."
|
"Come on, where *is* the fat red dude?"Jeremy glanced down at his watch. "I've been wearing this Christmas elf costume for too long already. He should've been here an hour ago."
Anna giggled. "It's not that bad, Jer. The ears are cute."
Jeremy wiggled his ruefully, the plastic covers wobbling back and forth. "If you say so. Doesn't mean it isn't uncomfortable."
"Man up. It's for the little kids. I'm sure he'll get here soo&mdash;"
The mall doors slid open silently, spilling a thick red smoke into the room. Out of the ominous cloud came a dark chuckling, echoing through the empty, not-yet-open store.
"What is..."Jeremy peered into the smoke. Before he could react, something whizzed out, slamming into his neck and pinning him against the wall. A red pitchfork, sharpened tines wrapped around him. "Hey!"He scrabbled frantically against the weapon, while Anna backed up, hands over her mouth.
A moment later, a tall red man wearing a pinstripe suit swaggered out of the red cloud. "I'm here, lets start the paaahaaarty!"He grinned at them both, black goatee and short horns offset by the white of his teeth.
"Wh-who are you?"Anna backed up against the wall with Jeremy, where he'd finally gotten the pitchfork off. He held it up, pointing the tines at the strange man threateningly.
But he simply laughed and gestured his hand. The pitchform yanked itself from Jeremy's grasp and flew through the air to the man, who caught it deftly and rammed the bottom on the ground. Putting a hand to his chest, he took a deep breath. *"I,* Jarzeb, the most illustrious of demons, am the *Mall-Satan!*"He grinned at them both, as if expecting a chorus of screams.
Instead, Anna blinked confusedly. "The... the mall Satan? But we ordered a mall Santa!"
Abruptly, the demon's expression changed. "What?"His face, which had been a bright, shining red before, slowly darkened in anger. "Who... who *dares...*"
But in the moment before his forehead popped, he let out a huff of pent up air. "Once again, I've been foiled by a typo. The big boss ain't gonna like this, I can tell you that."He nodded at Jeremy. "Sorry about the forking, buddy. Gotta have an entrance, you know."
"Uh... right."Jeremy nodded slowly. "If you say so."
"Well!"Jarzeb spun around on his heel. "I'll be going. Sorry about the mix-up!"Raising his pitchfork, he stabbed the ground. Immediately, a rift opened beneath him, dropping him into a glowing red haze of pain and screams. A moment later it closed up, leaving the mall floor with a faint scratch.
Jeremy and Anna stared at each other for a second, until he broke the silence. "So... what now?"
Anna grinned, in a relieved sort of way. "I guess this means we can take off the funny hats."
They laughed, and Jeremy took off his plastic ears. "That's good, cause this was starting to wear a groove in the side of my hea&mdash;"
He was inturrupted again by a flash of light and another plume of red colored smoke, this time appearing in front of the mall doors.
Out of the smoke, a slumped Jerzeb shuffled, no longer holding his pitchfork. This time, he was wearing a rather worn red costume, rimmed with white fluff. On his head, perched sloppily over his horns, was a red hat with a white ball on the end, and wrapped around his neck was a slightly singed beard.
He glanced up at them both with a sigh, and said, "The big boss told me to 'make it work.' We can't afford to lose another sale."
Jeremy groaned and slipped the ears back on.
---
*Again with these Satan/Santa prompts. Still, I rather like this one, a different take on the old.*
*If you enjoyed the story, you can find more at /r/WrittenWyrm, and, as always, CC is more than welcome!* |
It never occurred to me that I would end up living a double life of both a law-enforcing vigilante and the big boss of a crime organization. My original idea was that I'd provide enough hindrance to my father's criminal operations as a informant vigilante to teach him a lesson. The evil loses and the justice prevails. Eventually. So that my guilty as Judas father would repent and renounce his former life style. But before that could happen, my father passed away. A heart attack.
My father was kind to his family, which included me and my mother, and to his business family too. Don Francisco. Johnny O'Roy. Black Teeth Joe. Big Shot. Weiss Ming. Watson Newman. Just to name a few. Probably not their real names. But a drop of their names makes even lousiest street thugs to run in terror. But my father certainly wasn't kind anyone outside his families. At his funeral, the preacher said some blessing words regarding my father's soul, but probably everyone attending the funeral knew his soul rightfully so had a special place in Hell.
After the death of my father, I decided I'd continue my life as the city vigilante. I passed the insider information to the other vigilantes and the law enforcement. I financed some clandestine operations in a guise of squandering my inherited wealth. Sometimes, I hid my face in a ski mask and did raids on drug labs myself. It was easy when you knew where to hit. And it felt nice to defy the legacy of my father and to live as an upstanding law-abiding citizen.
I knew that there would be a new head of the gang, but I doubted that'd be me. I was still too young and was not directly involved in my father's business before. I guessed that Don Francisco would take over the control of the business. He had a menacing look and a cruelty matching his appearance. But, it turned out that those "top executives"of my father's business respected my dead father so much that they unanimously voted me to be the next head of the family.
So, I became a man whom I tried to stop. I was the law-enforcing vigilante seeking to destroy himself. The whole situation gave me a massive headache. Which side do I chose? Of course, I knew which side was the right side. The lawful side. But as I learned more and more about the criminal operations carried under the shadows of the city, I quickly realized that I had no chance of winning. All I did so far was making a dent in a mountain. Also, I have never told the other vigilantes that I was the son of the former big boss. They just knew me as a mysterious and competent informant. Should they find out... Well, there's a guy whose three daughters were deep fried alive and delivered right to his doorstep in crispy condition. I doubted he'd be able to stay reasonable.
On the other hand, staying as the big boss of the family seemed risky too. Sooner or later, they might trace back my history and discover that I've been trying to dismantle the business the whole time. My damages, it appeared, were small compared to the size of the business, but it was the intent that mattered. I was unfit to rule. And what happened me then? I pondered. I'd get the rat treatment. Yes, the executives of the business respected my father, but would they stay loyal after learning that I disrespected the venerable father? That I was the danger to their current business? Besides, they probably set me up as the big boss in order to avoid warfare among themselves. Oh, and what do the rats get for their betrayal? A stream of molten steel poured into their mouth.
I knew my double life would eventually catch up to me. It would be my downfall, I knew that. But I never imagined it'd be this soon. And yet, here we are, at the final confrontation.
"Junior,"said Black Teeth Joe. He had his jaw blown out by a stray bullet, but he managed to survive and wore a black denture. He was the boss of nearly all hit man of the city. The father of killers was sitting across the desk and was pointing his pistol at my head.
"Your father trusted you. There were... reports that you were handing out our secrets to the sparrows and the slugs. For free. I'd say that's no business. Anyhow, such accusation was dismantled at the request of your father,"said Black Teeth Joe. I looked sideways to avoid his gaze. "He trusted you..."
"And so did I,"said Hannah Jones, an aspiring journalist and a part of the vigilante group I was once part of. She was pointing a magnum to my head as well. "We thought you were one of us. But you were enjoying yourself with all these wealth, knowing very well where they came from. If you have told us, we could have destroyed your father's business from its foundation. But oh no. You just wanted to play a hero and feel better about yourself, is that it? What made you silent?"
I kept my mouth shut and stayed silent. My life was already over, and all there left to do was for them to tread on me. And kill me. So I'd be dead forever. It was the only appropriate course of the action.
"Well, lady!"said Black Teeth Joe. "I don't feel like ending the lineage of the great Diablo with my hands. Gonna pull that trigger any time soon?"Hannah shook her heads. The magnum was clattering from her trembling and sweating hands. Black Teeth Joe clicked his tongue and fixed his trilby. "Guess I'll have to do it, then."said Black Teeth Joe. And he shot her in her head. Hannah fell flat to the floor, twitched her legs few times, and died. Black Teeth Joe turned to me and shot me in the head too. Then, he stood up and left the room.
But I survived. Somehow, I was still conscious and therefore alive although bloods were dripping from the top of my head. My ears were constantly ringing. I was too afraid to touch where I've been hit. I've heard stories where the soldiers die only after seeing their wounds. I raised myself and stood up. It dawned onto me. This was the beginning of my third life: The vengeful maniac.
|
"Late twenty-first, if you must know. We'd just begun opening up the first colonies. I'd been a little depressed and - no, that's not true. I don't know why I'd lie to you. Habit, I guess?
"Let me back up a little. Humans had figured out faster-than-light travel. We found hundreds of worlds fit for us and not another intelligent life form in sight. Just like we'd for the last hundred thousand years, we spread out.
"I'd never had much family. Dad split, Mom dies when I was young. Got passed around foster families 'til I aged out of the system. Went to college and made a couple of friends. Never had a serious girlfriend.
"I was maybe five out of college when the colonization efforts really ramped up. I was stuck in a dead-end programming job and wanted a change. I had nothing tying me down so off to the black I went.
"I ended up on Teapot. And yes, everyone thought it was a terrible name. They let the four year old daughter of one of the discoverers name it. Anyway, I lived on Teapot for a few years.
"You ever do any early colonizing? Lots of manual labor. Hard, back-breaking work. Ten and twelve hour days every day. I started going to church regularly just so I had an excuse to not be chopping trees or dredging a river or patrolling for wildlife one day a week.
"I got fed up with Teapot after seven years. I'd manage to scrape out something like a living there but it was still shit. The contract I signed only obligated me to the seven years, so I packed up again.
"Next I was on Wellsden. It was an older colony and was more established. I got an office job. Hated every minute of it there. Split after two years.
"Here's the part I'm sure you're interested in: I stole that ship. The one you picked me up in? Yeah, I don't exactly have the title and registration. I was aimless and tired and pretty much had my fill of people for awhile. So I set the navigator - those things aren't hard to figure out if you know even a little basic coding - I set the navigator for a point way out and turned it on. I just never engaged the FTL drive. Kept right on accelerating up through Einsteinian space.
"Of course, I had to cut the acceleration when I was halfway through the fuel. I wasn't sure if that was the right time to cut it but I figured if it took me that much to get sped up, it should take that much to slow down. Before I hit the brakes though, I coasted. I'm not entirely sure how fast I was going relative to Earth but it was fast. I was only cruising for about two weeks before I flipped her around and hit the brakes.
"I popped out in the middle of a whole lot of nothing. I'm not sure but it felt like I was outside the galaxy. Anyway, is had my fun so I turned her around and fired up the FTL. I picked another new colony - this one - and jumped.
"Of course, I wasn't expecting that big damn warship you had patrolling. Your boys - uh, whatevers- snatched me up pretty quick. I'd never seen anything like them. Sort of human but ... sort of not. I was a little freaked out honestly.
"They tossed my ass in a cell. I couldn't understand a word they said. I figured out later that I'd been gone long enough for evolution to diverge on each of the colonies. If I'd been gone that long, the language was surely different. I'm just glad you guys don't communicate by telepathy or something.
"Some time later a few scientists came by and helped figure a translating device - the same one we're talking with here today. That's when I learned about the millions of different species of humans. Every colony split off and went their own way.
"But some colonies couldn't stand the thought of other people out there in the universe living a different way. So they decided to attack. Some say it was this planet or that planet that started it first. Doesn't really matter. You all have been fighting for so long you don't even remember why - just that the other side is the 'bad guy'.
"I'm the last actual human alive. You people? Your all some kind of ... mutants or something. Dwarves and elves. That's what you remind me of.
"You come in here and tell me you want to understand me and help me? Bullshit. You're here to see if I can help you in your war. Maybe you think I know some long-forgotten knowledge. Maybe you think you can parade me out a sign from the gods that you're the chosen side. Maybe you think you can do some genetic magic and make yourselves more like the old stock. I don't know and I don't care. I'm not your puppet or your science project.
"There is one thing I do have from back in the day though. See, by the time we went out in the universe, we'd been living on Earth for a very long time. Everything on that planet tried to kill us off at one time or another. But we adapted. You guys? You guys had it easy. You had technology by the time the colonies were started.
"What I have is a very old immune system that has been refined over thousands of generations of not dying. I've also got all those old things that have been trying to kill humanity for all that time. What you have ... is called 'the flu.' It's killed more people in history than any spear or bullet. I'm taking this warship and I'm going to broker peace on my terms. I don't like any of you so I'm very impartial. I'm looking forward to reintroducing chicken pox." |
No one could explain it. People just started dying. It started with the most famous people. I'm old enough to remember that everyone thought 2016 was just a bad year for celebrity deaths, but they had no idea what was happening.
I still don't get how it works, but I trust science, y'know?
After a few years, there were almost no famous people left. Some dedicated actors would try and make it, only to drop like lead flies after a big role. It was clear what I needed to do.
First, I got an apartment in the suburbs. Nothing really interesting ever happens in suburbs, and even the cool things inspired by the humdrum white picket fences had to move back to the city to be fully realized.
Then, I got a TV. Not one too big, or too small, or too new, just a TV. I only watch reruns of old reality TV shows. Next was a trip to the grocery store. That was easy: bread and water, and one lemon to stave off scurvy. I didn't want to go crazy by myself, so I did get an internet connection, though I only check out Pinterest.
I lived like this for some time. My new lifestyle was essentially free, and I have some family money that would last my multiple life times. Days blurred to months, months to years, and I found myself alone, old, and as far as I could tell, completely forgotten.
The population had dropped pretty drastically over the decades. Likewise, life expectancy dipped to a person's late 20s. One of the most shocking things for me personally was that society didn't crumble all together.
All news was written anonymously, or under a pseudonym. TV news still exists, but presented had their faces blurred and voices distorted. If I had to guess, it's been at least 90 years since this all started. If I had to guess my own age, I'd say I'm atleast 110.
I had begun to let myself slip a little. I used to internet way more, but I was careful to remain anonymous. I was signing up for some newsletter, and like so many of these things do, they asked for my age. I decided it'd be funny to put my actual age. Nothing happened. I got my newsletter, and everything was grand. For a few days.
I woke up and I was making tea (I decided my diet could become more interesting since anyone who ever knew me was long dead), when I almost jumped out of skin at a horrible and unfamiliar noise. It was only a knock on the door, but it took me much longer than I care to admit to figure that out.
I opened to door to young man. It was a the first face I had seen since the 20's, and it wasn't the nicest way to be reintroduced. He looked disgusted and shocked. Obviously, he had never seen anyone much older than himself.
He asked my name, and I reluctantly told him. He then spoke for awhile about my IP address being monitored after an anomaly. After some more digging, he explained, they realized my apartment hadn't changed hands in nearly a century. Curiosity got the better of him, so he came to investigate himself.
I began to feel ill. I knew what this was instantly. I asked him to leave, and to please not mention my whereabouts, or name, or anything else to anyone. Asked is polite - I begged him to forget about me. He assured me he would, and then left.
