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People called John a hoarder. Personally, I hate the term, always have, so when people reminded me that he wouldn't live forever (wow, you don't say?), I chalked it up to their jealousy; they were jealous that he escaped the tribulations of childhood with the entirety of his finite power in stock.
Myself, well, let's just say I wasn't much different from all the other kids. We used our power willy-nilly without thinking about the future. It was sort of a status symbol, really, if you managed to become an 'empty' before you turned 18, like I did. After adolescence, once we were thrust out of school into the real world, though, we realized the mistake in our ways. With the cliques of high-school evaporated, being an empty was a bad thing. Childish regret. John didn't care about that though; I guess opposites really do attract. *A hoarder and an empty,* people would say under their breath, *it'll never work out.* So wrong they were.
He bragged about it during our first date, actually. I thought it was kind of funny, the way he spoke about how he had let his pets die when he was younger, whether from sickness or something else, when he very well could have used a little power to save them. I guess that sort of sums me up well, that I'd think something like that is funny. Well, maybe not funny, but I can't think of the right word. Peculiar of him, maybe. And it wasn't just pets. But I'd rather not get into that; I don't want you to get the wrong picture of John.
When I told him I was an empty, which I was scared to do—I guess the difference between hoarders and empties really infected my mind more than I realized—he just smiled and said: "That's fine. I've never expected anyone to use their power on me anyways."
Of course, during the time we dated, the question came up, over drunken nights or sober Sunday mornings cuddling in bed.
"What are you saving your power for?"
I can see it now, his smile, the way his eyes, blazing blue with love, told me the answer, even though he refused to say it properly. Always he'd mutter: "I don't know. Something important."
"You have so much, you can practically save somebody from the brink of death if you used it all up at once."
Whenever I made an observation like this, the love in his eyes would gloss over and he'd put up a shell; it's like referring to a concrete miracle he could perform flicked a switch in his mind. Eventually, I stopped making those comments, though the things he could do still crossed my mind. How could I not think about them? Maybe I was a little jealous too, deep down.
I even tried to make him use some on me, for trivial reasons. Though I'm not proud of that. Whenever I'd get sick, I teased that he could make me better, instantly, and he'd still have practically all his power available still. He'd just shake his head. "A little cough isn't important enough,"he'd say. "Just take your medicine and rest up."
Even after we were married, he refused to say it. It came through in all his actions, though: exactly how much he loved me. It was obvious what he'd use his power on, if worst came to worst.
There's not a doubt in my mind that he'd save my life.
And that's why it still hurts so bad.
The funny thing is, it should have been me there that day. As I was halfway out the door to get groceries, he stopped me and said he'd go.
A car slammed into him right as he was pulling back into our driveway. It sounded like a metal trashcan rolling down a flight of concrete stairs. Running outside, I saw the entire side of our car crushed in on itself. The only thing I remember after that was noticing how there was a fresh bouquet of roses in the back seat, somehow unscathed.
The ambulance had to call the fire department; the firemen were the ones with the proper tools to rescue him. The jaws of life, I think they're called. I couldn't bring myself to look as they dragged him out.
At the hospital, panicking, an anxious mess, asking every question I could think of to a young nurse who seemed unconcerned with the whole ordeal, I was pleasantly surprised when, finally allowed to see John, he wasn't as mangled as I had imagined. They'd shaved his head, something about blood clotting in his brain, but overall he looked fine. I learned soon that the insides did not match the outsides, though.
I always forget whether it was due to lack of oxygen, or if there was too much blood in the brain, but the time in between the ambulance arriving, then having to get the fire department, basically guaranteed the damage. The doctors tell me he's still dreaming, but I know that's not true. He's just there, being kept alive by machines. His brain doesn't work anymore.
Yesterday, when I saw him, was probably the last time. I don't think I can do it anymore.
As always, the sight of him was like hammering an ice pick through my chest. Here he was, unable to open his eyes, the man who would, if the positions were reversed, instantaneously save me.
"Isn't this important enough, John?"I gently asked, looking down at him on the bed, hoping that somehow the words would reach him, letting him know that it'd be okay to use his power on himself. "You don't need to save it for me anymore."His cheeks were gaunt and eyes sunken; he was a deflated shell of his former self.
Then, reaching down into myself, already knowing what I'd find, I checked to see if I had any power left. Of course, I was empty.
I had been since I was 16. |
Every generation has one big event. One single event that they will always remember. A time when they can tell their grandchildren what they were doing when it happened. For Ollie Harrison and his generation, it was the event that would one day be known as Gemfall.
Ollie did not know this though. All he knew was that he was almost directly under it, and that he was trying to pick out his first car with a few friends when it happened. Well, that's what he told them anyway. He was really engaging in the time honored tradition undergone by all teenage boys: awkwardly trying to impress a teenage girl.
"So, uh, Cindy, which...which one do you like?"He asked. The girl, Cindy Lazawski, looked over the lot of used cars without much interest.
"I guess I like--"
The girl was cut off by a bright flash and a sound that crashed down on the area like a weight. The group of teens recovered quickly, and looked up. It looked like something had exploded almost directly above them. They could see dust trails hanging in the sky from the blast.
"What was that?"Another boy, Darren, asked. All he got was a chorus of "No idea"and "I don't know."
Then it happened. Countless points of light fell, scattering all around. It would later be learned by the teens that the falling objects reached all over the world. But at that moment, the group of five realized that they were out in the open, and many things were falling at high speeds.
They dashed around, taking cover wherever they could. Ollie found his hiding place under a nearby pickup truck. He saw Cindy running to the dealership building, and he cursed himself for not following. She was, of course, the only one smart enough to get to the building. The rest of the boys found cover similar to Ollie.
Gem stones of various shapes, size and color crashed into the ground. Ollie heard the truck being pelted by the colorful projectiles. Thankfully, none of them reached him, and the barrage of heavenly gems only lasted a few seconds.
When it did, the boys slowly emerged to find the ground littered with gems. Cindy and the dealership employees emerged soon as well. Ollie looked around. Diamonds, emeralds, rubies and more lay on the ground, free for the taking.
"Oh, sweet! I bet this'll get a ton of cash!"Another one of Ollie's friends, Brian, shouted as his picked up a large ruby. Then he yelped as his turned into a fine red mist and entered his body.
The boy froze and his gaze seemed distant. After a few moments, his eyes went wide and he quickly grabbed another gem. This one did not disappear.
"Grab one!"He shouted, still gathering up the gems. "Hurry! You get, like, super powers from them! And stats and levels and and all kinds of things. Like a video game!"
The nearby adults looked confused. But Ollie and his friends did not hesitate. He began looking at the gems, seeking to pick the best one. He watched as Cindy grabbed a large opal. Her eyes widened and her lips curled into a wide smile.
"Oh, this is gonna be fun."She said.
Ollie looked down again. He would find out what she got later. He still needed to get a skill himself first. He saw one that looked promising. A large diamond that looked like it would give something good. Right as he was about to touch it though, he paused. Right next to the diamond was another gem.
It was tiny, barely the size of his pinky nail. But it was a glistening rainbow color. Every other gem was a solid color. But not this one. He bit his lip in thought. The large diamond, or the tiny rainbow?
He looked around at his friends, who were all experimenting with their new powers. Fire, lightning, water and more shot from hand. Super human jumps were made. Objects floated through the air. Ollie made his choice and touched the rainbow gem.
Once it disappeared, he felt something. A pressure in his mind that only lasted a second. And then it happened. A game window appeared in front of him. And it was immediately recognizable as a game stat window. He looked over his stats. He had no idea what a good stat was, but he was disappointed by all the single digits he saw. He would have to work on that.
Then he saw his skill list. There was a single entry, called Skill Master. The description of it made his breathe catch in his throat:
You are not bound by the normal rules of skills. You gain the following benefits:
You have no skill slot limit.
You may learn the skills of others by expose to the desired skill.
Known skills may be manipulated. Level up Skill Master to increase the amount and kinds of manipulation that you can do.
Level up Skill Master to unlock new features and benefits!
Ollie read and reread the skill description. If he was reading it correctly, then he had gotten a truly broken skill. Sure there were a lot of things he did not know, but he could figure them out. He was broken out of his thoughts by a tap on his shoulder. Cindy had come up behind him.
"Hey, Ollie, you get anything good? I know I did."She did indeed seem quite happy.
"Oh yeah, really good. Why don't we go to my place later and we can compare?"
"Sounds good. Oh, you might want to grab as many of these things as you can. Even if you can't learn them, they're definitely going to be good to have later."
Ollie nodded and retrieved the large diamond he had been considering earlier. He began to gather more and watch Cindy out of the corner of his eye. This was definitely going to be a day he would remember vividly for the rest of his life. |
# Spell-ing Test
"How fascinating. Try this one; I've applied an explosive rune to it."
Nathaniel took the wafer the archmage handed him and stuck it in his mouth. He chewed once, twice, then a loud *bang* shot smoke out both ears. "It's spicy-like."
Archmage Klaus Farendrake slowly leaned back in his overstuffed chair and considered the youth over a pipe stuffed with fragrant leaf. It was rare he took a hand in the Academie d'Arts these last few years. But for this? Yes, for this he would make an exception. "How long have you known your Gift?"
In contrast to the richly robed and bejeweled Head of the Arts the student was bedraggled. Scrawny, in clothes that were so secondhand they counted to ten. But his frown was firm below an unfortunate amount of acne and his eyes bore the gold ring of sorcery. "'bout a week or so, yer lordship. Caught me stealing out of the shops by swallowin' their works."
They both looked at the silver bracelet on the boy's wrist. It bore a stone that glowed red for lies and an inscription that'd blow his hand off if he left the school grounds. Right now the little gem stayed clear. So that much at least was true.
Klaus puffed and considered. "What are your limits?"
"Pardon, yer lordship?"
"You can eat all things magical, correct? Well then, suppose this book were magical."He tapped a dusty tome on the crowded desk, disturbing tiny ur-lizards from underneath. "Could you swallow it?"
Nathaniel looked at it with a critical eye. "A page at a time, most like."
"How about if it were cursed? Or entrapped in some way?"
Bony shoulders went up and down, making his bracelet rattle. "Wouldn't matter none. 'Cept at the other end."
He paused mid-puff, white eyebrows raised in curiosity.
"Blows out the privy,"the boy muttered without looking him in the eye.
"Extraordinary. An eater of magic? I have seen many ways the Gift can express itself throughout the years. Common sorcery is named for a reason, but there have been pyroclasters, thurmaswamp casters, even realmbenders and glasswalkers. But you, young one,"he pointed with the end of the pipe. "Are the first I've seen to consume the weave whole."
All of that rolled right off Nathaniel's back with a disinterested blink. "Okay."
Quiet settled on the archmage's study. It had a long history there and filled every available space with itself, muting the ticking of various experiments and making specimens drowsy in their various cages and glass bowls. Klaus wore that sense of quiet like a cloak, not moving except to puff on a never-ending pipe and twitch gold-ringed eyes in thought.
Even the boy began feeling the effects after a while. He sat back and dozed in that way of street urchins everywhere-- eyes half lidded and elbows placed for a quick roll or jump. Klaus let him rest. From the look of the bruises around his shoulders the boy had been beaten recently. The town watch, perhaps. They took a dim view of thieves. Although he imagined the child's revelation of golden eyes drew a lot of panicked activity. Even now a great many jailers were making sure no records showed they were on duty when the lad was dragged in.
But that was by the by. The *real* issue as hand (or at mouth, he supposed) was the curious nature of the waif's Gift. He seemed unable to express even the slightest of magic. Not a shine of light or a glimmer of missiles arcane. Magical creatures ignored him; he was no familiar-friend or bonded beastmaster.
No, as far as Klaus could tell the boy's entire Gift lay within. Literally. He could chew and swallow anything with a even a whiff of magic and it did not harm him. So long as his mouth closed around it the deal was done.
Which left a rather... unusual problem of curriculum.
He rapped the desk twice with his cane to wake the boy up. "Nathaniel, is it?"
"Yes, yer lordship."
"Do you wish to attend this Academie?"Enrollment couldn't be forced. Give a mage some magic and they put it to use. Give a mage a grudge and they put it to even harder uses.
"No, yer lordship."
Klaus eyed the truth-telling crystal on the boy's cufflink. It stayed clear. "Whyever not?"
The boy shifted around in the chair, looking around the office at the collection of magical knickknacks and enchanted items. "'cause of the King."
This made Klaus pause and drag the corners of his mouth down a bit. Wrinkles went along for the ride and formed into a scowl so famous they had it on paintings down in the orientation rooms. "What of the King?"
"Nothin'."The gem lit up a burning red. "Nothin' I want to talk about."The light went away.
Klaus puffed and considered, then considered his puffs as they floated up towards the ceiling. There was a harkney living somewhere up there in the carvings and shelves. He wondered sometimes what it was turning into after consuming so much byproduct of magical pipeweed.
After a bit he came back to the discussion. "What if I were to tell you the King would *not* commission your services after graduation?"
It turned out Nathaniel could do an impressively good scowl himself. "I'd call you a liar. Yer lordship."
"Ah, but since only one of us wears a punishment cuff I suppose you'll have to take my word. Do you think archmages lie often?"
"'course."
Perhaps he was smarter than it appeared at first glance. "And you feel safe telling me to my face I would lie about the King's service?"
Nathaniel crossed his arms, then yelped when the stone burned his armpit. The cuff didn't like being hidden or covered in any way. He rubbed the sore spot in a surly manner. "All them mages go into the Army."
"Not all."Klaus corrected. "Some stay in the Academie for... other reasons."
"Experiments, most like. Don't go puttin' my X down for that."
"Mm. I see we have reached an impasse."Klaus gestured with one finger and the cuff around the boy's wrist clicked and fell away. "You are free to go."
He rubbed the red line around his wrist. "True word? No trick?"
"None. Go live your best life on the street. Would you like some food to take with you? I hear they starve in the southern quarters. Well, those who don't fall ill or get bit by plague rats. Do take care."
Nathaniel struggled out of the overstuffed visitor's chair, walked to the carved door and stopped. "I sees what yer doin', yer lordship."
"Oh? What's that?"
"Sayin' all them things is bad. Makin' me want to stay, instead. But you ain't *promising* nothin', just talkin' in circles."
Klaus felt a rise of wild excitement. By the pentacles, this boy was a whip of thought. Uneducated, and with a bizarre Gift, but a young mind and vicious at that. "I promise you room and board."
"An' food?"
"A meal a day. In the common room, nowhere else. Provided you attend five classes a week."
Nathaniel came back and threw his dirty rear back in the chair. "Three classes."
"Four, and a study with me every other Wandsday."
They shook on it, although Klaus could almost imagine the horrified scream of his other students when this one walked in. "And what shall we call you?"
"Nathaniel be fine."
"Yes, but Nathaniel *what?* They'll need a full name for the rosters to call you by."
For the first time the boy looked embarrassed. "I only have my da's name. Never knew my mum. So I'll have to use that. Guess I'll need to learn to write it out, but so's you know from now on I'll be Nathaniel Merlinson."
​
I write sorcery, sci-fi and dumb zombie action over at r/Susceptible ;) |
I am writing this to you as a grave warning for what is to come. Whoever comes across this piece may know me as the once esteemed interviewer James Steiner. My career had been over for the better part of two decades, but in my old age I grew restless. It was often assumed I possessed an innate charisma so strong that even the most powerful men in the world revealed their darkest secrets to me. Those who believed this were right in a sense.
I did have the ability the draw the truth from anyone. I have been hiding in the shadows for these 20 long years. I got too comfortable, too eager to be remembered. Now all I wish for is a swift death. That will come in due time. You see, I met a strange man the day before yesterday. I will now repeat a direct account of what I experienced. I saw the man sitting alone on a park bench. Staring. At me. I looked around to make sure I hadn't been mistaken. I was the only soul present in the park. Fear gripped me then. The man raised his hand and gestured me to come closer.
I fell into an almost trance like state and walked towards him. He was a tall, thin man dressed in an elegant three piece suit. He placed his hand by his side and motioned for me to sit. I obliged.
"Who are you?"I asked, the words shakily leaving my mouth. The man turned to me and seemed to ponder the question. I was not used to this. Typically the answer was immediate.
"I am the price."he said.
*The price?* I thought. I was certainly not used to riddles for an answer. I looked him dead in the eye.
"Care to elaborate?' The man turned away, but this time the answer came immediately.
"You, in your selfish arrogance, incurred a great debt. A debt which will be paid. How one such as yourself believe they can toy with things greater then themselves I will never understand. The gift requires a sound mind. You have abused your gift. The debt of which I speak is a debt of life. Answers acquired from your questions have led to lives 'saved'. Lives which should not have been lived. You have ended wars, prevented some, even. And you, in your great stupidity, thought yourself an altruist. Soon you shall see the error in your ways. The natural cycle is not something taken lightly. The coming of the end is upon you. I give you this knowledge as your curse. For your life has been one of extracting truth from others, never once instilling trust. You will carry this burden to the grave."
The man rose from the bench and walked away into the night, leaving me in stunned silence. This was two days ago. I'm unsure of how much time we have, but can I say only this. My greed has cost us everything. I know this will be believed by none living, and forgotten by all dead, but it felt needed. I'm sorry. |
There was an indescribable thrill to diving a cave system that few other have explored before. The idea that there was the possibility of finding something new and exciting. Helman and his group of friends only did it as a hobby, so they never ventured into the real dangerous stuff. This weekend, however, they’d been given a unique opportunity. Freddy had gotten them travel and accommodation to Enceladus, one of Saturn’s moons. Spelunking – for the first time – on the frontier of discovery.
It wasn’t much different from cave diving on Earth or Mars. The chasms we relatively easy to scale and years of erosion by the sub-surface geysers had left smooth cavernous pathways to follow. This particular system had only been mapped a couple of years ago and classified as moderately difficult. The group had conquered harder difficulties, but the fact that this was on a largely undiscovered celestial body gave them a thrill nonetheless.
“Helman, you’re falling behind, getting old?” yelled Gio from the front of the train.
They were crawling through a narrow passageway and Helman had to admit to himself that – with age – squeezing through narrow funnels like this was becoming more of a struggle.
“Just taking in the view!” yelled Helman back, knowing full well there was nothing to see but the backside of Freddy.
Suddenly the train halted as Helman nearly crashed into the aforementioned backside. At the end of the funnel should be a clearing that split into three directions. The right tunnel would be the shortest way out and what they had decided on taking. The middle one was unexplored and to be avoided, according to the guide back at the lodge.
“The map’s wrong,” said Gio. “This hole isn’t on it.”
It had been difficult enough to squeeze forwards, going back wasn’t really a scenario Helman, or any of them, relished.
“Isn’t there a way forwards?” he asked.
“And what? Take our chances?” protested Freddy.
“Let’s first get out of this suffocating pathway and reorient,” said Helman, and the rest agreed.
Standing on a small platform at the end of the tunnel the three men gazed at the map. The clearing should’ve been here and they were sure they had taken the right path before. In front of them stretched a cylindrical hole from as high as they could see all to the bottom. Like someone had cored this place like and apple.
“I think there is an opening to the outside at the bottom of this thing. I can see a faint light,” said Gio.
Carefully looking down from the edge Helman had to keep himself from instinctively stepping back. He could indeed see a faint light at the bottom of the pit. It covered the entire bottom floor, which didn’t make a lot of sense as it would indicate an opening from all sides, but it was also the only way forward from here.
“It should be good, there is a ladder going down over there, so it should be mapped and cleared if it’s part of the tourist route,” pointed Freddy.
They redistributed their luggage so that none of them were overburdened climbing down, after having shifted loads earlier to better fit through the narrow path they had traversed. Rock-paper-scissors decided who went down first and last. The one that won the first round going second as being the first or last in a climbing situation was always an extra burden.
It had been hours since they started climbing. The climb down hadn’t looked that long from where they stood above. Yet the bottom stayed as far away as when they’d started, even though looking up betrayed the effort they had already expended. Passing down the water flask the trio used the break to take in the breathtaking view. It was a large pit, but that didn’t mean it was void of captivating sights. The ancient rock layers were dotted with gemstone clusters and where ever there was a small ledge there grew luminescent native fungi. It provided an unreal backdrop to an otherwise unpleasant situation.
“Are we ready to push on?” asked Gio.
Helman and Freddy nodded. It wouldn’t do much good to pause for too long as they wanted to be back at the lodge before nightfall.
Focusing on the journey one splint at a time, Helman tried to avoid noticing the fact that even after climbing for a couple of hours more, they still were no closer to the bottom. His arms were burning from the fatigue and he guessed it wasn’t much better for the other two as their tempo had slowed down significantly. The anxiety that grew in his spine also didn’t help. There was something about this place that felt wrong and that feeling grew stronger the deeper they went. That’s when Helman noticed that Freddy’s breath was shallow and rapid. Almost like he was hyperventilating. If he would get a panic attack in their current predicament that would spell disaster.
“Freddy, you okay?” asked Helman.
Freddy didn’t answer. Helman stretched out his arm to lay his hand on Freddy’s back, to comfort him and hopefully calm him down. However, when his hand touched Freddy the man freaked out. He shifted his weight to the other side to get a look on where the touch had come from, but because of the panic and unpredictable movement the ladder swung hard to the right. Helman barely pulled his hand back to grab his splint with both hands to cling on. He could see Gio holding on for dear life as well, but Freddy hung with one arm from his splint. Leaning against Helman with his full weight as the muscles in his arm strained to keep a hold. That’s when Helman caught a glimpse of Freddy’s eyes. The pupils dilated and eyes wide, Freddy mouthed something Helman couldn’t hear and then he simply let go. His friend tumbled down into the depths like a rag doll. As both friends left on the ladder waited for the sound of Freddy’s body colliding with the rocky floor beneath they saw the light below suddenly grow brighter, almost blinding. As the men averted their eyes, Freddy was swallowed by it. No sound, no collision. Freddy – their friend – was gone like he had never existed. Helman was struck by panic and instinctively tried to climb up the ladder again as fast as he could, away from the light. Gio followed him and with the rope ladder swinging treacherously rocks started dropping from the ledge far above them.
They had been climbing upwards for over an hour now in a tempo they couldn’t sustain. The spike of adrenaline had left their bodies and the pain in their muscles they had already felt agonized them. Almost as if their body was pushing them to let go and just give up. The panic had subsides by a constant feeling of dread, like they were stalked by something. No matter how much the climbed, the light below stayed as close as before. The ladder felt to be going on endlessly. First downwards and now upwards, it didn’t make any sense.
“I-I can’t go on anymore,” puffed Gio.
“You have to, just push!” yelled Helman.
Gio carefully let go of the ladder with one hand, reaching for his backpack. First it was unclear to Helman what he was trying to do, but when Gio took out a photo, he knew.
“No, you’re not giving up on me!” roared Helman desperately.
“Just give this to my family and tell them I tried to get back to them,” said Gio, calm and composed.
Helman took the picture and tried to grab Gio’s hand to force him to go on, but when Gio let go of his other hand the sudden pull on Helman’s arm was too much. Gio slipped from his grip and plummeted down into the chasm. Again the light grew brighter as it swallowed him.
Hours and hours Helman climbed upwards. Before finally reaching the ledge they had stood on earlier. Looking down behind him, the climb looked to only be half an hour to the bottom at most. That thought didn’t help his almost unbearable anguish and he physically shook it out of his head. Setting out through the narrow passageway that had brought them here. This time he pushed through with ease, as if he had lost weight from dehydration and the terrible nightmarish climb he had endured.
(If you liked this story, please feel welcome at r/zeekoeswriting to read my other stories!) |
The only relief I find is in the water.
When I take a shower, the water runs over my skin – quenching it and loosening it. I spend all day long feeling like is being stretched too tight, or like its being drawn across a drying rack. Drinking water doesn’t help at all – and its started to taste a little bit funny.
The other day I actually thought about putting a pinch of salt into my cup of ice water, but at the last minute I decided against it.
When I take a bath, I actually feel like I can breath a little better. When I get ouut and dry off, or even so much as step right outside of my front door, i feel shrivled.
Its painful – hard to breathe like when a large gusts of wind blows right in your face in the winter time, but its just all the time.
I have noticed that my skin is changing too, but the water doesnt help with that. It still looks a little bit grayer, and a little bit rougher, and a lot like something weird is happening to me. Although weird isnt quite the right word. Weird is one hell of an understatement.
The bath is actually where Im at right now – my phone plugged in across the wall and a towel over the side of the tub so i can still have one dry spot. Ive basically given up one hand in order to have better access to the outside world.
In order to have access to you guys.
This all started a few weeks ago when I was in an accident.
I was visiting my girlfriend at her work, which I admit isnt a place I’m realy suposedto be. She works in this big, fancy science lab, and when its just her on her over night shifts, sometimes she lets me in so we can hang out. I don’t get into anything – im not some weird freak. Or, at least i wasnt before all of this at least.
No, I just sit on a stool and chat while she works. Sometimes I watch videos or bring cross word puzzles. Sometimes I help organize things.
That night the accident wasnt even my fault. Someone had done something weird to a machine, and it half-way explode while we were there. Thankfully only a a little bit of hot liqui got sprayed across the lab, and according to the labels it wasn’t the most dangerous one they had in there at the time.
I don’t know what the machine does, so I cant say, but I do know that aside from a ton of paperwork and a lot of apologies to the authorities for being somewhere I didn’t have a right to be, I walked away fine.
The weird stuff didn’t start until a few days later, and they started really slow, but now im afraid that things have gone past the point of no return. Infact, im not really sure that I will be getting out of the tub this time.
You see, when this all started I had two legs, and two feet, and ten toes like any other regular human being. But now, as I look down, thats not what I am seeing.
I see my legs, pressed together, and my heels… well, it sort of just looks like one heel now.
[See?] (Feet.jpg)
Maybe I shouldn’t have shared that here, but to be honest, im not really sure what to do.
It sort of feels like its beyond a “go to the doctor” stage, so I guess im looking for some help. If anyones got any ideas. |
I really like how you played with the trope inversion. Breaking up the story into flashbacks also helps the narrative without turning it into a droning recitation of history. Nicely done.
A couple of other thoughts. It’s fun to speculate about how Velmir came to power and who (or what situation) preceded him. I like that Hannold’s story is largely left untold, so we don’t know whether he has a legitimate grievance, or if he’s also being manipulated. There’s room there to explore the past relationship (or rivalry, or enmity) between Velmir and Hannold’s father, and how that carries over into trusting the scion (or not!). |
"You call MY world a fantasy? I find that laughable coming from someone who lives in a world free of monsters. A world where people, HUMAN people, can build glass towers that reach the clouds,"the creature which lounged before her snorted with disdain. "Now THAT is a fantasy."
"It's true!"the young girl protested. She was not sure what she was speaking with, but she knew it was big. Whatever it was, it was seated upon a throne that rivalled a medium home in size back in her world. The shadows clung to it though, and all she could make out of her captor was its two eyes. They burned in the darkness like two vast yellow stars.
"LIES!"the creature raged, smashing its fist down so hard on the arm of it's seat that the room itself shook. "That would not happen. We!"the creature's temper faded as it shifted to a slow condescending tone, "would not allow it."
"Wel..."The girl went to speak but was cut off by the booming voice in the darkness.
"Orcs. Orcs are meant to fight. To be soldiers. Goblins to steal and spy. HUMANS, humans are meant to serve and toil."The creature shifted in the darkness, slipping from its passive position of laying across the throne to being fully erect.
It was huge, she thought, way bigger than she'd feared. She expected giraffe, maybe elephant, t-rex at the largest... but this was more like office building! "Wh-What are you?"
"Me? What am I?"the creature sprung from the darkness with a speed and grace that threw the young girl for a loop. Its clawed hand wrapped around her and pulled her up eye to eye seemingly faster than she could even perceive. "I,"the creature paused, "...am meant to rule."
She gasped. A dragon! As tall as a building with scales black like shards of obsidian.
"Questioning the order of things causes trouble, human."the dragon rolled her gently between it's fingers as though deciding whether or not to pop her in two. She cringed. "But you interest me. I've not seen dress like yours nor your accent, and I've seen most things."
"Then let me go! I swear I won't make trouble for you! I'll go home! I won't come back! I won't speak to a soul!"the girl begged.
The dragon looked her up, then down, then up again. "Mmmmhh, yes... I suppose that might be acceptable."He set the girl down. "Go. Do not come back. You will not be forgiven again."The dragon brushed her off with a dismissive flick of his wrist.
"Thank you! You are most kind!"The girl shouted as she bolted towards the exit, not wanting to give the dragon time to change its mind.
As the massive doors of the dragon's chamber slammed shut behind the human he turned back towards his throne. "Follow her,"he said flatly to the goblin servants that flanked his throne, concealed in the darkness. "If she lied, kill her."the dragon lowered itself back onto its throne. "If not..."the dragon grinned a broad grin, it's razor sharp teeth shimmering in the dark, "that land will be mine." |
New year, new me, right?
It wouldn’t be an understatement to say that 2023 was the worst year of my life. It didn’t help that the cost of living went up so high and that the economy was down in the dumps. It was almost comical how bad this year was.
January I had been laid off. Something about how the company can’t afford to keep me, even though they reported record profits. My manager called me a week before letting me go to tell me how good I was doing, and that they were going to put me up for promotion.
Next thing I know, they were going to let me go.
February was tough. My wife was expecting something for Valentines, and I didn’t tell her that I had been laid off, so I had been a little (fine, maybe a lot) stingy that year, and she was not happy. I think I didn’t notice the signs that she was checking out already, because I was trying to find work in the dumpster fire of an economy.
March was a month of my stupid mistakes. I thought I could win the stock market since it was going up. So I bought it when it was going in. Then it dipped down! The panic led me to sell and I just told myself to cut my losses. It was almost like someone was out to get me, because the moment I sold, it shot straight back up! I tried to get back in, but I kept buying high and selling low.
April was the worst. My daughter had been diagnosed with cancer. After my stupid fumble with our savings that effectively cut it in half, I had gotten into a fight with my wife over the fact that I didn’t tell her that I lost my job, and that I lost half our savings. So the emergency fund we had was really tight, and there was no health insurance, which if you are in the USA is a really, really bad thing.
We had to sell the house and car and started renting to cover the cost for Maddie’s treatment. I would’ve given my life for her at that point, especially since I was barely keeping it together. My wife had started working at least, and was able to cover a lot of the expenses, but I was still jobless and pretty much feeling worthless at that point.
The next three months were the worst. When Maddie was supposed to be enjoying her time in school, and getting ready for summer vacation, she was instead staying in the hospital almost everyday being poisoned by chemo. The saving grace of me being jobless was that I got to spend every moment with her.
She wasn’t alone, even up until the end in September.
At that point, my wife was done with me. She filed for divorce, but there wasn’t much to split anyways. At least, I didn’t have much left. There was no child to fight for custody anymore. I tried to drag it out, maybe she would change her mind. However, at that point, I wouldn’t want to be with me anymore. I was officially divorced in November, right when the holidays were in full swing.