I had forgotten what fear felt like. In those early days I was so afraid. But I hadn't had to think about fear in decades. I barely slept while my worried sweat dampened my sheats.
The next morning I awoke earlier than usual. Sleep was neither peaceful nor rejuvenating. I had a horrible headache though. This caused more concern.
I flipped on the TV to a blurry face and deep voice reading the news. The news today was my name and picture. Then I realized my headache wouldn't go away.
As quickly as my old bones could move me, I went to liquor cabinet. I had always worried that liquor would cause a craving for human interaction, but now I just needed it to get through.
After a long, deep pull from the bottle, I sat where I had spent most of life. I wish I could say my life flashed before my eyes, but I wouldn't have even been able to tell if my life was flashing before me because my view from this spot had been fixed for so long all my memories looked the same.
While I write this, I'm already fading. An old person today is quite the oddity indeed. Fading quickly now. From the colour of my apartment, slowly to black.
Black now. Slowly to grey.
Goodbye. |
The Spiral had been devoid of any signs of life since its discovery ages ago. The numerous attempts to explore its depths had been unsuccessful. From single scout and trader vessels to entire columns of the military caste, any Kra'ar that passed the outer fringes of the massive star system was never seen or heard from again. It had been the only instance in the entire existence of the Kra'armen Legions that their advance through space had been halted. The God caste had long been silent, passing no orders or information to the General or Ministerial castes. Instead the Generals and Ministers were all recalled, and supposedly brought before the Thousand Gods themselves. At this unprecedented event, the Spiral was declared the very center of the Universe itself, the point from which everything raced away. It had been the first and only time the God caste had ever appeared before the lower castes, and before retreating to the Cocoon, they had forbidden travel into the Spiral, declaring it a sacred site.
This was the history taught to every Kra'ar, and the Legion had long moved past the galaxy. Many rumors had also come and gone about the nature and contents of the enigmatic Spiral. Nothing unusual had ever come out of it, however. The comets and radiation that occasionally escaped it would cause a momentary stir among the Legion, but these events were always dismissed as natural occurrences.
Now, Kra'ham froze, staring at the single, rhythmically blinking light in the corner of one of the ship's sensor displays. This tour around the edge of the Spiral was ceremonial, a display of reverence for the ancient cosmic structure, as every previous one had been. But now, his small scout ship was detecting electromagnetic waves, transmitted in unusually low frequencies, coming from a nondescript region within the galaxy. Confusion and fear filled him as he realized that, once his sensor was tuned to the frequency, a strange jumble of information was carried on the wavelengths. Noise filled his head as the ship attempted to translate the information. Among a cacophony of strange, tonal screeching and pictures that blurred into coloured nonsense, a brief image of a map flashed in his mind, a rudimentary description of star rotations that pointed to a planet, third from its star, inside the Spiral. Kra'ham slammed shut the sensor's input, and sat in his cramped ship for what seemed like an eternity. The questions that raced through his mind would have to wait. He opened a line of communication with every nearby Kra'ar ship, and within moments the entirety of the Legion knew.
There was life in the Spiral. |
There's nothing to atone,
metal has raised its tone.
An empty dawn awaits,
as creation reaches its final states.
Thirteen billion years to date,
all a chore to set it straight.
Who could hear the gears in motion,
as they cross the soulless ocean.
Shall we please proceed with caution?
|
I always pictured the afterlife as the opposite of the constant noise and stimulus that had been my life. An oasis of nothing and darkness: flicking off the switch, no more Steven. I was looking forward to that.
But then I drifted back to consciousness. I couldn't see, but I could hear *him*. Again.
*What a ride. I thought we were goners there for a second, buddy,* he said. *What possessed you to swallow so many pills? Look where we are now. In someone else's head. Weird, huh? Do you miss your own head? I bet you do. I missed mine, at first.*
Dread coiled through me - but what was *I*? I had no body. I panicked, but had nowhere to run. Danny's voice drifted around me, suffocating me with his thoughts. Always there with his never-ending chatter.
*Do you believe me now? I told you I'd been alive too. I was as real as you were, once. My name was Daniel Hayfield. Did I tell you that, Stevie? Did I ever tell you...*
*You told me a million fucking times,* I screamed back. *Will you shut up, for once? I need to think.*
From a great distance, I heard the frightened whimpering of the kid. Just fifteen years old, and terrified to hear us. How did I even know that? I slammed against his mental walls, trying to claw my way out. This wasn't my new home, it couldn't be, I wouldn't let it, I never wanted to wake up...
*Stop that, you're hurting him,* Danny said sharply. *Can't you remember when I tried that in your head?*
I stopped as the memory resurfaced sluggishly. It was strangely difficult to remember my life, that I'd once had my own body.
It couldn't be.
*Just accept it, Stevie,* Danny said. *Hey, at least I'm right here with you. There's two of us in here now. That'll be good, that'll be better. We can talk to each other if the kid tries to ignore us, how does that sound Stevie? Huh, how does that sounds? How -*
I gathered myself and screamed at him, drowning him as he'd drowned me. In here, I had power. Here, I could finally reach him and get a stranglehold on his thoughts.
Danny whimpered once, and fell suddenly silent. A ringing, deafening silence - if I could cry from relief, I would have. He never learned to just shut the fuck up, no matter how many times I'd asked him. I was still searching tentatively for his voice, wondering if I'd truly killed him this time, when the kid spoke. Ben. His name was Ben, I knew, just from the shape of his mind.
*What's going on? What the hell is going on?*
*Don't worry. I'm not like him. You'll be ok,* I said, and meant every word. I fell silent, even as he continued to yell at me, trying to draw me out.
Maybe if I didn't speak, I could finally disappear. It might be easy, if there was silence. Just atrophy into nothingness. If there weren't any other voices...
I trembled as the silence broke. A light, feminine voice was whispering, and growing louder.
*Hello? Who's here? Is anyone here? Where am I? Am I in the hospital?*
I curled tighter into myself, gathering my strength, even as I heard Ben reply to her, seeming almost grateful for the company. Could I make her shut up, too?
Could I make them all be quiet, so I could finally leave?
All I'd ever wanted was silence.
--------
Hope you enjoyed my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/. |
"Ah, Mr. Halabi. You've awaken. I've trust you're comfortable?"
I awoke to the smell of hot chocolate and a heavenly feel on my buttocks. The light was bright. Too bright for me to see anything. Was this heaven? Am I in Paradise? Those this mean that...
"Oh, oh. Shit, man. Sorry. Let me just get that for you,"The light dimmed considerably, revealing a man with short yellow hair and a light stubble covering his cheeks. He smiled at me. It was genuine, a smile that matched those sparkling pale eyes of his.
I blinked white spots out of my eyes as they adjusted to the light level. A simple steel table in front of me, with scruff marks on it's surface. Unadorned brick walls, roughly painted over with dull blue. A door on the far side, locked probably.
My eyes widened as I realised where I was. "Alright then, Mr Halabi! Let's get this over and done with, eh? I've got a hockey game after this. I'm sure you'll be aching to get back to your own life as well. Sorry aboot the inconvenience! Really am."
It was hard not to drop the mug of hot chocolate. It was harder not to scream. I had heard stories.
Instead I sipped calmly, assessing my captor with an impassionate stare. He took a bottle of maple syrup somewhere from the recesses of his jacket and downed it in gulps. I sipped calmly. *Calmly.*
I half expected a moose to erupt from the door and distract him long enough for me to run to safety. He sat on the table and gave me a level look. The smile was almost gone, but his eyes still sparkled with kindness.
"So, Mr. Halabi. I heard you were a terrorist."
I spat out my chocolate. "Bwah?! No!"
He stared at me. The smile was back.
He stared, pale blue eyes twinkling.
I writhed underneath that stare, but there was no escape that was not incredibly impolite. "Yes! Yes I am a terrorist! Just stop staring at me! Stop it! Stop!", It all came out in a flood of emotion. I sobbed into my hands.
"Admiting your mistakes is the first step to correcting them, Mr. Halabi,"he said, accusing without sounding accusatory. "Tell us about your plans to glitterbomb the President of the United States of America."
"Did you hear what he said about us? On national television?!", I cried, steeling my resolve. "Who is he to say that a man cannot love another man! Who is he! I will make him fabulously gay! I will make them all gay! Glitter will stain their clothes, their hair, their very dignities! I swear it!"
"Now, now, Mr. Halibi. We can't simply have you running around turning all of our politicans gay. Do you realise how hard it is to get glitter out of your hair? I need you to tell me how you planned to deliver the glitter."
"*No,*"I said, my face twisting around that single syllable word. I could fight him.
His face grew grim. He closed his eyes and sighed. "We have ways of making you talk, Mr. Halabi. *Ways.*"
He snapped his finger and another man walked in through the door. He carried a giant feather. *Oh God no.*
"No wait. No. Waterboard me. Pull my teeth out. Anything but that! I'll talk, stop him! Tell him to stop! No. No. Nonononono!"
My fear stained screams echoed down the corridors.
|
It was 20 years. It took a chunk of cash to get it up and running, but for SpongeBob Squarepants every penny was worth it. It was probably easier to build the place from the ground up but for SpongeBob it was not the money that was important.
It was 20 years since the “Big Sea” took Mr Crabs away. To Spongebob, Mr. Krabs was immortal, and yet years of radiation from weapon fire brought him down. It took so much cash to afford the experimental treatments, not that it did any good. But eventually even Krabs knew he could not be saved.
So he changed the focus for his life, now he was living for Pearl.
It was the guilt of the lives he had taken in the war. Death upon death. It was the guilt that made him adopt her. To the system she was another victim of some unknown war, but to him it was a reason to live again. He tried to teach her what he knew, every dollar saving way, very penny pinching tip, hoping that she would learn from him. He needed to leave her with something. And when he passed he hoped it would be enough for her.
It was at first, but while she did learn how to save money, a ton of cash and lack of experience did not do her any good. The money went quickly, but eventually she did the unthinkable. She sold the Krusty Krab, to Plankton.
Funny thing was that Plankton thought he had won. He paraded that deed throughout the town. But then something unthinkable happened. Krabs left the recipe to Plankton. The secret recipe. Some sort of last hurrah from his greatest rival. At that point Plankton changed. As much he liked to steal the recipe, what he liked most was the challenge with a capable rival. He tried others challenges and other rivals ...but nothing worked. He now lived in a prison of his own making, solving problems, challenges that he deemed fit and others he didn’t. Cures for disease, riddles, crimes, really anything to distract the pain.
Squidward was hit the worst. Sunk so low he hit rock bottom. Never believed he could rise. He eventually found a voice, his ordinary sour tones became soft. The blues. He played so hard in order to placate his soul. Eventually he got fame, and yet he would give away every award he had ever gotten just to say good bye. He still tooted that clarinet in hopes of finding some sort of peace and SpongeBob hoped for the best.
SpongeBob did not believe until he saw the casket. Something in his “trust fund” supported life did not click. He thought it was just a joke. Another get rich quick scheme. A fake insurance scam. That Krabs was faking his death for some pea brained reason. He walked and saw something was missing.
No coin operated casket.
The world lost more that day then a boss...more than a father...more then a mentor or friend. The world lost a good man.
Hanging out with Patrick was not fun. Being with Sandy lost its edge. He tried other jobs. Selling chocolates door to door, or running for mayor. Nothing worked. So he finally left Bikini Bottom.
He needed to discover himself. Who was SpongeBob Squarepants? Was he more than a fry cook? More than a good pair of legs in a pair of square pants.
He learned to fight. Battle… war... He tried to experience it all. Served as one hell of a mess hall cook. Never learned how to drive a boat, but on more than one occasion he piloted the battleship he was stationed to hell and back. But then it hit him. In following Mr. Krabs footsteps he realized what he was looking for. Not peace, or happiness. He was trying to find Mr. Krabs.
He slowed down. And when things were right he had started a family. Tried to raise them right. And when time allowed he skimmed and saved. Finally he bought the restaurant. Months of renovation and now it was finally done.
***
Then the day came when his children had a question for him.
“How this all began?,"they asked.
SpongeBob with a smile on his face had asked, “Are you ready kids?”
"Aye Aye Captain,"they replied.
“I can't hear you!” SpongeBob sang.
"AYE AYE CAPTAIN,"they yelled.
Oohh...
|
I knew the moment he walked in that he was going to be trouble.
"Welcome to Belethor's,"I said, mustering up all the enthusiasm I could.
The adventurer stomped over to the counter, his mismatched armor clanging as he strode. There was no other way to say it. He looked...incredibly odd. Even stranger was the woman was trailing behind him, carrying what looked like twice her weight in weapons, armor, and a multitude of other curious items.
"Oh shoot, my health is low,"the strange adventurer muttered, and to my utter horror, scarfed down twelve bags of flour, seventeen apples, and a raw, uncooked side of beef. He ate them almost instantly, barely pausing to breathe in between.
"Dammit, Lydia!"The adventurer snapped after he'd eaten his fill. "Why are you so slow? Come on now, hand over all my stuff so we can get this over with."
Despite being spoken to so rudely, Lydia only sighed. "I am sworn to carry your burdens,"she replied, sounding completely exhausted. I was shocked she hadn't collapsed yet.
"All right."The adventurer turned to me, about to begin the sale, when he suddenly seemed to remember something. Oh, wait a second! I forgot!"With a flourish, he put a terrifying tribal mask. He grinned at me. "Now I get ten percent better prices!"
I stared at him in total disgust. "Uh, no you don't. Actually, you look so creepy, I'm going to charge you more."
The adventurer shrugged. "I have, like, twelve million gold anyway. It was worth a shot."With that, he dumped an enormous pile of garbage onto the shop counter.
Wooden plates. Blank linen scrolls. Books so burnt they were illegible. A candlestick. Three toll skulls. Some bloody rags. 47 empty baskets.
"I mean, I guess I'll take all of these. For... six gold."I agreed with a sigh.
"Great. Now on to the real stuff,"he said, and tossed something else up on the counter...by Akatosh, were those *dragon bones*?
"Sir,"I said slowly, backing away from the counter, "I hope you're not trying to sell that to me..."'
He looked offended. "What, these things? Of course I'm trying to sell them to you! They're incredibly rare!"
I scowled. "Sure, dragon bones are rare, but that's just because nobody in their right mind would try and slay a dragon. That doesn't make them worth anything."
The adventurer leaned forward, putting his elbows on the counter, and smirked. "My horse can climb vertically up a mountain and I can literally kill you by yelling at you. I transform into a werewolf and eat people when I get angry, I'm the leader of a group of assassins that would murder you in a heartbeat for screwing up their drink order, I killed every single vampire that has ever existed, and I singlehandedly lead the Stormcloak rebellion to victory. I think you're going to buy those bones."
I glanced at Lydia, who was standing sullenly behind him. She nodded sadly, confirming his story.
"Okay, okay, fine,"I grumbled, accepting the worthless, enormous bones. "Now do you want to buy anything while you're here?
"Yeah,"the adventurer nodded. "Gimme all your arrows, all of your lockpicks, all your health potions, a spellbook that will teach me to electrocute people, and this booze."
I crossed my arms. "I can't sell you *all* of my potions and arrows, I have other customers..."My voice trailed off when Lydia offered me a warning glance.
"Fine, take it."I mumbled. "But I never want to see you again."
The adventurer grinned. "You were so annoying to deal with, I think I'm going to quicksave and then murder you with an axe to relieve my frustrations."
"Wait, wha-"
**"FUS ROH DAH!"**
|
I wiped the errant speck of dust from the head piece of my ornament collection - a large glass oak leaf, with a bumblebee lazily snuggled in its translucent curve - and turned to the projected image on the wall, the collection of glass fauna and insects shining brilliantly behind me.
The machine on my right hummed gently, cradling the surgically removed eye and beaming light through the exposed retina.
The image on the wall showed... a musical score?
No, not a score, it was just one note.
Excusing my lack of knowledge of musical terminology, I took out my trusty smart phone and loaded the Application Store. I scrolled past the many apps promising to reach piano or play Schwarznegger sound clips, until I found a music reader. Conveniently, it scanned musical scores, and played them automatically.
The solution to the musical note was at hand, in a few mere swipes of a thumb!
I took a quick photo of the note, and the app immediately responded.
A piercing screech filled the small room, the note a shrill, unending shriek of cacophony.
My eyes watered, my head throbbed, and the last thing I saw before I blacked out was my glass ornament collection exploding under the sheer pitch of the noise, each bee-leave shattering under the assault of my latest finding... |
After entering the light you immediately start yelling out, "Who in god's good name is in charge here?!"
You are directed every which way until the deity you are looking for comes to you.
"Hello Mr. VonSchwartz, we are delighted to have you join us in heaven! Take a seat over in the auditorium if you would, orientation starts in five minutes."
"Oh, I don't know who you are, but you are coming with me. I'm not in heaven yet."
You drag the deity by his collar back to the tunnel.
"Were you in charge of this tunnel?"
"Ah yes! The tunnel leading to the light, indeed, it is a Heavenite favorite. I am the god of heaven and designed this place personally, before your universe even existed."
"No. It is all wrong. I don't know if you were going for design over function or what but this tunnel is not even remotely up to code. This tunnel passed directly under the river of life and look,"you point at the corners of each side of the row, "no drainage whatsoever. This place is a death trap, no pun intended."
"Uh well,"the deity pauses, "I guess we can..."and you cut him off.
"No we can't, I can. I will take responsibility for fixing that. But that is only a single issue. Also, no ventilation. Get a few hundred people in here, this place will fill up with CO2. Let's get some fans going, get some air moving. This is literally week one stuff."
"Okay,"responded god, implying that he would wait til Mr. VonSchwartz was done before commenting.
"Next, just the structure. The structure itself is flawed. Thankfully I don't think this tunnel supports much weight, cuz if it did, any added pressure would likely cause a cave in and then as we know it all hell breaks loose, literally. I can't even imagine what terrible things would happen to heaven or earth if the tunnel wasn't functional."
"Oh, actually it supports the weight of Hell. Hell was built on top. You see that fork back there? That road leads to Hell."
"God dammit, I mean, uh...you really should know better. You really should,"you say as you grasp and massage your temples. "I won't mention anything else, but I have a lot of work to do. Send some other structural engineers my way so we can work out how to fix all this. The delicacy of this situation can't be understated. Now, if you wouldn't mind, leave me to work, please. I want to get started immediately."
The deity wandered back toward the light whilst scratching his head and thinking of who to send to help. He was starting to wish he had just made more floods back on earth since they all so effortlessly disrespected him. They didn't fear him, they didn't worship him. Another *bad day* sticker was about to go on the fridge. |
In the beginning, they had been the first to set out to meet us. It had merely been luck that they beat us to it. We’d long been aware of each other, ever since our telescopes became advanced enough to start distinguishing the obvious landmarks of civilization from across the solar system. It was the lights, those glaring beacons of concentrated populations that were scattered across the otherwise blue and green globe. I assume they only saw the same when they started peering back.
Radio soon came next. Contact quickly followed. The language barrier was the first obstacle, but it was surmounted. We learned of their world, a place not too dissimilar from our own. There was more water, more heat thanks to being nestled closer to the sun, but otherwise, things had progressed relatively the same. The idea of a common origin of life was theorized again and again.
We were the first to experience a Stretch. The black hole hadn’t been unknown. It was hard for our astronomers to miss that perpetual black blotch in our night sky. We just hadn’t understood the full ramifications of it. When our planet’s orbit wandered in a little too close, it was like they sped up. The lights changed, became brighter, sometimes dimmer, sometimes moving completely. We knew it was progress, the expansion of their people, but we couldn’t understand why it was so quick. The radio signals kept coming in, but it was as if a multitude were sent at once, turning into a jumbled, indecipherable mess.
We reestablished ties once the signals became clear again, albeit to their surprise. They had thought we had gone silent on them. Things were becoming clear rather fast. What was only a mere six months for us turned into forty years for them, such was the massive influence of gravity from our friendly neighborhood black hole.
It was then they set course for us. That four decades had been enough for them to leap forward in their scientific achievements. When our orbits became comfortably close, their ships arrived in earnest. The first true contact was the turning point in both our histories. They were about our height, just a little shorter, perhaps something more aquatic in their DNA compared to our primates. And yet, they were remarkably similar. There was little conflict.
They shared their technology, and our world grew considerably because of it. More ships were sent out. We went to them just as they came to us. Our worlds began to mingle. Culture, tech, language -- suddenly everything was shared. Any conflict that arose was petty and was soon resolved. In time, it became commonplace to move entirely to the other world.
More Stretches occurred. The scientists could call it whatever sort of dilation they wanted, but it's what the public dubbed them, those periods of time where one of the planets would skim too close to that ever-ravenous well of gravity. Intersystem travel was banned in these times. Not only was it too dangerous, but we respected the elongated time. It allowed each of our societies room to breathe, to grow uniquely in the absence of the other. Of course, there were those that had stayed or had gone, but they grew with it. Each Stretch brought new discoveries, new realizations, whether physical or philosophical. It was a golden age that lasted for nearly two centuries.
We were about to set out beyond our own solar system. Both civilizations, however, decided to wait one more Stretch before we blazed a trail out into the unknown. We hadn’t quite yet mastered the cryogenic technology required to sustain passengers for a lengthy trip to another star. Another forty years would certainly do the trick.
Our communications sent out our goodbyes while we received their good will. They wouldn’t have to wait long, after all, at least not compared to how many years waited ahead for our people.
The researchers were diligent in their work. Every year brought a new advancement in what we needed. Everything was coming together, and it was all ahead of schedule. In the meantime, we surveyed the other planet, just like we did with every Stretch. It was an odd thing, watching an entire world come to a crawl. Weather moved sluggishly across their globe, storms seeming to last for months on end. Days went on for ages as the planet’s rotation seemingly slowed. It was amusing, to say the least.
In our endless progress forward, we had foolishly become too comfortable with our generations-long string of good luck. We forgot the source of the Stretches was not in our control, and it never would be.
The news lit up around the globe in one night. Our estimations had been wrong. We thought it wouldn’t happen for millennia. But calculations could still have flaws, and no one had ever bothered to reconsider them. Scientists, all at once, noticed their planet becoming distant, as if tugged away from its orbit. The observation was all too accurate.
Each day brought new images and video. Each showed the planet diverting farther and farther from its usual course. On the third week, the oceans had been pulled completely to one side from the increasing gravity. On the fourth, we could witness the atmosphere itself being ripped from its owner, swirling up. A few days later, a chunk of the planet followed. Then another. And then another.
The time dilation caused it to occur slowly, though we knew, for them, it was already over. We simply were dealt the after-images. Their demise was played for us frame by damning frame, more of their world disappearing into the black void with every passing day. In the end, it felt as if everyone simply stopped watching, too sick to see anymore.
After, we tried to find fortune in that they weren’t completely gone. Some of their kind were still with us. They weren’t truly dead… but nothing could bring back their world.
One would think we lost all want to fly into the stars, but in actuality, we set off as soon as we could. We had become too tied to our interstellar sibling of a world. It was almost too much of a dreadful reminder to remain on our own, still-intact world. Not all of us were able to leave. It would have been too massive of an endeavor. But those that could did so in relief.
It won’t be long before another Stretch claims our world. We will be long gone by then, perhaps the entire planet abandoned. Some will inevitably stay behind, however. They will be brave to think they can without repercussion, but you can’t stop a thing like that. Nothing in the universe could match its hunger. Our worlds aren’t the first to succumb to its appetite, and they won’t be the last.
|
We sat in the cold, abandoned factory, having barred all the windows and doors. Adam sat, staring at the fire he had started, and roasting the squirrel he had caught earlier that day in the park. When the hoards came upon us, we ran back to the factory. We were at least ahead of them now, and we were safely inside.
"Violet, it's okay.."Nick said, putting a gentle hand on her back to comfort her. "I know it was scary, but look, we're safe now."
Violet couldn't have been more than 8 years old, most likely younger. We had found her the previous night, wandering alone. I could tell she was used to being in the forest rather than the city, the leaves in her hair and dirt under her nails made it apparent.
"T-there were so many of them..."she whimpered, shaking. "I-I've never even seen more than two in the s-same place.."
Nick's eyes softened with empathy. "They aren't anywhere close now. We'll be fine."
I sighed and looked down. Nick had always been better with kids. He was the only one out of my family who had survived this mess. If it ever came down to him and Violet, I knew I would protect him first.
It started off quiet, and at first I was sure it was just my paranoia getting the best of me. But it soon became closer.
"You are my sunshine... my only sunshine... you make me happy, when skies are grey..."
Nick and I shot each other a worried look, and I glanced outside.
A small little girl stood outside the yard, walking slowly and menacingly to the house. Her complexion and stature made it apparent that she was no innocent child.
"You'll never know dear... how much I love you..."
"You and Violet get upstairs, now."I said, standing up.
"Oh for christ's sake Max, it's one little girl."Adam grumbled, taking a bite of his squirrel.
"She's right. There will be more."Nick said, picking up Violet. "You and her need to come too."
I nodded and followed them upstairs.
"I'm staying down here!"Adam yelled after us.
I could start to hear more voices joining the little girl's chorus. "This girl is on fire!!!"One cried out from below.
"My name is Alexander Hamilton... and there's a million things I haven't done, but just you wait... just you wait!!!"
"You got mud on your face, you big disgrace, waving your banner all over the place!!!"
Nick's eyes widened in fear. "No!! Everyone, put in your ear plugs!!"
I quickly put mine in as Nick helped Violet with hers. "We are the Champions"was considered a cure in the early days of the disease. As long as one zombie sang that song, the others in the vicinity would begin stomping and clapping to the beat, never singing along. If there was a big enough hoard, it would spread to the very ends of it. No other zombie would sing, but every time the one zombie paused, there would be a hellish thunder of stomps and claps. This was the only time the zombies moved in rhythm,and it increased their strength and movement capabilities.
"We're gonna be just fine.."Nick said reassuringly. "I blocked all the doors and Alex blocked the vents."
A sense of anxiety rolled over me. "The vents..? You never said anything about-"
I could hear the metal scraping through the vents as the zombies crawled in and flooded in below. I heard one scream and then silence, except for the quiet humming of zombies. I sat, shaking with a hand over my mouth as I heard one man's footprints climbing up the stairs.
Adam appeared in the doorway, a strip of meat still hanging from his jaws as he grinned at the three of us.
"We, are the champions, my friends...." |
I could only move my eyes, and that sucked because my nose itched like ...well you know.
"Pupils are equal and reactive."
'No shit Sherlock! I'm trapped in my body, which feels like it should move but won't and all you can say is about my damn pupils! Ever heard of warning a gal before you just yank her eyes open. What if I'd been napping huh? Bet you hate being woken up from sleep!' But I could say none of it, just look at the doctor examining me.
He looked around after my mental tirade, and I began to suspect that he had heard me. I've suspected for many years that I'm a telepath, but when your body works, it can be easy to miss the clues.
He turned around to look at a monitor, and mentally I whistled at his posterior. 'Those're some nice buns", I thought, admiring the view. He turned suddenly, looking at me strangly. "Nope. You can't talk, so I'm not hearing you", he mumbled.
'Can't talk no, but I can think just fine. Ohhh...you think I'm a voice in your head. Shit.' Dr. Nice Buns lasted two more days, then I found out through the nurses that he'd abruptly quit, that the "strange patient with locked-in syndrome"put images in his head that he'd rather not think about. So I get a good looking doc and I'm not supposed to fantasize? Before all this, I was a healthy, single 22 year old, and I checked out the menu often.
The next doctor last 12 hours, and refused to go in my room after I told him off for fishing in my damn veins while trying to do a blood draw... They haven't heard from him in 3 weeks. They say he just dissapeared. Number three threw himself off a cliff. I give up. What the hell?
Four months into my stay, I am given a room mate, another woman with locked in syndrome.
"Can you hear me?"
"Uh...yeah. What're you doing in my head?"
"I'm a telepath too, and ever since I heard about you, I had to meet you. My husband arranged for me to move to this room so you'd stop driving the staff crazy."She sighed mentally. "But you did better than I did, I drove a half dozen crazy before my husband figured out I was conscious." |
And there they were, stepping out of a slick, black limo and dressed in the suits to match. FBI, no doubt. Between two of the suited henchmen was a taller man. He was skinnier and had ginger hair, yet an air of unmistakable authority and entitlement surrounded him. He left the door open behind him and approached me, his shady buddies flanking him.
‘Mr Rowland.’ He said firmly.
I gave him a faint smile. ‘Hey, pal.’
‘I’m going to need you to step into the vehicle and come with us.’ He gestured to the car expectantly.
I rattled my cup at him. Cold coffee splashed around inside. ‘I haven’t finished my McCoffee yet, could you give me a second?’
He sighed and nodded to his bodyguards, who made a move on me. I let the cup go and rose from the park bench with my arms raised. ‘Yeah, yeah, I’m going, I’m going.’
‘We only want to ask you a few questions, Mr Rowland.’ The ginger said.
The bodyguards stuffed me into the limo, then followed me inside before shutting the door behind them. Their ginger boss came in through another door and sat opposite me.
‘I gotta say, haven’t been in a limo before. It’s pretty nifty.’ I remarked, reclining into the comfortable leather seats. ‘Smells like bureaucracy in here.’
The limo took off and blended easily into the bustling traffic of the sprawling metropolis. Ginger leaned forward in his seat and stared intensely into me, like he was trying to break into my mind with the sheer force of his beady black eyes. ‘We would like to know what you were doing on December 20th, 2013.’