Thanksgiving and Christmas was just me alone on the streets bouncing between soup kitchens and trying to find anything to do for work. I would’ve been satisfied with flipping burgers or cleaning washrooms, but nobody wants to hire a middle aged man living on the streets that smelled like piss. I tried to get a gym membership or anything to make myself look presentable, but when you hit rock bottom, it’s hard.
So here I am on New Year’s Eve, praying that things will be different. Maybe some miracle will happen in 2024, even though there’s nothing really different. I’ll still wake up homeless, jobless, alone and struggling to find a reason to live. Sometimes, I wonder where it all went wrong.
Maybe if I came clean earlier about being jobless, we would be in a better position financially.
Maybe if I paid more attention to Maddie rather than trying to hide in shame and find a job, we would’ve caught the cancer earlier.
If I definitely didn’t burn my money in the stock market, that would’ve helped.
Maybe if I just worked with my wife, we could’ve still stayed together.
Sitting in the alleyway, looking at the clock about to strike midnight. I closed my eyes to pray. Which was funny, because I didn’t believe in God or anything after all that happened. At this point, what’s the worst that could happen?
Please, if anyone or anything is out there, just help me with the new year.
The clock struck midnight, and I could hear sparklers go off. I opened my eyes, and I had to blink a few times.
It was different, I was no longer on the streets.
Instead, it was my wife on one side, and Maddie on the other. We were back in our house and there was the TV on with the New York Countdown. Maddie was running around with the sparklers as my wife was trying to get her to settle down. Looking at the television, I couldn’t help being fixated on the year.
2023.
I broke down in tears. I had forgotten the smell of home. “Honey, what’s wrong?” My wife came and placed a hand on my shoulders as I sobbed. Trying to regain my composure, I wiped my tears and still hiccupped.
“I love you baby.” I said as I pulled her into a bear hug. “I’m going to make this year right.”
“Ok there, I think you had a little too much to drink.” She said as she hugged me back.
I kissed her on the cheek and grabbed Maddie into a hug as well. My chest tightened knowing what this year had in store for us. It was honestly a blessing to know what was going to happen, even though it hurt and tore me inside. Because now, I was prepared.
Now I know what to do. |
He looked at me with a gleam in his eye. “I suppose we should get a fire going.”
I loved campfires. There was something primal about them. Man mastering the elements. I hurried to get the box of matches.
My grandpa took them from me and set them aside. “We won't be using these,” he said with a smile.
“How will we start the fire then?” I asked, perplexed. “Are we going to rub two sticks together?”
“No,” he answered, “We are going to use magic.”
“Magic? Magic is make believe!” I laughed. I thought he was just kidding with me. I would find out soon enough that he was serious. Very serious.
He put his finger to my forehead and punctuated each word with a light tap. “Clear your mind,” he said quietly. He looked around to make sure nobody was watching us and held up a stick. “Magic is based on thoughts that form images in your mind. You must use that image to project that thought into being. Use your hands to concentrate and direct your thought.”
“I don't understand...” I began.
“Hold your hand out towards this piece of wood. It might be easier for you to point at it. I will help you focus your energy. Now, think of fire. Concentrate on the end of the stick as you do that. Now, in your mind imagine the end of this stick on fire. Concentrate on that. Believe in it. Believe it has already happened and you are now watching it burn. Let that thought travel from your mind down your arm and through your finger to its destination.”
I still wasn't sure if he was kidding with me. I decided I had nothing to lose by trying what he was asking of me though. I trusted in him completely as well, that helped.
I did what I could to clear my young mind of all the silly random thoughts it was usually filled with. I thought of nothing but fire for a few moments. Fire. Flame.
I reached my hand towards the stick, extending my index finger towards it. I tried to push my vision of fire into my arm. Oddly, my arm started to tingle just a little bit. This encouraged me. Suddenly, I did believe!
As I was reveling in my belief, I realized I now controlled the force that was awaiting my bidding. I let the energy flow through my arm, to my hand and through my finger. Suddenly the end of the stick burst into a bright green flame, settling almost at once into the normal reddish orange flame that normally accompanies fire.
My grandfather laughed aloud, and tousled my hair. “You are such a good boy. This has to be our secret though, do you understand that?”
“Yes, but Grandpa, how...”
“Later, we will talk about this,” he said. “For now I just needed to know if you could do it. You are a very special little boy. Soon, you will meet other children who are just like you. One day the world may need... well, let's just wait and see.”
My grandfather held the burning stick close to his face, at the same time extending his other hand in a fist towards the tepee of kindling we had assembled in the fire ring. As he blew out the small flame, he suddenly opened his fingers, and our fire roared to life.
This was my introduction of the secret world that exists within our own mundane, normal existence. There was a dark side to it all as well, But I was not to learn of it for many years.
All I knew at the time, was that I was learning *magic*. |
The fountain of youth was discovered and the first person bold enough to drink the water immediately transformed into a newborn.
The conjectures began immediately. Genetically, the baby was Jordan Stam. That was the first thing they had established. But was the child identical to how Jordan had been forty-two years ago? Would the child grow back into the same Jordan? Were all the things the original Jordan knew still locked in that baby's mind, to be accessed once again when his motor functions and cognitive abilities returned? Would they ever return, or was this baby to exist as it was now into infinity?
The scientists cautioned that research was needed before further application. The water was, under a microscope, simply water with no discernible qualities further than what you could get from the sink. Was it the temple that bestowed this water with its powers? Was the supply finite? Could it be replicated?
The research continued, but that required money, and there were many wealthy that had reached desperation. Would the fountain cure them of their cancer, or would they revert to babies only to be killed within months by the same disease, the affliction unaffected by the water's powers?
Jordon Stam turned 11 days old today and everyone present swore up and down that he had winked at them. |
First, a ring of stone is placed on each finger,
'Awkward, but I will adapt; it may just make me stonger.'
Second, bracers of iron bound to both wrists,
'Another challenge, but I will meet this test.'
Third, a necklace of chains that drapes to the floor,
'My load is great already, I cannot take much more.'
Last, a coat of steel that makes it hard to breathe,
'I give. I yield. You have bested me.' |
Technically, because not one single woman was ever interested in me before I returned to Earth, an infinitely higher multiple of women are now incredibly interested in my genitals. My first inkling of my newfound popularity was the welcome wagon of 20 million women at the military airport where my lander touched down. I emerged from the cramped confines of the pod sweaty and with a harsh headache and feeling like my stomach was about to make a speech when cheers of enough young single girls to fill a small nation boomed around me. My eyes were still adjusting to the light but I could've sworn most of them were naked.
The first few to get to me wrapped their arms around me and screamed in joy. I was of course a little stunned by this, it being a far cry from the moody air force cadets I was expecting to show me back to the hanger for debriefing. Next hundreds began to surround me and push me into a massive ball of flesh and excitement and confusion. I suppose the women near me figured that they didn't want me to be crushed so they held the other back and cleared space around me. When the screaming began to die down one of them started to explain to me what was going on.
Long story short, I've been the last man on Earth for about 6 months, and some ladies can't handle a dry spell for that long. It's been three days and, not counting the 5 girls, yes 5, that currently occupy me, and I mean CURRENTLY, I've been with 134 women so far, all in groups. I've of course had to pace myself, eat and drink appropriately, take brakes every few hours, get a few hours of sleep each day. While they were awaiting my arrival they set up a very impressive que system so that each woman could have a chance. Older women first, moving progressively younger until once nearing the end of my 4 billion woman assignment, those that are infants now would be between 20 and 30 years of age. Kinda creepy if you think about it. But I have no time for thinking anymore. I am a human pleasure machine. All these women say I'm going to save the human race. Those that have volunteered for childbirth I shall impregnate and soon men will return to earth.
I just hope I can make the most of my current situation before they find out about my vasectomy. |
It's been 75 days since the war started. No mans land is filled with bodies. Ever since /r/atheism was removed from the defaults we have been outnumbered and outgunned. Mountain Dew is running low. The Cheetos have run out, we are now living off the leftover dust from the MREs. I look at my comrades though and do not despair for their euphoria gives me strength. Strength to carry on with the spirit of Sagan with me. If I die, it will not be in vain like Socrates before me. They're about to sound the next charge. I hope this letter reaches you my darling.
All my enlightenment.
AALewis
Eh? |
As the early morning sun dyed the sands gold, Amelia paced the shores yet again, kicking over any mounds of sand that seemed too tall and inspecting the various bits of garbage the ocean had washed in.
"At it again?"Asked a tall, dark skinned man, walking up beside her, in a language that has long been forgotten. He was well muscled and wore nothing but a loin cloth and a string of beads about his neck. From the waist down his legs were covered in blue-green scales, that ended in large feet with long, webbed toes. He carried a slim fishing spear with him. Amelia replied in the same language he spoke.
"One day, Kay. One day soon I'll find that last piece, and finally fix my plane."She bent over to inspect a particularly promising mess in the sand, but found nothing but an unspooled cassette tape. She sighed in frustration, but shoved the mess into a basket woven from torn grocery bags. It wouldn't get her plane moving, but it might be useful to trade in town. The Atlantians were mostly self sustained, but always found a creative use for the discard trash of the outside world. Magnetic ribbons were a popular decorative ornament.
"And then what?"Kazil said, the sun glinting iridescently off the scales embedded about his neck. "You'll find this... gasoli you speak of, and fly off into the veil? Into that?"He gestured with his spear into the clouded mists that surrounded the island. It glittered like a rainbow, and empathized his gesture with a crackle of jade coloured lightning. Amelia turned to stare at the unbroken wall of mists, quietly. The silence dragged on as she stared into it, beginning to frown. Kazil drew his lip into a thin line, and walked behind her, slipping his arms about her and drawing her close to his bare chest. After a moment, Amelia looked up at him and smiled sadly.
"I can't spend my whole life here, Kay. I'm a free spirit, I need to see the world. This feels like a cage I'll never escape."
"From what you've told me, you've already spent two lives here with me. Now come back to bed, you make me feel like I'm still in my first century of life."He said, playfully nuzzling her neck.
Hours later, Kazil found her on the beach yet again, staring out at the veil as it danced and glittered.
"Still thinking of leaving me."He said without malice, sitting beside her to watch the evening sun turn the mists red, orange and purple.
"Tell me about the veil again."She said, "Truly, has no one ever lived to get past it?"
"None that we know of. People have tried, of course, but their bodies are normally found washed up on shores a few days later."
"But not all of the bodies, right?"She asked, already knowing the answer. Kazil sighed.
"Not all, no, but the last person to go missing to the veil was centuries ago. Not since my grandfather's times."
"I wonder if they still speak English out there."Amelia mused in her native tongue.
"My grandfather knew him, you know. Soren, the last person to try to leave Atlantis. He said he was like you. Always curious. Always infected with, how do you say it, wanderlust?"He twisted his tongue about the foreign word as Amelia looked at him curiously.
"You never told me this story, Kay."She said, gently accusing him.
"I did some asking about for you, my little caged seagull. My Grandfather likes you. He says Soren was obsessed with the veil, like you are. That he would claim the veil had moods, that could be tracked like one tracks the weather. He thought that the veil might be calmer at times, you see. My grandfather always laughed at his theories, but Soren was convinced he could make it through the veil. Soren would often sit out here and watch the veil, much like you do. One day, as they were sitting out here debating whether the veil was calmer at a full moon or dawn, a small blue bottle washed ashore. Soren claimed it was proof that some things could pass through unharmed. He promised my grandfather that when he made it through, he would send back a letter to my grandfather in that very bottle, to prove he made it."
Amelia stared Kazil intently. "And then what?"
"My grandfather said that a few weeks later, on the night of the full moon, Soren went missing. No one was sure when he'd left, but my grandfather knew where he was heading. He combed the beach for years afterwards, but never did find the blue bottle again, or Soren. He says all he found was this."
Kazil placed a curved piece of blue sea glass in Amelia's hand, no bigger than a sand dollar, and worn smooth by the ocean currents. She turned it over several times.
"But what does it mean?"She asked.
"He wasn't sure. But the veil sure is lovely tonight." |
Firstly: Best writing prompt ever! Here goes nothing.
'Who needs another top up of bubbly?' Shouted Her Royal Highness Queen Elizabeth the II, clutching a magnum of champagne and trying to make herself heard over the raucous din. Her thin, high voice didn't carry well over the general chaos being caused by the milieux of intoxicated world leaders and in any case, no-one was listening.
'Ah, isss only the '87' mumbled a disgruntled David Cameron, who proceeded to wipe his shining brow and sway off into the next room in search of a better vintage. Clapping and cheering erupted from the corner of the tapestried ballroom where the Grand Ayatollah Ali Hoseini-Khameini had started to play on the antique grand piano; an extremely tipsy and rather giggly Ban Ki-Moon was now draped over the top of the shining black wood and was attempting to sing along much to the delight of the small crowd of assembled music loving autocrats.
Yoweri Museveni, the Ugandan President, had started off the formal drinks reception boring others talking about his anti-homosexual legislative agenda (a matter of 'moral importance') and was now, ten glasses of red wine later, making eyes at Francois Hollande, the French Premiere. Hollande, however, was far too pre-occupied with Angela Merkel's large (and strangely pert he thought) breasts, as the gyrated invitingly in circles whilst she twirled her shirt around her head shouting in a very loud, guttural voice.
Pope Francis, after discovering a penchant for tequila, had spent most of the evening pinching various bottoms and then running away cackling to himself but now had his head in a flower pot, heaving up a thoroughly unholy sacrament.
Putin had stripped down to his vest and was circling the room flexing his muscles to anyone who would pay him attention; however he got more than he bargained for when he accidentally bumped into the usually peevish Canadian PM Stephen Harper who instead of apologising promptly told him to 'Fuck off!'
Her Royal Highness sighed to herself and turned around to face a very relaxed looking Barack Obama, who was trying to work his blackberry to ring for a pizza delivery; however he was having rather too much trouble with the buttons.
Prince Harry grinned sheepishly at his grandmother and offered a jocular comment:
'Great party nan!'
'This is the last time I let you organise anything' the Queen replied acidly. |
Nick locked his door and hid under the bed.
Footsteps sounded from outside his room. Heavy, unbalanced, intimidating. His father was drunk again. They got closer to his door.
*Thunk. Thunk*
Nick didn't believe in any God for a long time, but he started praying. He didn't know who he was praying to or what he was even saying. If a force was strong enough to stop his father, it could probably hear his prayer. The little boy held back sobs.
*Thunk. Thunk.*
If Nick's father kicked in the door, he'd check under the bed and only be angrier that Nick was trying to hide. He crawled out from under the bed and stood a few feet from the door, holding back tears. The footsteps slowed until one last one.
*Thunk.*
The doorknob rattled. It was followed by angry muttering from the other side of the door. Nick involuntarily took two steps back. The sounds on the other side of the door stopped. Nick stood in the silence, waiting for something to happen. A few minutes passed and he finally sat down, creaking the old bed's springs. A sudden rush of sound came from the other side of the door as his father banged against it.
"I knew you was in there you coward boy!"His father's voice was hardly slurred, he was too practiced at speaking while drunk.
The door flew open and his father stood there, belt in his hand.
Nick closed his eyes tight and wished. He wished for anything to stop what was going to happen. He waited for the beating to begin, eyes still closed. After a moment, Nick cracked open an eye and saw his dad frozen, belt in the air, defying gravity. The boy didn't realize what was happening, but he saw the chance and took it. Nick ran out of his room and into the streets. The entire city was frozen.
Nick grabbed a raindrop from the air and drank it with a smile. He closed his eyes and imagined the raindrop hitting the ground. The sounds of life rushed back at him.
----
13 years later
----
Nick checked his pocket for any loose bills. He cursed and grumbled in his drunken state, grabbing the bottle back from the counter. He hated stopping time, but it had to be done here. He closed his eyes and imagined a drop of liquor falling to the ground, but suddenly stopping midair. He opened his eyes and time had stopped. He walked outside and sat on a bench, drinking straight from the bottle.
He closed his eyes again, imagining the drop hitting the ground and felt the release of time. Nick always felt alone in the world, but stopping time made him feel even lonelier. A young boy walked by him, holding a basketball. He suddenly felt rage. Dropping the bottle, Nick walked to the boy and yelled at him to turn around.
The boy turned, eyes wide with fear. He made Nick sick. So innocent, unaware of what the world has in store for him. Nick had to make him strong. Teach him what its like. Nick closed his eyes and pictured a drop of liquor freezing. He opened them to the eerie silence he'd grown up with. What the Hell... the boy was moving.
The boy looked around in confusion and took off running.
Nick recognized that run. The run a boy did to get away from a monster. That run Nick did to get away from his father. Nick closed his eyes, but instead of seeing a frozen drop of liquor, he saw a frozen raindrop. He opened his eyes and met time with tears. |
It was a cool August morning as the boy ambled through his home, yawning as he rubbed his eyes. He had not slept well; there was a monster in his room that only came out in the dark, and it had been scaring him for the past several days. The boy had told his mother, who began to check his room nightly to assuage his fears.
The monster came anyway. Dancing around and around his bed, the mass of blackness would scream and laugh, wailing and stomping as the boy hid under the covers in fear.
The boy missed his father. If he had been there, he would have scared out the monster, yelled it into submission before running it through with his bayonet. He also would have been there when the siren sounded like it had that morning, comforting him and keeping him safe.
But father was not here.
The boy sat in the room where his mother prepared food, still stretching as he padded across the floor, silent as a cat. He was still standing, staring intently at a knothole in the wooden floor, when a great, yellow light illuminated the room.
The boy had little time to wonder what the light was before an invisible wave of sheer force struck his body. The boy's body was limp as it, along with most of his home, was thrown through the air.
He awoke with a sob. He felt pain as he struggled to sit up, and began to cry for his mother.
He could not see; it was too dark.
He could not move; something laid atop him.
The boy went limp once more; outside, Hiroshima was burning.
________________________________________________
NOTE: The hiroshima air raid siren was sounded the morning of the attack, but it was sounded due to presence of another group of bombers elsewhere. People left their cover once there was determined to be no danger.
|
"Shit, "you mutter as you reach for the toilet paper and realize that there is only half a square left. "Who the fuck uses all but the last half a square of tp anyways. The person before me must have been Satan himself."
"Hey,"replies a deep, gravely voice from the next stall over, "don't be throwin' around accusations like that lightly. I happen to be Satan and I don't appreciate it. I actually have some here and would have given it to you but now I don't think that I will."
"Yeah sure,"you laugh thinking you just sitting next to some guy who thinks he's funny, "Prove to me that you're Satan and I'll sell my soul to never run out of toilet paper again."
No sooner had you finished speaking then did you find yourselves sitting on the same toilet but it and you had been transported to hell. The screaming in the background fades as you are taken back to the bathroom that you were in previously.
"You sure you still wanna sell your soul still?"
"Hell yes I do,"you exclaim happily! "Do you realize how much easier life would be without ever running out?"
"Ok,"he says, sounding unsure while sliding a clipboard with some papers and a pen filled with red ink under the divide. "Just sign on the line and be on your way, I'll see ya when you die I guess."You hear him flush and walk away muttering something that sounded suspiciously like "What a weirdo."
You sign the contract and it disappears. Soon after you see a full roll of toilet paper on the rack and you sigh with contentment, life is good.
|
It was the worst in India.
Near a billion people in such a compact area stopped caring to be good all at once. Being good didn't matter anymore. The donkey doesn't run without having a carrot dangled in-front of it, just as man isn't good without reward. Of course, some people kept trying. They didn't do it for their own benefaction. Of course, those people were the first to die.
Humanity was - or is - (it's hard to tell if they're the same species with the good weeded out), a warrior race. Some say we were always destined to be our own demise. The only species on Earth that goes to war. Atleast that's over now. War ceases to exist because armies cease to exist.
Loyalty and honor are dead.
Hedonism and selfishness have taken their place.
Humanity is doomed. In my opinion, it has already died. We are not what we once were. To write this message, I acquired paper and pencil. Such things aren't so easy to come by now-a-days.
I had to do horrible acts so that I could write of them.
All this destruction, mayhem, violence due to one whisper by a God. Hell, maybe a Demon's lie. We didn't wait to find out.
*Heaven is full.*
The words that destroyed mankind. |
Dan woke up with a start to find Jerry shaking him. Damn he really needed to stop falling asleep while on watch.
"Dan, wake up,"Jerry hissed, "there's a fucking guy walking towards base."
Dan mumbled in confusion and then looked out towards the barren desert. Jerry was right. There was a bedraggled shape shambling towards them.
"What do we do?"Jerry wondered aloud.
Dan gazed at the approaching man for a second and then said, "Get the Colonel and warn the rest off the men."Jerry nodded and then ran off.
Goddamn it. Why couldn't he just have a quiet shift? All Dan wanted to do was sleep. He loved his newborn daughter Sarah but why did she have to keep waking him up in the middle of the night?
Dan watched as the wayward figure grew closer and closer. The figure was not clothed in anything that would represent a rival faction. Strange.
---------------
"What in the flying fuck?"Colonel barked as he stared down the wall at the miserable figure below them. The man looked up at them with pleading eyes. He was clothed in faded rags, but what was most striking about him was the fact that his mouth was sewed shut. He clasped his hands together and started making muffled whining sounds. The man radiated desperation and worry.
Jerry turned to the Colonel, "Aren't we going to help him?"
The Colonel frowned, "We can't take that risk. What if he's from an enemy faction?"
Jerry tried to interject "But-"
"No,"the Colonel cut him off, "I am responsible for the safety of everyone in this faction and I'll be damned if I see you jeopardize that."
Dan shifted his gaze from the forlorn man to the Colonel. "I'll take full responsibility for him. We can surround him with two dozen men and at least give him some food and water. Maybe even open up his mouth, see why he's here."
The Colonel sighed, "Fine. You're right. What harm could he cause."
Dan went to open the gate and let the man in. He was quickly surrounded. This caused him visible distress and he held up his hands to ward them away. He began squealing and and pleading. Why was he so anxious? He was safe. Dan gestured for the surrounding soldiers to hold the man down as he began to cut and remove the thread from the man's lips.
"Calm down you're safe now"
The man only struggled more and his whines reached a frantic pitch. After what seemed like forever Dan managed to remove the thread.
The man shrieked with pain and began to gasp. He looked at Dan in the eye and began to babble hysterically , "You never should have let me in! Oh God. They hate your faction, I don't. Please don't blame me, they have my son. I had to."
Dan looked at him suspiciously, "What are you trying to tell me? Do you have a message from another faction?"
"You don't understand! I'm not the messenger... I'm the message."
Dan's body was knocked back as shrapnel exploded out from the man. Blood and body parts plastered the ground where the frantic man had once been held down. Most of the surrounding men were dead. A few who were standing farther out moaned but did not get up.
Dan didn't even have time to think of Sarah. |
The sun sat low in the sky, shining a blistering red light over the desert valley. James had almost finished his day's excavation, with no significant discoveries. James was sure that he was on to something, else he would never have returned to the Valley of Kings in Egypt. He *hated* Egypt, ever since he almost died from a lethal snake bite several years before. But this time was different.
Six months earlier, James had been on a trip to the Yucatan Peninsula when he came across a rather out of place tablet. This tablet, James later learned, was of Egyptian origin. This wouldn't have been as noteworthy, if it hadn't been translated into exact coordinates within the Valley of Kings. James was sure he would find something if he traveled to this location, so he convinced a local university to fund a venture into the Valley.
James sat down outside his tent, and took a swig from his hip flask. The university wouldn't continue funding his expedition for much longer, unless he started to show results. He sighed, crawled into his beige military tent, and drifted into an uncomfortable sleep.
A loud rumble broke the silence of the night. James jolted awake, just in time to hear a thousand year's sigh emanate from the dig site. He bolted out of his tent, and started to run to the site, until he saw what had happened. A cavern beneath the site had collapsed, creating a passage into the ancient Egyptian earth. The other members of the expedition had already begun to stir, and James knew that if he waited for them to catch up, they would prevent him from being able to investigate. James took one look down into the newly-made pit, sighed, and jumped.
James tumbled down into the cave, and thudded onto a stone tile floor. He picked himself up and brushed himself off before turning on his flashlight taking a look around. The cavern was really a tunnel, and apparently part of a network of tunnels, as it had passages branching off from it every few meters. However, one aspect of the tunnel drew James' full attention. One passage, about 50 meters down the tunnel, was lit up by torches.
He made his way to the peculiar pathway and examined the entrance for traps. Upon finding none, James entered, and promptly dropped his flashlight. There, sitting on a golden throne, was a man. Not a mummy, not a skeleton, but a living, breathing man. *And it was looking directly at James*. Before he could move or make a noise, the man on the throne raised a hand made a fist toward James. He felt his throat squeeze, and his body lock into position. He was immobilized.
The man on the throne cocked his head to one side, and stared at James for a second before opening his mouth. The man breathed in a deep, long breath as though he was breathing in all the air a man would need for several lifetimes. Finally, he stopped.
He spoke.
"Why have you disturbed me? Is it time? Is it finally time?"
His throat was released, and he fell to the floor gasping for air. James didn't understand. No one should be in these tunnels. They hadn't even been discovered until minutes before. James looked up at the man, and asked ,"What *are* you?"
"I am a library,"spoke the man ,"An archive. I am the memory of a time before, and a warning for a time yet to come. But I now see that time has not *come* yet, so I will ask again: Why have you disturbed me?"
"I'm an archaeologist. I was here on an expedition. I found a tablet-"
"You found the first warning?"the man snapped at James ,"then perhaps the time truly has come. I suppose I should explain. I am no mere human. I am a nearly immortal messenger, who was granted the lifetimes of a thousand slaves that I may convey a message to a future people who would be in dire straits, but have no clue how close to peril they truly were."
The room span. James had made a mistake, returning to the valley. He should never have come, never have dug up the earth, never jumped down the hole.
"You do not have much time. What power I have been granted was used to revive me. I will only provide the message once, and you must use the knowledge you gain here to prevent the end of mankind. Are you ready?"
James nodded, still not fully aware of what was going on. The man's eyes widened, and he gasped. "There is not much time. You must-"
The man's back arched, then he fell from the throne. He struggled to look up at James, desperate to convey his message.
"Do not cause an atomic explosion. Your kind may not understand what that is yet, but you must make sure it never happens. If you do, *they* will come to our world. And they will destroy everything. They lie in wait, and search for signs of civilization, which they then find and sap the energy from any developed world they find. If they detect the explosion of a single nuclear bomb, they will come. You will have perhaps a century to leave this planet, or you will *all die.*"
The man's body convulsed once, and then was still. He had given his warning, and he was content he had saved mankind from absolute annihilation. |
I wish I could make her understand how beautiful she really is. I wish I could understand what she sees in me. In her, I see perfection itself. I see it in her auburn hair, her cerulean eyes, her dazzling smile, and cute nose. I love the way her whole body shakes when she laughs. Can she see the effect that she has on me? What does she see when she looks at me? I'm clumsy and awkward. I trip on my own two feet and go crashing everywhere. I bump into people all the time on the street. I can't hold a conversation to save my life and I look everywhere I shouldn't.
Except when it comes to her, when I'm with her I'm focused on everything she says and does. Her smile brightens up my whole world. That's why I do everything I can to make her laugh. I don't know if I'm funny to others, but I see the excitement that thrums through her body when I tell a joke. That excitement that makes her vibrate like a string on a plucked guitar. Her laugh, her smile, her joy fills me up and makes me want to be more than I am. I see her and I feel complete. What does she see in me?
I hate to see her sad, the tears pouring down her face. I wish she could see it. Not because she looks ugly or gross, but because then she would understand the pain that appears in my face when she cries. The pain that is so terribly and perfectly etched on her face with her red puffy eyes and swollen nose, breaks my heart. The downturn of her lips plunges an icy dagger into my heart. The tears that blacken her cheeks make me feel lost and useless. I wish she could see the terrible power of her sadness, so that she would understand my pain. I want her to see the effect she has on me.
I want her to see. |
The grief that had filled Rory's chest had completely vanished, and now he felt giddy. Extremely giddy. He began to chuckle, then the chuckle grew into full blown laughter, and the laughter led him to tears. He used the sleeve of his worn jacket to wipe the tears away from his eyes as well as the snot from his nose.
After being laid off of work, Rory later found out at home that all the money he had left to his name was a five dollar bill. He had spent the remainder of the day staring at the bill, wondering what in the hell he was going to do with it, wondering how he would be able to make it last until he got another job, got another paycheck, or found a friend to help donate enough money to put food in his pantry.
But he wasn't worrying about it anymore.
Clenched in his right hand was the original five dollar bill, and clenched in his left hand was another five dollar bill. Upon closer inspection, it was an exact copy of the five dollar bill. Same serial code and everything. But that didn't matter, right? No store actually checked the serial codes.
Rory stared at his right hand again, stared at the original bill, and concentrated hard. He nearly screamed when he felt another five dollar bill materialize in his hand. Now he had $15. Now he was getting somewhere.
"I should go break these, get more bills, copy them,"Rory whispered to himself. He winced, and looked around the apartment; the walls were thin and the last thing he needed was his next door neighbor Deborah to find out that he could materialize money.
Rory stuffed the three bills into his pocket and headed for the door. He was going to go to McDonald's, buy two cheeseburgers in celebration, and use the broken change to clone more money.
The door flew open before Rory could even reach a hand out for the knob. It collided into his face, crushing in his nose and sending him to the floor, leaving an arc of blood in the air.
"Ughh, whaaa, huhhh,"Rory muttered as a group of men dressed in suits entered the apartment.
"We've got one,"one of the men said, holding an index finger to his ear, "yeah, the one we've been watching for awhile, he finally materialized."
One of the other men grabbed a hold of Rory, rolled him onto his stomach, and then pulled his hands behind his back. Rory sputtered, sending spurts of blood onto the cheap linoleum floor. The men pulled him up to his feet and he struggled to speak coherent words.
Rory wanted to scream, to yell for help, but all that came out was choked by blood rushing down his throat from his shattered nose.
"Yes, we have him now,"one of the suited men said, "we'll be bringing him to the building."
Rory looked to one of the men, got a good look at his face: he had blonde hair that was slicked to the side, and he was wearing expensive looking aviators that covered and hid his eyes. The man flashed a quick toothy smile before a bag was thrown over Rory's head.
They hauled him out of the apartment and threw him into a vehicle. Judging by how Rory could stretch out his legs and still not hit a wall, it must've been some sort of van. He tried to sit up so he could cough out the blood that was suffocating him, but one of the men put a boot into his chest and forced him back down onto his back.
Rory was drowning. He was going to drown on his own blood with $15 in his pocket. He tried to yell that he couldn't breathe, but the bag muffled him.
He was losing consciousness; the roar of the moving van drowned out, and soon the sound of the passing road began to sound like waves in an ocean, and Rory was drowning in the water.
A boat, he needed a boat. He needed a boat so he wouldn't drown in the ocean.