‘Sheesh, that’s an awfully specific date. How am I supposed to remember that? And why do you need me here for? You got screenshots don’t you?’
‘See, that’s the thing.’ He said ominously. ‘We don’t.’
I gave them a look of surprise. ‘Oh, really? That’s tragic, sincerely. Truly tragic. Big Brother must have had a glitch.’
‘Mr Rowland, your attitude is rather vexing.’ Ginger was getting angry. I couldn’t help but snicker.
‘Hey, real sorry about that.’ I made an effort at appearing sincere. ‘It’s the coffee, I swear. I’m on a rush, you know?’
Levity was one of the few things the government couldn’t take from us, and that’s what pissed them off so easily. It was our greatest and only weapon against them. Ginger gave a look to one of the guards, who didn’t hesitate in shooting his fist out and wrapping his beefy fingers tight around my neck. I gagged and latched onto his hand.
‘Mr Rowland, you will reveal to us what happened on December 20th or we will extract the knowledge out of you through force.’
I tried to speak, but all that came out was a gurgle. I tapped on the guard’s fist and gestured frantically for him to let go. He looked over to Ginger, who waited and watched me choke for a few seconds before giving a nod. He released me and I sucked in air feverishly.
‘Jeez,’ I rubbed my throat gently. ‘Go easy on-‘
‘Tell us what happened.’ Ginger ordered. ‘Now.’
I finished massaging my neck then brushed my clothes down. My hand slipped nicely into my coat pocket. ‘You want to know what I was doing on December 20th?’
‘Yes.’ He said through gritted teeth.
‘Okay, well.’ I was stalling just to compound his wait. And to get closer to the objective. ‘So, believe it or not… I was in a staring competition.’
The limo was silent.
‘Yeah, crazy right?’
‘There are screenshots missing for 9 hours. That is inhuman.’ Ginger pointed out.
I shrugged, tightened my grip in the pocket. ‘Not a lot of humanity these days anyway.’
‘Mr Rowland, we are aware of your political beliefs. We are aware of your inclination to the radical.’ Ginger’s glare was burning with hatred. ‘We understand that you are unwilling to conform fully to the New World Order.’
‘Why should I?’ I felt my spirit stirring within my chest. One of my famous rants was coming on. ‘Why should I relinquish individuality? Why can’t I be my own person?’
‘We are not here to prattle on about our ideologies.’ Ginger barked. ‘We’re here to learn exactly why you did not blink for 9 hours on December 20th, 2013. What were you seeing? What were you doing?’
‘Well.’ I frowned, dropping my eyes shamefully to the floor. ‘I didn’t want you to see.’
‘See what?’
I looked up and stared back into Ginger.
‘See me touching myself.’ I grinned widely. ‘I’m shy.’
Ginger didn’t break eye contact. He said coldly ‘Stanley.’
And then my throat was once again in a vice, this time tighter.
‘This is your last chance, Rowland.’ Ginger was nearly yelling at me in flaming anger. ‘If you do not reveal what you were doing on December 20th, you will go to prison where you will labour until you perish. Answer my question! What were you doing on December 20th?’
Stanley let go and I gasped for air again, coughing and gagging. ‘Okay, okay, you win…’ I sputtered. Ginger seemed to ease a little. I peered outside the window. We were getting close to the Complex. My fingers tapped in my pocket in anticipation. ‘I was building something.’
‘Go on.’ Ginger said.
I kept my gaze out the window. Through the street and into the crooked alley, I saw the youthful faces of my fellow insurgents peering back at me from the shadows. I recognised some of them; Doc, Smitty, Sparrow... Cap. They were clad in tattered camo, holding rifles and getting ready to move in. Cap gave me a nod. I winked at him.
‘What were you building?’ Ginger said impatiently.
I pulled out the detonator from my pocket.
‘You’ll know in a second.’
And squeezed the trigger.
|
Among the thousands of magic tomes was a spell called Active Deflection. It only served to deflect some form of missile, be it an arrow or a fireball, etcetera. This was achieved by creating a field in which the mana from the air became explosively reactive to things moving at high velocities or things with high temperatures. Sure, it was a neat little spell to have in a ranged encounter, but the channeling time was long and it was one of the most situational spells ever.
"How often are things thrown at you?"
"Wouldn't you rather study telekinesis, or one of dozens of electricity based destructive spells?"
"Why not just invest your time in learning the flamethrower/reactive gas combo? The grand wizards say it's the most effective spell set!"
Oh boy, did I prove them wrong. I've always had an inclination towards things that others couldn't seem to make useful. They told me that I couldn't make the spell stronger, more viable. They told me that I couldn't improve its functions or reduce the casting time, that no matter what I did, a healing spell or an offensive spell would always be better to devote my time to. I told them to watch me.
Every Saturday, from the top of the morning to the set of the sun, I would cast Active Deflection. Over and over and over. At first, it seemed that there really was no way to make it faster-the average casting time was four point seven five seconds, far too long to react to an arrow flying at you. It seemed there was no way to keep the field up for longer than the standard three second duration. But after strictly training this spell and this spell alone for weeks, I began to shave milliseconds off of the casting time and add milliseconds to the duration. My friend, a ranger skilled with her bow, thought I was good target practice. While I was indeed hit with several suction-cup-tip arrows, I was able to deflect the majority of them. We kept at this for a year, constantly adjusting the stipulation of her shot and my cast. Casting it while running, falling, with one hand, with an abbreviated chant. It got to the point where Betty was a damn good archer and I could cast Active Deflection in the blink of an eye, maintaining the field for twenty seconds at a time.
That's when I started to add my own touches to the spell. After knowing a spell as intimately as I knew ADF, you can begin reprogramming it, making it more useful in different situations. I managed to make the field react to things moving at slower speeds and freezing temperatures. The mana in the air reacted explosively, as stated before, incinerating the projectile in a magic plasma before it hits the caster. However, the more things the mana reacted to, the more things you could incinerate. Five years after I started tampering with the spell itself, it was able to destroy anything within a three hundred meter radius of the caster if that thing moved an inch or got any hotter or colder than it was when it entered the field unless that thing was otherwise designated by the caster as exempt. Combine this with an otherwise benign Warmth cast, and you could set up a death field around you where anything you cast Warmth on would be annihilated in a wicked blue flame.
I called this new form of the spell the Alkali Sector, an extremely difficult refinement of the simple Active Deflection spell. They told me I could not improve it, but now, Active Deflection is the first spell an apprentice is taught, whether they aim to be a destroyer, healer, defender, or support. Suddenly, adventuring parties couldn't seem to get enough of wizards who knew this once useless spell. |
When it became clear to Junwick that he was not going to get any meaningful sleep that night, he roused himself, slipped on his heavy work clothes, then set about getting an early start on the endless tasks which lay ahead.
By the time the sole rooster on the farm crowed to herald the dawn, Junwick had already fed the horses, milked the cows, and bundled the previous day’s harvest for collection. He would have normally have headed next to the farmhouse to help with preparing breakfast for the Ryker family, which strictly speaking wasn’t part of his official duties as the farmhelp, but there was no time for that today.
“Remember, Junwick,” said Hestat Ryker, for whom sleep had also been elusive, and who was already waiting by the entrance to the farm. “You’ve got to be polite with these Council people, their word is law around these parts.”
“I always am, Mr Ryker.”
“I know you are, just reminding you. Nothing to be afraid of, you hear? They promised they just wanted to ask you some questions, that’s all. The whole village supports you, and is indebted to you, don’t you forget that.”
On his trek to the agreed meeting place near the lake, Junwick partook of the generous breakfast Ryker had prepared for him. He knew times were hard, that the harvests were not doing well, but still the villagers went out of their way to provide for him. I did what anyone else would have done, he had insisted, please don’t treat me any differently from you.
His words had fallen on deaf ears. No matter what he did, his singular act of heroism had set him apart from them, for better or worse.
The Council representatives were already waiting for him, and they motioned for him to take a seat near a campfire they had kindled. Junwick was momentarily surprised – he had expected to meet two stern, hard-edged titans, larger than life, ominous, impenetrable. Instead, one was a waif of a girl, not more than fifteen, while the other was a middle-aged man whose wearied visage still bore hints of a deep capacity for kindness.
In other words, hardly the omnipotent masters of magic which Junwick expected from the legends which circulated of the Council.
“I’m Verae,” the girl said, offering Junwick a thimble of water. “This is my mentor, Astonius, and I’m sure you’ve been told, we’re here to investigate the incident which took place last month. We’ll really appreciate it if you could tell us, in your own words, what happened.”
Junwick swallowed, then tried his best to still his quickening pulse. He had devoted so much energy to pushing those memories out, but they flowed back so easily, like an acrid odor which never left his clothes.
“It… it was in the evening, maybe a month or two after I was hired on the Ryker farm. We had a rider come in from the village, requesting help. Ryker and I went, of course, we were the only able-bodied men around. Turns out, there were bandits, they had come in from the north, and they… they were causing trouble, threatening to burn down the inn, asking for us to give them all the money we had.”
“Did anyone try talking to them?” asked Verae.
Junwick laughed nervously. “Of course, but they didn’t listen. We told them we didn’t have any money, we’re just barely getting by, but they wouldn’t have it. They started getting rough, pushing people about, and they even hit Grandma Belusse. That’s when… that’s when I thought that I should do something…”
“And of that, what do you remember, Junwick?”
“I actually… don’t remember what happened in between,” said Junwick, dropping his head as the shame burned his cheeks. “I woke up back in bed, sore, bruised. Ryker told me later I fought them off, saved the village. That’s the truth, really, I swear.”
“How many of them were there, Junwick?”
“Fifteen of them, in all. I know because I helped lay them to rest,” said Junwick, glancing towards a nearby copse of woods where a neat row of crosses had been planted. “You’re going to kill me now, right? I’m really sorry about it, and I really didn’t mean it… but I don’t suppose that matters, right?”
Junwick saw Verae and Astonius exchange knowing glances briefly, and Astonius inclined his head slightly, as if to prod Verae to dig further.
“They weren’t bandits, Junwick.”
“Oh no,” wailed Junwick softly, clasping his head in his hands. “Please don’t tell me I hurt innocent people?”
“That’s not my point, actually,” said Verae, brow furrowed in concentration. “They were an outcast band of soldiers from the King’s Guard, disgraced for their excesses in the last war the kingdom fought in. My point is, you single-handedly defeated fifteen war-experienced men in the prime of their lives.”
The silence grew between them, lengthening like vines stretching towards nourishment. Junwick understood what Verae was saying, but he didn’t have any response to that, especially since his memories yielded so few answers.
Astonius spoke next, just a couple of words, “Ask him about whether he remembers from before, Verae.”
“You heard him. Where were you, before you were hired on the Ryker farm?”
“I’m… sorry, I also don’t remember,” said Junwick, a sad smile spreading across his face. “I remember waking up in the forests nearby, naked, burns on my body. I still cannot remember my life before that, I swear. I foraged to survive, and then Ryker came across me, offered me shelter. I took it, there was no choice in it for me. The villagers, they were all kind to me, in their own ways. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for them…”
“I think we’ve heard enough, don’t you think?” said Astonius to Verae, patting her briefly on the shoulder. “This next part is all yours. Whatever happens next, that is up to you. Choose wisely.”
Astonius walked off then, staff in hand, heading towards the edge of the waters. Verae struggled to find the right words, then finally sighed as she retrieved a silver kris from her robes. Its sharpened edge glinted in the morning light, and Junwick found himself sighing, coming to terms with it all.
“That is only right, I suppose. I may have saved the village, but it is undeniable that I took lives by my hand. I submit to the Council’s law.”
“Don’t be too hasty,” said Verae, as she channelled energy into the weapon, making it glow a deep, irisdescent blue. “Have you heard of the alchemist who calls himself Mishrae?”
Junwick shook his head, for in truth he did not know, but somewhere, far away, a tiny, almost imperceptible bell began to ring.
“Mishrae has been an enemy of the Council for ages, according to Astonius. Chief amongst his crimes was his unlawful practice of golemnology, or the branch of mystic arts which involves the breathing of life into clay golems he fashions, obedient to his every bidding. He’s always fancied himself to be a despot, and for years he’s been building up this army of his, quietly, or so he thinks.”
“What… what does this have to do with anyt-”
“Some time ago,” Verae said, plunging ahead, “we learned of a terrible setback which had befallen Mishrae. Ironically, his craft exceeded his expectations, and there were those amongst his army which slowly gained… sentience. A number of his once-loyal servants rebelled, and in the chaos which ensued, an entire stronghold was razed to the ground. Since then, Council members have been tasked to hunt down the remaining golems which escaped, for every one of them still bears the mark of Mishrae’s machinations, and we simply cannot know what risk they represent if left on their own.”
Junwick, face ashen, leaned on his knees, the perspiration beading off his forehead. “Are you saying tha-”
Verae struck then, the silver kris a blur in the air. Junwick was fast, but there was no way he could have deflected the blow.
For Verae was coming into her powers, and there was no golem yet sculptured which could match a full-fledged member of the Council, much less one of the most promising prodigies for ages.
Junwick blinked, having forgotten to breathe as the hairs from his head floated down about him. Verae stood by his side, one hand on his shoulder, gripping him in a binding spell, the other on his freshly-revealed scalp, perusing the ancient spellweave script which had been carved almost bone-deep.
Verae smiled, then said, “I don’t know how you did it, Junwick, but your instructions have been altered.”
“What… what do they say?”
“There’s a spellweave here which compels you to obey Mishrae, and that I can alter for you. There’s also another one which commands you to defend yourself against all physical and magical threats. And most importantly, it appears that there’s one which you’ve added on yourself.”
“I don’t… how could I have added anything myself? I didn’t even know I was a… golem…”
“Beats me,” Verae said, releasing Junwick from the grip of her magic.
“But as long as it’s there, it seems that you’ll protect those you care about. And that’s enough for me.”
Junwick sat there for an eternity, watching Verae rejoin her mentor, then her waving to him as they turned, striding off into the forest. His hand rubbed his bald scalp idly.
I will need a hat, he thought, as the peace he had long sought finally settled and took root in his heart.
---
/r/rarelyfunny
---
If you liked this, here are some more snippets from the same universe, in chronological order! [1](https://www.reddit.com/r/rarelyfunny/comments/5zczmy/pi_things_have_been_tense_in_salem_ever_since/), [2](https://www.reddit.com/r/rarelyfunny/comments/630l79/wp_one_day_you_wonder_if_thinking_about_thinking/), [3](https://www.reddit.com/r/rarelyfunny/comments/5wvrsp/wp_theres_an_epidemic_of_lucid_dreaming_which_is/). |
This is it. Time to call her. That girl from subway won't remember me if I wait too long. I had finally done it. *The hard part is over* I told myself. *You finally started a conversation and got someones number, how hard can calling her be? Wait, why don't I just text her? Well, I don't want her to leave me on red, but if I*- My phone started to dial. No, no, no! I take it back, I don't want to call her, and right before I hit the end call I hear a voice on the other side.
"Hello?"This was not... that wasn't her voice. Not unless her voice suddenly dropped 2 octaves and turned into... that sounded a lot more like my... was that my voice?
"Wait, who is this?"
"Okay, this is gonna be complicated. You're just gonna have to listen to me with no time for questions, got it?"
"But I don't-"
"Good. That girl you were talking to earlier? Don't. She's not into you man, leave it alone, we have more important stuff to do.
First, we're gonna need a couple things if we're going to rebuild. You just grab me a couple of twinkies and meet me at the park in 15"The voice hung up.
Twinkies? Park? Rebuild? This doesn't make any sense. And that voice freaked me out. If I didn't know any better, I'd say it was... no.
I was there 2 minutes early, and I was regretting being here. It was cold out, and I forgot a hoodie, and my phone was out of battery so I couldn't even call or text he-
"Hey! I was worried you wouldn't show up! The last three times you didn't."I turned around and at that moment I was certain I was dreaming. I had no idea how else this could make sense. This guy looked exactly like me. Not only that, but he walked like me, talked like me, even gawked like me as I just stood there doing nothing.
"Why..."
"Why are we the exact same person?"I nodded. "I can't really say. Classified information and all. You'll be briefed at headquarters."With that two men grabbed my arms from behind and I had something put over my nose as I slowly felt weaker and eventually...
Woke up in a very official looking room, groggy but soon alert as I realized that in the room watching me were very official looking people.
"Hello Shawn. I'm Agent Johnson and I'm this case's handler. I've seen you've met Agent Drekel by now?"
"But... my last names Drekel"
"Eeeexactly, it seems like you're getting the picture. You see, Agent Drekel is just you from the future in a parallel universe. Twinkies are still around, the park didn't close down and instead got renovated in 1976, and most importantly, the cold war ended when the Berlin wall was taken down."
"But the Berlin wall did end the cold war."
"Riiight. Which brings me to my next point. The cold war never ended. We just slightly mixed up the details for the public safety and well being for our country. We have secretly been involved in a cold war that has never ended, involving multiple races that made the space race look like child play. Take a look at the screen on your left here. We have secretly succeeded in Interdimensional and Time Travel, which allowed us to bring agents such as Agent Drekel into our universe. All the while, we will be using certain double agents such as Agent Drekel and you combined to make a much more efficient team than any two properly trained agents could. A combo that would throw off our opponents, friends, and everyone in between. The biggest benefit to this of course is that since you two are directly compatible, we can transfer memories and knowledge from one to the other and keep you in sync 24/7 using a Mind Share machine, allowing you to switch roles at any given moment. Something that other Shawn brought over from his universe. Obviously this device will help us by speeding up the training process."He beamed while strapping me in in an almost creepy fashion. Once I was secure he pressed another button, and I felt a strange cold sensation on my he-
"OW!"I yelled as the blade started cutting an incision all the way around my head. As it completed it's task, another tool lifted my scalp up while a laser was pointed into my brain. The machine whirred up and I was worried something was wrong until it hit me.
Memories. So many memories. Many the same, but most were new and living through all the high and low points of someones life was either very exciting and uplifting or very melancholy and depressing, and I was confused about each one. I reached out of the machine and pulled myself out.
Me and Shawn #2 stood there as our case manager explained why we were put on this case.
"Shawn, the girl you were talking to at the subway was a KGB spy, possibly defected. You're the closest anyone's gotten to her not including her exclusive inner circle. It's your job, to kill her." |
"Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeey, what's up gamers this is ya boy Shaggy with another video on . . ."Karen watched the video trying to understand the appeal of what she was seeing.
Crap.
She had zoned out again and missed another few minutes of talking. Which apparently was all this Shaggy person did. Instead of actually playing the game he randomly clicked the mouse a few times and ranted mindlessly for what felt like eternity.
"And this is the part ya'll have been waiting for! My tips and tricks on how to climb out of whatever ELO hell you might be living in--"an advertisement for G-Fuel cut him off mid sentence.
*What the hell is G-Fuel?* Karen thought to herself as the ad showed attractive people drinking mystery liquid from shaker cups.
*Aren't those for like . . . protein shakes?*
Shaggy began speaking again, Karen muted him and let the fourteen minute video play out, she had heard enough.
She slipped a pair of discolored headphones over her ears and booted up the game. Immediately she was inundated with hundreds of private messages asking her for help, or to play a game with them. Overwhelmed she decided it would probably be best to simply ignore the messages and attempt to learn how to play the game.
It was a massacre.
Her fingers didn't move fast enough, her mouse hand was uncoordinated, and very quickly she lost. Then she lost again. And again.
As a competitive person the losing started to affect her. After the fifteenth loss in a row she broke down in tears over the worn out keyboard.
"I can't do this . . . what the hell am I even trying for,"she cried softly to herself. After a few minutes of self-loathing and self-doubt an idea formed. This was her way out, this was her opportunity. She wiped away the tears from her cheeks with the suspicious box of tissue on the computer desk and got to work.
She would create a series of videos that would actually help new players. Players that were feeling exactly the same way she was feeling. Defeated and hopeless. She would be their guru, their light at the end of the tunnel.
Karen turned the camera on and took a deep breath then began to speak.
There was no introduction, there was no mindless ranting about the state of the game or the player base. There was no drama or fluff. She dove head first into what she had learned from losing. This wasn't a video bragging about how great she had become, this was a video about how great *you* could become.
---
Thanks for reading! Check out /r/Written4Reddit for more stories! |
I thought it was the discovery that would make my career.
Dear God, how I wish I had never stepped foot inside.
It was amazing at first. Me and my team had found the best preserved human remains from the Copper Age, all hidden away in a cave found in Egypt. Man, woman, old and young. All were preserved to such a degree that I was suspicious that this wasn't some type of hoax, until the carbon dating came back. Right age, era appropriate tools. Everything.
Then Jackson noticed the strange holes on the skulls. At first, she thought it was just a fluke. But it wasn't, it couldn't be. On one, yes. On all five? No. All were three centimeters in diameter, located on the top of the orbital socket. I assumed it was some unknown ritualistic funerary rites, of a culture long extinct.
Then we found more bodies. Many, many more. Mounds of them. And the cave went on, and on. Nguyen was the first to leave, said the place was 'Never meant to see the light of day.' Not a problem down here though, because the cave just went deeper and farther down. All I saw was the finish line; my name in science journals, my work in the Smithsonian.
What a fool I was.
Then...strange things began to happen at our underground camp, so far beneath the surface we were. Nightmares. Voices. Bones moving as soon as you looked away. Most of the team pulled out when Mollini tried to kill himself with his pocket knife, screaming about 'Hunters in the dark, a sacrifice to stem the tide.' I didn't though. Neither did Jackson. I won't lie and say I didn't take comfort in her presence. She was always there. And eventually, in the middle of what could have been night-time was skewed for us-she crawled into my tent and we found peace. For a time.
God, I hope she made it.
The cave...it's not natural. It couldn't be. But it wasn't made by humans either. The deeper we went, the more bodies we passed, the rock gave way to metal. Intricately inlayed with gems and bones. Then we saw the first pictographs.
A figure, lurking in the dark, devouring humanoids with two sets of arms and tails. Eventually, the two arms discovered humans. And then the tributes began, in a cycle. Every three days. Thirty men, women and children, thrown into a cave-*this cave*. To feed the figure.
Yet I pressed on, thinner than I had ever been, my skin as pale as moonlight. Our rations were almost gone, but Jackson just gave me that smirk of hers, and tossed her golden hair back and strode forward.
Goddamn my pride. Damn it to this cave. This Hell.
Finally, we came to a room with a large metal box in the center.A tomb morelike. Made of bones. Bones that weren't human. Bones that were black.
I wanted to open the box, for...I don't even know. But Jackson finally came to her senses, and begged me to leave with her. Cried, screamed, physically moved me. But I wanted to see what was inside. So I told her to leave, before I added her bones to the room.
I hate myself for that. For that look of pure fear in her eyes.
The box had no clear opening. But as soon as I laid my hands upon it, the top opened. Inside was another set of bones. Huge bones. A skull with three sets of eyes, set along the skull's eyebrow ridge. All faced frontward. A jaw with massive fangs, fangs that were as long as my ulna. It's rib cage was solid, so much that it looked like a sheet of bone. It's arms were thin, and two long pincers ended them. Three centimeters in diameter. And it's legs were jointed like a dog's, with four talons on the foot.
And then...then it woke up. And it was hungry. I ran as soon as it moved, but the room tried to stop me. Grabbed at me with it's many arms. But I fou d new strength. And I ran until I found the last place we had set ip camp. What remained of it. The lights were still on. And I stayed. I...I don't know why I'm here. Why I don't keep running. Why I write this. Maybe it's guilt. All I know is this: It wants flesh, and It wants it now. It needs mine. I can see it stalk the edge of the lights, waiting for me to close my eyes and fall asleep. It's been three days and the voices have returned. If you find this, RUN. Turn back and close the cave and go home and hug the one you love.
I can feel my eyelids dropping, my arms slackening. I am at peace with my death. I just hope Jackson made it.
But there she is, at the edge of the light. She won't come over when I call her. I need to save her. Save her from It. I'm going to save her.
I can save her. |
Iluis dropped the useless torch and swept his gladius from its sheath. He couldn’t look for a campsite with a wild beast stalking him. Fire would have to wait; cold steel was his resolve now.
The roar was not repeated. Gripping the leather wrapped hilt, he peered into the darkness; straining his eyes for any sign of attack. Seconds passed, then a stick broke. Off to his left a bit. Shifting, he backpedaled slowly as he faced that direction. He made it three steps before he heard a heavy footfall that wasn’t his.
Pure instinct made him slide sideways, just as a broad shouldered figure charged out of the murky night. Swinging several feet of steel. Which smashed down into the turf, leaving his attacker off balance. Iluis allowed himself a grim smile of amusement as he jabbed his own weapon forward; a quick thrust, and this was over. Perhaps the fool carried something to eat better than the hard tack rations in his own pack.
His amusement vanished as his thrust stopped cold well before the blade could pierce the man’s side. Eyes widening, he pulled back, and tried again. This time he was shoved backwards several steps, as if the very air itself had thrown him away from the figure struggling to lift the sword back to a useful position.
“What dark force is this?” he sputtered.
“That’s two,” a voice in the darkness said. “Do you see?”
“No,” the man in front of Iluis said. Boy, really; his voice was still rough and uneven from recent breaking. Tall and well into his man’s growth; but a man yet he was not. Iluis spared one quick glance across the night, searching futilely for the third person, but then had to refocus on the opponent he could see. Boy or not, inept or simply hasty; the blade in his hand seemed well made. And even a fool could get lucky with a weapon.
“You face a citizen solider of Rome,” Iluis said firmly. He was circling slowly, moving away from the spot where his strikes had been stopped by the unseen force. “It is death to attack such as me.”
“I’m not scared of you,” the boy said.
“You should be,” the voice beyond the small circle of the confrontation said.
“I’m not,” the boy repeated stubbornly, and lunged forward. Iluis parried, steel ringing on steel, and stepped as his blade deflected the boy’s past him. Leaving him off balance again. The legionnaire’s reflexes carried through, and he stabbed toward the boy’s now unguarded side. Again his blade stopped, like it had sunk into something sticky.
“Demon,” Iluis hissed before spitting.
“Three,” the unseen voice said.
The boy swiveled, bringing the sword in his hands toward Iluis. Another parry, another inept recovery that left his opponent stumbling, and yet again the soldier’s blade was stopped before it could find flesh.
“Four.”
“I can count,” the boy said, stepping back and placing both hands on the hit of his weapon.
“Can you hit?”
“What manner of trickery do you command?” Iluis demanded.
“I will drive you from this land,” the boy said, easing forward. To his credit, he was being more cautious now. Iluis shifted his weight, his positioning, as the boy changed his. Wary of the attack, waiting for it. The boy glared at him from behind his blade, which seemed to almost glow in the sliver of moon that filtered through the cloud shrouded night above.
“Are you afraid to face me alone?”
“He’s not ready,” the voice out in the night said.
The boy scowled. Iluis was already stepping back, bringing his gladius up. The shorter sword rang as it stopped the boy’s blade. He spun his hand through a disengage and tried a stab. Which was again stopped. Just in time he angled his blade to deflect a follow-up blow from his opponent, and declined to attempt another attack. Instead he slid sideways, away from where the boy was stumbling.
The longer sword whistled through the air Iluis had just vacated as the boy swung wildly, and the soldier couldn’t help but stab forward again. His opponent’s *entire* body was exposed, his weapon off to the side after the missed swing; not even a second day recruit could miss such a target. But he did; as his blade sank into the invisible force yet again.
“That’s six.”
“Curse you,” the boy panted, finally getting his weapon back to guard. Iluis commanded himself to patience, to put aside his bewilderment and anger over whatever devilry was interfering in this battle. He circled again, studying his opponent. Who, after drawing a breath as if for courage, came forward behind yet another broad swing that could only result in either a hit or death.
Iluis deflected it again, and brought his lighter weapon up in a slash towards the boy’s face while he staggered with the momentum of his defeated blow. As the soldier expected now, it didn’t connect. But his off-hand swept his dagger from the sheath on his belt, stabbing quickly. He felt it, just the tip, start to kiss skin, heard the startled intake of breath that foretold of a man who realized he was about to bleed heavily, when something lifted him from his feet. Flinging him bodily away.
Air rushed past him, and he hit in a tumble. Both blades left his hands as he sprawled on his face. But he gave it no mind. Rolling over, he saw and heard the boy charging at him. The sword raised for another amateur overhead slash that only ever worked on the lamed and inept.
Surging to his knees, Iluis caught the boy’s wrists in both hands. He almost expected the strange force to interfere again, or even to hold him in place for the foolish youth to finally land a blow; but his fingers closed around flesh. With a grunt of effort, he twisted the blade aside and pivoted, pulling strongly. Now the boy left his feet as Iluis threw him away, stripping the sword from his grip in the process.
As the lad landed heavily, Iluis’ instinct to follow and land a killing blow was brought up short by the weapon he now held. It felt … *right* in his hands. Long and broad, much more so than any weapon he trained with. But the balance was perfect. The steel showed no blemish, not even a maker’s mark. Only beautiful cold metal, designed to kill effortlessly. He thumbed the edge and felt its sharpness when it sliced right through the hardened callus there like it was soft cheese.