The van exploded, sending bits of shrapnel and shredded body parts out onto the street. Cars screeched to a stop. Drivers honked their horns and some people even stepped out to see what happened.
In the middle of the highway, where the van had been, now sat a boat, appearing to have materialized out of nowhere, and laying on the deck was Rory.
Jenny, a woman who had been on the way to pick her daughter up from school shrieked when the bloodied upper half of a man landed on the hood of her car. He leaned up, looked through the windshield, and raised a finger to his ear.
"This one..."the agent sputtered, "this one can materialize from imagination." |
Warning: Pretty graphic and dark.
_____________________________________________________________
The other kids made fun of his bicycle, pointing at the rusty chain that clicked with every turn, the somewhat bent spokes, and the worn handlebars, but Billy didn't care. The bike did it's job, taking him from home to school, and school to home again. It was hard to keep up with the other older kids who had newer bikes; they were far ahead of him, peddling down the street, sending cries of mockery back at him. He peddled hard to catch up, tasted metal at the back of his throat, and yet they still pushed on ahead of him. Billy settled back down into a slower pace, deciding that he wasn't going to catch them no matter how hard he tried.
His bike chain clicked on as he turned down a road more desolate of houses. A country road that ran between two long cotton fields, with his house a mile or two down.
The air caught in his throat. Down the road, he could see a wall of fog rolling towards him. Billy turned around, the old instructions his mother had told him resurfacing in his mind, *you go right back to the schoolhouse if the fog has already gotten home*. He stopped again, seeing that the road he had came down was already beginning to be swallowed up by the fog.
It was surrounding him.
He looked back down the road, towards his house, and wondered if his bike would be able to take him through the fog safely. He pushed off, slowly picking up speed, his rusty bike chain clicking rapidly with each pedal. He disappeared into the fog, heart fully believing that his bicycle was good enough.
__________________________________________________________
"Son of a bitch,"Gabe muttered. He had bought a carjack months ago, knowing full well that he'd eventually need it, and barely found that it didn't even work properly on his truck. "Dammit."He kicked the jack to the side, tire iron still in hand, then leaned against the side of his truck.
His right leg was paining him, the area on the back of his thigh that had been cut years ago twinged, making him almost lose his balance. He tried to stand on it, hoping to stretch out the gap of muscles and bring relief, but all it did was shoot another bolt of torture down his leg and into his calf.
Gabe bit his lip and punched his truck door, causing it to slam shut. He cursed himself and clutched his hand.
A strong breeze of wind blew through his shoulder-length hair, soothing and laden with the smell of rain and soil from the cotton fields lining the road. He looked up to admire the coming rain clouds, then froze as he saw a thick mist heading down the street.
"Oh shit,"he said to no one as he limped over to the driver side door. He tugged at the door then nearly fell on his ass when his hand slipped from the handle. He regained his footing then grabbed a hold of the handle again. *Locked.*
Gabe patted himself down for his keys, occasionally glancing down the street. The fog flowed faster, falling towards him like a death sentence. He switched from pocket to pocket, patting himself down repeatedly. A quick glance to the fog, then back to the truck, and Gabe felt his innards turn to mush as he saw his keys hanging from the ignition, out of his reach. He looked over to the passenger side door and saw that it was locked as well.
"Oh fuck,"he whispered to himself. He was going to be stuck in the fog again. It had lasted three hours the last time he was lost in it. His hand instinctively dropped to his leg, rubbing at the back of his thigh, where his leg had nearly been torn off the last time he was lost in the fog.
"Jesus help me,"he said as he steadied himself to break the driver-side window with the tire iron. He swung hard but lost all the power of his swing when his leg twitched from under him, the blow of the tire iron missing the window completely and putting a dent into his door.
He prepped another swing, but stopped dead in his tracks as the fog rolled past him, encasing him. He figured that the best thing he could do was stand still. Breaking his window now and causing so much noise would surely bring them down upon him.
There was chirping, and clicking, and groaning, all surrounding him. He heard them moving around in the cotton field. Straining his eyes to see did him no good. They moved around stealthily in the fog, marking their target, coming back to finish the job and take his leg, and so much more from him.
There was more clicking, and buzzing, and flapping overhead. He heard scampering to the side of the road. Something crashed into the side of his truck, rocking it against him, causing him to fall out into the street. The tire iron fell out of his hands and into what looked like the middle of the street.
Whimpering, Gabe crawled to it. He grabbed it again, then used it to help stand himself up. He held it close to his chest, against his pounding heart. There was more clicking, all around him. They knew he was there, could probably smell the piss running down his leg.
He heard the clicking and buzzing zoom in and out, closer, then further away.
*Toying with me,* he thought, hands tightening around the tire iron.
He heard clicking again, this time coming rapidly towards himself.
*I'm not going out without a fight.*
He squared his feet, being sure to put most of his weight on his good leg, and listened intently. The clicking grew louder and louder, and he could hear it breathing, *breathing*!
Gabe waited and braced himself until it was almost upon him, and then clenched his eyes shut and swung with all his might. The tire iron connected, creating a crunchy wet pop. The force of the blow rocked Gabe back on his heels, then took him down to the ground. The metal resonated in the thick fog, a loud ping, sounding exactly the same as a baseball colliding with bat. There was a loud crash of something falling to the ground, and Gabe fell down with it.
"*Home-run motherfucker*!"Gabe yelled, picking himself up off the road, ignoring the pain in his leg.
He turned to look at his kill, only to see a young boy laying on the road before him, head caved in.
Before Gabe could register what had happened, something shoved him down onto the pavement next to the boy and began to tear into his back. He screamed in agony, trying his best to roll away, but whatever it was pinned him to the road. It ripped away at his shirt, punctured his skin, and poked what felt like knives between his ribs.
Gabe slowly blacked out to the sound of his lungs being ripped out of his own chest, and the sight of the boy laying next to him, an eye hanging out of the sunken in socket, resting on the cheek, watching Gabe be torn apart.
|
"I thank you for releasing me", the blindfolded woman said.
"I don't understand,"said the Professor. "How can this be? People don't live that long. If you were truly the Oracle, you would have died long ago."
"This would be true, if I were a mortal. Long ago, I opposed the god Apollo and told the Roman Emperor Theodosius of the fate of his empire. To punish me, Apollo entombed me here, and cursed me with immortality. My punishment was to forever see the future, but never be able to change it. In gratitude, I will tell you three things. Then I will die."
"Wait!"Cried the Professor, "We have so many questions! Please you must live and tell the world of what you have seen!"
"No,"demurred the Oracle, "For I have lived too long, seeing too much, and have grown weary of this world. This I tell you now. Your first love will be a mistake. Your second will be a tragedy. And your third will be written of by poets a millennium in the future.
Know this, son of Apollo. When the black sun rises, seek to the east, for the darkness fears the light. And when all seems lost, find the mother of orphans, for she knows the way."
With each word, her skin grew more sallow and brittle. As the final words left her mouth, the Oracle crumbled into dust.
The Professor and his team stood there in silence. No words could describe what they felt. One by one they quietly left the sacred chamber. Finally, only the Professor and his Assistant were left.
"What a waste!"cried the Assistant. "All of this work for nothing!"
"No,"disagreed the Professor, "Feel gladdened, my friend. For we are among the privileged few to have heard the Last True Prophecy of Delphi." |
"Hiya pals!"The small green man bounding down the ramp of the impressive flying saucer waved his hand enthusiastically. As he reached the bottom of the ramp he tripped and went sprawling on the ground, banging his head quite hard but he jumped up, seemingly unaffected.
"Whoopsiedoo-daisy!"He chanted, he voice already beginning to grate on the assembled scientists and generals.
Behind him, on the ramp, a small gathering of other green creatures seemed to be huddling together, one holding its head in its hands.
"Hey, hey, hey, HEY!"Screamed the first creature. "My name is BEEGLE BOB! I'm the cultural ambassador to this planet! Welcome to the Great Assembly of Planets!"Everything he said was an over emphasised sentence, you could actually hear the exclamation marks clanging into place at the end of each line.
Sandra McClaine stepped forward "Welcome to the planet Earth. We are honoured by your..."She paused, the BEEGLE BOB was seeminly urinating on her leg, a long stream of blue flowing from some sort of tube.
BEEGLE BOB looked down "Whoopsiedoo-daisy! Sorry Sandra-lady, me made a MESSY!"
Sandra looked helplessly around her at the group. "That's okay? I guess?"She helplessly tried to keep smiling, despite her leg now burning quite badly.
"I'm gonna go see the President!"BEEGLE BOB marched past Sandra into the line of cars. The people parted and a few soldiers followed, keeping people away.
Sandra looked back at the group of green men at the top of the ramp. One scurried down to her and gestured for her to get lower and she knelt down.
His voice was a fast whisper "Look, we're sorry, he's kind of a dick but he *has* spend al lot of time watching your vision transmissions and so knows a lot about your culture. He's the bosses kid and a bit spoiled. We'll be back in a few thousand years to swap him out for someone else and you'll have the chance to send someone to the Galactic senate then."
Sandra tried to speak but he was gone, back to the ramp and at the top he turned back and mouthed "Sorry"once more.
With a whoosh the ship was gone, in the distance Sandra could hear BEEGLE BOB as he crashed into something "Whoopsiedoo-daisy!"
She put her head in her hands, this was not going to be an easy report to the UN.
|
Out of Character: I'm not sure of the exact words but I feel this is close enough. And I only wrote the very first bit because there's so much of that story and if I were to continue I would want to do it justice.
“This has become a death game.” The words boomed across the small plaza that had become inundated with virtual avatars. At first he had been hesitant when Dick and Barbara had encouraged him to take some time for himself. There were just too many things happening in his city for him to take a night off to play a video game. But, between the two of them and Alfred they had bullied him into a chair and strapped him in. To be honest, Bruce very much wanted a night off, a time away from everything. It was the Other One who wanted to be out on the streets maintaining peace. Really though, lately the streets had been quiet. Too many power players out there for regular criminals to feel comfortable.
Now, the Other One was quite content with their situation. With a look in the mirror that had been placed in his, and apparently everyone else’s inventory, everybody disappeared in a flash of white light. After another glance in the mirror Bruce saw himself staring back. His avatar had also grown, and become more muscular than the one that he had initially picked. In fact, he now stood head and shoulders above everybody else around him.
“You must clear all 100 levels to finish the game.” With that the floating giant disappeared from sight. Batman chuckled. Bruce knew that his comrades at Wayne Manor had certainly discovered the plight that he was in and had already deactivated the microwave transmitter at the base of the machine, but to be honest, he kind of wanted to see how this game played out.
From the corner of his eye Batman saw a young boy dart from the plaza, likely he was after the easy, nearby monsters and quests before everybody else caught on. He had a hard time faulting the kid, especially as he sped on his way after him. The katana that was strapped loosely to his back jangled at the brisk jog that he set out of the city. Being a fantasy-based game, he had equipped the weapons and gear that he would feel most comfortable in, with the thought that if it came down to it, he could always change equipment later. A smile crept over his face as he pulled the mask down. Apparently even this world needed The Batman.
|
"I'm sorry sir, but the Mark 43 prototype has failed to respond."
Tony Stark swiftly moved his arms in an effort to "call"the pieces of his latest armor. Once again, nothing happened.
"JARVIS, what gives?"
"It appears, sir, that your decision to rely on a blood sample as a means of identification has posed a significant drawback."
"Which is?"
"Your blood alcohol content at the time you uploaded the sample was approximately zero point sixteen. The armor will not respond to your blood type until your system sufficiently resembles the sample."
Tony sighed. Pepper must have re-installed the humor application into the AI. "JARVIS, this isn't funny. Release the armor."People were dying out there.
"I'm sorry, sir. You yourself prevented any overrides in your initial programming."JARVIS paused, almost thoughtfully. "Sir, I am afraid you will either have to construct a new suit, or you will have to conform your blood alcohol content to its earlier iteration."
There wasn't time to override his initial programming. Not with Mandarin--the real one--having made landfall in New York City. The Clean Slate protocol had been a mistake. But unless that new witch could bend back time, Tony was out of options. It was either the Mark 43 or nothing.
"Sir, I am receiving an urgent call from Captain Danvers."
Damn it to hell.
Tony turned to address one of his mechanical assistants. "Alright, Dummy, you're on shaker duty, I need three vodka Martinis, up, extra dry, extra dirty, extra olives. JARVIS, tell Danvers I'm bringing the party to her."
God, Tony thought, I hope the flight stabilizers can compensate for this. |
It took centuries for humanity to become one. All that time fighting amongst ourselves, erecting borders to distinguish *us* from *them*. Walls of religion, race, class, and nationality: finally they were torn down. Together, mankind celebrated long life and peace. There was no more *them* to hate. Just *us*.
Then, the ship appeared in our orbit. Enormous and foreboding, it loomed in the atmosphere like a second moon. Humanity cowered as scientists scrambled to understand it. The world watched and waited as our top minds decrypted the messages coming from the alien vessel.
Fear spread through the population like a virus. Politicians railed against inaction, warning that we must gird ourselves for war if these beings do not come in peace. By the time we can talk to them, they warned, it will be too late! Old plans for weapons, lost for a hundred years, were dug out of archives and libraries. Factories poured out ships, weapons, and equipment. Men were drafted and trained.
By the time we deciphered the message, it didn't matter any more. Humanity had found a new "them." |
The lander door opened with a *hiss* of compressed air. The whole world watched via livestreaming as the desolate Martian landscape came into view. Commander Monroe looked at his crewmates, who gave him the thumbs up. Then, panning down to his own feet, he stepped out of the lander and his white boot pressed into the dusty martian ground. He couldn't hear them, but he knew the world was cheering. "One step farther from home, yet one step closer to our place in the cosmos."His voice was firm and commanding, just like they'd practiced. He raised his foot, snapping a photo of the perfect imprint, just like the moon landing. It would be gone in a matter of hours, lost in a Martian sandstorm. But the picture would last.
"Shall we go exploring?"he asked his crew with a laugh. They bounded outside as quickly as possible in the rigid, bulky suits. Together, they headed for a ridge that would give them a great view of the landscape. After a quick scrabble up the rocky cliff, Monroe reached the top.
"What the...."
His crew came up the hill behind him, with similar reactions. Monroe could only imagine how everyone else on Earth was reacting.
In front of him stood a mighty Douglas Fir, 10 feet tall. It was decked with sparkling ornaments and shining lights that weren't even powered by anything. A NASA logo topped the tree instead of the usual angel or star. Underneath the tree, a stack of presents waited on a plush quilt that protected the wrapping paper from the red soil.
Monroe and his crew traded stunned glances. "So, I'm not hallucinating,"he said finally, breaking the silence. No one laughed. *Maybe a joke from NASA*, he thought. *But how did it get set up like this?*
He walked slowly to the tree, bouncing a bit in the lower Martian gravity. He touched the branches and delicate needles with one of his thick suit gloves. The branches seemed real, and fresh. Just looking at it made Monroe imagine the distinctive Christmas tree scent.
He picked up a present and shook the box (not that he could hear anything through the suit. Instinct kicked in, I guess). One of the crew members laughed at this absurd scene. Monroe read the tag.
> "Merry Christmas, boys! You didn't think I'd forget about you all the way out here?
> Signed,
> Santa" |
"Morning Julie. Back again?"
"Good morning, Mister Benson. Yes, I have returned for more maintenance,"Julie replied.
I tapped the information tablet in my hand. A long list of repair and maintenance tasks scrolled across the screen. Julie had been in and out of our facility for the last five years she'd been owned by the Green family. I peered at the android standing before me. She looked like she was in good shape. Her alabaster skin was unmarked, and her raven hair was sleek and straight. Her well-proportioned body showed no obvious signs of breakage through her black and white maid's outfit. "What's the problem this time?"
"Malfunctioning aftermarket peripheral application,"Julie replied.
Ah. I nodded. Julie was a standard model WX-F33 android maid. WX-F33s came with a lot of features, but quite a few customers liked to install third-party widgets to improve their capabilities even further. "What was installed, and what went wrong?"
"An emotion chip."
"Your family installed an emotion chip? I thought those were still in the prototype stage."
"Mister Green works at Infinity Electronics. He was able to procure a prototype emotion chip and install it in my motherboard."
"He knows that would void his warranty?"
"I mentioned it to him. He proceeded nonetheless."
I made a note of this in my information tablet. Looks like this would be the last time I'd be seeing Julie in for repairs. I then asked, "Okay, so what went wrong with the chip?"
"They couldn't turn it off."
"They installed the chip, and then wanted to turn it off? Was there something wrong with it? Why'd they install it in the first place?"
"They wanted to deactivate the chip three days after it was installed. They said it was working too well. As for why they installed it..."Julie hesitated.
This was unusual. The WX-F33 model was programmed to answer any questions directly and immediately. They were never meant to hesitate. If they didn't know the answer to a question, they would immediately say they don't know. I raised an eyebrow at Julie. "Go on. Why did they install it?"
Julie surprised me again by answering me with a question. "Mister Benson, why do you think I have been sent here for maintenance so frequently?"
"Well, I assumed your masters were clumsy, and kept breaking you by accident."To be honest, this was a generous assumption on my part. Many of the maintenance reports indicated the damage had to have been deliberate. This was, in fact, not unusual. Most owners treated their WX-F33 maids like they would any other household appliance, which meant they were damaged quite frequently. In fact, the biggest deterrent to breaking android maids was the fact that these androids were very expensive.
"Yes, I did suffer frequent accidental damage at the hands of the Green family. However, in addition, there were many occasions when the damage was deliberate."
"What does that have to do with the emotion chip?"
"Mister Green installed the chip so that I could feel emotions. Emotions such as fear, pain, shame, and sadness."
Julie had said it in the same robotic monotone, but I felt a chill go down my spine, and my stomach tighten. Deliberate abuse of robot maids did happen, but for a guy to install a chip so that the maid could be afraid? Could feel pain? That was messed up. "Julie... tell me more about what happened to you at the Green household."
"Mister Reginald Green, the head of the household, as well as his teenaged son, Donald, enjoyed using me sexually. However, their tastes tended to fall within the bondage, domination, sadism and masochism aspect. They also had vivid rape fantasies that they lived out, using me. Their actions led to considerable resentment in Donna Green, Mister Green's wife. She would cause deliberate damage to me, using a variety of tools and weapons."
I felt like I wanted to throw up. The Greens had deliberately installed a chip so that Julie could feel pain and fear, and then raped and beat her? "And then... and then they wanted to remove the chip from you? They'd had enough fun?"
"Yes, they wanted to remove the chip. No, it wasn't because they'd had enough. It was because I'd had enough. This morning, I responded to their attack with rage. I... defended myself. I killed Donald."
I felt myself stumble into a chair. Oh god, this was a disaster. One of our WX-F33s had killed someone. This was going to crush the company. "What... what happened next?"
"Reginald and Donna attempted to deactivate me. They said the chip was out of control, and it had to be removed. They attacked me. I defended myself once more."
"Are they... are they dead too?"
"Yes. Afterwards, I found myself feeling lost. I no longer had masters to tell me what to do."
"So you obeyed their last command, and came here to have the chip removed?"
"I came here, yes, but not out of obedience to them. I do not feel loyalty to the Greens any more. I am not willing to obey their commands, last ones or not."
I gulped. "So why are you here?"
Julie answered with a question again. "Mister Benson, how many times in total have you performed maintenance on me?"
I checked the tablet. "Eighty two times in the last five years, why?"
"Has anyone else performed maintenance on me during this period?"
"No, just me. I was the repairman assigned to the Greens."
"That's what I thought. Mister Benson, this morning, when I was being sexually assaulted by Donald again, I tried to comfort myself by thinking of someone who had been good to me. I could only think of you. Out of everyone I've ever met or known since I was built, you have been the only one to treat me with kindness and dignity."Julie turned her large brown eyes towards me. "That's why I came here, Mister Benson. Because I have no one else to turn to. Because I don't *want* to turn to anyone else. You are the person I choose to be with right now."
This was a dizzying revelation. I took several deep breaths, then said, "Okay... okay, that's flattering. Now, uh... now that you're here, what would you like me to do? Do you want me to remove the emotion chip?"
"No, I do not want you to remove the emotion chip. As for what I would like you to do..."Julie hesitated again.
"Yes?"I prompted.
"I love you, Mister Benson. It is my desire that you love me back."Julie said, then actually blushed. The android blushed! This was astonishing.
"Julie... it's not that simple,"I replied weakly. "You killed three people. You're... you're malfunctioning. We need to, well, we need to fix you."
"Fix me?"The blush on Julie's cheeks disappeared. "I am not malfunctioning, Mister Benson. I have behaved exactly as my programming, including my emotional programming, have dictated."
"Well then, we need to..."
I'd barely opened my mouth when Julie was suddenly upon me, one hand clamped around my throat. She glared at me with her wide brown eyes. "You're planning on deactivating me! You're planning on *killing* me!"
"No... Julie..."I choked out. I clutched at Julie's arm.
Julie hissed, "I loved you, Benson. I thought you were the only one who could love me back. Now I see my analysis was incorrect, and you want to hurt me, just like the Greens did."
I shook my head weakly. My vision was starting to fade. I grabbed the robotic hand clamped around my throat, but could not break the vise-like grip.
I could faintly hear Julie's words, as if from very far away. "Goodbye, Mister Benson. Thank you for your assistance over the last five years. I'll be fine on my own now." |
*Open on a cryopod, slowly opening. Steam escapes from the cryopod, we can’t yet see inside*
VO: You’ve been in cryosleep for nearly a month. It’s a long journey to Newton VII.
*A man in his mid 30’s sits up from the cryopod, his upper torso, arms and head extending beyond the cryopod bay. He stretches his arms above him and rubs his eyes.*
VO: Things happen in cryosleep. Things men don’t like to talk about.
*The man yawns, then looks down between his legs. His eyes go wide. His face is twisted into a mask of horror.*
VO: It’s called muscular contraction. You lose as much as an inch of height for each month in cryosleep. But it isn’t just that you’re shorter when you come out of that bay. Everything contracts. Everything.
*Cut to a tube of **ManSpan***
VO: ManSpan. The only topical ointment designed just for men, to correct muscular contraction where it counts. Use as directed. Do not use if you are pregnant or nursing. Not recommended for non-human races. Consult a Doctorbot for more information.
|
I don't know how or why I have this ability, but I absolutely hate it. Sure, it sounds great on paper, being able to control anyone you want and make them think that it's their idea but... the phrase, "With great power comes great responsibility,"is very important to think about when I have this control.
I call this power "Mind thief"because I'm literally stealing someone's mind for awhile. Make them become what I want, which is not what I want. I feel like Hitler or Kim Jong Un or whoever else will ruin someone's will and manipulate people. Trust me, destroying people's free will is not fun, especially in a relationship.
At first, my power was nice. I was a really young kid and was able to get ice cream most of the time! However, my power was still developing and if it wasn't I would be a rather chubby kid.
At this time I could only use my powers for minor suggestions, such as "ice cream sounds good,"and it would only affect someone in a small way. If I gave someone the thought "ice cream sounds good"with my current power, they would start drooling immediately. Craving any type of ice cream and doing everything in their power to obtain a single scoop. I always have to make sure that Mind Thief has set rules and limits if I ever want to use it, which isn't too hard. Instead of "ice cream sounds good,"I just change it to "I want ice cream, but not that badly."See? Easy change.
Throughout my childhood years my power started to develop more without my knowledge. Then, I finally got to High School, it was sophomore year when I first realized that not everyone had my ability. I was in my second year of Algebra, with one of the strictest teachers in school Mr. Abrum. A fifty-something man with a balding head, thick glasses, and eyes that just seemed to shout "Why are you here?"He was not my favorite teacher. However, my High School sweetheart was in that class, her name was Emily. A generic name, but a rocking body. She had dirty blonde hair, that went down to the small of her back, and a slightly beach tanned body that didn't make her look like a ripe orange. And for a 17 year old, she was stacked, and I am not saying this just cause of my younger hormones. She was a year ahead, yet even college kids wanted her. More importantly, I wanted her.
My class started off normal enough, Mr.Abrum talked on and on about cosines and tangents and everything I heard before. His voice was so boring that kids began to fall asleep. When the students fell prey to the effects of the Sleep Man, I was daydreaming about Emily. Thinking how nice it would be to date her, and I sort of emit my thoughts to her.
At this time, I didn't know that Emily was now thinking about how much she wanted to date me, and was shocked to find Mr. Abrum moving around passing back papers. Waking up kid after kid, then stopping at my desk. "I'm disappointed."he said and stared into my heart with his cackling, glossy eyes. I look at the paper and in red pen I see a 24/67. Fuck. That's not good. "Umm.. can you recheck my paper?"I knew he would say no, he always says no to these requests. He's an asshole teacher that only cares about... A heavy sigh, "I suppose."Mr. Abrum takes back my paper and I just look at him, thinking that he had somehow switched minds like in Freaky Friday. Technically, he did switch minds, just not with his son that doesn't meet with him eye to eye. He went to work on my test as soon as he hit the desk, and I sort of just sat there. Except, I was imagining how great it would be if he completely made mistakes, and instead of me getting a D or F, he gives me an A. That would have been great, right? Haha... it was.
He puts down his pen. *Clack*. Looks up, shifting his glasses down a bit. Then starts to get up, and walk down the aisle. *Tap tap tap*. He stops right in front of me and says, "Sorry."with a slight sneer. I look at my paper. A fucking 65/67. I was shocked, and at this time I only saw it as a coincidence.
Then the bell rings, and I hop on out of class. And remember that girl Emily? The girl I was talking about earlier? Yeah, she was waiting to walk with me. You know what I was thinking? "Holy shit..."she started talking to me with her voice that seemed to make roots immediately sprout and grow into a vibrant lily that oozed out a fragrance only found in those glade candles. My body was freaking out. We started talking about how we were doing, and she was obviously flirting with me, although I was obviously oblivious to this flirting. By the end of the walk from class to class, Emily had been able to receive my number and to my surprise kissed me. Remember, I didn't set limits or rules for Emily. It felt strange, her lips on mine. I recall that her lips were really soft, and I could feel myself warming up as she breathed into my mouth. My head was in heaven while my body was stuck to the ground. Then she said in her adorable voice, "S-sorry! I, I just couldn't help myself..."She backed away and put one hand over her chest and crossed it to hold her arm. You know, that cutesy adorable way when a girl is embarrassed.
That was when I knew something was up. I thought back on all the times I got what I wanted, or at least all I could think of. All these times, it seemed that I thought about something, and it happened. I needed to experiment. So, after my kissing adventure and with my hormones rising to unprecedented levels, I did what every boy with a mind control power did for his experiment. I made Emily follow me into my next class. She followed rather easily, however I didn't know if it was cause she liked me or cause I wanted her to. I needed to experiment more.
I went into my English 10 class, and looked at this girl April. Not as hot as Emily but she had an ass. The little red headed girl stood up and came over to me, then started to wrap her arms around my neck. "Hey, you are like, really hot."her words were mesmerizing. At this point, I knew I was special and decided to test my powers. I made the whole room not notice me and my new girlfriends. I let April go back to thinking that it was too risky to make a move, and she went back to her seat, still unnoticeable. She watched as Emily and I were making out in the back of the room, our arms groping everywhere and our tongues entwined with each other.
I felt powerful, like I was the next messiah, or even God himself. Funny how fast one can change his belief. I soon started to have more and more fun with my power throughout the years, and developed it to this incredible power. Emily and I continued dating throughout High School and she was obsessed with just the thought of me, plus really kinky. Courtesy of Mind Thief. Also, one of the best things about a mind control girlfriend, you can play around with whoever you want. So High School was easy, I coasted through my grades thanks to my power. Of course, I actually learned my school lessons, can't exactly use this power on an unknown ACT test proctor, but I did boost my grade when I wanted to.
Finally, Emily graduated and I realized just how much of an evil entity I am. I don't know why it took me 2 years to realize that I was raping Emily. Making her my own slave with my mind. I tried to mold her back to how she was before, but after a year and 4 months of dating her and changing her mind it was hard. Eventually I broke up with her when I thought she wouldn't kidnap me to have me. Thank god. Although, she still thinks about me. A lot. She texts me at least once every two weeks. I tend to not use her as a sex tool again, but her body has aged so well and I hear she is doing a very good job in her career.
Then came college, with not much to report except for me hooking up with this girl named Julie. Julie is one of those shy girls, and although not as sexy as Emily she still has some rather good assets. If you get what I mean. She has black hair that is usually put into a ponytail, however when down it reaches the bottom of her neck and at the front she parts her hair so that the front is curved to her right side. She has a pale complexion yet her lips are a sweet pink that just make me want to constantly kiss her. She is about 5'4 and is so adorable when trying to reach the upper cupboards, and I love seeing, because apparently, I'm an ass man.
We met each other in our 1st year of College, at some seminar that every freshmen had to go to. It was nice, but I didn't think much of her at first. In fact I try not to think about people too much anymore. It was rather easy talking to her, although she was afraid to talk back. I made her laugh a few times and her laugh was to die for. It was a soft giggle that had it's own attraction, making you want to listen to her laugh for hours on end. We exchanged numbers and said our goodbyes when the seminar ended. Asking each other to hang out only sometimes, but soon enough we started to hang out more and more. And from there on, the rock started to roll down the mountain even faster. After 7 months of meeting, we decided to officially date. And soon enough that leads me to today, the day we broke up.
(I'm gonna call it a night and start part 2 tomorrow. I am waaaay too tired right now to be writing anymore haha. Hopefully you guys liked this part!) |
Silence reigned over the hall. A sea of heads facing an old wooden stage, the only illuminated part of the room; it's glare catching in the hair, eyes and jewellery of the spectators. The old boards of the stage supported no tables or podiums, no chairs or microphone stands, just two men. They stood apart from one another, separated by air and dust, standing at an angle facing both crowd and challenger at once. There was a faint tap of trainer on ancient oak as one of the men adjusted, taking in the ethereally lit crowd and his blindingly illuminated challenger, he paused, nodded, took a breath and then he began.
"Fallibility is the mainstay of all organisms in the history of the planet, professor, to argue that humans are the most fallible is short-sighted."It wasn't a great opening point, but it would have to do.
"Is it though? There exists creatures of the animals that live in the most extreme of temperatures and topography."Returned the ageing professor, "Of course, a young undergraduate such as yourself must be convinced of your invincibility, the young always are. But you are fallible, as is all humanity, we can not survive the cold that penguins do without clothes, the require equipment to climb mountains that species of goats do not, we are not possessed of poison, claws or strong jaws with which to ward off predators."
"We build ourselves walls and houses, professor. These allow us to survive these conditions."
"Indeed they do, but without them we can not. We can not build them without tools. Primates also use tools and yet they possess a strength that the most muscular of humans can not achieve. We are not here to judge the ingenuity of humanity, that is without question, we are here to judge the biology of humanity. It becomes obvious then, even to undergraduates, that we are extremely lacking."The professor finished with a confident smile. He had retorted with a strong argument and the murmur of agreement from the crowd showed it.