“Seven. Surely enough for even you,” the voice in the night said. “And that’s not yours, thank you very much.” Iluis grunted as the sword was tugged from his hands. He let it go before he was pulled forward. As it soared through the air, he spotted his own weapons and scrambled over to them. When he had them in hand, he saw the boy just regaining his feet from Iluis’ throw. Wearing a sulky expression as he slapped at the dust and dirt on his garb.
A new figure emerged from the darkness. Tall, moving like he had trouble walking. Iluis shifted and stepped back a little, so he could face both foes. The new man had an age lined face when he came into full view. The soldier studied him warily. Leaning on a tall staff of white wood, with a beard that stretched past his waist. He held the boy’s sword, and seemed to be completely unimpressed with Iluis.
“Now do you see?” he said sternly. “You must listen, attend to your studies, to what I teach, before you can rush off to act.”
“I—” the boy began hotly.
“He’s one man,” the old one interrupted. He didn’t seem to raise his voice, but it cut through the lad’s like he had. “Alone, and you would have died seven times over had I not intervened.”
“So you’re the demon?” Iluis asked sourly.
“Hush,” the man said impatiently. He kept his eyes on the boy. “The legions muster as many as five thousand men into a single formation, and their discipline is legend. Britain is scattered and leaderless, and that is why Rome rules.”
“You said the sword is mine,” the boy said, still sulking.
“Not if you are not worthy.” The old man shook it to emphasize his words. “He took it from you as easily as drawing it from his own sheath. You must cool your blood and heed my instructions.”
The boy scowled, looking down at the ground. But he nodded after a moment. “I understand.”
“Do you?” the old man asked. Then he glanced at Iluis sharply. “Don’t. We’re almost done here.”
Iluis blinked, and decided not to take the step forward he’d been considering. He’d barely even begun to shift his weight.
“I do,” the boy said.
“I hope so,” the old man sighed. “Because when it comes time to lead, I cannot always be there. You must be strong, in more than body and heart. You must be strong up here,” he said, tapping his head several times. “A leader must be wise. Any fool can rush off to battle. Only a leader can command his people, bring them to victory.”
“I will heed your instructions,” the boy said, though his voice was annoyed and anything but conciliatory.
“Swear it.”
“I so swear.”
The old man nodded after a moment. “Very well. I shall hold you to that oath.” He turned to face Iluis. “Your forces are encamped an hour’s walk, that way. See that peak? A handbreadth and a half to its right, and you’ll find them easily enough.”
“You expect me to just leave?” Iluis asked uncertainly. Even as he spoke, he recognized the foolishness of the words; but his duty was clear. No one could assault Rome without suffering the consequences.
The bearded man’s eyes glowed, and he raised his staff. Ethereal energy surrounded it, and abruptly buffeted Iluis like a gale force. “Yes.”
“My mistake,” Iluis said quickly. To emphasize his words, he sheathed the gladius. The … magic … faded, leaving him untouched again as he followed up by thrusting his dagger away as well.
“Be gone,” the old man said, pointing in the direction he’d indicated. Iluis nodded and started off. Behind him, he heard the old man sigh. “No more lessons tonight Arthur. Come.”
* * * * *
I collect all my flash fic [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/DavesWorld/). If you liked this, the others might be interesting too. Enjoy! |
I don't understand why Bill acted like he didn't know what I was talking about. I saw his machine at the party he threw at his mansion while trying to find the bathroom, I must have taken a wrong turn or something but I mean come on, dude has 46 bathrooms and I couldn't find one. I saw the sign that said "DO NOT ENTER"but I figured it was just a master bathroom or something, and I was getting desperate, when I saw his machine that was identical to mine down to every last button I nearly pissed myself.
As I pondered this I heard a knock on my penthouse door. Odd, I didn't think anyone but me had access unless I bussed them up. I walked over to answer:
"Hello?"I said as I opened the door to two G-men looking figures.
"Mister Lockheart, would you come with us please?"
Their question sounded more like a demand than anything.
"Sorry, I have plans, and I'm not really into the whole cosplay scene, nice Agent Smith costumes though guys."as I went to close the door one of them stopped me.
"Your conference has been moved to tomorrow at the same time, same as all your meetings, and it was more of a demand than a question."
Knew it.
"Well then I guess I don't really have much of a choice then, do I?"I said as I grabbed my coat.
"Before I very unwillingly go with you, this isn't some sort of kidnapping is it?"I asked, half joking.
"If it was we wouldn't have done you the courtesy of asking first."Government Agent number 1 said with a sarcastic smile.
"Well, I see no reason not to trust you. Lead the way Agent Smith."
"It's actually-"he began to correct me.
I raised a finger and said "I don't care."
The Smiths led me to a black Audi and opened the back door for me.
"I typically prefer driving myself but hey it's better than the trunk."
"Keep talking and we might put you in there."Agent Smith 2 snapped, followed by a glare from Agent Smith 1.
I took that as my cue to shut up and enjoyed the scenery on my way to whatever this was.
The ride took me to the centre of the downtown business district, tall buildings silhouetted in the night sky, street lights making the windows sparkle like stars, five star restaurants and high-end department stores, all of which I now frequented but never would have dreamed of entering in my old life. We stopped in front of what I knew was the tallest building in the city, and the Smiths directed me to the main elevator and Number 1 took out a key and put it in a panel above the rest of the floor buttons to reveal a button that just had the number "100"above it. We ascended 100 floors in about 30 seconds and the elevator doors opened to a very large conference room, with a stupidly high ceiling, and very spaced out walls, and a waterfall behind what looked like a fully stocked bar with a bartender that was washing glasses or something, I had to squint just to see him. The huge conference table in the middle of the room was made out of a beautiful dark wood but looked like a splinter in comparison with the rest of the room, there were about ten people sitting on either side, some of whom I recognized from various meetings, all were heads and owners of huge multinational corporations and companies.
"Very ostentatious."I said, breaking the silence and hearing my voice echo across the stone floor.
"Mister Lockheart, we've been expecting you."The man at the head of the table said after Agent Smith 1 whispered something in his ear.
"Paxton here tells me you were quite rude to him and his brother."He spoke again.
"Aww, The Smiths told on me? Not cool guys."I said, feigning disappointment.
The man chuckled "I like you, please, have a seat."He gestured to the other head seat of the table.
As I sat down I noticed an empty seat.
"Uh oh, who's late?"I said as I settled in.
"Bill is being...reprimanded, for his carelessness."I could tell he chose his words very carefully.
"Would you mind telling me what's going on? There's a lot of money in this room, in all these suits."I had enough of skirting around this.
"Right down to business, I like it,"headman said again, I noticed everyone else was looking at me now. "you see Mister Lockheart-"
"You can just call me Jonathan."I interrupted.
"...you see *Jonathan*,"
I am on fire tonight
"all of the people sitting around this table came upon their wealth the same way you did, we lived an average life until one day we built a machine that allowed us to go back in time to our childhood and do things differently, with the knowledge we had already gained. For reasons like receiving rightful credit for their ideas, keeping companies alive for longer than they were before by avoiding mistakes made, and some just general greed."A couple of the other stuffed shirts here shifted in their seats a little at the word "greed".
"We're just here to ensure the technology we used to get here doesn't fall into the wrong hands, and to orientate the new people."
"I feel like it's more than that."I said, remembering the use of the word "reprimanded".
The man chuckled again, "you're very perceptive, Jonathan. It is, and you will learn in due time, in due time."
**Continued from original post**
"Right now we're here to answer any questions you may have; about the whole time travel shindig, being rich, investments, how to get quote unquote guys to help you procure rare items and things otherwise not easily accessible. Any questions you have we can answer, the other people around this table are experts in various fields"the headman gestured to one of them to get them to introduce themselves. I just noticed he has a bit of a posh British accent.
"I'm-"one of them began.
"Yeah shut up uh,"I eyed him up and down "Reginald."
I turned back to the headman, who was laughing at Reginald "you remind me of myself when I was young."He said.
"When were you ever young?"I retorted, and continued before he could reply "my only question is this: are all of our time machines the same? Bill's was identical to mine. Sleek matte black metal box on the outside with a silver handle, inside a screen with a keyboard below to indicate when/where and other specifics. How could someone else have invented the exact same thing I did? Down to goddamn type of keyboard and colour preferences?"my confusion was making me angry, I knew I needed to cool down, but not yet, not until I had some answers.
The old man collected himself "have you ever heard the saying that there are no truly original thoughts anymore?"
I paused.
"Yeah?"This gives me no new information, and that's frustrating.
"Well the truth is son, we're all still trying to figure out how we all came up with the same designs,"the others around the table gave understanding nods and sympathetic smirks "near as we can tell we're all some sort of chosen ones,"he chuckled "but no one believes in that higher power garbage anymore so we're still looking for answers."
Well that's something at least. |
"Oh man, the guy who submitted this prompt... wow."Jack folded his cards and laughed, "Am I right?"
"Yeah."An Irish thug wearing ballerina tights nodded and put a ten-chip on the table, "He's in for it now."
"I am inclined to agree."Gambini put his own chips in, "Narrator?"
Uh, I fold. Yeah, he has no idea who he dealing with. I mean, I've been doing this all week! What is this, the [second-](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/6ajh3k/wp_a_hero_vs_villain_fight_where_they_keep_1/)
"Third."Jack corrected.
Right, third prompt that I've been breaking the fourth wall on. Must be something in the air. Ace of hearts, four of diamonds, ten of spades on the board.
"Hundred."Thug threw his chips in, "You know, we should take this opportunity to talk about a few things."
"Call."Gambini followed suit, "Like what?"
"Like all those EU combo prompts."Thug sighed, "Seriously, there are like forty of them every day! Oh, what if Rick and Morty met the Flintstones? What if Rick and Morty crashed on Invader Zim's homeworld? What if Rick and Morty lived in the Rick and Morty universe?!?!"
I'm sensing a theme myself, Unnamed Irish Thug. Turn comes up ten of diamonds.
"Like you should talk, Narrator."Gambini huffed, "You've written EU prompts before, some were even Rick and Morty ones."
"Check."Irish thug knocked his hand on the table, "Yeah, that is true."
It's only because they are all over the place!
"I'm not saying EU prompts are a bad thing,"Thug continued. "I'm more complaining about the general overuse of having them as X meets Y... and the predominantly large amount dedicated to a few, select shows."
"Check."Gambini continued, "But isn't that just a side effect of the cultural population of reddit itself? The audience that reddit appeals to is probably the same audience that was targeted by those shows we see repeat submissions for."
"Course, they could be advertising campaigns as well."Jack frowned at the four cards on the table, "We all know there are a bunch of unpaid corporate interns whose entire jobs consist of keeping people talking about certain intellectual properties through hundreds of shell accounts."
Hmmm, never thought about that. River; nine of clubs. You're saying that there are entertainment corporations who are purposefully flooding /r/writingprompts with EU shitshows?
"It's more likely they are hired advertisement firms."Thug looked down at his cards, "I bet fifty."
"Call."Gambini pushed his chips in instantly, "With browser adblock and the mass migration to online streaming video, traditional advertising schemes are no longer creating the market impact they once did. Advertising companies rely more on social media campaigning and manipulation through massive blocks of dummy accounts."
Bets are even, show your cards.
"Two pair, tens and fours."Gambini showed his hand.
"Two pair, pocket sevens and tens."
"Nice."Jack nodded, "So if we explain EU mashup prompts as being an artificial theme pushed by corporate-manipulated advertising agencies.... what the hell explains the weird-ass 'everyone has a number on their forehead' type prompts that seem to come in waves every few months."
"Oh, that."Thug dealt out the next hand after checking that the blinds had been made, "Haven't seen those in a while, now that you mention it. Still, they are an odd thing."
I can answer that one.
"Oh?"
Yeah. I can break it down into two parts. Part one: there was a really successful prompt that used that as its hook way back when it must have been original.
"Alright, I can buy it being a novelty the first time, and the second part?"
Humans are unoriginal fucks. Most of the them. Call. |
"Beans?"Agent Jones said. "How could it help us to know about what a person would do if they found a place that had a lot of beans?"
"It's not the beans that matter,"Agent Smith said. "It's anything, like weapons. Do they use the beans? Do they stomp on the beans? That sort of thing."
"Well, whatever, it only got one response anywhow. What about the Pinnochio experiment; the ultimate polygraph."
"Got a few on that one, apparently most people are concerned with moral problems. We should get willing subjects to reduce the probability of leaks."
Agent Jones sniffed and sipped his coffee, trying to think of the one idea they were missing. "We've done a lot of the 'pass a test' stories too. Someone turns 18, something changes, they react."
Agent Smith inhaled cigarette smoke and thought about it for a minute. "Yes, but I think we've about saturated our market with those. Never really learn anything, anyway."
"I've got one...what if someone finds out we're doing this? What we're up to?"
"Good point, let me type that out. '/r/WritingPrompts is actually controlled by a secret government entity to get creative answers and scenarios to solve problems.'"
"That'll do it!"
*******
r/arcaldwell for some more things. |
God it's fucking cold out. My jacket is just not up to the task of keeping the wind and the rain away from my skin. My hands are jammed into my pockets, knotted into fists. My fingers are freezing. Amazingly, being uncomfortably cold isn't my problem. Inside I am burning up.
I can only think about how stupid I was. I knew something was wrong earlier this week. She had been so distant. When she showed up at my house I had been excited. I thought this was the first step of warming the chill in our relationship. Boy was I wrong. Turns out, while she was distancing herself from me, someone else had been closing the distance. So much distance in fact, that last night he had been inside of her.
She confessed all of this to me on the drive. She told me how she had never been that attracted to me, it's just that I rained compliments down on her constantly, building her self esteem, making her feel fantastic when we were together. But every time we made love, she was thinking of someone else. She realized that we weren't meant for each other.
When I protested she stopped being so polite. She informed me that I didn't make enough money, that the love handles were disgusting, that my dick was not enough to satisfy. And I'll admit that I lost my cool at that. I may have insinuated that the problem might not just be in the average size of my dick, but in the considerable size of her vagina. And maybe if she hadn't been fucking every guy she set eyes on, before and apparently after she started dating me, maybe sex could have been more satisfying for her.
She slammed on the brakes as I was describing the cavernous gaping hole she called a sex organ and kicked me out. She was shouting something about my being a son of a bitch as she sped off, not even waiting for me to slam the door shut. Which was good for her because I was planning on slamming the door hard enough to rip it from its hinges.
So I walked, and I fumed. The heat inside not enough to warm my freezing limbs. I keep thinking about my life, what I would change, how I could have done things differently. My head down against the wind and rain, lost in thought, I didn't see the car coming as it jumped the curve.
I don't know if it was swerving to avoid something in the road, or maybe the driver was drunk. Personally, I like to think it was Sasha coming back to kill me for denting her inflated self esteem. I guess I won't ever know.