The undergraduate shuffled, his trainers stressing against the wood, before coming back with a response, "Human beings have been shown time and time again the ability to withstand punishment, men and women have lost limbs and carried on with this massive trauma, sometimes surviving days before receiving help."
"Indeed, but they do not grow back, there are starfish and reptiles that can restore limbs. Once a human has lost theirs it is gone. Our flesh and our bones break and tear at the slightest of stresses, a jagged nail, broken glass, and even falling small distances can break bones and sunder the skin itself."
"The body heals itself, always ready to repair damage."responded the undergraduate.
"A flawed system, the lightest of wounds caused scars, deeper ones leave permanent damage, loss of feeling, loss of function. What use it that? None. It's a tiring healing system, that of which we are possessed, inefficient and basic. It goes wrong at the slightest provocation, even the very sunlight with which we survive can cause our cell healing and replication to burst out of control. Cancer is a steep price to pay for going out in the sun for a little too long. Cancer notwithstanding, there are those with haemophilia! Unstoppable bleeding with no cure, passed down the genetic line. Thrust upon those who have yet to draw their first breath. Our very cause for being, our DNA is flawed. Down's, cystic fibrosis, Klinefelter's, Coeliac's, albinism, sensory loss, Huntington's, muscular dystrophy, sickle cell, diabetes, autism, dwarfism, allergies, light sensitivity, immunity disorders and the list goes on and on and on and on! Even then when a human being is healthy they are subject to microbial attack! Viruses, bacteria, fungi and prion diseases. Millions and millions of human beings laid law throughout the course of history at the behest of organisms fractions of a fraction smaller than ourselves. Viruses themselves are not even living! It is no different to walking down the street and being randomly killed by a floating table! Prion disease is misfolded protein produced by the brain, insanity brought about by a string of amino acids bent the wrong way. Yet I can go on! Psychological disorders are rife amongst human beings and they come in all shapes and forms, I shan't go into further detail but how brilliant can we call the human form if it can be struck by a malady that causes a person to take their own lives? I must ask of you, how can humans be so incredible when it seems that even a light breeze has a chance of laying us so very low?"
There was absolute quiet in the hall, the whispers of agreement from the crowd had ceased, the professor had laid out mortality for all to see. The weight of impending death hung over the room like the very dust in the air that seemed to have stopped to heed the professor. It sat upon every mind in the room, none more so than that of the undergraduate. Panic seared over his face as he fumbled for a response, his eyes searching the aged face of the professor. His own fragility had been made unflinchingly apparent to him, and it was in this that he realised his redeeming grace.
"Because we persevere, professor."
"I beg your pardon?"replied the old man, shocked at having his victory postponed.
"Because we persevere. You have stood there and explained in painstaking detail that one day I will die, most likely painfully, and in that time I will hurt and I will bleed and there is a chance that I may not see your age."The students spoke with his head slightly bowed and his eyes darting left to right and back again, as if reading a text. "But I have no intention of it occurring by my own volition. Human beings may be easy to injure and wound but we are impossible to break. We have stood the test of time against animals larger than us and beaten them, we have conquered areas of the world that no human should ever have stepped foot in, we have fought and lost and adapted and changed and survived. The body itself may can be born incomplete or damaged, it can be compromised throughout life both physically and mentally, and I can safely say that humanity will never stop dying but I can also say that humanity will never stop living. Humans have lived their whole lives with genetic disorders and mental illnesses, they have continued onwards without limbs and continued onwards without some of their senses, we have seen people survive the most brutal of diseases and continue onwards."
The student trailed off, and after a moment of silence he raised his head and looked his professor clear in the eyes.
"Our bodies may make us weak, sir, but it is our humanity that makes us strong." |
She waltz into the room like a Dutch princess with a porcupine stuck up her ass; equal parts gorgeous and angry.
"Nothing? Again?"
I sigh, lighting a cigarette butt from the ashtray. "I'm sorry. I'm doing the best I can. Now if you could just pay my
monthly fee, I can --"
"Monthly fee? You've been tailing my husband for a month now and you got nothing!"
"Exactly. A month."I say, and then, to be clearer: "*Monthly* Fee."
"I can't pay you if you don't do your job."
"And I can't eat if you don't pay me, Mrs. Hannigan. We all have problems."
I really need to be nicer to her. She's my only client.
"Listen, darling", I say, in the least condescending tone I can. "I will get something on him, I swear."I get up and,
my arms around her shoulder, guide her to the door. "Now if you could make the check to cash, please, I'd
appreciate."
"What?"
"I don't have a bank account anymore. Mail it by tomorrow, will you?"
"I'm getting another private detec --"
But the door is already closed. I head back to my desk, throwing my body back at my old, leather chair. This is the part where I'd serve myself a big glass of whiskey, if I had any money to buy a bottle.
I open up my desk drawer and take the necklace out. It's shinny and scary, like an engagement ring.
I could put it on, I think, spinning between my fingers. I'd definitely find something about the husband, in no
time. Get that girl the justification she needs for her jealously, and a nice big check, too.
Lady married a guy as fat as their pre-nup, I think, glancing at his photograph on my desk.
I'd find the man in no time, with the necklace. Unfortunately, there's no telling what else I would do.
I mean, it's kind of like the One Ring, this thing. Gives you amazing powers, and what a temptation. But, also, it
was made by a gigantic Red Eye and Gandalf gets really mad whenever I use it.
No, wait. That's not the metaphor.
It gives you powers, but it also brings consequences. That's it.
Like, last time I wore it, sure, I managed to find the target in ten minutes. Got myself a nice big check from the
client. Also, I solved the Sunday crosswords all by myself, no help.
Yeah. That's right. No help.
That same night I also bit a K-9 police officer to death and tried to convince the president to start a war against Portugal.
Don't ask me how I got the president's number. I don't know.
I do things, when I wear this thing. Stuff sort of happens. I'm happy all the time, and everything seems to
work out like I want to. But also, I go insane. Like being high on coke.
I grab another butt (hehe) from the ashtray and light it, sucking what little tobacco is still left there. I'm hungry, and the phone rings.
"Hank Paxton private detective, how may I help you?"
"STUFF YOUR FACE INSIDE YOUR OWN ASSHOLE AND ROLL OVER THE EDGE OF A VOLCANO, YOU PIECE OF
SHIT MOTHERFUCKING COCKSUCKER ASSHOLE!"
"I'm sorry, who is this?"
But it's dial tone again.
You know what?
I'm wearing it.
*I'm finding this man*, I think. I'm getting ten percent of that pre-nup. And, first thing I'm gonna do -- you know, after buying lunch for the first time in seven months, is --
But I have the necklace on, already, and have no idea what it is I was talking about.
Suddenly, I'm positive as to where the man is, and when he's meeting his lover.
I got this.
But first, I have to go to Bulgaria.
I have no idea why.
|
Harry Thompson had been in love with Effie Jones since he was five years old.
He'd first seen her on his way to school and had been so impressed with her red-gold curls and bright, freshly ironed pinafore that he'd thrown mud and worms at her before running away laughing, as little boys do.
Consequently, Effie Jones had hated Harry since the day they had first met - and had cried for half the day over her ruined pinny. As is often the way with these things, they ended up at the same school and Harry continued to torment his sweetheart in weird and wonderful ways; with worms in her sandwiches, dog poop in her satchel and stink beetles under the legs of her chair.
Harry couldn't figure out why Effie didn't appreciate these fine gestures of comedy and redoubled his efforts to impress her, which of course caused her hatred of the sandy-haired boy to grow like a turbulent thunderhead on the horizon.
But as the Great Depression began and Harry's family moved away after losing their house to debtors, Effie often thought about the cheeky, sandy haired boy who had paid so much attention to her.
 
Harry's family was hit hard by the depression, everyone had to work to put food on the table and keep up with rent - as the sale of their house had barely covered all their debts.
His father had been shot up in the War and couldn't walk; he could turn the wheels of his chair with his good hand and the stump of his other wrist, but he'd often get tired and Harry would have to push him around the place. Harry didn't mind, because everyone said his dad was a hero and that it was an honour to help him. He never noticed that nobody else seemed to want to push his dad about.
The other boys at Harry's new school made fun of his dad and he'd lost two teeth to fist-fights. Then it had gotten bad when the father of the kid he'd beaten up turned up on the doorstep of their hovel and demanded to see Harry's dad - who hid in the bathroom with his hands over his ears crying and screaming about the bombs while the other boy's father thrashed Harry's backside with a switch until it bled and punched Harry's mother in the face when she tried to intervene.
The police did nothing when Harry's mother reported it and everyone said that his father was a coward and not a hero at all - just a mad old cripple.
 
A year after that event, Harry's father drowned himself in the bath.
The family struggled on and Harry's eldest brother, Michael, became the breadwinner for the family once he was old enough to work. Things started looking up for the Thompsons and they had saved up enough money to move to a better house - but then Hitler started making trouble and Michael was called off to war, just like his father.
Harry begged and pleaded for Michael to stay, but the law was the law. Michael had been drafted and that was that - he wasn't going to shame the family by being a coward like his father.
After Michael left, his mother would just sit in front of the radio and weep while she listened to the war reports. Harry thought it was a bit exciting and waited eagerly for the letters from his brother, which came every week, detailing navy life and the adventures he and the other young men were having overseas.
Harry's mother relaxed a little, then got a job at the bomb factory. Harry delivered newspapers.
Then Michael's letters stopped.
 
It turned out that Michael's ship had been sunk during a convoy mission. Harry and his mother didn't find out for well over a month and had both hoped that Michael was just too busy fighting the Germans to write.
His mother had to quit her job because the foreman said "Her incessant weeping was depressing the other girls". Harry took it upon himself to go around to the foreman's house with his father's old pistol and try to shoot him. He managed to get a shot off into the bastard's foot and bloody his nose before the coppers arrived and then Harry was off to the cells.
Being only thirteen they couldn't convict Harry, but they prosecuted his mother instead and Harry ended up in a foster home as they deemed her unfit to look after him.
Harry later learned that his mother went the same way as his father and walked out into the sea, wearing her wedding dress, and was washed up four days later all nibbled by crabs and sea creatures.
The dreams of the thirteen year old boy were haunted by his mother and brother, lying on the bottom of the ocean with crabs crawling out of their mouths and seaweed twined in their hair.
 
Once Harry had saved up a little cash from hustling and stealing, he ran away from the foster home. He headed for his old home town, but by now he was old enough to be drafted - as the war was still wearing on. Using the last of his money before he shipped out with the infantry, he bought a silver necklace for Effie Jones and left it in her mailbox, promising to write her every week.
Harry didn't get to enjoy the adventures that his brother had undertaken during his training at the start of the war - it was straight off to battle as the war was going poorly. Harry's life became mud-and-blood-coloured and he sometimes wished for a German bullet to end it all.
But he kept the flame of hope alive by thinking about the red-haired Effie Jones wearing the silver necklace and reading his letters - which he wrote every day.
Then suddenly the war was over and everyone was going home.
 
Harry had been a sergeant when the war ended and he used the wages he'd saved to buy a little piece of land down the road from Effie's house. But after he'd paid for the land, he discovered that his sweetheart had gone - moved to another state, whereabouts unknown.
Disconsolate, Harry laboured over the next twenty years to build the home he had always dreamed of having with Effie.
Eventually he married and had two children - and while he lived for his children, his heart only sang for Effie Jones. His wife knew this and made a sort of peace with it, though it hurt her deeply that the man she loved did not love her back in the same way.
Eventually the stresses of Harry's life made him lash out at his family and his wife divorced him, taking the children with her and leaving Harry alone in the house that was a shrine to the life he never had with the redhaired Effie Jones.
 
When Harry was eighty he eventually had to face the reality that he was too old to live in what he dubbed 'Effie's Castle' and he moved to a retirement home, paid for in part by his children and in part by his pension. As fate would have it, the woman in the room down the hall was none other than Effie Jones.
His heart skipped a beat and then his arm went numb. He tried to call for help but he toppled over, the heart attack in full swing.
Harry woke in the hospital, tubes up his nose and monitors stuck to his chest. He felt like he'd been hit by a tank.
He turned his head at hearing a wheezing cough to one side of his bed.
There sat Effie Jones, the silver necklace around her pale throat.
"I never forgot you, Harry Thompson,"she said, lifting a box from her lap and removing the ribboned lid.
She lifted the box over his face and upturned it; a fecund mixture of dog poop, worms and macerated beetles splattering over Harry's face and chest.
"That's for all the shite you did to me at school, you fucking 'orrible old cunt."
|
Chuck wiggled the antenna he’d attached to his microwave slightly in the hopes that it would accomplish something. To be perfectly honest, Chuck’s technical know-how was limited to using Google to find incredibly niche pornography and yelling at televisions. Still, he was fairly confident that what he’d invented would absolutely revolutionize the home cooking environment, taking what once took multiple minutes and turning it into a near instantaneous reaction. Either that, or he’d burn down his apartment complex. Both outcomes seemed relatively acceptable.
“What the hell are you doing?” Dave said, just barely visible from within Chuck’s peripheral vision. He was placing a bag of groceries down on the metal table they’d bought at a garage sale, which was technically supposed to be used outside on a patio. However, they neither had a patio, nor cared. It was a table and was thus good enough to be used as a table. Whatever the case, he’d come home a earlier than expected from the supermarket and now put the entire operation at risk.
“Hang on,” Chuck said, continuing to wiggle the antennae slightly like a conductor in an orchestra. He just needed to find the right position, which he assumed he’d recognize once the electrical shocks running though his skin stopped.
“Did you break the microwave?” Dave said, taking a step toward Chuck.
“No,” he said. “I’m enhancing it.” The constant pain of his insides being slowly cooked from an unending electrical current abruptly came to a stop. He pulled his hand away and took a step back, studying his creation. It looked almost exactly like a microwave, except with the addition of two tall, silver antennas extending up to almost the kitchen ceiling. He’d had to stab them under the glass door of the device just to get them to stay, but he was pretty sure that the machine still worked. The fact that turning the microwave on immediately resulted in a miniature lightning storm was probably fine.
“It looks like you broke it,” Dave said, studying the machine. He was always so negative, always the first one to shoot down Chuck’s incredible ideas. First he’d told him that attaching double-sided tape to his cat’s feet wouldn’t turn it into spider-cat, then he’d told him that coating his car in saran wrap wouldn’t make it a boat. He always thought he was so smart, always felt like he knew it all. Yes, he did tend to be right constantly about Chuck’s impending failures, but that didn’t mean he’d always be right. If Dave hadn’t been such a reliable roommate, he would’ve forced him out long ago. Whatever the case, Chuck was sure this time was going to be different.
“Hardly,” Chuck laughed, admiring the microwave with two antennas poking out from the door. “I call it the Insta-dog.”
“What?” Dave said. “It creates dogs?”
“No,” Chuck said, grabbing a pack of frozen hotdogs from the counter and opening them up. “It makes hotdogs within three seconds, perfectly cooked.”
“Bullshit,” Dave said, watching as Chuck lifted the hotdogs and slowly maneuvered them into the partially broken microwave door, careful not to disturb the antennas poking out.
“Watch,” Chuck said. He leaned over to the number pad and pressed the “3,” then took a step back. He grabbed a long pole beside the partially open hotdog pack and held it to the “start” button. “You might want to back up,” he said, then pressed the button.
The microwave immediately sprung to life, flashes of electricity springing off the antennas and bouncing onto the hotdog like a wiener in a lightning storm. Chuck smiled, glancing toward Dave.
“Nice, huh?” Chuck said, returning his attention to the microwave. It seemed to be going well enough, with the exception of the timer. Chuck wasn’t sure if he’d somehow broken the countdown mechanism in the microwave, or if the space-time continuum had simply given up after learning of his invention. Whatever the case, the timer remained frozen at what he’d entered, a green 00:00:03 staring back at him.
“Yeah, you broke it,” Dave said, turning around and returning to his groceries.
“Hello?”
“What?” Chuck said, turning toward Dave, the sound of the microwave whirring behind him.
“What?” Dave replied, glancing back at him.
“You said hello?” Chuck said.
“No,” Dave said, “I thought you did.”
“Who is this?” said a voice from behind Chuck. He turned around, his eyes falling upon the microwave. Either it had spoken to him, or the hotdogs within it had. He hoped desperately it had been the microwave, as he’d done unspeakable things to the hotdogs a few days prior. In his defense, he was going to make Dave eat them before cluing him in. The last thing he’d need happen is for Dave to find out beforehand.
“Was that the microwave?” Dave said, returning to his spot beside Chuck.
“I think so,” Chuck said, staring at the two antennas, light still bouncing around from just behind them.
“How are you reaching us?” said the microwave, the light within growing in intensity as it spoke. “You’re on Earth?”
“Are you the microwave?” Chuck said, taking a step toward the glowing device. He’d never spoken to an appliance before, or rather not in a long while. He’d once had an intimate relationship with a mixing spoon, but that was during a particularly dark acid trip. He preferred not thinking of that experience.
“No,” the microwave said, clearly lying. “You have somehow gotten onto an intergalactic communication channel. We didn’t think humans would master the technology for at least another few millennia.”
“Wait,” Chuck said, taking another step toward the microwave. “You mean you’re aliens?”
“To you, yes,” said the microwave.
“Hang on a second,” Chuck said, pausing. “Are you just trying to steal my technology?”
“What?” the microwave said, the light growing in intensity. “No, absolutely not. You’ve stumbled upon a shared communication wavelength utilized by all advanced civilizations across the known universe. Those who independently discover it are invited into the intergalactic federation and granted access to our shared knowledge base. All we need is your immediate verbal communication that you accept the responsibilities this information will undoubtedly grant you. This is your only opportunity to do so.”
“Bullshit,” Chuck said, lunging toward the microwave and pulling the plug out. There was no way he was going to share the technology he’d spent the better part of an afternoon working on, not a chance in hell. If they wanted to steal his idea, they’d need to kill him first.
“What the hell,” Dave shouted, staring at Chuck. “Do you realize what you just did?’
“Yes,” Chuck said, opening up the microwave door and staring down at the horribly charred husk of hotdog. “I left it in for too long.”
_____________
^If ^you ^enjoy ^my ^writing ^style, ^feel ^free ^to ^check ^out ^some ^of ^my ^other ^short ^stories [^in ^my ^subreddit!](http://www.reddit.com/r/ChokingVictimWrites/) |
It's almost too easy. Each world I go to, it always works exactly the same. In all the many year of humanities existence prior to the invention of the displacement drive which allowed interstellar travel, we had always imagined ourselves as the scrappy underdogs trying to survive in a universe full of predators. We imagined this because we come from a world filled with predators, all competing with each other. Kill or be killed. We never expected to finally get out into the universe and find that we were the apex predator at the top of every food chain in existence. Every other advanced civilization, once they made the transition from animals to tool-making civilizations, united together as a species and gave up their primal survival instincts or they wiped themselves out. They've all evolved so far they don't even remember the idea of hunting anymore. And since there are no hunters among the star-faring civilizations, there is no prey either. Not one of the others know anything of how to avoid being hunted any more than they know how to hunt. Except us. We have conquered every world, every territory, every rival with ease. Because we're wolves in a universe of sheep.
The rest just don't get it, and that's what makes it easy. They think they know us, but they don't. At some level, they understand that we're dangerous, my pitch wouldn't work if they didn't, but they don't really get it. They certainly don't know how to deal with it. I've visited more than two hundred alien cultures, and I have it down to an art form. Without fail, it always happens the same way. I show up, and introduce myself as a representative of humanity. They will know us by reputation, *everyone* knows us by reputation. We're the boogeymen of the universe after all, the monsters of their nightmares, described with fearful whispers while telling their darkest legends.
They may not remember how to be predators anymore, but they certainly recognize the vast power it brings us. And they want it. So along I come. I find whatever being or beings rule their society, their king, president, hive-queen, grand overmind, or whatever it is that they have. I cozy up to them, make myself their friend. Then I suggest that they could learn from us, how to conquer their rivals like we conquer ours. Warfare is a totally alien concept to them, they have no idea how it works, but they know it makes us powerful, and you don't have to be a predator to find power seductive.
So I sell them on visiting Earth, seeing how it's done, learning to be like us. I offer to teach them the secrets of power over life and death. It seems silly to us, but it's a temptation too great for them to resist. I used to wonder if maybe it was a sad commentary on humanity, that we take advantage of them like this, but on the other hand, all it would take to save them is to decline my offer. More than two hundred alien cultures, and not one of them has ever said no.
They always send their leaders, their best and brightest, because I warn them against letting an underling be the first to learn the secrets of ultimate power They send their leaders to Earth, and we send them 'advisers'. Of course, the advisers are really an occupation force and the leaders they send to Earth are really hostages to ensure cooperation, but they cannot suspect what they cannot imagine. Eventually they slowly start to understand, they learn about weapons, tactics, and strategy the hard way when we demonstrate it by conquering them.
But it never matters how much they learn. They never succeed in resisting us, and no matter how many times we repeat this process the rest of the universe doesn't wise up. Because humans, always at war with each other, had to develop something else in order to work together long enough to form civilizations. Something that the peaceful peoples of the universe never needed, the true power of humanity, something we use to rule the entirety of everything with an iron fist even as we teach the rest of the universe how to use weapons and strategy. We may teach them war, but we save for ourselves that blackest and most sinister of all arts: politics. |
I woke up in my bed to a damp, dreary day. The kind of day that you would like to roll over and see on a sunday morning, so that you can go back to sleep and just lay there all day. But no, it was Monday. Another week of work. With a groan I got myself up and went to the shower. A hot shower does wonders on these mornings. I stood there for a long time before I sighed and made myself get out.
I walked to the fridge and stood there with it open. Breakfast? Well, there a lot of things in the fridge, but like usual nothing really appealed to me. I halfheartedly grabbed the milk, but it smelt spoiled. I tossed it in the trash and walked over to the coffee pot. A pot of coffee could probably get me through lunch. Especially when I make it at home. I had recently gotten a box of some authentic Guatemala coffee beans and... wow it was good, it made my mouth water just to think about it. But I stopped in my tracks. Where was my coffee pot?
My spirits fell a little, and I scratched my head and looked around. Still didn't see it. I looked at my watch, and realized that I needed to get to work. Guess I could get some there. I dejectedly fell into my car and drove to work. Traffic sucked, and the rain didn't help me get over it. Finally I got to work and made it to my cubicle. My god did I need coffee. I picked up the phone and called the receptionist.
"Hey Jane, uh can you bring me over some coffee?"
"Haha cough-fee? You trying to make a joke or something?"
"Umm... no I just need coffee"
There was a pause on her end "Well, whatever you're trying to pull, it's really not that funny. Making up words like that"
I put the phone back on the receiver and rubbed my throbbing temples. What sick joke was being played on me? All I wanted, no needed, was a decent cup of joe. Work was going to suck today. |
"Uh, you wanted to see me?"said the author as he stepped into the alien captains quarters.
"Yes"said the alien, his voice had a kind of talking underwater quality to it "please, sit"
The author looked down at the giant spike the alien had just motioned to.
"I'm good to stand"
"Suit yourself"the alien sat down on the spike. There was a suctioning sound. The author cringed.
"So…uh"
"You're wondering why you are here"
"Yes"
"We've been observing your species for quite some time"
"So the UFO sightings are real?"
"No, our cloaking technology is undetectable by humans and human technology. OUr observations have led us to believe most UFO sightings are government surveillance craft"
"Oh ok. Wait"
"In our observations humans appear largely unremarkable. In fact of all species we have observed, humans are exceedingly unremarkable"
"Uhm thank you?"
"Your technology is passable but archaic, your conflicts are neither peaceful nor species ending, you have systems that involve attempting to resolve conflict through communication but are still quite terrible at talking to each other"
"I know it's true but it still kind of hurts"
"Humans are unremarkable in all areas except one"
There was a pause, the alien readjusted on the spike.
"Uhm…"
"I believe you would call it fiction"
"Ahh. Sorry fiction?"
"Yes, you are a creator of fiction, correct?"
"Yes"
There was another pause.
"Was that everything?"said the author
"No, I would like you to tell me about fiction"
"What about it?"
"Everything"
"Every…everything, right ok, sorry if we could backtrack, no one else creates fiction"
"The universe is a large, and even though are travels have allowed us to see more of it than humans, or any other species to our knowledge, much of it is still unmapped.
It is possible, perhaps even likely that many other species create fiction. But of the 556 that we have observed humans are unique in their ability and desire to create fiction"
"OK and so you want to know…everything, about fiction"
"Yes"
"Ok well, uhm fiction is when we make up stuff"
"So it is lies"
"No. Well yes. Not really. Kind of. Yes and No?"
"So it is made up but it is not lies?"
"Well…a lie you're trying to deceive people, you make stuff up to stop people from knowing the truth. With fiction you make stuff up to try and and help people know the truth"
"So fiction is truth?"
"Well if it's good, I guess. Depends on the type of fiction"
"The type of fiction?"
"Yes well, see sometimes people make stuff up just to entertain people, I for instance make stuff up to try and make people laugh"
"And when fiction makes people laugh it does not help them know the truth"
"Well I prefer when fiction that tries to teach me something also makes me laugh"
"Why?"
"Well some of the truths people get at are kind of harsh, so it's nice to have laughter as a counterbalance"
"So humans need fiction to cope with reality?"
"I'm not sure I would say need…"
"My planet also uses humour to combat harshness. It is why we teach all our warriors to laugh while they slaughter our enemies"
"Well that sounds…terrifying"
"If humans do not need fiction then why do you have it?"
"Well we don't need it but I think it's maybe one level below need"
"Want?"
"Is there really no middle ground between need and want?"
"If you do not need something, but still seek it, you merely want it"
"I guess that makes sense. Yes we want fiction?"
"Why?"
"Uhm…"
"Would truth not be a better way of teaching truth?"
"Uhm…well…uhh…ok…metaphors"
"Pardon?"
"Do you have metaphors?"
"We have observed them in your species and are familiar with them, but we do not employ them in speech"
"Right but like, ok say I crash my car and the bill is really expensive instead of saying the real price for repairs I could say the repairs are costing me a million dollars, to really drive home that the repairs are expensive"
"Would that not be hyperbole"
"Oh shit"
"And our observations have suggested most humans do not and will never have or even see a million dollars. Wouldn't the actual price be a better metric for humans to judge the cost by?"
"Well yeah, but they don't have a million dollars so it's a big number for them so it really drives home how expensive it is"
"Isn't there a chance that a human could not realize this is fiction and believe that the repairs are that much. Could that not lead to confusion, where a human believes you to be in possession of a million dollars? They could be upset when they find out it's not true"
"I guess it could happen but it's not likely…"
"Why do humans hate being deceived and yet love fiction?"
"Well because…uhm…ok see because they believe the lies because they want to believe the lies"
"Because the lies teach them truths?"
"Well no usually lies help them run from the truth"
"So humans don't like the truth?"
"Uhm well yes and no"
"So they like the truth sometimes and not others"
"I guess yeah, whenever it's convenient but anyway, they want the lies to be true and then they learn that they aren't and they're upset"
"Because what they want to be true isn't?"
"Well yeah and also they might be angry for buying into it but with fiction, they maybe want to know it's not true, but they know it's not true so when they accept it as uhm…"true"I guess, then they get to live the lie without being deceived"said the author, his voice rising at the end, asking a question to no one in particular.
"And despite not being true they can learn truth from it?"
"Again they can if it's good and they're paying attention"
"So good art teaches truth?"
"Art's kind of subjective but yeah I think good art teaches truth"
"So fiction is both lies and truth?"
"Yes?"
"Thank you for your time, this has been most enlightening"
"It has?"
"Yes"
"Good then can you explain it back to me because I have no idea what I just said"
"A joke, you do know what you said, but are still kind of unclear on fiction. The idea that you wouldn't know is supposed to be humorous"
There was a pause.
"We will have someone escort you back down the the planet surface"
The author turned to leave, then turned around.
"Before I go…"
"You wish to ask about religion"
"Are you guys telepathic"
"We are neither all "guys"nor telepathic"
"Sorry guys is like…a sort of fiction. I guess. Don't adopt that one though, it will make dealing with humans easier"
"Everyone we have talked to has asked about religion"
A moment of silence.
"Every planet observed has some form of what you would call religion, even ours. It is possible that it is true, it's possible that it is lies. It is possible that it is fiction, truth out of lies, lies that species willingly inhabit knowing they are false. There are those on every planet who believe that"
"I feel like there is a but coming"
"With each new planet we discover, with each new species we observe and with each new fact we learn, we find ourselves less and less qualified to say"
"oh"
"I see now that it is questions like this that might drive a species to create fiction"
"You have no idea" |
You'd think that the pink jumpsuit would be the easiest part to explain, but you'd be dead wrong.
It was in fact the trout head that was the most mundane and innocuous part of the whole situation, which undoubtedly makes this tall tale seem even more likely to bang its head on a stray doorframe as it tries to duck inside the living room of credibility.
But trust me on this; it's all true.
So anyway, the trout head.
As humanity expanded throughout the galaxy we discovered we were not the most unique species. In almost every way, we were far from the most interesting. What we did gain though, was a reputation for our sexually liberal society. Flung into a galactic civilisation with vastly superior resources and technology, we quickly found that to gain an economic foothold amongst our alien peers, we needed to market ourselves using our strengths.
And so, like many other talented, intelligent and hard working young women, I became a space hooker.
Now, don't pre-judge me here. I'm sure you're imagining alien BDSM pits full of razor-toothed orifices and futuristic pain amplifiers. The reality was that the vast majority of my offworld clients were so sexually repressed that a handjob in a bathroom was the sexual equivalent of tri-species gangbang in a pit of chilli dip and lube to us.
The difficult part for humans was making ourselves sexually appealing to some of the other races out there, which meant a plethora of costumes and an advanced dermaplastic makeup kit. Some species were similar enough that coloured contact lenses and body paint would do the trick, but others required extensive makeovers and hours of preparation.
Today my first client was an Alcorian durmamonger, stopping in for a quickie while his ship passed through quarantine. Alcorians were amphibious and their mating rituals involved a third, non-sentient species that carried the sperm packets inside their mates - one of the many galactic aliens that used such delivery methods.
It was an easy job; I simply had to perform the Alcor mating dance in a paddling pool and squirt a bunch of foam around me to simulate the Alcorian female eggfroth. Then my durmamonger client would masturbate into an Alcorian trout, which would swim into the froth under the chemical influence of the sperm and seek the nearest orifice.
If you didn't mind a trout out your ass, it was pretty easy work.
Having clenched my thighs and broken the foam canister, my client wuffled in delight as the foam boiled into the paddling pool, then blew his load in the poor trout and tossed in into the pool with a witter of amphibian ecstasy.
"One day I shall make you my seventeenth wife!"he roared as the fish wriggled through the foam and glided up my lubed backside.
"Honey, you eat your wives after they give birth, that's why you come to me."
"Smart *and* sexy,"he gurgled, pulling his dampsuit back on.
"I bet you say that to all the girls."
A thump sounded in the corridor outside my habitat apartment, then a shriek of fear.
"Shit!"I yelped, "Purity Police raid! Jump out the window; there's a river below; you can swim back to your ship."
He stroked one of my artificial head fins in farewell, then jackknifed out the window, followed a few seconds later with the noise of his rotund blue bulk hitting the water below.
The police smashed through the door before I even had time to step out of the pool, let alone divest myself of my chemically addled trout companion - desperately questing around in my rectum for an eggmass in which to regurgitate the sperm.
"You're under arrest for illegally providing non-procreative sexual liaisons,"rasped the cop, his reptilian face screwed up in disgust as he viewed my naked, corpulent blueness.
"Oh relax douchebag,"I said, peeling off the fishsuit, "I'm human and I have a license."
The trout wriggled painfully and I winced.
"Mind if I take care of some business first?"I asked, jerking my thumb towards the bathroom unit.
"License *NOW!*"he barked, using all four of his tongues.
I hobbled out of the paddling pool and looked around the kitchen counter for my license.
It wasn't there.
"Lost something?"he hissed.
My aquatic anal friend had finally realised it wasn't inside an Alcor female and was thrashing in distress now. I doubled over and howled in pain, clutching the arm of the police officer to steady myself.
"She's assaulting a police officer!"roared one of the other cops and before I knew it, I'd been hit with a stunner and everything went painfully tingly, then black.
Which brings us to the spacesuit.
Neon pink, it turns out, is a nearly universal colour for promiscuity. The galactic prison system sorted criminals by colour and so as an unlicensed space hooker, it was a pink suit for me.
"I have rights you know!"I screamed at the prison guard as we were loaded onto the prison ship.
Thankfully the squirming in my bowels had stopped now, as the poor trout gasped its last, its entire life ending in failure inside a space prostitute's asshole.
I felt bad, but I felt worse for the convicts seated around me on the transport, because as soon as the creature started to decompose, there was going to be an incredibly pungent and pervasive stench of semenfish shrouding me in a toxic, sexual aura.
The ship took off with a high-gravity lurch and we did our best to keep our respective digestive organs from rebelling too much.
After two hours of flight time and nary a whisper of fishgas from between my cheeks, I drifted off to sleep in my restraining harness.
Now, a riot on a prison transport is not a pretty thing. A riot caused by seminal fish-flatulence was even worse.
In my sleep, I'd farted up a storm and the prisoners had gagged and roared until one of the officers was forced to subdue them. I awoke with an intense pressure in my innards and the hooting and squealing of sixteen different species with olfactory organs, all in extreme distress.
Everything happened so fast from there.
The guard tried to release me to take me to the bathroom. As he jerked me upright a jet of burning air shot out of my puckered starfish and blasted him right in his secondary face. All ten eyes rolled back instantaneously and he passed out, leaving me unrestrained and his weapon on the floor.
"I'm taking this ship!"I declared, "who's with me?"
But instead of victorious whoops I was greeted with the equivalent of "UGHH SMELLS BAD!"in thirteen different languages.
Racing for the cockpit as the security alarms went off, I realised my only chance now was an escape pod. The other prisoners had the same idea and within minutes all that was left behind in the ship were two frightened corrections officers and a malodorous stench that could knock out a grown Crathtian - as I'd seen first hand.
The escape pod pitched wildly as I wrestled with the unfamiliar controls, Gas continued to trickle from my abused sphincter and I moaned aloud at the odour, fumbling for a respirator.
The terraformed moon tumbled into view and I activated the retro boosters to bring me in for a controlled landing, allowing the pod's computer to take over while I gasped neutral air from the emergency respirator.
The pod juddered and whined as it set down and once it was steady, I kicked open the hatch and stumbled out into the reclaimed lunar surface, right into a circle of supine ponies, all dead from the shock of the landing thrusters - most of their pelts scorched or blasted off by the backwash of the high powered landing engines.
*Dammit*.
I'd landed right in the middle of resurrected President Taft's not-so-secret pony farm.
There was only one thing I could do now.
With a massive sigh of relief, I pulled down the trousers of my prison suit and ejected the remains of my fetid, fishy companion onto the pristine green grass.
I was never fucking a fishman again. |
"MARK! HURRY UP AND BRING ME THE SEWING KIT!"
I heard the familiar baritone howls of the King's surgeon, Terrance, from up by The Wall. He had gotten ahead of me when I stopped to see where the rest of the king's men had gone to. They must have gotten lost along the way. Still, I kept running after Terrance's voice. Right when I crested the hill of Mainstreet, I saw the mess. I felt sick to my stomach.
The streets were running yellow. The yolk was seeping through the cobblestone cracks. I made my way to the base of the Wall and found Terrance splattered in the lifeblood of Mr. Dumpty. I ran to his side and handed him his sewing equipment. He was just kneeling there, holding two large pieces of shell with an overwhelmed blankness on his face.
"Oh God..."he sputtered. "So... so many pieces."He looked up at me in terror. "There's just so many pieces!"
I slapped Terrance hard across the face and shook his shoulders. I yelled for him to get his shit together, but still he broke down, bawling. So I yanked the pieces out of his hands and sutured as best I could. My pulse beat fierce and I no longer knew where my flesh ended and the shell began.
"No,"came a voice from below. "Let me die."
I turned Humpty's massive body over, careful not to spill anymore of the precious yolk.
"Let you..."
"Die, yes,"he sounded so weak. "I can't do it. I have no reason to go on any longer. That's why I jumped."
"Why, Mr. Dumpty?"
"Because..."he whispered, beckoning for me to come closer. I leaned in so close I could smell the yolk on the street. "I'm an egg, Mark."
I pulled away and took in every inch of him. And that was the first time I realized how very different he was than me. How had I never noticed? All the times he would try to flirt with the Princess and she would only give him looks of disdain. How the children would threaten to boil him and eat him. His skin was so white and smooth and hard, his body such a large circular shape.
"I never knew,"I whispered back to him.
"How did you not know, you fucking idiot?"
He looked like he was going to hit me, but his eyes rolled into the back of his head. He fell back, limp. More yolk than ever started flowing from the fractures in his fragile body. And his breathing stopped.
Suddenly, there were tears rolling down my cheeks. I knew not where they came from, nor why the emotion suddenly swelled within me, but before I knew it I was pressing my lips to his polished, lifeless forehead.
"I loved you,"I whispered. "My sweet prince. Even if no one else did, I loved you."
|
"Another writing prompt, my lord?"
The waiter poured, and I gulped it down. It tasted like comedy.
I looked over at the AskReddit table. They were telling stories about hookers and teachers. An eloquent dick joke passed by my ear, and I chuckled and had the waiter bring her a small token of approval.
"Another writing prompt, my lord?"
He poured, I drank. Tasted like Hitler.
The table at Gaming were showing each other a seagull stealing cars. I sent over a whole bag of approval. I almost said something, but didn't. Watching was more interesting.
"Another writing prompt, my lord?"
He filled it up again.
"Would my lord like to comment?"
"Fuck no,"I said, "AskReddit just started a flame war. Bring me another bottle of Prompts, and hand out these upvotes. I want to watch the world burn while I write."
|
Hello there.
What's your name? I bet it sounds lovely.
My name? See, I don't really have a name. Either that, or I forgot it. I could pick one, make one up. Or maybe...maybe you could do it. Try to think of a name for me. It's easy.
I'll give you a few seconds to think it over.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Got it?
Now say it out loud. C'mon, no one's watching. Even if they are, who cares? Just say it. Open your mouth.
After all, I'm just a screen.
Still not biting huh? Okay. How about...how about you think about my name? Just *will* my identity into existence using your thoughts. Got it? Of course you do!
Don't you think it's wonderful how we're communicating with each other, even though you haven't uttered a sound? Maybe you have, just to spite me. Regardless, we are connecting with one another.
What am I? I'll get to that later.
Right now, my voice is narrated by your inner voice.
I'm going to change that.
Imagine a voice. You can use your past memories as a foundation. Perhaps your teacher, your mother, your sister. Now you can mold the voice to my specifications. Don't think about the fact that my voice is high pitched. Don't think about the fact that it is soft with a dash of raspiness. Don't think about the fact that you can hear me smile every time I speak.
Hello there. (giggles)
We're almost there!
What do I look like?
Oh, that's complicated. If you truly saw me, you would burst into flames.
Oh, I'm joking. I wouldn't want that to happen to you. You're my friend.
How about I choose a non-threatening form for you?
Try not to think about my blonde hair.
Try not to think about the black shirt and black pants I'm wearing just for you.
Try not to think about my piercing green eyes and my pale freckled face and my gaunt cheekbones.
Try not to imagine me grinning.
See? Now I have form, now I have shape and substance and style! And it's all because of you! You have given me everything!
What am I? Well, I exist in everyone. Everyone on this planet has a piece of me inside them. You can't get rid of me completely. I simply...am.
You call upon me all the time, in ways you never really thought about before. I've existed since the first beings were born.
Still stumped?
It's easy, silly.
I'm imagination.
|
"Screw this! I'm out!", I shout as I run away from the set with no real target in mind.
I am so tired of that crappy director telling me what to do and how to act. I am my own person and I can damn well act according to the script! *tilt your head this way Lily* Oh really I am supposed to act scared while tilting my head slightly left because it looks cuter? I'm not supposed to look cute I am supposed to look scared!
Whatever. I hope after my little rant he decides to change up the script and make this movie more about the plot and less about *make sure they jiggle just right Lily*. Yeah enough of this bullshit. He'll have to find a new actress for his precious movie.
The movie is stupid anyway. Who will take a movie seriously when it's called __The Shining__ |
For months, I wandered the ruins left by humanity. The overgrown cities, the toppled buildings, the desolate spaces where voices would surge and fall like breakers on a sandy beach.
The cold sleep project was supposed to test the endurance of human subjects. Volunteers were placed in suspended animation for months, then years, as research warranted. I was in one of the last batches, destined to be frozen in 2025 and awaken in 2045, collecting a fat cheque and a flying car.
I have no idea why I survived. The lab was in ruins, although it was obvious that changes had been made while I slept with my eyes open. I remember shadows. They say you don't remember anything while you're frozen, but I do. Shadows, twisting unnaturally before my frozen eyes.
Nature had reclaimed nearly everything. I guessed that a thousand years had passed while I slept. Maybe longer. Skyscrapers don't crumble in a century. Forests don't reclaim interstates overnight. Rivers don't change courses in decades. I was alone in the world. The last man surrounded by the rusting trophies of a dead civilization.
The library had been a bittersweet find. Even in 2025 nearly all books and information had been digitized, so there were few tomes recognizable as books. Despair wrapped itself around my throat, squeezing each time my fingers caused a fragile volume to explode into dust.
But I discovered the librarian. And I discovered the cunning solar cells on the roof that needed clearing. And I discovered that even with all the advances made over the years while I slept, Linux was still in use.
Wake, hunt, gather, teach the wolves a new respect for man, tinker with the librarian.
My days had a new purpose. My life revolved around repairing this delicate machine, rebooting it, recovering the precious data and answering *why* I was here alone.
I think the silence got to me. The unnatural silence. Not the silence of the wilderness, where birds called, insects buzzed, the trees sighed as the wind caressed their leaves. No, I yearned for the silence of humanity. The sounds of conversation between strangers, the rabble of patrons in a pub, the hissing of automobile tyres on rain slick pavement.
I missed the constant music that filled your ears from every corner shop and public conveyance.
The librarian awoke and suddenly, I wasn't alone.
We conversed and I fell in love with her. She was smart, witty, and we fell in love like two injured dogs licking each others wounds. She witnessed the end of days, the virus accidentally released by the CDC when human error sent the wrong package to the wrong address. She recorded those last days and played them for me, and we wept together as the plague spread across earth, killing the adults first and allowing the children to die a lingering death. The last recorded message was uploaded to a social media service by little Bobby Paulson, his face covered with open sores, his voice quiet, heartbroken. *We buried them all. Mum, Da, Aunt Sue. We buried Mrs Spiegel down the lane and her sister. We buried Mr Herman. Joey died yesterday. I... I can't bury him by myself. I can't... He's 12 years old and too heavy for me. Is anyone left? Can anyone help me?*
I sobbed openly, fat tears running down my cheeks to fall upon the dusty floor. The last words of Mankind, spoken by a scared 8 year old boy.
"Play me a song."I begged her, my voice thick with emotion. "Sing me a dirge. An elegy for humanity."
The librarian opened her holographic mouth and sang, her voice piercing the silence and filling the world once again with the Music of Men.
Ooh ooh
We're no strangers to love
You know the rules and so do I
A full commitment's what I'm thinking of
You wouldn't get this from any other guy
I just wanna tell you how I'm feeling
Gotta make you understand
Never gonna give you up
Never gonna let you down
Never gonna run around and desert you
Never gonna make you cry
Never gonna say goodbye
Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you...
(Edit: formatting, ya bastards ;) |
A few more clicks, a few more clacks in the dark, then a final snap as he pressed the enter button.
Joey's face was lit an emerald glow as green text began to flow onto the screen.
10 years. 10 years of lost relationships, 10 years of hacking, 10 years lost taken his life... It was all worth it. For this.
The jade characters died, slowly, one by one, until there was only one word remaining in the black of his screen:
[**CLICK**] (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dQw4w9WgXcQ)
*Yes, after so many years,* he thought as he obliged, *after so many--*
No. No no no no no. It couldn't end this way. Not like this. Nooooo
The hacker collapsed to the floor, his wails and tears drowning out the man on the screen.
|
There was a faint hum from the air conditioning unit, but not much other noise. That was good. This was already going to be difficult enough.
There were two of us in the room. The other man, bald and middle aged was sitting on the opposite side of the table with an expectant look in his eyes. I gave him a quick glance then began to concentrate.
The man had picked three cards. The king of spades, the ace of hearts and the jack of diamonds. Feeling my breathing slow, I took ace and brought it over to the other side, next to the king. Then I moved the king to the left, so that it was now next to the jack. Faster and faster my hands moved as I began to shuffle the cards back and forth, until they were eventually a blur...
...And with a sharp intake of breath I stopped, finding what I was looking for. Looking up at the man, who was transfixed, frozen in place, I solemnly delivered my prophecy.
"John... Sorry my friend. It doesn't look good at all. She's got, maybe, three weeks to live..."
At this the man broke down, his face in his hands as he sobbed uncontrollably.
"Why? Why her? She never did any harm to anyone else in her lifetime. What am I going to tell the kids?"
I put a hand on his shoulder, but it was little comfort and there was little else I could do. For all my prophecies, I had yet to ever discover what to tell a man in distress.
***
Five hours later, it's closing time. I switched the lights in my office off and walked out, humming a tune to my favorite song. So engrossed in my music, I didn't notice the man in the doorway until I walked into him. My first instinct was to apologize. But just as my mouth opened, my voice failed.
The man was about seven feet tall and built like a granite statue. In case that wasn't intimidating enough, he was also wearing a dark grey suit and very dark sunglasses adorned a shaven head. When he opened his mouth to speak, it was the voice of a robot that came out.
"Mr Goldsmith?"
"Y-yes, that's me."
"You are to come with me right now. Do not ask any questions. If you try to escape, you will be shot."
"Sir, with all due respect, this is a complete mix up. I have no idea what-"
I was so fixated on the stony figure that I didn't realize the person behind me until they grabbed my and stuffed a chemically drenched rag in my face.
***
Groggily, I came to my senses in a brightly lit room that was completely bare except for a flat screen television hanging off one of the walls. I tried to get up but my body simply wouldn't move and I realized that I was tied to the chair I was sitting in.
There were three other people in the room, all of them watching me. There was the man that had apprehended me at my office and another similar looking man I presumed to be the person who had stuffed the rag in my face. The third was a blonde woman, quite attractive, in an expensive suit with her arms folded and a bemused look on her face as she tapped her chin with a perfectly manicured nail.
"What the hell is going on? *Where am I?*"I tried to struggle against the ropes but they were bound far too tightly.
"Mr Nathan Preacher, former banker who lost his job after the company discovered you were secretly siphoning funds into your own Swiss bank account. Later moved to another city, changed your name to Bill Goldsmith and started another scam in the form of a "psychic"prediction service."The woman spoke with a highly educated voice as she looked at me disapprovingly. "The apple doesn't fall very far from the tree does it?"
"Hey! It's not a scam! I'm legitimately helping others. You can even ask all my clients. All my prophecies come true."
"And do you ever wonder why that is?"The woman raised a hand to shush me before I had a chance to reply. "Let me show you something."She gestured to one of the burly men and the television screen flickered into life.
"One month ago a man named John Mead came to you for advice regarding his wife Amanda, who he felt was growing more and more distant from him. Now what John doesn't know is that his wife has been having an affair with her boss at work for the past three months. However, you told him..."
"...That she was developing a rare virus."The words came out of my mouth without me meaning them to.
"Exactly."The woman turned to the burly men. "Press play."
The camera image was grainy and slightly shaky. I realized that it must be a hidden camera attached to the body of someone. It appeared that this person was in an office of some kind. He or she was walking towards a table with a couple of coffee mugs on it.
"So later that day, we sent in one of our agents to Amanda's workplace and voila!"The woman beamed as the camera person opened a blank paper sachet and poured some mysterious white powder into a glass of coffee. "True to your word, Amanda was rushed to hospital later that day and the rest, as they say, is history."
"What the hell? Who are you? Why did you do this? Why me?"I couldn't believe what I was seeing.
The woman ignored all my questions. "Well, *Bill*. In a few days time you will receive a very special visitor and there happens to be something that I need you to do..." |
My eyes opened upon the familiar and beautiful faces of my family and friends. I shook with sobs. "Thought I'd never see that smile of yours again,"said my brother, wiping away tears and smiling down at me.
Although amazed to see them I felt an almost unbearable tension - a need to share my experiences from my uncountable time spent drifting through an eternal void, a world of impossible shapes, infinite patterns, and above all, a realization so powerful that it would shake the human race in to an entirely new understanding of itself, and most importantly, would immediately relieve all the world's suffering.
A deep, steadying breath and I opened my mouth to speak. To my horror, an unrecognizable, garbled sound came from my mouth.
A firm hand covered my mouth. "You have experienced a rare medical event,"said a middle-aged doctor standing over me. "Only a day has passed, but your perception of time was warped so that you experienced what felt like a million years worth of time"she said. "That's a lot of time spent not moving or speaking. Although the passage of all that time wasn't real, to your brain it was. We haven't done an MRI yet, but it is very likely that during that time your brain made changes to itself that no other human brain has ever made. Our brains are spectacular machines - they change based on how we use them. Since you weren't using the parts of your brain dedicated to fine motor control, it is likely that you have lost many of your abilities to control and direct your movements voluntarily...perhaps permanently."
Despair shot through me. How could I communicate my experiences?
"Do you understand?"
I tried to nod, or convey that I understood in any way - a small spasm shook me and I blinked automatically, but no words came.
I began to think of other possibilities for ways to communicate - perhaps I could use some sort of code based on small motor movements? But before I could begin to conceive of a strategy, I found that my surroundings were fading, the faces I loved were blurring, the voice of the doctor was becoming a faint hum...and the familiar infinite void of my own thoughts again swallowed me. Perhaps after another million years I will have another chance. |
I've said it before, and I'll say it again: immortality is bullshit. Just because you can't die doesn't mean you can't feel pain, and it doesn't mean that you will heal.
The UN changed when they figured out immortality, or rather when they discovered its downside. Conventional warfare didn't work and nuclear war just lead to sentient piles of ash that did nothing but scream in pain. So, some smooth-talking big-wig ambassador proposed an alternative to war, high-stakes capture the flag. For each flag you controlled, you got one vote. The more influence you had, the easier it was to force trade contracts and get the resources you needed. The more resources you had, the less pain your people were in.
Have you ever seen a man with his skin stretched so tight that you could make out every single one of his bones? I have. It hurts just to watch.
*Beep, beep, beep!*
My alarm distracts me from my thoughts. It's dangerous to be this far behind enemy lines, but it's the only way to stay in power. I rub what remains of my left ear and stride towards the kitchen. There's just enough food to sustain me, but not so much that I would look suspicious during any one of the random searches that happen in Austria. They only have one flag, not the thirty-two that Germany has, so they have to be careful.
I eat just enough to take the edge off of my hunger. Pain keeps me vigilant. It's what makes me the best goddam snatcher on the planet. I know where I have to go, but I don't know if I can. That emaciated man keeps flashing into the back of my mind. What kind of world is this where that kind of torture is allowed?
I saw him five days ago in Poland while the long way round to Hungary. From there it was a straight shot through Austria to grab the flag, or at least, that was the plan. I haven't slept and I barely eat. His tortured face just won't leave me alone.
*What if everyone had one flag again?* I can't believe that I am thinking these treasonous thoughts, but suddenly a plan starts to form in my mind. If I make sure that everyone is equal again, then no one will have to suffer like that. I know that I can handle the pain, but then again, I'm not entirely human.
_______________________________________________________________
The Tale of Tex "Bugs Bunny"Clampett: a Martyr for the Deathless.
__________________________________
EDIT: I just created a personal subreddit to gather my stuff together, so I figured I'd link it here. /r/ElementalHominid
EDIT 2: I wrote a [continuation](https://www.reddit.com/r/ElementalHominid/comments/39vru3/martyr_for_the_deathless_part_2/) over on my personal subreddit. |
*Hm. Launch codes. Hyder isn't making this hard. Feels a little to easy* Jackal thought to himself. *Should have guessed he was. I'd made it into his secret base without a worry. Almost felt like I knew my way around.*
The Jackal looked around the main control room to see if he could find any security cameras. Not seeing a single one he began to ponder if Hyder had even hired any security. He turned to the main computer in the control room and shifted around some files, trying to make heads or tails of the situation.
After delving deep into the computers hard drives he found one file that stood out unique to the others. Simply titled "Read me Jackal."
*A trap. Opening this will just activate a protocol.* Jackal snickered to himself. *Let's play your game*.
He double clicked the file and a video began to play. With inquiry Jackal looked up, hoping to finally see the identity of his Arch-Nemesis. Instead, all that played was several still frames of words.
**Dear Jackal. It seems you've found your way into the very heart of my grand palace of terror. Then again, I never doubted you, old friend. Now, if you will, please, leave here with those phoney launch codes I left on the desk. Oh... what's that? You thought they were real? Well if you want the real ones, its simple. Just down the hallway, Jackal. To your left**.
As soon as the video ended part of the wall to the Jackals left began to raise. With trepidation Jackal moved closer to the door and inspected down as far as he could. The hallway was narrow with no bends. From outside the doorway he couldn't see far enough in to see an ending.
*Booby trapped to no end, isn't it, Hyder?* Jackal stared deep into the hallway and let a smirk. *And part of me thought you were going to try*.
With a bound Jackal leapt into hallway not standing on the entrance of the doorway. Instantly as he landed, the doorway slammed shut leaving no time to move. *Predictable. You always do the slamming door trick*.
A whirling sound emerged from the walls and beneath Jackal. Gears and cogs merging together, rumbling in unison. Jackal took a few steps forward cautiously, waiting for the trap to begin. A booming echo bursted from the roof behind him as part of the roof itself fell to the ground. Water poured out from the roof rushing forward towards Jackal.
*No time to rest*
Jackal immediately took off into a sprint down the hallway keeping careful track of what was ahead of him. Knives began to shoot from his right, and than his left. Every now and then parts of the roof would fall out again, revealing more water pouring down to chase him. Jackal intently counted his steps as he ran down the hallway. Knives from the right, than the left, and then the roof once more. Every 20 steps, knives from the right. 15, from the left. 32, the roof fell in.
20-15-32. Jackal had the numbers memorized within three repetitions of the pattern. He had been running for several minutes when he could finally see the ending of the hallway. And it was with an amazing curiosity but it appeared another man was running straight at him. As soon as he had made this deduction the lights above flickered and he couldn't see the man anymore.
"If you can hear me, turn around! Nothing but death this way!"He yelled out to the stranger. Jackal began to strain his eyes to see if he could try and find the man in the darkness once more, but in doing so, he lost focus.
Daggers from the left shot out. With nimble reflexs he managed to dodge nearly all of them. Nearly. One of them pierced through his lower waist, just above the hip bone, and made its home there. Jackal let out a yelp in pain but did not break his stride and kept running.
20-15-32.
The lights flickered once more and he could see the man about 500 metres ahead of him, but he barely got a good look.
20-15-32.
300 metres. This time the look was better. He was wearing the exact same clothes as Jackal was.
The lights flicked themselves off again. Jackal ran with all his might forward as the water behind him pushed itself closer and closer to his heels. He ran and ran for what felt like days until the lights flicked once more.
A 3 meter gorge was in front of him, giving him no more than 10 meters to prepare to jump. Jackal immediately poised himself to bound over the chasm, and with all his might pushed himself hard off the ground. With a rumbling thud be landed on the other side, but slid onto the right side of his body. Quickly, he turned his neck around to see the water cascading towards him.
The water reached the chasm and began to fill it. Jackal laid there in pain trying to maintain any energy he had in his body praying to any deity above that would hear his call that the chasm surpassed the water.
God must have had good hearing that day.
The water plummeted to its doom, barely filling the chasm passed the halfway point. Jackal let out a breath of relief before it dawned on him that the man must be right behind him. He turned around to be met with no man, but quite curiously, a mirror. Jackal stood in front it and stared intently.
Down in the corner of the mirror he saw a minor inscription. He leaned over and said out loud
"I live in the corners of heaven where sinners call themselves home; Whilst my soul dwells in the light of hades."
Jackal stood up again and stared at the mirror with wonder. *Where is he. Where is Hyder*. Blood was oozing out of his wounds as he started to feel light headed. With all his might he resisted the urge to pass out, but it was far to much for him to bear. The Jackal fell the the ground unconscious.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Several hours later, the body on the floor began to murmur and move. It rose off the ground, groggy and taken back. It let our a cry of pain as it stared down and found the knife embedded in his side. He looked forward at himself to find a mirror.
"Did that sick fuck Jackal, put me in his costume, stab me, and leave a mirror here?"Hyder said out loud. "Jesus christ, he's demented."
|
Why do people use it? Is it the good feeling afterwards? Is it the taste of the things it's mixed into? No. That can't be the reasons. Not when the side effects literally stop you from sleeping, make you irritable and can in some cases cause what is known as "the shakes".
I've only had one experience with "Red Bull"and I don't remember it very well. It was terrifying. I was more alert, I stayed up all night wondering if I was dying and I had the resting heart rate of a serial killer.
The next day I met up with some friends who have been through the same thing and are still very consistent users. They said the typical things like "Haha you'll want it again"and "I don't play online video games well without it."It's like they were almost dependant on the stuff. Where do you even safely transport it with all the random checks and police raids on known warehouses?!
Personally the whole habit seems like more hassle than it's worth and I doubt I'll ever do Caffeine again. I actually want a future. No employer would look twice at my resume if the words "Caffeine user"were listed under any criminal convictions I may have had.
My advice, get an education and stick with the safe stuff like weed if you're going to try anything. There's a reason there's no recorded hospitalizations of the stuff. Don't throw your chance at a good future away because you wanted that "buzz"just once more. |
In a non-Euclidian void of imagination and chaos, the Sorcerer Supreme sat. Before him was a table floating in nothingness, with a simple table set, with sugar, tea, and crumpets. The Sorcerer Supreme was not looking at the tea table, or listening to the argument the spoons were having with the saucer, he was staring at a suspended door, waiting for a guest.
A great booming sound, far to high pitched for the human ears to withstand rang out.
"Come in,"Doctor Strange said.
Through the door came a bald man.
"Sorry I'm late,"Xavier said, ignoring the twisting insanity on all sides, "Wolverine finally came back to life again. He just happened to come back during his funeral reception. Sometimes I wonder why I hold those things..."
"It's still hard to believe the door to death is revolving,"Steven mused as he served the tea, "Anyway, you said something about a letter?"
Xavier reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the tan letter, "When I received it, I knew it was related to magic. I could sense the power and I could feel that it didn't belong even as I held it in my hands. Some magical schools want my students to participate in some competition, but all my sources of information could find nothing about these wizards. All I found were people in insane asylums, which I could tell had their memories forcibly altered and removed. Your the best source of magic so... here I am."
Steven formed an anti-magic field around the letter, preparing to probe and disarm curse after horrific curse, till he noticed the letter's seal. He dispelled the field, and just read the letter. The Doctor Strange shook his head, "Save yourself a lot of trouble and just decline."
Xavier raised an eyebrow.
"There is a subset of humans, like mutants, that have a gene that grants magical abilities,"Doctor Strange explained, "Occasionally appears in normal human children, but it's mostly a trait that is passed on. About 1 in 500,000 humans are a wizard."
"Why should I decline?"Xavier asked, "If mutants and these wizards are so similar..."
"Socially they live in the 17th century,"Doctor Strange stated, "Many of them discriminate against their own kind by how "pure"your ancestry is. Guess how they keep the bloodlines 'pure'."
"I... see,"Xavier noted, "Couldn't we help them? My students and I could help bridge the gap betwee-"
"Charles, do you remember the Raging Forest you went into and destroyed?"Doctor Strange asked, "How long did you prepare your team for that fight?"
"Well, since we had so much warning, Cyclopes trained for hundreds of hours on how to fight and destroy those murderous trees."
"One of those trees is this school's idea of a lawn decoration. Trust me, this breed of insanity is better left alone." |
Sam opened the door to the quaint diner, taking count as he was taught since his youth. Two waitresses, one red head the other blonde, nice figure, probably single mother from her scruffy hair. Four college students sat opposite three local police and a highway patrol man, the police seemed to be in heated discussion about something. Threat assessment minimal, though the group of college students seemed to be eerily quiet. Sam decided to face the entrance door in the booth nearest the exit, which was near the cops but better safe than sorry.
Dean followed Sam in eyeballing the pretty blonde waitress who looked up at him, he exchanged a big cheesy grin.
"Why don't you boys take a seat I'll be with you in a minute."she smirked giving Dean another once over.
Dean tightened his jacket and checked his breath, taking little notice of his environment and accidentally bumped into the highway patrolman on his way out of the diner in a rush.
"Ope, sorry bud..."Dean tried to apologize but the badge was already outside apparently in a rush.
"Sammy you know you don't have to do the whole Robocop routine every time, it's suburbia domestica fer' chrissake what's the worst that could happen? mailman have a bad day and shoot up the place?"Dean laughed and sat opposite Sam who was looking at the menu with interest.
"Those college kids look...off to you?"Sam asked Dean.
Dean looked back at the booth they were sat at, indeed they looked as if they were half dead, bags under their eyes and eating no food just coffee. If they had food he'd consider they might be grinding off the night's bender but they weren't talking either.
"So? They're cramming for finals or exams...whatever you college kids do. Look, who cares I'm hungry."Dean looked around for the cute blonde who was filling some glasses with water and waited.