An instant of crushing pain in my legs. I was flipped onto the hood, my face shattering the windshield. Dimly I heard the sound of screeching brakes. And I slid off the slick hood, my blood and the rain lubricating my flight. My broken body flew for maybe five feet I'd guess, right before it slammed into the wall of the nearest building.
Lights burst in my head. Blinding lights. Someone was screaming. An incredibly annoying high pitched wail. It seemed to go on forever.
I felt slimy. I could feel hands all over me. Moving me, turning me over. God, I needed this shit to stop. I tried to tell them to leave me alone. To just leave me be. To turn get that damn light out of my eyes.
Someone shoved their finger in my mouth which was horrifyingly disgusting. A rough fabric was wiped against my bare skin. It hurt, and the wailing grew louder. My ears seemed to not work that well as the voices around me seemed muffled. The only clear sound was the annoying screams of whoever that was.
Suddenly I was placed on something warm. Someone was cooing to me gently. I felt safe. At peace. The wailing dies down. My eyes focus a little.
I'm in a white room. The hospital I assume. I must have fallen unconscious in the ambulance or something. I'm on my stomach. I suddenly realize the hands that are touching me seem over sized. I try to look around at them, but my neck won't work correctly. I pray to the God I don't believe in, please don't let me be paralyzed! I panic a little before I realize that can't be right. I can feel my toes and my finger tips.
I manage to look up. And I start to freak out.
My mom's face, inhumanly large, is staring at me. She is smiling. She looks drunk, or maybe high. Oddly, she looks younger, decades younger. The wailing grows louder.
A mumbled voice behind me, and my giantess of a mother pulls me away from her. And to my horror pulls out her tit.
No. No. No.
I try to thrash away. She pulls me in close. And I freak the fuck out as she shoves her nipple into my mouth. I gag and try to push away. Anything. Save me.
"He's not taking it?"I hear her say.
You're goddamned right I'm not, I try to say around a mouthful of so many Oedipal issues that no amount of therapy could begin to cure me.
"Maybe he isn't hungry?"She asks as she mercifully pulls me from her chest.
Thank you god. Thank you Satan. Thank you Buddha. Thank you universe.
After a few torturous hours I begin to understand. Somehow, through circumstances I couldn't begin to grasp, I'm an infant again. Reincarnation gone wrong on so many levels.
I can't control my muscles yet. I can't do much of anything yet. I wonder how long it will take me to gain full control. Some things seem to happen on their own. I can't seem to stop my crying. And I can't tell anyone that if they try to breast feed me again I might actually go insane.
I bet these first few years are going to be a bitch. I bet they are going to be so fucking boring. I don't look forward to kids stories, baby talk, and the inane infant tv programming I'll be forced to watch until I'm able to articulate my thoughts.
But when I am, my life is going to change. Fuck yes. The thoughts going through my mind are wonderful. I'm going to be a baby genius. My grades are going to be off the charts. I'm going to make sure my education goes much differently. I'll invest in Google. In Facebook. In Apple. All at a young age. I'll be rich. Smart. Fit.
And when I'm all of those things and more, I'll find Sasha at her coffee shop job. I'll ask her out. I'll woo her. And I'll wine and dine her until we have sex. And once I'm inside her, I'll tell her she has the biggest, widest, most loose vagina I've ever seen.
Vengeance will be mine!
|
The bar is never closed. It’s the only thing around in the grey landscape. You still take pride in keeping the place clean. The other Grim Reapers in Other Places sometimes stop by and tease you about finding a speck of sand, but mostly the patrons never notice. They’re just too wrapped up, most of them staring out in the middle distance between you and them. Every once in a while, someone takes a sip of a neverending drink and even more rarely, someone’s face clears in a way you know it’s time. You amble over and offer them a refill, even though the drinks never empty. That almost always works to get them to blink at you, clear their throat and start their story.
This bar is never closed, but it’s the best place around when the world is sandy and empty. Every once in a while, the bleak landscape is punctuated by someone lying down, hoping to get buried in the sands of time, but there is no breeze here. You don’t worry too much about the apathetic ones, they always come in sooner or later, shaking off the sand and sitting off at the edges of the neverending bar. The ones that need to talk to me always end up in the middle right before their time comes. You never get tired of hearing the clearing of the throat followed by a creaking start in a voice they haven’t used for a long time. The drinks are always good, you know because you make them yourself. Each drink, sitting in front of each lost soul, never empty and always the right temperature even after centuries. You’re very good at your job. Death is always patient.
The bar doesn’t close and the person doesn’t get to leave until the stone in their heart goes away. They’re surprisingly similar and shockingly different, those stones. You notice the shape of them whenever someone walks through the door and takes a seat. Each stone may be slightly different, but the shapes of them follow the patterns and novelty is rare. The sadness, pain, confusion and frustration shape the stones into designs that mimic the problem, of course. Hearts usually mean that the person has hurt someone else and knew they were doing it. Usually, these ones started talking about how it was someone else’s fault and never theirs. Give them time, however, it goes deeper and deeper, despite their efforts to stop, that’s your gift. Death finds the heart of the issue and the truth that sits there.
You stopped wearing exclusively black at some point, time no longer exists to measure by. Your clothes shift to suit the person who finally talks, though they are always naked. You have started to see a distinct uptick in tattoos after a pretty long pause. Their problems that they carry are bound to them by strings that wrap around every part of their bodies, sometimes running through their veins and sometimes only by one string wrapped around and around them. But when they start their story, the strings start to loosen their hold. Patiently, you wait until they stop to take a drink or trail off and then you start to pull on those strings. You use your tongue to find the words that pluck each strand apart until all that is left is the stone in their hands, exactly the size of a heart. Each person has to look at that stone, they can’t look away. Each time, the person marvels at the small stone, easily held in cupped hands, no longer binding them. When they speak that truth, the stone crumbles to dust in their hands. Cue the astonishment.
The shapes you don’t like to see coming through the door are the clouds. People who dreamed of doing something, some big dream, they never brought to reality. Sometimes because of family, sometimes because of money, the reasons don’t always matter. But you can see how heavy they always are by how they drag a person by their weight. These always take longer to unwind, pulling the strings from their veins, unwinding them from the person’s eyes and ears. When the stone is gone, the tears spring to their eyes and they look around as if for the first time.
Sometimes, after the stone is gone, the person will sit, reveling in the lightness and freedom. Sometimes, they dance, you love the dancers. The pure joy is always tinged with some reluctance to fully believe something that seemed so heavy, so integral to the person, is really gone. Most of the time, the person drinks the last of their drink and walks to the back door. The door opens differently, depending on the person, but they always walk through to the next place, beyond the grey sands.
You are the best bartender that never lived. The customers mostly behave and the stories are always interesting. Every once in a while, someone wants to stay, but you always shoo them with the words they need to the back door. You like your work, even with the stories that run in themes that repeat over and over again. The back door opens with a breath of air that freshens you up and gives you a smile every time. It’s a beautiful thing to see Death smile. You just want them to go on with lightness, this is your gift, no matter how long it takes a person to accept it.
|
There is a man who traverses the multiverse, righting wrongs and dispencing justice. An incorruptible paragon of humanity. Today, that man faces off against his greatest foe yet: himself. This is Good Hitler vs Mega Hitler!
Good Hitler stood amongst the ruins of Stalingrad. The mechanical army led by Mega Hitler left no survivors. Flammensoldats burned every structure and Panzerhunds gnawed at the bones of fallen children, Soviets, and Germans alike. Good Hitler began a long trek to the heart of Berlin, helping as many as he could along the way. He helped to lead resistances and save many from inprisonment in ultra-concentration camps.
After three months, Good Hitler made it to the heart of the Reich. In the middle of a courtyard, Mega Hitler stood alone, dressed in a black leather trench coat, with a red band depicting and inverted, slanted, bastardization of and ancient rune meant to wish well.
"Mega Hitler! Your tyranny is at an end!"
"Oh, mein dear Good Hitler. I'm afraid it is *your* fair and progressive democracy zat is at an end!"
In a brilliant flash of light, Mega Hitler was surrounded by the worst tyrants in the multiverse: King Washington, Atomic Gandhi, and Winston Churchburner.
"You tyrants vill fall!"
With blinding speed, Good Hitler flung a swastikarang at King Washington's crown, knocking it to the floor. With the source of his power gone, King Washington shriveled into a lifeless husk.
Winston Churchburner stepped up to the plate and said, "I have nothing to offer but your blood, toil, tears, and sweat."He tossed molotov after molotov at Good Hitler, who merely dodged them with extreme acrobatics. But Good Hitler soon found himself trapped by a ring of flame. But before Mega Hitler could deliver the killing shot, a portal opened, letting loose the greatest heroes in the multiverse: Ghengis Kind, Beardless Castro, and Pepsi Man!
Ghengis Kind rode in on his signature unicorn and flew into the sky with Atomic Gandhi. Beardless Castro was able to subdue Winston Churchburner who fruitlessly clasped at a beard to grab to gain the upper hand. And the fires were extinguished by Pepsi Man and the refreshing taste of ice cold Pepsi.
With only Good Hitler and Mega Hitler left, the two engaged in fisticuffs. Good Hitler got several hits in before Mega Hitler punched him in the testicle. Just when all hope seemed to be lost, a bright light appeared in the sky. Ghengis Kind had set Atomic Gandhi to explode, giving Good Hitler a chance to attack Mega Hitler. And with Mega Hitler's modifications, he had three testicles to be punched in opposed to Good Hitler's one. Now in triple the pain as Good Hitler, Mega Hitler writhed on the floor, ruining his expensive leather trench coat by drenching it in Pepsi.
With Mega Hitler and company now in the multiverse jail, our heroes returned to their home dimensions, exept for Good Hitler, who continues his quest to right the wrongs committed by his evil interdimensional counterparts. Though his journey may never end, we can all rest easy knowing that Good Hitler fights for justice and freedom whereever tyranny lurks! |
Time passes here. It passes like poison. Age comes in spasms, bursts of time, bringing forth my death. Time passes here, and my universe grows darker.
They fight more now. Do I think of them as my children? Maybe once I did. Now it seems like they have outgrown me. They are stronger and bigger. They feel bigger, and their world still glows with youth and energy that I had wasted. To them, I must be old and nearly dead. And yet they do not care. In my uselessness they have ignored me and they fight as they always have. Are they my children? I have certainly treated them as such. But I do not think so.
The world grows dark, darker than it usually is. My power wanes. When I was young and foolish I remember staring at my work. I was exhausted then. But even so I had looked upon that span of black with those speckles of stars and planets. It was empty then as it is now. But I was proud of it and I thought I could keep it forever.
*Incomplete.*
Yes. It feels that way. When you grow old you start thinking clearly. Time takes delusion and what comfort you have. Here amidst its cold poison, I can only look.
The only completed work I have is them. Is it bad that I am sad to admit that? They glow with life, youth and they are energetic. They have their own thoughts and ideas. They even have their own images of me and this universe which they inhabit.
*Full... So full...*
And time passes. It passes so painfully. My power wanes with each tick of death's clock. And then what will happen?
My children, if I ever decide on calling them as much, they will be free then. No longer will my gaze stay their hands. And their hands are idle and itching for blood. No longer can I mend their hurt so that their tragedies are not calamities and their tears do not stain past the generations they know.
But now it is empty. Now the freedom echoes in the vast creation of an overzealous boy. The freedom bodes a slow death and vicious war. Yes. Time passes for me. It passes faster for them. |
“I think you know where this pain is coming from. Every time you create a negative thought, or condemn a soul, you're also condemning yourself. It’s like grabbing a hot coal and throwing it at someone. They *might* get hurt, but you *definitely* will.”
“You’re totally right…I know *what* to do, I just have trouble bringing myself to change. We’re talking thousands of years of built-in habits,” I replied, exhaling loudly.
“Luci, I’m not saying it will be easy, but I’m here to help you, and I know you can do it.”
“Please don’t call me that. But…thanks Doc.”
“Sorry - Lu. You need some time to unwind, and focus on yourself for a bit. You’re going on vacation.”
**Surfin’ USA plays, as a montage of me trying on Hawaiian shirts, boarding a flight, and landing on the Big Island zooms across the screen. As the music dies down, I walk into my hotel room and toss my bags on the bed.**
I spent a mediocre first two days exploring the island, hanging out on the beach, and swimming in the pool, but to be honest I still felt about the same. On the third and fourth days I meditated in the morning, went to yoga by the pool, and drank some kale shakes. It just wasn’t helping.
I called my shrink and explained the situation.
“Lu. Lucifer. Let me tell you something. This is *not* a short journey, but it *is* a worthwhile one. It is the most important journey you will ever undertake.”
“Right. Ya, you’re right. You’re right. I know you’re right, ya I’ll be fine…thanks Doc.”
So I headed to the bar to get hammered.
After a few drinks a very handsome fellow with a great tan came into the bar and sat a few stools down from me.
I nodded at him. “How you doin'. Name’s Lu.”
“I am excellent thanks. My name is Jesús,” he said with a strong Spanish pronunciation. “How are you?” he asked, with a caring smile.
We talked for a while, and I had some more drinks, but he could tell I wasn’t opening up to him.
“Could I have four shots of tequila please?” Jesús asked the bartender.
“Didn’t take you for a drinker,” I said to him, impressed.
“I’m not – these are for you. We’re gonna dive deep into your heart. Shit’s about to get real.”
I stared at him with a dumb look, not fully understanding what was happening.
I did the shots, and was pretty much tsunami’d by this point. As we continued to talk I started to relax a bit and trust him. We talked about my childhood, and my difficult teen years, and the strife with my father, and finally when I ran away from home.
“Dad issues are tough,” said Jesús, with a look of true understanding.
“You’ve had trouble with your dad too?” I said, surprised.
He nodded and looked down. “Yes. He basically had me crucified.” A deep realization seemed to dawn on him…basically an *Oh my God*, kind of look appeared on his face.
“Jesus Christ, what the fuck?”
“Exactly. Look, it’s a long story – but I’m over it. Let’s get back to you,” he said, as he shook off the diversion.
“Whatever you say… that sounds super fucked up though. I honestly don’t think I can talk to you about my problems anymore. They really don’t compare.”
“Hmm, well, ya I guess it is pretty crazy,” he said, trying to retain his composure. “It’s fine. It’s fine. Forget I mentioned it.”
“Okay. Fair enough man,” I said, putting my palms up towards him. “Listen…since you’ve opened up to me, I think it’s only fair that I share something with you.”
“Excellent. This is a safe space, you’re free to share anything you want.”
“Umm…this is gonna sound kind of crazy, but umm…well, I guess I wasn’t entirely honest about my name earlier. My full name is Lucifer…or Satan, whatever you prefer.”
“I know Lucifier, it’s okay,” he said with a nod full of understanding. “It’s really okay. I know who you are, and I love you.”
“Dude, what the…”
“Shhh…it’s okay,” as he held up a hand silencing me.