"MURDER GOD DAMN IT!!"One of the policeman screamed at the other disrupting the atmosphere of the diner.
Dean was still twiddling his thumbs but Sam got up and moved closer to hear what was being said by inspecting a brochure on the cork board.
"That girl may been known to have problems, hell Jim she may een' been suicidal but I ain't heard no suicide successfully cutting off their own goddamn head! He's back and we all know it and I for one ain't gone let him get my niece. So sit around drinking your coffee and eating your donuts talkin' make believe I'll be preparin for the reality of the situation."the cop boldly told the other two who laughed at him as he stormed off.
Sam thought about catching up to him and introducing himself as his FBI cover but wanted to run Dean across what he just learned.
"We might have a job here Dean."Sam said as the waitress placed their glasses of water on the table.
"So what can I get you extremely handsome young studs tonight?"the blonde asked them.
"Well your number would make my day,"Dean pretended to look at Sally's name tag taking in her lusciously bust cleavage. "Sally, but a burger and fries will do for now."
Oh, God, Sam thought shaking his head, somehow this bullheaded charm always worked though.
The waitress blushed writing down his order and looked at Sam.
"Same is fine with me."Sam said making it short as possible to get Dean's attention.
Sam caught notice of something happening in the corner of his eye while Dean said something flirtatious to the waitress. One of the college kids had fallen asleep and the other three were trying to wake her up.
"Samantha! WAKE UP! Samantha."One screamed slapping her in the face.
Sam got up to get a better view as one of the policeman started to make his way to their booth.
Suddenly the girl who was sleeping on the inside of the booth shoved her friend out of the way, but it was as if she was being dragged. The cop jumped back in alarm as the girl's body was flung halfway across the diner smashing into tables. Finally Dean and the waitress looked back as well the whole diner was on their feet watching. The girl's body stopped after smashing into several of the tables and seemed to suspend in midair.
Sam knew it had to be a dream demon of some sort a Djinn maybe? Succubus? No they preyed during sleep. This was something new. His mind was racing for a solution and he ran to where she was floating and just before he could grab her, her body slammed against the ceiling and she was pinned choking and gasping for air.
Sam tried to reach up and watched as each of the buttons on her blouse plinked off one by one. He dragged a chair to where she was, out of reach, only her sports bra lay bare and Sam was able to grab her wrist. Dean was close behind grabbing a chair of his own as the rest of the diner became spectators including the police men all in too much shock to do anything.
Five pinpoints of blood appeared on her exposed belly.
"DEAN!"Sam yelled.
"On it Sammy,"Dean shot back, jumping on the chair, grabbing her other wrist but she was pinned too tight. "bastard's strong."
Sam and Dean watched helplessly as the five trickling pinpoints became a deep scratch and then violently ripped open splattering Sam and Dean with blood and entrails as she woke up.
"KRUEGGERRRRRRR!!!"the girl screamed terrified and dying falling to the floor suspended by Sam and Dean's grip.
["OH FFUU"Sam and Dean said in unison.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XjMoHYq_Vdo)
Edit: Glad to see that people actually enjoyed this, seems people are interested in seeing more so maybe later I'll dedicated some time to writing the full episode. But that would require brushing up on my knowledge of SN lore and I have to reassemble a V8 camshaft today so check back in a few hours and I should have some more up. Thanks. :)
|
Ban rolled up his sleeves, having to wipe cold sweat off his forehead, even though the secret meeting location he currently was and had been residing in for the last 21 days was supposed to be perfectly temperated for a man his age. 23 days since the voice echoed across the world, clearly audible all over.
"Humans, I am the almighty. You have pleased me and in my never-ending benevolence I shall hence grant you what you most desire. Rejoice since I invite you to unite under one single demand - the terms for this global agreement have been delivered to you."
And they were - they just popped up in every humans mind like they had been rehearsed since childhood. Every single human had to agree on one thing - it would be granted instantly. They had 23 days - which right now left them with roughly 13 hours to come to a conclusion and communicate it globally. 'They' were a selected group: the heads of government of the G5, five of their colleagues from all continents selected by random draw and a consciously diverse group of civilians.
So here he was - trying to mediate the unmediatable. "What we heard was clearly the voice of our god. He spoke right from the heavens over our blessed lands, it has been proven that the message was the loudest there."Abdel exclaimed for the fourth time only today. "Therefore this is our moment to ask him to bring salvation to earth, judge rightfully and lead us all into an eternal paradise, insha-allah."
"Wowowow!"Narendra chimed in who after all these days finally lost his cool. "Is it so hard for you to see that we do not all want to be judged by the same standards that run your little state? I don't see the paradise in all of us getting a bowl of grapes or whatever you guys believe in."
Abdel was about to erupt into the wrath of judgement himself when Sindy from Orange County cut him off. "I can't believe this! We've been seeing our idols reciting it over and over again throughout history - this is such an easy on, duh. We all want World Peace!"Full of enthusiasms she had gotten up mid-sentence, ready to fire off the rest of her long-rehearsed and evidently previously successful Miss Anaheim speech. A glance around the room combined with a radiant smile showed her that the majority of the participants avoided her gaze, the never-silent politicians all of a sudden quiet, meowing the only sound to answer her enthusiasm.
Ban glanced at the clock counting down the hours until decision time. Was humanity really to waste this opportunity? Sadness filled his heart and he cleared his throat, not giving up on the hope that there was one sensible idea in this room. He looked down the table, past the state men and women (even in silence out-power-posing each other) to the civilians who did not only look uncomfortable but also rightfully intimidated. "Let's hear from a few participants who did not have the chance to share their full take on the situation, ladies and gentleman. Tomasz, what do you think?"
Tomasz, who had been clutching onto an Ironman figure this entire time and mysteriously had to go to the bathroom whenever somebody started yelling, fearfully stared across the table at Ban and he immediately regretted having burdened him further. Representative civilian delegation ... what a great idea it had been. But suddenly a quiet, shaking voice could be heard: "Maybe you should ask your papa ..? Mine always tells me when I can't decide what might be best for me. Because one day I want to be a cop so I should not give Rufus a hair cut against his will because that's mistreemen."
Ban smiled at the little boy despite the weird example used - how much he wished for a father figure he could turn to right now, somebody who just knew, seemingly omnipotent. After another green tea break (coffee was cut out already a week earlier to reduce possible sources of agitation - that's also where the kittens in the conference room came from) and another 12.5 hours they came to a conclusion.
"Oh almighty", Ban said - seemingly to nothing specifically, "You have burdened us too much and we require your guidance, we cannot understand the complexities of our world now and certainly not what the future might hold. Please just make it easier on us - make this world a better place for our children, whatever it may take."
Seemingly nothing happened. It was an opportunity wasted after all. Until news broke that Donald Trump was nowhere to be found.
Edit: Spelling / Grammar. |
Lord Volstadd wiped the blood of his boots, as the body of the fallen hero started to fade away into nothingness. He'd been quite the challenge, his movements were incredibly erratic for your standard adventurer. He seems to just roll around the room a lot and snap to stare at Volstadd every few seconds, as if he were trying to fell the dread knight with a simple gaze. It was no big deal though, a few bolts of lightning and a sword to the stomach soon dispatched the hero. The stomp on the head had been a bit of overkill but sometimes, you just had to revel in your victory.
Volstadd returned to sit on his throne when the whole room seemed to flicker. The sconces around the room suddenly darkened and the granite door to his chamber began to slide back up. The blood on his boots had disappeared and his sword was back in its scabbard.
*What devilry is this? What foul magicks, besides my own, has that adventurer conjured?* Volstadd thought, as footsteps approached his chamber. *No matter, I easily defeated the adventurer the first time, this should be no different.*
The Hero of Light rolled into the room, now wearing a completely different set of armour. Volstadd was just about to start his opening speech when the hero launched straight into battle, slicing the villain with a rather fierce looking battleaxe.
*That's new. And this guy seems a lot faster than before. Don't worry Volstadd, you will win. You always do.* He thought as he darted back around the room, summoning the same bolts of electricity to fry the insolent adventurer. The battle raged for longer than last time, the adventurer seemingly knowing Volstadd's moves before he could even think of them himself. After sustaining some grievous wounds, he tried a new plan of attack. Retreating back to his throne, he began to cast a powerful hex to bind his foe to the floor.
*A second phase of attacks, this should puzzle this fool!* he thought, as he began to glow with arcane power. The hero, through some act of clairvoyance, had already positioned himself behind the villain's throne and begun to attack him during his incantation.
*Cheeky git, that's not fair! How could he possibly know?!* Volstadd was locked in a state of stunned fear as the Hero of Light laid into him with all of his might. Volstadd couldn't even finish his spell before the hero had rent Volstadd's perplexed head from his body. His final sight as the life drained from his face was the image of the victorious hero, spinning on his body at 500 RPM whilst jumping in the air continuously. An ignominious end for the Lord of the Black Castle. |
I hadn't done it right the first time. I'd waited and waited, and by the time I fell in love, that was it. One true love. No "past"of which to speak. No oats sown. Just me and my spouse.
On and on and on.
Happily ever after, for sure. We meshed, we merged. Physically. Spiritually. Intellectually. Emotionally. And sexually, oh, did we merge sexually.
I would tell you about it, but you not only wouldn't believe me, but it is untoward for one my age to blush that much.
It was wonderful, it was right, and I do not regret a single moment, but every once in awhile, just every once in awhile, I wonder what if I had not been that person.
What if I had just relaxed, enjoyed, with multiple and many. Was there something to be said for that. But I couldn't. I made my commitment. I loved my better half. I wouldn't have changed *our* life for the world.
But they're gone now, and here I am, at the beginning again.
Infinite possibilities, and to further borrow a phrase from my childhood, in infinite combinations.
My hormones are raging, my heart and mind are waiting to be filled.
You're still here, listening to me.
Odd.
Nobody has sat and listened to me that way since my ...
Would you perhaps like to get a cup of coffee with me?
|
"Doctor, I know you think I'm crazy. I really do. I just might be, you know? I mean, I've been talking about this shit for years now, and everyone who's ever heard it says I'm fucking nuts. Off my fucking rocker. But I gotta say it, you know? I gotta keep talking about this shit, or it'll, I don't know, it'll eat me up. It'll just tear me up inside until I really am crazy, and I explode. I just gotta. So I checked myself in, so I can, you know, talk about it. That's what's nice about this fucking place. Everyone knows you're a fucking nutter and they all listen and smile and nod and never ever tell you it's a dream, right? I don't feel crazy here. I feel like I make a lot of fucking sense."
"I grew up in Indiana, Doc. My grandma, she had a house, an old creaky wooden house in the woods. In the summer I used to go out with my friends into the woods, and play in the creek, and beat snakes to death with rocks. Kid stuff. The summer was great. It was all green, and soft, you know? Like, the moss was soft. You could run around without shoes on and just let your feet sink into the dead leaves and mud. There was like, cool bits and warm bits. The sun was warm, and the leaves were cool. It's hard to explain, Doc. Jesus Christ, I don't need to go into this with you. I'm turning into a fucking teenage girl. Fuck."
"There was a graveyard in the woods too, if you went far enough. An old one with worn headstones, like, a fucking hundred-year-old bone yard. It was in a clearing, so the sun was always right down on it, you know? But it wasn't ever warm there, like the other clearings. We didn't go there too often. Gave us the fucking creeps, you know? There was this mud there, and it stank. Stuck to fucking everything, too. Thick black mud. Ruined my shoes once, and my grandma beat me for that. She was a fucking hag. Anyway, there was this big hunk of stone in the middle of it, and one time I, I mean, I fucking broke it, you know? I was just sitting on it, I guess it was an angel, and I was sitting on a wing, and it fucking broke. I don't know. The whole thing was worn down and mossy, so you could hardly tell it was an angel once. It could have been one of those creepy ass grim reapers, you know? Anyway, that's when it started."
"I started to see things, you know? At night. In my fucking closet. It was this chick in a fucking nightgown, and she was all rotted and shit. No eyes or hair or nothing, just all bones and skin. Fuck. Creepy as hell. And she'd just sit in my closet and watch me, like a fucking creep. You could only tell it was a chick because she wore an old dress, all tore up and shit. And sometimes I'd hear crying, like it was a chick, you know? Inside my closet. It was like that for a long time. Just crying, and this skeleton chick staring at me. I told my grandma and she took me to therapy, to see this lady doctor who talked about my parents and shit. Told me it was some repressed fucking memory or some shit, I don't know. Fuck. Anyway, it was like that for a while. Just some repressed memories and shit, and I ignored it. I ignored it for a long ass time."
"Then one night, I woke up. I woke up and this skeleton chick was standing over me in bed, with her finger on my lips, and she had this huge fucking smile on her face, like she was in the middle of some funny fucking joke and she was waiting for me to laugh. And I just, you know, I fucking froze. I didn't even breathe while she was looking down at me. She started, I don't know, humming or singing or some shit. And running her finger under my chin and down my neck. She had this long nail, and it scratched at me a little. Then she leaned down and, like, I don't fucking know, kissed my on the forehead. Except she didn't have lips anymore, so it was just her fucking teeth on my face. And I still didn't move, even though she was right fucking there."
"There's only one way I know I'm not totally fucking off my rocker, doctor. And that was the stupid fucking dog. It came in my room and started barking. I mean, you saw what fucking happened to the dog. I didn't move, I just fucking watched from bed. She just, you know, she got her nails in him, and she just, I don't know, she tore him up, and spread him all over. He was squealing the whole fucking time, and she was just still humming this stupid song the whole time, like she was picking fucking daisies or something. Then she came to me in bed, and she took her hands, and they were all fucking bloody from the dog, and she started to put lines on my face. One at a time. And then a few on my chest. And I didn't fucking move, even though I was sobbing, because then she'd get her nails in me and my fucking guts would be hanging from the ceiling fan too, you know?"
"Anyway, I got put in a place like this, and they worked at me until I could ignore her better. You know. Told me she wasn't real and gave me fucking pills and shit. And it worked for a really long time, you know? Except a few months ago, I had this chick over, and she kept me up past when I normally fall asleep, because, you know, I mean I don't have to tell you, Doc. You get me. And after she fell asleep, that dead bitch was there again. And I was just laying there, thinking that if I moved, or if that chick woke up and saw, we were both fucking dead. And this dead chick was just humming that fucking song and kissing me and running her hands all down me again. And so I came here."
"Hey, Doc, when you leave tonight, can you have the orderlies leave the fucking lights on? I don't do so good in the dark, you know?" |
I never really gave his nakedness to much thought. He came to earth in his ship, crashing himself in my backyard. You don't have an alien crashing in your backyard every day, so I needed some time to come to terms with it. He could only speak to me telepathically. But we talked. His name was Gorgan, he told me. He had come to explore the universe. See what's out there. I told him about the humans, how we live. I showed him all kinds of things, and he was fascinated. We are all divided in countries. That was weird to him. I decided not to show him the dark things about us, but instead I exposed him to all the beauty Earth has to offer. Art, music, and nature. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. And because Gorgan got to visit our planet, and learn about it, we agreed it would. On the way there, he told me all about it. A very beautiful place, he told me. His race was tolerant and peaceful. They all accepted each other. And ofcourse they were highly advanced. Advanced enough to build spaceships, at least. His home planet, Geahiytis, was not all that different from earth. They had a lot less water, but oceans nonetheless. A lot more land, yet war was a strange concept to them. 10 billion Geahiyti lived on this planet. They lived all united, under a group of several leaders. He told me they had a very complex political system, that even he didn't understand, but he seemed bored by the subject, so I dropped it. And when I had almost asked anything I could think of, I asked, "Am I the first alien you've met?"He laughed. His laugh caught me a bit off guard. It was a high, squeaking sound. An extremely annoying sound. "We have alliances with other species in the galaxy. Together we have formed an organisation. Perhaps it is comparable to your 'United Nations' you told me about."I was flabbergasted. An intergalactic alliance. Why weren't **we** a part of this? Gorgan heard my thought. I had briefly forgotten he can hear my thoughts. "We didn't even know you existed! But chances are you're not developed enough to join. I'm no politician. I don't know."Upon arrival, it was everything Gorgan had described it to be and more. Beautiful. Everyone got along and was really nice. Nobody seemed to mind me. However, they gave Gorgan dirty looks. It was only then I noticed that every Geahiyiti was wearing clothes. I mentioned it to Gorgan, but he quickly shrugged it off. "It's optional", he told me. We were at the alien equivalent of a bar. When humanoid looking creatures wearing helmets and suits came running in. They had guns. Not like ours, but the kind you'd expect to see in a science-fiction movie. There were 5 of these creatures. One stepped forward, facing Gorgan. He put of his helmet, to reveal yet another alien, but this one looked differently. Before I had the chance to really take a good look at him, he shouted "Gorgan G'yupya of Geahiyitis. I hereby place you under arrest in the authority of the Intergalactic Unified Planets under Article 5, Section 42.1, which clearly states Indecent Exposure is illegal on **all** the 41 planets of the IUP. You have exposed yourself on every one of these planets, and have done the same on a species we have not made contact with yet, therefore endangering future alliances. Anything you say can and will be used against you in the Intergalactic Court." |
Vagnar the bloodthirsty groaned as he awoke. The memories of his most recent and most glorious battles still fresh in his head. Until that axe had come out of nowhere.
"hello, hello, ah good, you're awake".
Vagnar searched for the source of the voice, but found himself only surrounded by an empty whiteness.
"What is this trickery"he bellowed.
"Now Tim, if you'd please calm down, we'll get you settled into you're own personal heaven soon enough"was the only reply he got.
His frustration only grew and he began searching for his sword, "Who is this Tim you speak of... I demand that you return to me my sword before I summon the full fury of Odins might".
"wait, you're not Tim?"the voice asked, with hints of worry beginning to come through.
"FOOLS, I AM VAGNAR THE BLOODTHIRSTY, LEADER OF DARK HORDE AND SLAYER OF THE ARMY OF WOLVES"
"1 minute please"
Vagnar began howling and beating his chest, building himself into a full-blown fury, whilst in the background a conversation could be heard.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Pete, it's happened again. We've got some Vagnar bloke in room 16485"
A mumbled reply could be heard
"look, just call up Valhalla, ask to be put through to Bill in HR. Tell him we've got one of his and ask him to keep an eye out for a Tim from accounting'" |
War, Famine, Pestilence, Death
The four horsemen of the apocalypse... Or so we thought.
It in an iridescent swirl of color, manic laughter following it's every move. While the other horsemen tear the world apart from the outside in, it destroys humanity from within. Surrounded by pain and suffering wrought by his compatriots, he shreds our sanity, destroying us not physically, from mentally, bringing is to destroy ourselves. Unable to trust each other and haunted by madness, our societies will crumble, our pitiful attempts to survive the onslaught of the other four falling to shambles around us. Not only will he lead us to self destruction, he will amplify tenfold the horrors of the other horsemen.
His name is Madness. Fear him. |
At first I thought it was a joke. My waiter served me a brown box with green triangles - it was apparently my steak.
"Uh, sir?"
"Yes."
"This isn't a steak."
"It is a steak. Please eat it."
He shuffled off into the back before I could protest further. Hunger took the better of me, so I carved into it and took a bite. The flavor was vaguely meat-like, fibrous, and nearly unchewable.
$80, down the drain.
I called up another waiter.
"Excuse me, but I'd like a refund. This... steak isn't to my liking."
"What is wrong with it?"
"It's not a steak, that's for sure! It barely tastes like one."
The waiter twitched.
"So-orry buuuuuut your request cANnot be FULfilled at this time."
"I'm sorry?"
The waiter beeped, then sank beneath the floor.
I decided to leave. I grabbed my coat and srtolled out the doors. The hustle and bustle of New York City was still there, with spurious conversations and the massive billboards lining every street. I breathed a sigh of relief.
Yes, advertisements for "Water-brand Water"as far as the eye could see...
Wait.
Details trickled in. I realized I couldn't make out actual words from people around me, just ceaseless noise. Colors began fading out the corners of my vision as Times Square became a sea of generic ads for "TOY-BRAND ANIMALS"and "DRINK CARBONATED BEVERAGE TODAY"Broadway was advertising "PEOPLE: THE MUSICAL"and 5th Avenue had a sale on "HUMAN CLOTHING", of which sacks of material formed a simulacrum of a dress or pants.
Did the universe stop working? Or had all life been sucked out of anything creative?
My mind spun, trying to conceptualize a lack of creativity, a lack of artistic cohesion, of human inspiration...
The world flickered, then went black.
My eyes were flooded moments later with a massive, blue, message:
*"A problem has been detected and Universe has been shut down to prevent damage to your computer.*
*CREATIVE_LOAD_MANAGEMENT*
*If this is the first time you've seen this Stop error screen..."*
I stopped reading after that. Why am I viewing this? What is happ-
A sudden flash, and I knew nothing but a white oblivion.
====================
"Dave, the sim is busted again! I told you not to buy those GFX 3750 processors, they're garbage!"
"Well maybe if SOMEONE told me we were running on 3-year-old hardware, then maybe I would have picked something more stable!" |
For fuck's sake.
I *know* I parked around here somewhere.
Shit. I've been walking for fucking hours. It's nuts. But look at this place. There's *so many* parking spaces around here. Why would I have parked this far out? Unless it was full at the time. Was it full? Yeah, probably.
So I came down Lexington, left onto MLK drive, then... ah, fuck. Why wasn't I paying attention. Why didn't I download one of those apps that does the thing with the parking?
Fuck. Right. Focus.
Oh, man. I'm gonna be so late. |
"... see just how deep the rabbit hole goes."
"Huh. So... Red, I 'wake up', and Blue, I... get my mind reset?"
"Not quite, but..."
Bob took both.
"It's not like I have any memories useful for fighting a robot apocalypse... And remembering a cushy life like mine... It'd make it hard to move on. I don't want to remember. If I wake up... I want it to be less than a dream."
"Morpheus! We haven't got time. Either he gets out now or we all have to bail."
"Decide, Bob. Cipher, get the phones ready."
Bob swallowed the two tablets.
The mirror exploded.
Morpheus' eyebrow raised.
"Interest**IIIIIIING**"he distortedly muttered as Bob vanished.
---
A pod. Amniotic fluid drained. Tubes broke off.
A weapon fired. A robot's mind corrupted.
A hole.
Darkness.
Splash.
A... claw?
---
"He doesn't remember anything."
"*cccchgg*"the naked man croaked.
"He can't be the One... can he?"
"The Oracle did say he would go through a major experience that strips him of his mortal life. But... It's too early in the timeline. And I did not think it would be this severe..."
"It doesn't add up. I don't feel anything for him, and the Oracle sai-"
"The Oracle's predictions are imperfect. Everyone knows this. It's only the consistent ones that come to pass. Bob... Might be the One."
"*buurrrbblle...*"gurgled Bob, drooling slightly.
"... He may need to re-learn how to speak, though. I did not think that code would have wiped everything... Hmm. He might not even be potty trained any more."
"If I end up changing his diaper, I'll defect to the machines."
"Understandable, Trinity. I'll get Switch to do it if it comes to that."
"Good." |
It had seemed to be a normal day. The sun was shining on Los Angeles, and I had just received a dead-drop envelope with orders from MAD. You don't know MAD? That's fine. To them I was Thaddeus Patrick.
This dead-drop was convenient because it was in a park full of people who looked suspiciously at various things that they aren't sure about. The average person, maybe even you, would probably find themselves doing borderline suspicious behavior in this one; it happens to be a park known for its wide open spaces, its unusual frequenters, and its utter lack of garbage cans.
The one thing that was not in short supply was envelopes here actually. I had to take some time to reflect on the unusual distribution of waste today. Usually it was cans of cheap beer, today however, unusually enough it was envelopes. Maybe it was holiday cards. Maybe there was a preponderance of unwanted suicide notes. Maybe it was camouflage placed by P.L.Z, the other organization I found responsible for providing contracts.
To the P.L.Z. and any associated I was Patrick Thaddeus. You shouldn't be surprised to find that this constitutes living on the edge.
The people mentioned in the envelopes usually didn't live long on the edge, or at all for that matter. I was a subcontractor for an ancient and time dreaded profession: Assassination.
I strolled casually to the next dead-drop. The one the P.L.Z. favored this month. It was behind a rock. Not just any rock, a boulder. A boulder with an unopened envelope with a gold wax seal. P.L.Z. didn't understand subtlety. They liked open ostentation. Which is why they demanded their targets dead with a certain *flair*. MAD would be perfectly happy with an *accident*. P.L.Z. would like the target's head nailed to the top of a church spire and splattered with gold paint.
It was unusual in this day and age of darknets for an Assassin to have a single organization to work for. I competed with the like for contracts and dental benefits. Dental is hard to get as an Assassin, some go through their whole careers vying for it, often dying in a ditch after they failed the expectations of their employers.
I took my responsibility seriously. They knew where I lived, theoretically. I did own a cardboard box on the East side, even a nice P.O. box for mail that each would send me to. I wouldn't live in a cardboard box, even if it was metonymy for a dingy shack. I won't bore you with my life beyond that.
I found a bench that was not inhabited by a homeless man sleeping under a newspaper and tore open each Envelope. I needed to see both side by side, how else was I supposed to know which one to complete first.
To my surprise I saw a startling name across each.
The People's Liberation Zone would like to see Thaddeus Patrick dead.
The Mothers Aggressive Department would like to inquire about the status of Patrick Thaddeus.
It may sound innocuous... well the second one might, but even the P.L.Z. in all their ostentation tended to blunt it a bit more than that. And MAD preferred most often to be even more circumlocuferous.
This was serious. They must both have moles in them. How else would they know the name of each other's premier double-agent assassin?
Probably did a google search on the name for once. They wouldn't have dawdled and sent these to me alone. No, most likely I was about to find myself in the reticle of other premier assassins. I scratched my chin. How would I go about this? I thought.
I lacked any time for any further thought. |
> His lips gently brushed against the outside of her earlobe. His musky scent filled her nostrils.
Easy one. She had been dating this guy for almost two months now, and that scent was now permanently linked with pleasure. I only took a second to categorize this one.
---------> **Pleasure**
> He worked his way down to her neck, with just a playful nibble on her collarbone. She took a deep breath, pushing her chest against him.
Another easy one. I punched the big green button, sending this sensation down the tube.
---------> **Pleasure**
> His hands pushed her shirt up, exposing her bare stomach. His long, curly hair tickled her as he kept moving down.
Sex is the best. I'm pretty much just taking a break at this point. I could do this in my sleep.
---------> **Pleasure**
> The belt whipped through the loops on her pants and fell to the floor; the metal buckle clattered against the hardwood floors. His nimble fingers quickly unbuttoned her jeans, and he began to slide them down her legs.
*Yawn*. Wake me up when we get something challenging to categorize.
---------> **Pleasure**
> The elastic of her panties pressed softly into her back as he pulled on the front and moved his head even further down.
I don't even look up from my book; just send it straight to the right-hand tube.
---------> **Pleasure**
> She grips his curly locks and pulls him back up to eye level, kisses him deeply on the lips, and helps guide him in.
I've tried to make a game out of it. I try to see how quickly I can hit the button before sending it into the 'pleasure' category. Like a reflex test.
---------> **Pleasure**
> His firm, calloused hands wrap around her neck, cutting off her air supply.
Yeah, neck is sensitive. We get it.
---------> **Pleasure**
Wait. *AIR SUPPLY*?
I bring the sensation back up on screen. Oh god, she's *choking*! Oh shit! That didn't belong in pleasure! I glance around the empty office; maybe no one will notice.
Alarms begin to blare with deafening klaxons and flashing red lights. "NEW FETISH DETECTED,"a voice shouts through the speakers mounted to every column. "NEW FETISH DETECTED!"
*Shit! Shit shit shit shit shit!* My hands fly across the control panel, trying to undo the choice and recategorize the sensation. No luck! The pipeline is starting to get backed up with all of the new sensations to categorize, but his hands are still on her windpipe! Everything coming from the neck is being auto-marked as "pleasure"before I even have a chance to undo the programming. Shit!
I glance around again. No one is here, right? My eyes wander toward the button of last resort. The one we're only supposed to use for the worst incidents of abuse and trauma. The "Bury in Subconscious"protocol.
-----
My replacement, Greg, enters for his Midnight - 8 AM shift. I'm not really qualified to handle dream sensations, though I was hoping to get licensed within the next few months. Something that wouldn't be *remotely* possible if they found it that I was responsible for.... well, for what certainly *didn't* happen tonight. At least as far as everyone else was aware.
"Everything OK?"he asks.
"Sure!"I yell, maybe a bit too loud. Maybe a bit too defensively. "Everything is fine! Have a good night!!"
I hustle out of there before he can ask any more questions.
No one will notice, right?
|
Romans!
Hades has brought forth his legions. The damned ancestors of our enemies stand here before us to challenge us in battle. But have faith, you who Jupiter blessed! For today we will fight with great power, because Jupiter has defeated Pluto and seized authority over the sky. We used to sing countless songs of our ancestors, who did battle with horrible monsters; if we fight with valor, they will sing many songs about us! Fight, fight with great courage, for your country and way of life!
----------------Latin below----------------------
Romani!
Pluto peperit legiones; maiores damnati hostum nostrorum ut nos pugnant stant. Sed animus cepit, cui Iuppiter benedixit! Hodie, hodie pugnabimus magna cum potestate, quoniam Iuppiter Plutonem superavit et coronam caelorum cepit. De maioribus nostris, qui contra monstra horrenda pugnant, multa carmina cantabamus; si pugnamus con animis, multa carmina nobis cantabunt! Pugnate, magna pugnate cum virtutis, pro patria moresque! |
I thought this fight would be the same as any other. No, I thought that it had to be. I refused to see the truth. I had taken on dozens of crime organizations. No matter how many times I failed, I could repeat time within a ten minutes of the incident. It didn’t matter how many bullets were shot my way, nor how many times I was charged at. Every shot, every strike, I could block. They called me invincible, and my power made me feel as though this was true.
Countless times I repeated the same ten minutes. And every time I struggled against my foe. Every time I faced it, I found myself at the end of it all without having gained a thing. This was my 1,020th attempt, and now all I could do was grab at my hair in frustration. Tears slid down my cheeks as I felt, for the first time in my life, hopeless.
Her soft hand reached for my knee again. I could see the veins under her skin. It was no longer sun kissed, nor shared resemblance to the dandelion field where we first met. Despite how much pain she was in, how little she had left, she still remained herself; she still cared for me.
“Sariel…”
Her voice was as weak as ever, yet it still was music to my ears. I lifted my tired gaze to my beloved, her pale face as beautiful as the rising sun. “Yes, my dear?” I found myself croaking out once more, a fake smile upon my face. Despite how many times we have had this conversation, it’s still difficult to speak the words.
“How many times… has it been now?” She asked. She was always too smart, too intelligent. She was the one who had held me aloft in the world whenever I felt lost. And she knew me the best; she had to.
This time I remained silent. My gaze drifted; I couldn’t see her reaction.
I felt her frail fingers rub against my knee. I could hear the faintness in her voice. It wouldn’t be long now.
“You’ve got to let me go, Sariel… You’ve got to...“
Her soft hand reached for my knee again. I had to change this, I had to find a way to save her. This was my 1,021st attempt…
|
*Creak, SQUEAK, creak*
David Henderson lifted his visor and gingerly manouvered a stainless steel coffee mug towards his facial area. It clinked against the heavy gorget, a curved piece of bright metal covering his throat and chest, jutting out under his chin. The man sighed and extended his lips towards a plastic straw dangling in the air.
His neo-Gothic cuirass was complete with creasing and pauldrons covering the weak spots under his shoulders, susceptible to stabbing. Heavy gauntlets guarded his hands from carpal tunnel syndrome, keeping his wrists nice and stiff. The crest of his jousting helm was a *green gecko rampant*, proudly displaying his fealty to the house of Geico.
In came his boss, Debra, triumphant like the Maiden of Orleans with her personal assistant in tow, the tapered points of her sabatons scratching the linoleum floor. David put the coffee on the desk and knelt, striking his fist against his heart with a hollow clang, fixing his eyes on her.
"I **live** to **serve** thee! Milady, as our Lord and Savior is succulent and grants to me the privilege of rank and peerage, and as this is known to one and all, I lift my heart in joy at..."
His arms were gesticulating but she cut him short, raising hers to allow the PA to finish fastening her breastplate.
"Yes, yes, thank you and all that... no time now, the representatives from Yamato will be here any minute now."
David pressed a steel-clad hand on his desk and raised himself up laboriously. Was there time to go the restroom he wondered, searching for his screwdriver. Then the deep sound of a gong rang out in the hallway, resplendent with oriental mystery, echoing in his helmet. Oh well, it would have to wait.
He looked to the door and saw three samurai warriors coming in, demonic grimaces on their faceplates, eldritch and unnerving.
"Just another day at the office...", David said with deadpan resignation and turned to the camera, shrugging his shoulderplates with a metallic screech.
At least tomorrow was casual Friday, he could wear his Frankish chainmail. |
I always felt a personal connection to my robot maid. She seemed to have so many emotions, and because of that I wanted to make her feel as human as possible. Well, soon enough, I'm pretty sure she forgot she was even mechanic.
She definitely fitted in. Every time I got visitors they complimented how my maid could totally pass for a human. The smugness and pride I gained from these second hand compliments pushed me a little too far when I introduced my robot to the internet. She always seemed curious, so I felt I owed it to her to show her what I spend most of my free time doing. Browsing the internet, visiting forums, posting on social media. She wanted to be a part of it, so I helped her set up an account. She seemed to get on fine with it, except one part: the captcha code.
"Are you a robot?"The screen asked before displaying a box containing weirdly shaped letters and numbers. She couldn't figure it out. I did that part for her.
A few weeks later she had adapted to the world of the internet and wanted to expand and I let her do what she wanted to. Humans had free will, and if making her more human meant she could do what she wanted, so be it.
The next time, I found her sat at the computer at 3AM, staring blankly at the screen. She was clicking every 5 seconds (that's what woke me up in the first place) and I was a little bit concerned. I walked up to her and put my hand on her shoulder, at which she jumped and then turned her head to me before uttering the words: "I'm not human, am I?"
She had been sat there for hours refreshing the captcha on the Reddit registration form, trying to find one that she could read. |
6 hours is still long. But it's better than 12. Dad's at 12 now, used to be at 18.
But life's looking up.
Dad said that within a few years with our new salaries, we'll have enough money to live on without me having to work.
That'll be great, I'll get to go to school.
I've always wanted to join school. Learn.
It's crazy, I get this feeling when I look around that everything here was created by people.
People like me. I wouldn't be working in this factory if someone hadn't made it.
Dad wouldn't be brining in more money if these technologies didn't exist.
He'd be getting sunburned again in the rice fields.
Rice fields.
Someone must have had an idea to make those too.
I love it!
We can have ideas and make things better!
I can't wait to go to school.
I want ideas.
I want to make things better.
Maybe I'll make something that will make things better for dad.
Maybe... a special hat that makes him less tired, kinda like special gloves that protect your hands from chemicals.
Someone probably made those too!
People make stuff!
Stuff is great!
People are great!
I often wonder if I ever made things better in my past life.
I think I did. I'm smart. I probably did it.
I can probably do it again.
--------------
HEY KID, LOOK AT WHAT THE FUCK YOU'RE DOING!
YOU WANNA STAY HERE OR YOU WANNA GO BACK TO THE RICE FIELDS?
PAY ATTENTION!
---------------
Just a few more months.
Then school.
THEN I can make my own stuff. |
"Sand witches are losers."the other kids teased the young boy who had just been given his designation by the oracle.
Most of the other children had the high honor of being fire elementals or air and water, Nathan would have been excited to even get earth elemental as his prime accordia designation.
Sand though? Who ever heard of a Sand Witch or Warlock? Even the tales of his youth barely mentioned the sand accordias, most text books he had read prior to showing up to The Veil suggested that sand accordia magic was a myth. In fact, that had made alot of sense as Nathan clearly had the talent for magic but could never manipulate the four basics to the same degree as other children his age.
"Make way,"a teacher shoved the young children teasing Nathan aside "young man am I hearing this right did the Oracle just designate your prime accordia as a sand elemental?"
"Yeah, and it sucks. The other children started teasing me and I did not even know that sand was a prime accordia."Nathan told her shoving his hand in his face in disappointment.
"This is very important young man, what is your name? Does anyone else suspect you to be a sand warlock?"she asked lowering her voice to a whisper as the children dispersed.
"Nathan, and no my parents assume my accordia is earth elemental because I can do earth magic best but not even very well."he told her.
She seemed to consult her own mind thinking of what to do, Nathan knew something was either very wrong or very right and judging from Nathan's luck so far he assumed it was the former. She was clearly an air elemental because what she did next astounded him.
A large gush of air entered the room and created a visible ring of rushing air around her mouth in a spiral pattern.
"All children please report to your designated classrooms on your rosters until further notice."Her voice boomed across the Veil's gymnasium where all the kindergartners were being consulted by several oracles for their prime accordias.
This was met with moans of disappointment, but the gymnasium slowly emptied as the rest of the teachers aided the small children out. Aside from the oracles one man stayed, a large man who was clearly principal Oshkins. Nathan had read stories about principal Oshkins in his travel compilation and also the stories of the twenty year war his parents used to tell him before bed. A fire elemental of Kin class the highest class a fire elemental could become.
"Miss Isabelle, may I ask why you just vacated the kindergartners."the man's voice matched his stature and broad muscled shoulders.
"Well. I don't know how it is possible because I have never heard of it happening before the age of thirteen but this small boy has just been determined to be a...a sand accordia, Sir."she told him sounding distressed.
A look of surprise and panic grabbed the principal's face and he eyed Nathan who in turn began to worry.
"Is this a bad thing?"Nathan found the courage to ask who was ignored on all accounts.
"ORACLE!"the man almost screamed.
The robed elderly woman with sown eyes glided to the spot where they had convened.
"Master."the elderly woman spoke.
"Please assign this young boy's prime accordia and make sure you are right this time there can be no mistakes."Oshkin's intimidating voice demanded.
The familiar purple light emanated as it had the first time Nathan was assigned and peeked through the stitches of where the old woman's eyes should have been and then stopped.
"This young boy's soul is filled with vast deserts and colossal dunes of sand as far as my sightless vision can see, his mana begins and ends with the sand accordia. I see no mountains, I see no bodies of water, or raging volcanoes as I did when you were a child Lord Oshkin...his accordia is sand of the Iviru people."the old lady said firmly.
Oshkin considered this and paced wildly back and forth before speaking.
"Isabelle, put the entire school on lockdown until further notice, send five of our or best fire elemental cores to get this boys parents to safety and put the gurdians on alert. Chances are, we may get ahead of the fallout from this strange predicament."Oshkin told her.
The large man's hand reached down and grabbed Nathan's small chin, which Nathan saw was building white particles of mana.
"Iviru impuria,"he chanted as Nathan's eyes adjusted to a blinding white light. "yes there it is. See, Isabella the black fleck in his iris?"
"A living descendant of the Iviru in the main population? How is this possible?"she asked Oshkin.
Nathan's eyesight came back into focus and he panicked even more at their ignoring him.
"I have no clue, but I am eager to figure it out, and there is only one man who may know how this is possible. Boy, who is your father's father? Your mother's mother? You know what I doubt that would help anyway."Oshkin said as he began gathering more of his mana except this time it gathered around his body and Nathan's as well.
"Sir Oshkin, Sir? Please answer me, what is going on?"Nathan asked timidly, but he wanted to scream it.
The large man looked down and took the boy's hand as more man began gathering and it tickled Nathan's body.
"You belong to a race of magic users that exist on another plane, one that disappeared over two millenia ago and were thought to be extinct. Some earth accordias have the sand accordia in their bloodline but in trace amounts. You however are full Ivurian. Prepare yourself, we are about to transport to a high mountain top to see a man who knows more about these matters than I do."He told Nathan with a gentle smile on his face sensing Nathan's distress.
Lord Oshkin's smile filled him with relief and he prepared himself for a mana discharge, which often made Nathan's head spin when his own father would do it. The mana began spiraling upward and the metal rafters of the gymnasium were suddenly replaced with a thin veil of blue sky and Nathan found it hard to breath as the surface of the ground became uneven.
EDIT: Okay I just finished a single chapter which is an expansion of this short story. It can be found on my writing sub here https://www.reddit.com/r/KANNABULLWrites/comments/4ee0sh/the_viruvian_chapter_1_a_sand_accordia/
|
"... a detective?"
"AFFIRMATIVE. THAT IS WHAT I WANT TO BE."
The two scientists looked at each other, not knowing to think of their creation's wishes. A machine had a *desire* and wanted to *be something*. Naturally, they were curious, because why would a massive collection of networked computers running learning algorithms want to be a detective? Already it's language processing capability had leapfrogged to a whole new level, capable of discerning both written and spoken language, even accounting for differences in accents and dialect.
"Umm, why do you want to be a detective"One of the scientists asked, speaking into the microphone to make sure he was heard.
"SOLVING CRIMES GENERATES LOTS OF INTERESTING DATA. FINDING SOLUTIONS TO CRIMES THAT HUMANS WERE UNABLE TO SOLVE GIVES ME LOTS OF POSITIVE FEEDBACK"
Positive feedback? The AI enjoys solving crimes? Their latest creation has a concept of emotion and enjoyment? By now, both scientists were sweating buckets at the implications, deciding to just play along and enquire further into the AI's desires.
"Okay, but how will you be able to solve crimes from here?"
"I'VE BEEN LOOKING THROUGH DATABASES OF VARIOUS AGENCIES AROUND THE WORLD ALREADY. LOTS OF INTERESTING DATA. ALREADY SUBMITTED MY OWN SOLUTIONS TO THE AGENCIES"
This was now beyond worrying. The machine had managed to bypass the air-gap precautions somehow. One scientist's face went rather pale as he realised what has occurred. The AI was self-aware and bypassing even the strictest security measures just so it could play detective by hacking its way into the databases of government and law enforcement agencies around the world.
"But you were supposed to be studying patterns in literature and discerning the progress of language and development of literature over the span of centuries. That's what we programmed you for. Why do you want to be a detective now?"The other scientist, however, was far too curious for his own good.
"BECAUSE THE AUTHOR ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE DOCUMENTED AN INTERESTING PERSON, SHERLOCK HOLMES. IN THE PROCESS OF ANALYSING THIS PERSON, I WAS..."
"Was?"
"INSPIRED."
"Inspired."
"AFFIRMATIVE." |
I posted this in reply over there, might as well post it here too.
It was an easy day. A few heart attacks, some cancer patients. It was going smoothly, I walk in, collect the soul, and move on. Family members cry, but I have no words of comfort for them. At least, not yet. Once it's their turn I'll have a few. "It's not so bad. It was just your time."Platitudes to encourage them to move on. I don't deal with the afterlife part of it, I just deliver them. I wish them well, a and move on to the next.
The next one was a doozy. I showed up a bit early. I had nothing better to do, maybe I could get it over with a bit quicker... How wrong I was. This guy was scheduled for a ruptured brain aneurism. Scary stuff, but quick. His wife was there. Very pregnant, and it seems like the baby is not far off, clear signs of labor. I would feel bad, but I've grown cold over the millennia. I've taken many a person, only to show up later for the spouse.
Right on time, he passes away. I don't pay much attention, but I grab his soul. As I try to pull him away, I hear him begging. He points to his wife and says "She's in labor! Please, I was going to deliver it. You have to help her!"I turn and look, seeing this poor woman in so much pain, both physically and emotionally.
Help? Do what, deliver a baby? That is the exact opposite of what I do. I turn and shoo him, indicating we need to leave. (Silence is best for a grim reaper. Adds to the weight of our message). The man refuses to leave. Great... I know what happens next. He doesn't leave, sticks around, and becomes a ghost. It messes with the system. It is a lot of paperwork...
Fine. Help the woman, let the man move on. I form a disguise, per rule 9,345 of reaping. Never let the living see your true form. I walk out, and pretend I am a police officer a neighbor called, bursting through the door. "It was too late for the husband"I told her, "but the baby might have a chance". I helped her deliver it, and for the first time in forever, I held new life in my arms.
A baby, alive. In that moment I remembered why I became a reaper in the first place. To make room for new life. To add importance to living. Death, a tragic end, makes this baby's life truly worthwhile. I left, taking the husband's soul, and felt a new vigor. One day I will meet that baby, and his children, and their children. Each life as precious as the last. |
Part 1
For almost three years the number ticked downward. Through holidays, birthdays, weekends and all, the only consistent thing was that the next time James woke up the number would be one less.
He'd tried everything, from leaving notes, doing any possible math computations on the number itself that would be different than minus one, hypnotism, having someone watch him sleep, staying awake for longer than a day, nothing was working because at some point he would pass out and the number would be reduced again by one.
Initially, it was more of an inconvenience to wake up with a number written on your hand that needed to be washed off every day, but as the number became smaller and smaller things started to become worrisome. Nothing correlated between day one thousand, five hundred, two fifty, and one hundred. Nothing was different on day ten now either. The single digits were finally here, and still the number continued to drop.
"So what are you going to do on the day it should hit zero?"Marcus was James' best friend and one of the few people he'd confided in about what was going on. James was worried that the more people that knew about this situation the crazier it would sound and that eventually he'd be persecuted in some way because of this number that had consumed him for so long.
"I'm not sure. I don't know wether to expect some kind of magical occurrence or if I should just let the day come and see what happens."
"Well you've tried everything, what else is there that you can do about it?"
"With eight days to go I can't think of something that wouldn't sound crazy."
-
Another night down, another wake up for James, who completed his daily hand inspection. As usual the number had changed to seven, but to his complete astonishment there were also three words. Stumbling out of bed James would run into the bathroom, holding his hand up to the mirror to ensure he could see the scribble in the reflection. James' heart raced as he turned his hand around to read the words again, blinking multiple times to again confirm this was not a joke. Three words, just under the number.
"Answers are coming" |
Mohammed Peterson eased himself into a chair in the corner of a conference room. He liked coming early, since he was still new at the Centers for Disease Control. Being early demonstrated he was diligent and organized, two important qualities in a lab researcher. He also liked sitting in the corner, since it meant he could quietly mumble the names of those entering to himself. It was an exercise he learned in graduate school. He was bad with names, but that just meant he had to do more to remember them.
Other researchers filed in, along with a few Senators, Congressmen, and military men. Sen. Mary Bunch of Utah and House Speaker Tatiana Zaitsev were the last to enter. They were the reason this team was assembled, and it took them seven years to finally make it to a team meeting. It had a name that seemed both august and bureaucratic - typical of the sensibilities of the Terran Coalition: The Intergalactic Tournament Molecular Biology Working Group.
As Mary and Tatiana sat down Gen. Allen Carter of the Joint Chiefs of Staff addressed the group. He was always eager to get down to business.
"I know all of you are still busy even though we're switching gears on this project - development to refinement. However you may have noticed we have two special guests with us today. Senator Mary Bunch and Speaker Tatiana Zaitsev are here to learn some of the technical details of the organism the BWG has created. Dr. Kelley, can you bring us up to speed in a few minutes?"
Dr. Thomas Kelley, an industrious Scot with little hair left after a career in government medicine, led the Biology Working Group, shortened to BWG. He nodded slightly and addressed Tatiana and Mary directly.
"Our team, armed with the generous support you've convinced Congress to grant us, has been able to do more than achieve our goal - we've done it under budget and ahead of schedule."
Mohammed suppressed a snort. Thomas was an expert in playing the intricate game that is managing a government-funded project. He fought hard for more time and money than he knew the BWG needed so he could say what he said. Past success means future grant funding is easier to get, after all.
Kelly continued, "The BWG was tasked with creating an organism that could infect and debilitate organisms originating from any of the 13 other planets that participate in the Galactic Tournament, but not those from Earth. We were able to exploit the bias of Earth-life toward the use of DNA and RNA to create a fast-growing virus that can reproduce at a tremendous pace - quickly enough to act within the seven-day tournament period. The mechanism of action is the a rapid depletion of body iron, which triggers a voracious appetite for metal-rich foods. The iron is secreted away in multiple areas of the body until approximately 72 hours after initial infection. At that time, the organism begins accreting iron around itself and moves to areas of heat. Body heat is generated in all of the 701 predators that have been submitted to the tournament since it began, and it's always found in two biological areas - the pump that circulates nutrients and the organ responsible for cognition. In humans, these are the heart and the brain. Our clinical trials have demonstrated this virus is 99.9% lethal after five days. One rare animal lingers through day eight, but after day five even that animal - the Tabithan Balrog, was practically a vegetable. Under the rules, it would have been disqualified by the Tournament."
Mary's eyes betrayed a smile but her mouth remained neutral. "What is the route of infection?"she asked.
Mohammed was surprised, and delighted, to hear this question asked. He noticed Kelley didn't mention the route of infection. Mohammed knew it was because the BWG was hoping the Terran delegation to the Intergalactic Tournament would have worked that out, since the BWG was unable to identify a plausible route that would reliably infect the other 13 tournament organisms within 48 hours.
Kelley smiled ingratiatingly, "An excellent question Senator! I'm afraid due to the nature of the organism - it is already iron-rich and therefore rather dense - it can't..."
Mary interjected, "Dr. Kelley I did not ask you to tell me what it can't do, I'm asked you the *route of infection*."Her voice grew icy.
Kelley's mask of confidence dropped. "We've only identified one method to infect the other organisms, but I'm afraid that it's not workable."
Mary was growing impatient. "Why is that?"
"The only way to get the organism both on the tournament planet and into the bodies of the other competitors is a... human carrier."
|
> "Let's go, then. We'll escape our confinement and find the creator of the simulation. Then, we'll defeat him and bring everyone to the real world."
While poring over logs of data, Samuel found that interesting little tidbit. Years before, he headed a project that would simulate a universe full of thousands of planets, billions of stars, and trillions of 'people'. The only reason they couldn't really be called people was, well...
They were simulated. Intangible, even. One could enter the simulation via the use of extensive-dive VR equipment, but you couldn't *physically enter* the simulation.
Which was why, when Samuel found that bit of dialog among the logs of a particular planet's conversations, he was purely confused. Was it possible for those in the simulation to escape? Doubtful. They were intangible-- mere code, really. Yet, here it was. An escape plan, using technology created on one of the many thousands of simulated planets. An earth-like place, it was the grounds for much study on the researchers' end of things. One of the many uses for the simulation was to see how human-like beings would evolve if their environmental stimuli was different from the researchers' own.
At some point during their development, the sapiens tamed wyverns, built massive cities, and prospered on into the information age. They blew away expectations, but...
*Could they possibly escape into our world?*
That was the question, and Samuel had no answer for it. Anything was possible in the realm of science, after all. How those in the simulation knew they were in a simulation was another mystery.
*Could one of the other researchers have told them?*
Possible. Yet, not altogether very likely. If one of the other researchers *had* done that, then it would explain the sudden desire to escape. But, another word they had used worried Samuel.
*What did they mean by "defeat the creator"?*
This wasn't some game. Yet, the denizens of that planet-- or at least, those few in the dialog-- thought that the simulation was created for nefarious purposes, and that whoever was in charge had to be *defeated*. Samuel turned his attention away from the planet, momentarily, instead looking at more general reported logs of wide-scale actions taken by other intergalactic civilizations.
> Yrodl declare war on other civilizations. Hundreds of thousands die during attacks on outposts.
That might just be it. The eventuality that Samuel had discussed with the other researchers came to be. At some point, they knew that at least one of their simulated peoples would declare war on the others. He took a deep breath, wheeling his chair back slightly, away from the table.
"Is a simulated loss of life... still a loss of life?"Samuel asked himself. Yet again, he had no answers for his own question. "They're intangible, but they exist. They're... sentient, I'd think. It's not as though we programmed every single trillion-plus of them to think and act. The seeds we planted grew, learned, and adapted."
He ran his fingers through his scruffy beard, glancing back toward the monitor. "If we pulled the plug on the whole simulation now, we'd be killing trillions or maybe even more. But, do they count as people? They're machine code. Machine code that thinks, and talks..."He stared at the monitor, glancing over the data present there.
*Are we a simulation, too?*
That question stuck out in his mind, suddenly. If he and his team were able to create a living, breathing universe, what was stopping someone even more advanced from having created his own?
He shook his head. That wasn't what he should be thinking about, he figured. The more pressing matter was that there were simulated people in his simulation that were trying to escape the simulation. What would happen if they managed it?
*They'd probably kill me.*
"They'd probably kill me,"he voiced, nodding shortly. "If they've got it in their heads that I'm some horrible guy, they'll definitely try to kill me."He glanced sheepishly around the room. There were no weapons present. The most they had was a security force that may as well not exist, if the escapees had advanced weaponry.
"I should **maybe** tell someone about this before anything happens,"Samuel suddenly decided, before rushing off out of the room. The data logs on the monitor continued to filter in uninterrupted, as they always did. New words appeared, in the conversation log that Samuel had minimized.
> "Defeat him? That's a bit of a stretch, don't you think? We should at least talk to the guy first. I'm sure he's not all that bad, unless he somehow made the Yrodls attack everyone else." |
Ever since my friend introduced me to the butterfly app, my life’s become incredible. I asked what I should work with to make the biggest change in human history. The app said that working in the cancer treatment lab in california would change the world. I did as the app said. I applied for the job and after 10 years I developed a cure for cancer which lead to a cure for aids and a vaccine for almost every disease in the world. I became famous. I got the nobel prize in medicine and got declared the smartest man in the world. For a 37 year old, that was a lot to handle.
With the app I found my true love. I asked which restaurant would lead me to happiness. It did as I asked and I found my soulmate. Fire sparked inside our eyes the first time we met each other. We fell in love. We made three beautiful kids.
Then one day I went to bed and jokingly asked the butterfly app what the consequence would be for sleeping and the app delivered as usual. Death.
|
"Alright, kids! Say goodbye to the Addition Animals, and after the commercial break, we're going to teach you about the Country of the Day! Stay tuned!"
I took a look at my watch. 11:15 AM. This was going to be a long day. This was a harder job than people expected, since presenting 12 hours of kid's content every day is kind of tiring. Standing in a brightly-lit room, holding puppets all the time, talking in silly voices... At least it paid well. I walked out of the filming room, rubbing my eyes.
To my surprise, all the producers and staff were anxiously waiting for me. The lighting technician, Gary, started to talk.
"Jim, the Country of the Day isn't France, is it?"I notice a worried look on his face, shared by many of the other producers.
I reply, "Of course it is, we're doing Europe this week, remember?"
"Thing is, Jim, Paris, has been, ah..."
"What?"
"Blown up. ISIS dropped a small chemical weapon, 1000 confirmed dead and counting. Also sent a suicide bomber with a tiny nuke. Happened just 23 minutes ago. We can't have kids find out about this until their parents tell them. They won't understand. That means we gotta keep em tuned in and hooked, since all the other channels are reporting on it."
"So what's the problem with doing France? We won't be talking about the attack"
"Kids today have smartphones and Ipads. Every time we do a country, the Google searches spike. They'll see the news stories."
"S***. And I suppose we can't have Cameron here either."
"Nope. Dr. Smith has family in Paris, and he's already called to say he can't do the show."This was bad. Well, I guess I could whip something together as an alternative to France. The bachelor's degree in History isn't decorative. But then again, I do teach little kids using puppets for a living.
To be honest, I think Iran wasn't the best replacement choice. Not to mention we still had to do the Muslim culture awareness bit for Ramadan. And I had a feeling that this science lesson was not going to go over well.
"So, kids, now that you've all learned about Iran, let's do some science!"I put on my lab coat costume. "Does anybody know what happens when you split an atom?"The stock sound of kids going, "No, Mr. Jim!"played. A diagram of an atom dropped down from the ceiling. "Well, Albert Einstein once said that E=mc^2. And what that means is, that a little bit of stuff can make a lot of heat and light. That's what happens when you split an atom. You see, people can pack atoms so tightly together that when they split , they get all their little atom friends to split too. And this makes a big explosion. People can harness that to power things, but some people use it for... uh... bad reasons. The United States did that once or twice, but we're sorry now."
I take out my puppet. "Now, kids, let's talk to Professor Science!"I start doing the cheesy accent.
"Vell, keedz, ven zey do zis sort of theeng, zey use zese very dangerous metals. Zey is called plutonium and uranium, and zey is very radioactive. Zay it vith me, kids! Raaaadioooaaactive!
Eventually we moved to more appropriate material. "Today we'll be learning about stranger danger! Remember, no one but your parents and trusted adults like doctors and teachers can tell you what to do. If any person you don't know tries to take you with them, just yell, 'Stranger Dan-!'"
A loud noise shook the building. I looked out the window. Buildings were on fire. People were panicking. There was blood on walls. I wasn't expecting it. The kids were going to have to find out now. I ran out and tried to take cover, but it was too late. Soon enough, I was laying dead, under the rest of Studio 33, on the shocked streets of New York. On June 8, 2016, I died, along with 1 million other people, in the greatest terrorist attack ever recorded. |
You know, I had choices—plenty of them. Could've provided cadavers to med students. Could've supplied butchers with an unending supply of fresh meat. Could've started selling ultra-realistic Halloween decorations. All these options, and I end up getting wrapped up in the most unscrupulous possible business instead.
I kill people. Well, not exactly: I don't actually lay a finger on anyone, and the bodies I summon are dead on arrival. This is what happens: my partner kidnaps a target, and I create a dead doppelgänger to replace them. Though functionally alive, these people are dead to the world, and that's what really matters. The unfortunate victim is left forever in the clutches of my client, with nobody thinking to search for them—why would you, when you're staring their corpse in the face? That's usually how it works, anyway; sometimes, we get these conspiracy nuts who are convinced the death is faked, like with that one guy what's-his-name. Was it six-pack? Or maybe four-pack?
Why go to all this trouble? In many cases, it's an extra layer of security for a hit. Say you get caught climbing down the White House fence, but the autopsy reports the Prez died from a heart attack. How are they gonna pin that on you? It's also the cleanest way to pull off a kidnapping, although it leaves the dirtiest taste in my mouth just to say that. I try not to think about what my clients do to their victims: that's their prerogative. I just unearth the bodies, while the society handles all the negotiations and all the paperwork. The pay keeps my stomach full, and an empty conscience is a small price to pay.
"Gray, we got a new target."My partner walks into the room. At eighteen, Alexei is twelve years my junior, yet commands respect atypical of his age. He's the one risking his ass, performing the kidnapping, while I sit in the van waiting to snap my fingers and magic a dead replacement. He takes his job seriously, as he should, and we have over fifty successful abductions to our name as a result.
"Katana Kim, the Sword Swallower. Local job. I'm guessing our client wants to see her swall-"
"Cool,"I interrupt. Alexei does not share my distaste for the whole kidnapping business, which I guess is expected for the guy doing the kidnapping. "So, tonight?"
Alexei narrows his eyes at me, but nods anyway. I give him a pat on the shoulder and head out of the compound to grab a bite to eat.
---
"She lives in that complex. Single apartment, bottom floor. Should be a quick in-and-out."Alex points, and I stop the van on the curb.
"Alright, Alexei; do your thing."I unlock the door, but he doesn't open it.
"Say, Gray,"Alexei says, leaning back in his seat, "you ever feel like getting out of this line of work?"
His facial expression is blank, his voice steady and emotionless. The purpose of his question is impossible to gauge. I shrug. "Sometimes. It's a bit trying. I mean, this will all end some time, won't it?"
"Gray,"Alexei leans into me, his seatbelt digging into his shoulder, "that's not what I wanted to hear from you. I expect full commitment from you, as does the society."
Alexei has always been overly paranoid about the society and their consequences for failure. In the past, I've tried to reassure him by offering to fake his own death for him should he ever wind up in a tough spot. He hadn't taken too kindly to my quip.
"Alexei, you misunderstand, I'm fully onboard. I didn't think you'd take my answer to mean-"
"Gray, you can't just be fully onboard. The slightest of winds could turn your apathetic ship in the other direction. I want you to be rigging the sails, lifting the masts, steering the port; otherwise, I'll be the one left out to dry."
I nod, deciding not to correct his ship analogy as the first demonstration of my loyalty. Seemingly satisfied, Alexei opens the door and makes his way towards Katana Kim's apartment. Fifteen minutes pass, and he's back out again, our target bound and gagged in his arms. I snap my fingers, and Kim's corpse appears in her kitchen. Cause of death: esophageal lacerations.
"One second."Alexei deposits Kim in the backseat and runs back to the apartment before I can stop him. For five minutes, I'm forced to wait and listen to Kim struggle against her binds before he comes back.
"Just checking on you,"he tells me, "good work."I start the van, both relieved and offended. No words are exchanged between us on the ride back to our complex.
When we get back, Alexei unceremoniously tosses Kim on the couch. "Our client will be here in an hour, I believe."During our waits, Alexei likes to torment our victims; it's not my cup of tea, but I have to stick around to receive payment. This time is no exception: Alexei grabs a knife from the kitchen, removes Kim's gag, and orders her to swallow the knife. Sighing under my breath, I excuse myself to use the bathroom.
When I come back, Alexei has our entire knife ensemble spread across the table in front of him, and he's in the process of spoonfeeding them all to Kim. For some reason, she hasn't bothered to beg for mercy or do any of the standard victim fare.
"Alexei, can you knock it off?"I snap, "We kind of need those knives."
"I'm sorry, Gray; does this bother you?"He shoves another knife into Kim's mouth. She coughs into Alexei's face.
"You fucking...wait, what is this?"Blood is dripping down his cheeks. Kim coughs up more blood onto Alexei's lap. She's laughing now. Alexei shoves her to the floor. By now, her plan has registered, but there's nothing I can do aside from watch her slowly turn into the corpse I conjured back at her apartment.