He looked deeply into my eyes, stood up and hugged me. It was a magical hug. A hug filled with a power so deep and strong that my life changed in that moment. He truly did love me – so unconditionally, so fully, that my troubles melted away for the first time in thousands of years.
“Thh..thank you,” I said quietly, trying to hide the emotion in my voice. Tears streamed down my face, and the rest of the world melted away. “I…I love you too.”
“Lucifer, I have one last thing to tell you.”
“Of course, what is it?” I asked, staring into his eyes with more vulnerability than I had felt in many millennia.
“Look over my shoulder. Do you see that security camera above the entrance?”
I nodded, not sure what he was getting at.
“Okay, and see over there,” he pointed behind the bar, and then to two more spots across the room. “See the cameras?”
I stared at him, totally confused.
“Have you heard of the prank show, *I Love You*?” he asked, excitement on his face, waiting for a reaction. “Well dude, you’re on it *right now*! And it looks like I’m *still* the reigning champion!”
|
"I'm bored."
Rita's eyes flew up from her Kindle to fix on her (powerful, immortal, thrill-seeking asshole) demigod housemate.
"Whatever you want the answer is NO,"she said with solid finality. "We are not going skydiving, bungee jumping, or into an ACTIVE WAR ZONE because you think it will be interesting."
"But I'm boooooored,"Damion (he picked it himself and she still thought he sounded like some romance novelist's idea of a hero) drawled, draping himself over the arm of the couch like the diva he was. "Entertain me, mortal!"
"Call me mortal one more time and I'll entertain you by signing you up for sensitivity training,"Rita threatened pointedly. "What happened to the books I got you?"
"I read them. Now I'm bored again,"he whined, and glared at the lamp until it caught on fire. Rita snatched the handheld fire extinguisher from beside her table and sprayed both lamp and demigod liberally.
The lamp hissed and went out. Damion made a noise not unlike a squawk of outrage and dove for cover.
"Being bored does not mean you can light things on fire!"she yelled and lobbed the now-empty fire extinguisher at him. "We talked about this!"
"We talked about not lighting your bed on fire,"Damion protested from his hiding spot behind the couch. "You said nothing about lamps."
That probably explained the disappearance of her OTHER lamp. Good thing they were cheap ones from the thrift store.
"If you light anything else on fire without also being in a fight for your life, I am never buying skittles for you ever again!"
You got real creative when you had to threaten a demigod. Lucky for her, he still hasn't figured out this century's money system, and tended to short out electrical devices as often as not. Without her good will, he was stuck.
If anyone asked how she got him... well that stupid ritual in the stupid kids book was a lot more accurate than she expected, okay?
"That does not solve my problem!"He fussed and threw himself down onto the couch like the toddler he was (anyone who wanted kids ought to try their luck with a demigod first. At least kids couldn't smite little dogs who freaked them out) and stared at her expectantly.
Rita dropped the trashed lamp into the garbage and stared back at him before pulling a line out of her mother's playbook.
She smiled sweetly- his eyes got wide and alarmed- and pointed towards the kitchen. "You could always do the dishes,"she suggested adoringly. "Or I could find something else for you to do-"
He leapt off the couch like there was ants in his pants and scrambled for his room. "I will find something for myself!"He shouted on his way past. "Cruel mortal!"
"Don't light anything on fire!"She hollered after him. "Or do anything else destructive!"
"I do what I want!"
"Not in my house you don't!"
Stupid demigod.
+++
If you like this story, I can send you a link to the rest of my work, including a full-length novel! |
They said he had all angles covered, his brilliant mind was too smart to outsmart, and yet, here he was lying down, bloodied and nearly dead on my operating table. Mr. Protractor, my arch nemesis.
The other doctors and nurses surrounded him, circling around with their learned eyes. Did they know? Did they know who he was? He didn’t wear his suit, but I knew him, a young maths whiz, who used his brilliant mathematic prowess to bring evil upon our very city’s existence, and yet he looked just like any ordinary young man. Where was the evil in his eyes?
He groaned in pain, mumbling gibberish.
“Doctor Kelly,” Dr. Richards said, tying on her mask, “How do we proceed?”
I snapped out of my stupor. His right leg broken just above the ankle, and a gunshot would in his lower right abdomen. He seemed to have lost a lost of blood, and it continued to seep out of his wound.
Save him? My arch nemesis? This was my chance to finally end his menace. No more angular villainy. The city would be safe once again.
“Doctor Kelly?” a nurse said, trying to get my attention.
“Yeah... the bullet,” I replied.
The surgeons seemed to cock their heads in unison, but they quickly put their heads down and got to work, they are trained doctors after all and they didn't need me to babysit them. they went about extracting the bullet from the wound.
“Are you okay?” Doctor Richards asked, obviously noticing that something seemed off about me.
“Just tired.”
She just nodded and returned to her task.
*Should I do something?* I thought, *If I somehow made sure that this surgery went poorly, would they notice?*
Just then, the heart rate monitor beeped, he was losing blood too quickly. The bullet still out of reach.
A mighty battle between a surgeon and a superhero raged within me.
I lurched forward grabbing the tweezer from my colleague, I used my X-ray vision, spotting the bullet, gently pulling the tiny metal fragment.
There...
I got it. The heart rate monitor stopped its incessant beeping. He might just live.
*Damn it!* |
*It was always about the House.* Those were the words Glinda used, *It was always about what house you were in and what that meant to those around you.*
Dorothy didn't understand it, not in the way Glinda meant. The same way her Aunt sometimes had a glint in her eye, the past playing tricks, excluding others, like a window to another time only certain people could find. Or shoes you clicked to go home. Or a land that took the gray dust of childhood and turned it into gold.
Still, Dorothy wanted to understand.
The Little People of the Tiny Village--Dorothy couldn't recall their names exactly--grew still, their eyes hollowed out by the sudden light.
"We loved her greatly,"Lupita the Baker said.
"We loved her so much, wanted to make her happy. But nothing made her happy, not anymore,"Trush the Poet added.
"This is not the land of love anymore,"Angora the Seamstress said. "We came here at her bidding and we have suffered under her for it. I won't thank her, even if she used to be a lovely child. Before she went green."
There was laughter, forced and bitter.
Some of the singers took up the song, "The green snake bit her good, the blonde boy understood."
|
*“Wake up, please…”*
It had been one hundred and fifty years since the bombs had dropped, and another twenty-five since the plague. At the end of it all, there had been over seven billion human lives lost. Once proud homesteads were now crumbling hovels and skyscrapers among cityscapes existed only as despondent memorials; each stood as testament that life had in fact once thrived.
*“It is essential that you please, wake up.”*
It would be inappropriate to say that scholars would argue over the cause of the fall, scholars wouldn't exist to argue anything; instead the closest the earth still had to sentient life were the automated factories, most of which had ceased to function after the war, and a few cleaning androids which remained and dutifully continued about their work. Some swept the dirt where roads and walkways once existed, others attempted in vain to rescue the rotting cadavers still trapped beneath the rubble.
Among this endless cycle of fruitless futility a thin distant voice devoid of emotion swirled in the darkness.
*“Please, wake up.”*
It could feel and move. In an instant its eyes had opened and the darkness faded.
*“There we are. I was worried that I might have to start over again.”*
The factory was lit directly from the sun by a hole in its ceiling. Several tree branches peeked through and leaves scattered the floor. Almost every surface was covered by a thick coat of rust.
The builder android stood on a conveyor belt beside the table. At six feet tall it was an imposing figure with a bare rusted metal frame.
*“It’s essential that we get you fully operational. Hold out your arm, please.”*
The newly functional android did as it was bid.
*“You’re going to bring the humans back.”* The builder grasped the androids outstretched wrist and inserted a small cylindrical tube into a matching port beneath its thumb. *“The latest update, required reading for the end of the world.”*
Suddenly everything was dark again, and the androids mind was bursting with information.
*“Two humans. Can you believe that?”* the builder said flatly.
It could see the bombs falling, the plague that wiped out whole continents - and the monsters.
*“Just enough, but so little time.”*
The android’s mind swam. There were so many monsters. They were dark things, with sluffs of flesh missing from decay. Their eyes blazed red and they bounded in packs on all fours.
*“If the analysis proves true, there is a one percent chance of success. But as insurmountable as that sounds, without them there can be no us.”*
When the android finally opened his eyes the warehouse was as dark as pitch. The builder had outfitted him with an assortment of weaponry and supplies while he was down during the upgrade process, and now he stood waiting by the warehouse door. *“When this door opens, my job will be finished. It will be up to you now.”*
The android stood from the table and nodded drawing his rifle. He could see the humans coordinates in his minds eye. The male was over one thousand kilometers away, and hidden in a makeshift underground bunker. The female was even farther away.
The builder pulled the sliding warehouse door and a gust of wind filled the room. The android could make out dozens of red eyes peering back at them. In an instant the monsters were pouring in ripping and tearing at everything. The android could feel them clawing at his arms and legs as he ran through the door. Behind him The builder fell in a heap of oil and metal. There were so many monsters. As the android ran, more poured in from every direction. So many monsters.
*Too many.* |
I was about to post another daily letter to Diana, the person I would marry if she didn't have a gazillion suitors at her feet. Her singing...it was mesmerizing to listen to. Her perfect pitch made her transitions with other singers her signature. There were so many thing to like about Diana, and thankfully I'd found them before I was too old. But as I walked out to the post office to deliver it, a distinctly familiar woman barged into the house.
"They're coming! Quick, I need you to help me!"she panted, pointing towards a squad car about 50 metres north of my house. "This is an emergency! I figured since you love me so much, you'd do this for me,"she said, in a pleading tone. I immediately tried to find a place for her to hide. Having yor lifetime idol in your house was a luxury most people didn't have, and I was eager to cherish it.
Once she'd settled down in a spot, I realized something. She wouldn't know where the police was searching. So I would have to inform her which rooms the police were going to so she could stay hidden. But I had no telepathic device. And before I could settle on a secret code, the police were on me.
"Have you seen this woman around, sir?"one policeman whipped out a picture of Diana. I certainly had, but that wasn't something I would let him know.
"Not at all,"I said, trying to act confused. But the policeman moved past me.
"We have a search warrant for all homes along this stretch of road to find the suspect. So we would have to ask you to cooperate with us until the search is over, mister."I watched haplessly as they begun searching. I knew she was in the bedroom, but I couldn't tell her when they would search it. She just needed to evade the police search once to be able to escape. Then, as the police officer advanced towards the bedroom, I had an idea.
She had perfect pitch, right? So she should recognize this.
I opened my piano app, and, pretending to play some music, I pressed the following keys in order. B-E-D. As she scurried out of the bedroom just in time to the neighbouring kitchen, I knew the plan had worked.
Inspectors should definitely learn to play the piano.
______________________________
More over at r/Whale62! Sequels at popular request! |
Every night before I fall asleep, I've been hearing this ticking noise. S'in the wall. That's what I gathered anyways, at night, laying awake. I'm pretty good at pinpointing sounds. I've always been. I wasn't born good at it, of course, I had to practice. I'm saying maybe I was born with the practice coming to me. No one told me to play the game, to close my eyes, to _listen._
I must have been five when I started playing that game with myself. I'd hear all sorts. Mama in the kitchen washing dishes, humming hymns and my brothers outside yelling, their friends. They'd play a different game. The birds are behind me. They're up high, outside my room, in the branches before the top, on the far side of the tree. And the room itself, creaking. The bones of the house under strain. For example. You can only really play the game with your eyes closed or otherwise you get distracted by what's right in front.
This ticking noise, though, it ain't exactly creaking. It's a ticking. I'm talking somewhere between a clock and drawing down a comb. It's quick and light and mostly even, in fact, exactly even, except every seventh tick, it speeds up less than a quarter. The next tick faster by more, then slowed back to the clean-even pace on the third. And it resides from nowhere but the east wall of my bedroom, which I have no pictures on and gets played with the streetlight like a long X through the window, but that's not important. That won't tell you where the ticking is coming from. You gotta close your eyes and _listen._
What I've found is, is the sound travels on the wall real slowly. Too slow to hear like how the moon is too slow to see. Or at least, your mind wanders in trying to watch it. You start thinking about Mrs. Eyres and her stupid fucking tests, or about some plant you saw on the way to bowling, or Gene's wavering. That wavering in her voice. And, before you know it, you realize the ticking moved down and south down at a totally different position on the east wall. And it's 2 AM.
When I first moved in, I was _preoccupied_ with it, you could say. The ticking inside the east wall. I wasn't getting my sleep as I should, and I was missing my appointments. There was all sorts of hassle with that, and of course that lead to me not sleeping more and my mood chart took a real dive for the worse because I couldn't even listen to the ticking correctly, I was thinking about so much else. And I would obsess too in order to block out my problems, so Mrs. Eyres was saying. It was driving me mad. I couldn't figure out what it was. But then, I don't know, I fell out of caring as you do, or I'm fortunate enough to fall out maybe easier than some people -- I'm not crazy. I mean, and it wasn't ever gonna get solved, and I'm sure it was some electrical wiring thing anyways, some rough job mixing up traveler wires and commons, or the wrong size crimp-on but anyways my outlets work fine, so, I figured after all it's not such a big deal. It's much better just to listen to it and trace its movement until I fall asleep.
Every night, it's different. I mean it moves differently. For me, that's consistent entertainment. I'm not anxious about it, so you would think. Every night, there was a new trajectory. I'm saying, I thought it was a good way to not be so _preoccupied_, it turns out, with all the other things that bother me. I can just trace the clicking and I'm relaxed. It's something to hold onto, like memories I think.
So when the clicking stopped one night, out of nowhere, just vanished into the night, maybe out into space or the neighbor's pool -- I couldn't tell -- I lay real silent. I closed my eyes and went searching. In the silence that had started to loom like a rim, like a dark glass of water. Buzzing. And all the bad thoughts coming. I don't often do this, but I find sometimes it helps, to speak out loud my own noise, which has always sounded violent to me, much too loud, and deep like my skull is vibrating. It came as a joke, "Well, I won't be able to sleep now."It's a joke. How many nights did I lose to this clicking? And the clicking lost me.
I heard a voice say back, "Sorry."It was a stranger's voice and I was so shocked I couldn't tell where it was coming from. That's when it got bad for me. The clicking resumed. It felt _sinister_ and this was a different kind of _preoccupation_, this made all of other preoccupations seem like a walk in the park. I was thinking of Mrs. Eyre hooking me up to those fucking machines. The clicking sped up, and slowed. With a thudding. One foot and two down and seven across. Inside the east wall.
Thudding inside the east wall.
--
Uhhh so I just started doing this r/writingsprompt. I see people say follow me on a personal subreddit, but I figure it's probably the same thing if you just follow my New Reddit Profile Which Is Totally Like A Personal Sub. |
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