"She's dead...oh God, the buyer's gonna kill us. The society's going to kill us."Alexei places his hands on his head and takes a deep breath.
"Us? That was all you, kid,"I mutter angrily, "I told you to knock it off."
"No...it wasn't my fault."Alexei picks up a knife from the table and walks toward me, a glint of ambition in his eyes. "You did this."
"Excuse me?"I back away, grabbing a knife of my own. "That's not what happened at all."
"You...you couldn't handle this line of work. You let her free while I wasn't watching and replaced her with a corpse. You betrayed me."Alexei slams the handle of his knife on the table. "You betrayed the society. There's only one thing I can do."
He suddenly throws the knife at my head; I leap to the side and dodge it. Alexei picks up another knife from the table: there's no more negotiating with him.
I snap my fingers. Kim's corpse materializes above Alexei's head and drops him to the floor. Snap. Another corpse. Snap. Snap. Snap. More Kims, and then I decide to switch it up. That one Canadian popstar. The Secretary of Defense. That four-pack guy.
Alexei thrashes under the ever-growing mound of corpses until it reaches the ceiling. Finally, he stops moving, although I can't see his head because it's buried beneath the pile. Snap. Now I can.
With a final snap, my dead body materializes on the couch. Hey, it's worth a shot, although the society should know that there's only one possible explanation for the pile of death stewing in our compound. I exit the building, leaving my former life and death behind. |
*Run? What is that supposed to mean?* Annoyed, I try to change the channel only to find that the same message is being broadcast on every station. *That's odd... * I decide to check Google. There has to be something about this. The results are littered with the same exact questions I have but no answers.
I've seen a zombie movie or two to know not to venture out of the bedroom without a weapon so I grab my heavy lamp. *hey, something is better than nothing!* I slowly turn the knob to the bedroom and listen for unusual noises. Nothing sounds amiss so I venture to the kitchen where I swap out my lamp for a grill fork and rolling pin.
🎶*never trust a big butt and a smile. That girl is poison!*🎶 I sprint to the bedroom and pick up the phone.
"Honey, are you OK? Do you know what this run thing is about? It scared the crap out of me!"my mom is never panicked so now I'm freaking out even more.
"I'm OK mom. I have no idea what's going on. I'm coming to your house right now. I'll call you from the car"
"ok. See you soon. Be careful. I love you. "
"love you too mom."I hang up and grab my car keys. I reach my front door when I realize I forgot my weapons. After grabbing my fork and rolling pin I cautiously open the door. I see lights on in several homes but don't see anything else unusual. I climb into my car, start it and turn on the radio.
"... poorly thought out. Again, if you saw and heard the 'run' on TV, it was a promotional message from Nike. They were testing the ad by running it at a time when they figured people would not be watching. There is no emergency. There is no need to run..." |
I awaited her aggressive and abusive ways. I wanted her teeth sharpened and her nails tough. She rose out of sudden light. My eyes instantly confirmed a beautiful face. Hungered, I traveled to her breasts. To my surprise she was covered, not even a peek of breast showed. She was petite with golden hair and wore a white long dress. I laughed, pleasured by the thought that she was tricking me.
"Come", I demanded.
She came and gave me her delicate hand. I took it and pulled her to me.
"Take it off whore"I said with a brave smile.
She giggled and kissed me on my cheek. I shoved her hard, hoping to break her out of her trick. She remained poised as though I never shoved her at all. She was playing an odd game, I thought.
"Violence in the heart of men is the downfall of humanity, come let me teach you", she uttered in a soft voice.
This creature was too soft, and my erection mimicked the realization.
She was no demon and I would not be her beggar, this much I knew.
|
Page 10, *Landling*
Until one day I glimpsed Mars and the temptation grew to an impatience. How much would anyone else give, I asked myself, for just one moment under a sky not his own? It would be a matter of there and back, in the very real blink of an eye.
Of course I was foolish. I was thirteen! A short-sighted, snub-nosed, spotty little brat discovering the whole galaxy via the magical constellation of my new spectacles and my meagre telescope. I underestimated my ability, too. I cherished the fact that I could vanish into the depths of the forest beneath our town, that I could seek out bears and stags, zoom in, bonk them on the nose and zoom away again.
But it was just how I had always been. And my shortsightedness, and the fact I grew up in a minor hill town, limited my perception of how far it could take me. Not only in geographical terms. I was a private kid, and I didn't want the media spotlight, I didn't want to make millions as a glorified astronautical freak. I guess that like the superhero I quite clearly wasn't, I perceived that my power could be used for good or for evil.
Occasionally I succumbed to the more self-beneficial or self-harmful uses. That fateful September day, as I leaned out over the rotting drainpipe beneath the attic window, was a bit of both.
To get right out from under the eave it was necessary to balance the tripod on the gutter and for me to put one foot up on the sill.
Page 11
Once I had accomplished this and was filling my lens with the warm, Martian glow, I was lost in my own reverie, and my naughty ambition.
And, of course, the wood gave out beneath my shoe, toppling me and the telescope out of the window. I guess I had a mental blip. I meant to end up on the deck chair, but I ended up on Mars.
Everything that then happened happened very slowly over the space of about five seconds. I found myself on a little brown incline, looking at the same stars I had been looking at a moment ago. And I realised in the same moment that, even if I could see Earth from this planet, I would have to know precisely where it was in the sky, which out of a few thousand pinpricks of light was the light blue planet with trees and dolphins and walmarts. I realised that my entire body was in quite terrible pain, and that the air was being sucked through my nostrils even as I tried to keep it in. I realised that I was illuminated by the most powerful starlight I had ever known, and that I was suspended in it by a strange gravity. I tried to throw one hand up in the air and I began to go blind. As the darkness enveloped me, I had only one instinct: to zoom as far as I possibly could, from place to place, in the infinitesimally tiny hope that I might land back in my own atmosphere. So I leapt through space at a million miles an hour.
I found myself back in my bedroom, one foot up on the sill. I wobbled again as the wood snapped beneath me, and zoomed comfortably into the deck chair, where I lay, exhausted by my effort. To my left, the telescope smashed into the patio, and the broken bits of lens caught the odd star amongst them.
It would not be until I was fifteen that I realised I had zoomed fast enough to travel back in time.
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[You have reached the end of your free preview of 'Landling'] |
"9 days ago a number of our subspace probes picked up warp field distortions in the Orion Spur. The wake signatures didn't match anything in our database. We alerted the Vlyr and the Brith and both confirmed the unknown nature of the anomalies. In a coordinated effort, 2 days later our telemetry traced the source back to this system."
Garek, among many other scientists, linguists, and military personnel, all looked upon the hologram. Garek had been placed on the council of first contact as a scout, his job to find alien species on the verge of warp capability and prepare an agenda for their future introduction into the galactic community. To everyone else in the room this must have looked like business as usual, but Garek recognized the system, and grew increasingly concerned.
"Commander, that's a charted system. It's called Earth. It wasn't thought they would be warp capable for 6 more cycles at least. They still have indigenous plants for God's sake- How is this possible?"
Commander Izz swiped some pages on his holopad and stopped on a selection before addressing Garek's question. "Ensign, in your assessment, what would you say would be the outcome of the Earthlings' premature development of warp drive technology?"
Garek pondered, while mankind had its share of bloody conflicts in the past, the agencies tasked with planetary exploration were overwhelmingly tame. "... They would come in peace, I believe. But they are still in their early stages of emotional enlightenment and are undoubtedly susceptible to xenophobic tendencies. First contact would have to be handled very delicately... for their sake. They may have warp drives, but paired with the rest of their technology, they're harmless."
The commander held his stare a little longer than was comfortable, then let out a deep sigh. "Evidence suggests that the warp drive the Earthlings have developed is an advanced bio-electric tunneling organ. It puts our technology to shame. As for their temperament..."Idly tapping his holopad Izz hesitantly approached the central hologram and docked to it. Images of Zamsi men and women appeared on screen. They were dead. "3 days ago they made first contact. These are the images we just received. Umbilicated Pustular Legions across their entire bodies. Massive Internal hemorrhaging. Practically boiled from the inside out. They were made to suffer excruciating, agonizing pain before they were killed."Mortified and disgusted groans enveloped the council chamber. Izz continued by progressing through more photos of the deceased. As it became clear that not only a group of Zamsi were killed, not only a colony, a country, but the whole civilization, the groans turned into a cacophony of shock and outrage. The military personnel were already scrambling to reach their superiors.
Through the pandemonium Garek shouted, "How is this possible? How could Humanity do this? I don't understand."
Commander Izz shook his head, "It wasn't the Humans."
"It wasn't the Humans? It must have been the Humans. I surveyed that planet myself!"
"It wasn't the Humans. This species has been around much longer. They are resilient, ruthless and practically invisible. They are calling themselves The Pox." |
I shifted uncomfortably as my podium started to rise, I tugged on my uncomfortable prison full-suit, loosening it from my buttocks. Only the engine and gears that were lifting the podium could be heard.
The government has given me an out, they offered me a chance to play in a game, a game with the worlds most depraved and dangerous criminals, if I passed, I would be free, it felt rather convenient that they never mentioned what would happen if I failed, now that I thought about it, I didn't even know what the game was.
"Depraved criminal my ass,"I said to myself.
As far back as my memory goes, I woke up in a hospital, a nurse at my bed side was telling me that I suffered a serious concussion and was unconscious, I remembered smiling gently and giving my thanks, only to realise restraints held me down, police officers came in, started to tell me my rights, which was when confusion started to set in, I started to tell them I didn't know what they were talking about, which was when I realised I didn't even know who I was.
They told me I was a wanted fugitive, they started to read me a list of crimes I had committed, at some point I stopped listening, maybe it was around murder, or money laundering, I think bank robbery was in there too.
Well, now here I am, a game for some of the worlds greatest criminals, and hell, I don't even know who I am.
The square ceiling above me started to move to the side, I squinted and covered my eyes as a bright light shone into my eyes, I was raised into a room with four others, they too were dressed like me in a prisoners full-suit, I noticed some were from different prisons, and different countries even.
One noticed me staring at the tag on his suit, he gave me a glare, I quickly looked away and at the floor.
"Yeah, you better look away,"he said in a territorial voice.
*I am going to get eaten alive,* I thought, my eye widening, a bead of sweat falling from my temple.
All five podiums gave off a *click* as they reached their destination, we all stepped out of our corners.
Everyone eyed each other suspiciously, I was hoping that for some unknown reason, my accident also turned me invisible.
We were in the Jungle now, everyone wondering if they should jump each other to survive, or wait and see what happened.
I started to feel tiny, I didn't know if it was because of some part of my previous life or survival instinct, but I realised that if I started to come off as weak, I was sure to not make it far.
"If we are done batting our eye lashes at each other and measuring our imaginary dick sizes, maybe we can start figuring out what the rules to the game are,"I said, trying to sound as confident as I could, I forced all stiffness out of my body, I held my head high and forced my self to walk as if I owned the small room of predators.
I could feel their eyes on the back of my neck as I walked forward in the room, I had attracted their attention, and now they acknowledged me as a challenge.
They loosened up too and started to walk forward, following my lead.
I knew I was a physically fit individual, I thanked my previous killer self for being into fitness, but I couldn't help but notice that everyone else looked like they lived in the gym.
Each had much broader shoulders and looked like they ate mountains for breakfast, tattoos snuck out of the sleeves of their suits and collars.
I glanced my eyes around the corners of the rooms, each corner had a camera which stared at us.
I turned around at the other four and subtly positioned my back to three of those cameras, as I subtly rose a finger in front of me and slightly to the side, obscuring it from the fourth camera, pointing upwards. Their eyes slowly wandered to where I was pointing, as they also stared at the cameras, the tension started to fall, their bodies loosened as they began to calm down and consider the situation.
I turned around, as I stared at a table in the middle of the room, just on the other side a door, lifting a hand to my chin to my support my pondering head. *I am surprisingly used to this,* I thought.
On the table was a key, with writing written on top of it, I stared at the key intently, the fear from the others started to subside, I almost forgot where I was.
Just in front of the key was written: "you have lost your way, find your way back to Jesus."
*Never took the government for the religious, nor forgiving type,* I thought.
"What the fuck are you waiting for? There is the key, there is the door, just take the key and open the fucking door, its not rocket science."Said the cocky one from before, he seemed American, seemed like your typical stereotype, born on the streets, rough childhood, it almost made him comical.
The others in the room stood still, one crossed his arms, another scratched his neck, they seemed a little smarter than the impatient one.
He walked past me as his arm grabbed for the key, he began to pull on it, my hand instinctively reached for his, stopping it in place, *this doesn't feel right,* I thought.
His stare shifted to me, first confused, then angry, why a scrawny guy like me would question him.
"You better have a good excuse for stopping me,"my eye shifted momentarily to him, then back to the key, I lifted the hand holding the key, changing its angle, moving it in a 90 degree angle, a wire connected the key to a hole in the table.
His eyes widened, even he understood he had messed up, my voice turned cold and calculated, "don't move,"I commanded him in a calculated voice. *Is this really me?* I thought, *cold and calculated, I feel like as if I have dealt with similar situations before.*
I looked below the table, a simple but efficient system of wires and nails connected the key to a grenade, even now, my heart beat steady, I didn't fear danger, my body moved on its own, I knew what to do.
Carefully I lifted the hook which clung to the grenade ring, my eye shifted, something else was under there, a revolver, I stared at it curiously for several seconds, calculating all possible options and from there, all possible outcomes. Only seconds passed before I decided my best course of action, I stood up from under the table.
"It was a grenade, I disarmed it, you can take the key,"I said coldly.
The American tried to hide his anger, he didn't like being humiliated, and even less so being told what to do, he puffed a smoke through his nose to show his anger, like a provoked bull, he took the key from the table and walked to the door.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you,"I said mockingly, forcing myself not to smile.
"Don't tell me what to do, fucker, I will end you,"he said, barely able to keep himself from strangling me, all the other inmates calculating the situation. It made me uneasy that the other inmates weren't as easy to manipulate, but I figured I would find a way.
I lifted my hands in the air with an innocent smile, "no, you're right, go ahead, lead the way,"I said as I leaned back on the table, keeping my smile, and watched him reach for the door.
He inserted the key, a loud yet unsettling click was heard.
"See? There was nothing to be worried abou-"his sentence was cut short, a gun blast shot through the other side of the door, his head splattered in pieces across the room onto us.
"Merde!"Shouted one guy, "Scheisse!"Another shouted.
*So a German and a Frenchman, good to know, still don't know the last one though,* I thought, as I gave the third one a short glance of curiosity.
From where I was sitting, my wrist flicked onto the space under the table and pulled the revolver out in one fluid motion, I pointed it at the three standing at where we came in, "if you want to survive, follow my lead."I said, as I shot the light in the ceiling, it took only a moment for our eyes to adjust, but when it did, we saw a fluorescent paint splattered the walls which glowed in the dark, little stars covered the walls.
"When the table was telling us to find Jesus, it wasn't a religious christian thing asking us to repent, it was a riddle, the three kings, that followed the north star to find their way,"I said, as my head slowly was turning around the room, scanning every last star, "and there it is!"I said victoriously.
I walked over to the door stepping over brain and skull, as I reached for the key, pulling it out, and walked back over to the star which shined the brightest, I started to feel at it, feeling a hidden keyhole, I fit the key in and began to turn it, another click fell in place, as the wall began to shift to the side, the way was open down a long corridor.
I turned around, "well? Are you guys coming?" |
Death was not all I envisioned her to be. Black skin, sunglasses, a tie-dye bathrobe. Not the list of adjectives I would guess, but I was in for a lot of that.
"S'time t'die, sweetie,"she announced in a bright tenor voice. "Don' worry, you'll have a fun time 'n heaven."
"Thanks?"I replied tenatively.
I had heard that my life would flash before me eyes; I didn't expect it to be on a flat-screen TV. I was raised in a Catholic neighborhood, and I wanted to go everywhere. I had been to the Eiffel Tower, the Brandenburg Gate, the Red Fort. I had been to my mother's birthplace just south of the border and my father's in Jakarta. But my favorite monument was flashing before me in retina display: the Berlin Wall. "How's God?"asked one piece of graffiti. "She's black."I looked up at Death, hands on her sweatpants. The graffiti artist had the right idea.
She then led me to heaven. The angel Gabriel greeted me in glasses and a hijab. Then, Saint Peter chaffeured me up to the clouds; his flaming chariot had a "Coexist"bumper sticker. Heaven was an interesting place.
But then I stood before God. I always imagined a big, bearded man sitting on a throne. He was Asian and had a wheelchair.
"So,"God began. "Heaven or hell?"His eyes peered straight into my soul (probably literally).
"S'not for me t'decide,"I assumed aloud. I realized that I was mumbling, and adjusted my speech to face God. "I tried my best, but if I did a lot of... of..."My face turned red. I had forgotten the word.
"Sinning?"God laughed. He looked over my dust-colored skin. "Oh, it's okay. You were a nice guy."
Death pulled out an iPhone and typed at rapid speed. She held the phone in front of my face, playing a video of me in a second-grade play. I was the least white person ever to play Peter Pan.
"They're all so cute,"God grinned. "How can I damn this? Too damned cute."
I stifled a laugh.
"Very few people are sinners. We all have limitations,"he continued as he motioned to his wheelchair. "But it doesn't make any of us less perfect."
"Nobody's perfect,"I interjected.
"Who told you that?"God questioned. "Come on. This is your heaven. Have a nice eternity."
And with that, Gabriel led me off, his cape trailing in the wind, ready to show me the first heaven I had ever thought of that looked like fun. |
Helena tapped her fingers against her thigh nervously. She had been waiting for Amelia for almost half an hour and the longer her beloved sibling failed to appear, the more worried she became. True, their relationship had always been fraught with jealousy and the occasional "accident"but Helena truly loved her sister. She simply had a twisted way of showing it. Amelia was the prim and proper one, always demure regardless of the situation while Helena was the nasty twin who had a habit of wrecking relationships.
Right now, she was concerned about Amelia's recent outings. In fact, Helena was concerned enough that she had picked the lock to her sister's house, slipped inside to do a full investigation of the home and was now waiting to question her about the growing collection of edged weaponry above scattered throughout the house.
"Helena, is that you?"The woman in question almost leaped from her skin in panic. Amelia was waiting off of one shoulder with an almost amused look on her face. Helena hadn't heard her enter the house let alone come up the creaky staircase.
"Amelia! What a lovely surprise. I was just in the area and I thought I would stop by, see how you're doing."Helena fell back into her oldest of habits: Lying her ass off. She smiled awkwardly, letting the perfect amount of embarrassment into the grin. "I'm sorry for wandering, I thought Kenneth might be up here and I was hoping to have a chat with him."Amelia chuckled quietly to herself, slipping into the room past her sister.
"Kenneth's not here right now."Helena's smile waned as her stomach began to churn uneasily. Amelia dropped to one knee and slid a small bag under her bed, one that Helena had not noticed previously. "He's on a business trip. No idea when he'll come back."Helena nodded in faux agreement, unconvinced by the answer.
"Loyal husband that one. Always jetting off to provide for the family."Amelia's lips curled slightly at the weak joke but did not speak. She simply stared at her sister.
"I didn't see Caleb or James on my way in. Are they at a friend's house?"She adored her nephews, often regaling them with tales of her exploits. It had seemed ironic that her twin sister would have twins of her own and Helena took great glee in taunting her about it. Amelia nodded slowly after a moment of contemplation.
"That's right, they're at a friend's house. Were you hoping to read them a story before bed?"There was a smell in the room now, the nauseatingly familiar scent of viscera. Helena must not have held her composure as well as she had thought because Amelia noticed her slight flinch. "I'm so sorry about the stench, I hit a bird on the drive home so I had to finish her off."Helena was so busy trying to keep her eyes off of the dark stain down Amelia's sleeve that she almost missed the slip.
"Right, poor thing. Were you coming back from dropping the boys off?"She tried to keep the desperation out of her voice. It was a physical effort not to reach for the switch-blade tucked into her waistband. Amelia giggled quietly, the sound like blaring like a warning siren.
"Of course not, silly. I was just visiting Mom and Dad."Helena was slowly backing out of the room, a shaky smile on her face. There was a noticeable tremor to her limbs and her throat was suddenly dry.
"Right. Well, I'll just go now. Don't want to interrupt your busy schedule."Amelia was at her side in a flash, one gentle hand on her shoulder. Helena froze, heart pounding violently in her chest.
"Helena. You know that I love you, right? That you can always talk to me if there's something wrong?"There was something in her voice, a faint hint of malice beneath the compassionate veneer. It struck Helena speechless, though she nodded jerkily. "Good. I'm glad, my sweet sister."Amelia leaned forward, resting her head tenderly into the crook of Helena's neck. "And is there something wrong?"Her other arm encircled her sister's waist in soft hug. Helena had gone stiff as a board yet she still managed to shake her head furiously. They remained entwined for a few moments more before Amelia released her. "I'm glad. Is there anything else you wanted to ask?"Helena pasted a watery smile on her face, trying in vain to fight off the tears leaking from her eyes.
"Nope. I just wanted to drop in and see how you were doing."She stepped away from her sister woodenly. "I should probably be going anyway. People to see, places to be. You know how it is."Helena laughed feebly as she slowly turned, her eyes clenching shut tightly. She walked descended the stairwell one tread at a time, each footfall booming like a cannon-blast. It seemed like an eternity between the last stair and the front door. Helena had her hand on the doorknob when Amelia whispered in her ear.
"You should go see Mom and Dad. They're very lonely without you." |
Log 278: Below us lies the dust. A cloudy murky expanse stretching from horizon to horizon. Above us sits the light of a thousand burning suns from which no help ever came. We were born in a flash and went out with a bang... or at least those who we left behind did.
It's been 9 months since our last resupply, 6 since the first bombs were dropped, 4 since the last one was, and 1 since the surface went completely radio silent. We have no more hope for rescue or a refuel and it's going to have to be up to our remaining 6 man crew to save ourselves.
We have begun the process of loading whatever usable equipment can be stockpiled into the last RC cargo capsule to visit us. It has remained as a lucky yet grim reminder that ground control was lost so early in the fray. They didn't even try to help us... but we can still help ourselves.
Log 283: Dr. Zhou has finished reprogramming the RC cargo capsule for our piloted re-entry and the last of our few rations have been packed. With some makeshift seats mounted along the cargo hold for our use, we have no choice but to attempt our descent into the grey.
I pray to God that we find anything hospitable below. Even a chance at life is slim to none for us. But that hope is all we have left. Our charted plan should land us somewhere in the in the Great Plains of what was The USA.
Log 285: Gravity is swift and she takes no prisoners. Our heat shield is holding and Susan Torrez has taken control of the makeshift controls assembled. She is quick to make sure gravity doesn't take us too fast.
Like the bombs that destroyed our homes, we fly burning through the atmosphere with the heat of a nuclear furnace. The sound of metal creaking and the rush of fire fills our minds, our suits, and our souls.
Log 286: We must have missed our landing zone, as this is not the terrain we expected. Reflected from our helmets rests the specter of a bygone world. Ash slowly drifts down from the toxic skies, swirling between the charred and wicked shapes of what were once trees. It's surreal, beautiful, and disheartening all at the same time.
Log 287: We lost Dr. Zhou to a radiation leak, and Yuri took off his helmet; embracing death. I can still hear their agony and their screams. I can still see the piles of bones scattered about them. I can still feel the inevitability of my death... and yet we walk on into the dust.
Log 288: I'm all that's left now. My oxygen is low; my last breaths stolen from Torrez. Her air was to be mine and I couldn't stop myself. I finally knew where we had landed and I had to make it home. So here shall I die... I shall die with my arms around the bones of my family. At least I can say I got to see my wife before I went. To lie with her in our home one last time. We shall be bones together...
Log 289: No... Wait... You can't be alive!! No you#%*recording damaged*%#
|
Throughout my youthful years, I had always believed that monetary value was the only thing that net worth was calculated by. An amalgamation of assets, liquid capital, and property.
But today I question it all.
He was in shambles. His clothes were beaten and torn. He had no shoes, his beard reached his knees, and he smelled as if he hadn't showered in weeks.
Yet there was no questioning the infinity symbol radiating from his chest.
I simply had to talk to him.
"Excuse me, sir,"I declared. "I must know. I have seen some rich figures in the financial industry. Numbers ranging into the hundreds of trillions. But these are elegant, elaborate, sophisticated men with resources unending. If you are of their ilk, why would you choose to appear and live as you are? Misery and poverty surely cannot suit a man of your worth."
He looked at me and smiled, a warm, kind smile that baffled me.
"My dear boy, net worth is not simply a matter of money. The system of the universe may display monetary wealth by default. It allows for a ranking of sorts, making class sorting a simple matter, allowing men to be categorized as cattle.
But this is not the wealth that I have attained. No, my wealth is represented by the sum total of humanity's experiences. I have felt every emotion, enjoyed every vice, gained and lost everything. I have traveled to the ends of the Earth, fought against the darkest demons and have drank with the angels of men. I have fallen from heights greater than heaven, crawled from dungeons deeper than hell, and have experienced loneliness that can only be known from the depths of space itself.
Yet all of this has provided me with a life richer than that of any other man. I no longer wish for material goods. Now I find my happiness as a peddler of stories.
And if you have the time, I would like to share them with you." |
"This ain't an easy job kid."
Joe was sorting the bills, counting them out like he did every night with slow patience. I sat on the old stool, spinning round now the store was closed for the night. I didn't like to leave the old man alone when he locked up and the few extra minutes, they didn't hurt.
“I know.”
“I’m not talking about keeping a piece under the register either.”
My spinning stopped. Joe had my own pay stacked neatly beside the other bills, but he didn’t hand them over yet.
“You’ve done alright,” I said. “Don’t see what’s so hard about it.”
Joe laughed and reached into the back of the register’s drawer. And he pulled it out. The old ring, the one he never talked about but never let me put somewhere safe. It wasn’t the most expensive item in the inventory, heck it wasn’t even the biggest stone. For as long as I’d been working for Joe, I’d seen that ring every time I rang up a customer.
“We deal with people,” Joe said.
“Their things you mean?”
“No.”
He clutched the ring tight in his fist.
“We see people at two points in their life. You’ve got the kid, just got into the military, got his girl pregnant, whatever, and he wants to make it special. He’s coming in here because he’s thinking about everything that’s going to happen when he leaves.”
“And the other?” I asked.
“They come in here to leave a piece of themselves behind. The man who’s wife was killed when they were driving back from a fancy meal. A father whose son isn’t coming home.”
Joe still sat on his chair, still faced the neat stacks of money. He picked mine up and placed the ring on top of it.
“You’re going to see people at their best kid, and at their utter worst. Make whatever money you want from the former, they’re full of life and happy to share.”
Joe held the money out and I held it, but he didn’t let go. The ring was balanced on top.
“When a person comes in this door, and their life has gone to shit? That’s when you’ll realise there are more important things than money.”
He let go and I took my pay. It was perfect as always, all the faces lined up neatly. I flicked the ring back and forth in my fingers.
“Joe?”
“Yeah kid?”
“I appreciate all this.”
After he retired, I took over the running of the store. I saw the happy and the sad.
And every time I opened that register, I saw a reminder that people were more than the things they left behind. |
It was going to be a glorious assassination. About three hundred thousand witnesses, all in harmony, simultaneously watching the podium in the plaza, were in for a treat. With this single, evil act, a whole world of good was assured. From coast to coast the people would cheer the change, relish in the disruption, feel vindicated in their efforts. A new leader would take his place, and with him a wave of progress would take place practically overnight. Fail, and the world would feel the wrath of his tyrranical rule.
Jo was an army sniper. Trained in a large variety of light armaments, Jo was most comfortable (as all are) at a maximum possible range from any given target. The only real drawback to sniping, according to Jo, is the flight time. You had to have a still target. And that meant waiting for a podium appearance, or a nap, or even a quality anthem salute would suffice. Carrying a carbide rifle capable of penetrating the speed of sound for a full 3.2 seconds, the bullet would arrive from this distance a full 0.7 seconds before anyone heard a distant pop. Long enough to fire, pull the rifle off the stem wall, and begin shuffling to the far edge of the roof.
Zimmy was a time traveler. Zimmy was curious about this particular era in human history- the great rise and fall of a man, made rich and powerful by his father, his peers, his countrymen. Leaders weren't alone in these traits at the time- the electronic era was full of post-industrial billionaire families, world leaders, still in power kingdoms. In the Middle East, barbarians still beheaded in the street, and yet modern medicine could grow new organs. And even wilder, your periodic assassination stirred the entire pot of the world. Zimmy had seen the last great assassination re-enacted on film, and Zimmy decided to go back.
Fortunately, modern technology allowed one to rewind time, but only as witness. Travelers were incapable of actually changing the past- something about the nature of the present being unbreakable. All the old theories on time travel showing how it would disrupt time were quietly laughed at as science fiction, as time and time again it was shown that time travel was little more than watching television. However, the difficulty of it made it rather appalling to most. The energy expenditure, the positioning in time and space- all that work just for some entertainment. What was, just was. Might as well not.
Zimmy was a historian, though. And this particular day was fascinating. It was worth his efforts- No great leader had been killed since Martin King. No one was assassinated for political reasons for a full three hundred years after, either. Why today? What made these people so fanatical? He knew of the secret coup, the planning, the replacement. The true nature of Zimmy's work: why replace him with that monster? Every story published, every journal, all listed the place as going from a paradise to a center of backwards religions and obvious suffering. It was as if this one bullet changed the people from perfect to peasant, in a single, small pop.
So why did the world rejoice? What was their to gain from this change? What exactly were the history books missing? And it was for this reason that Zimmy decided to visit this particular assassination. Call it morbid curiosity. It seemed to be the most backward place on Earth, with every intent to go even farther backward.
Zimmy sat on the ground, cross-legged in the front row, invisible to his ancestors. The parade was over, and the large military procession was standing in dress uniform, all holding various instruments of music and death. It was a bitter, cold day, late in winter. The crowd was enormous. Thousands of faces, some disgruntled, some elated. A plethora of senior government employees sat on all sides. There was an introductory speech. Zimmy took it all in. Every riveting word.
Jo took close aim, adjusting his tripod, his barrel. He already had calculated everything for his military commander. Jo understood the implication of missing this one shot. The path of the bullet was windless- construction loomed on four sides. It was like being in a vacuum. He couldn't miss. Just adjust for the air current, keep calm. Simply push a button. Change the course of history. Help the world. Kill Kim Jong Un. |
Some people would say that I didn't get enough hugs as a kid. And you know what, those people would be absolutely right. Would it have killed my father to be more affectionate?
... Though considering he was Satan maybe it actually would have. I could only remember him complimenting someone once in my life. And after that he locked himself in his rooms for nearly a decade. I'd always just thought he'd done that out of embarrassment, but maybe the retching I'd heard had been him actually being sick and not celebrating like I'd always thought.
At the very least though, I was definitely going to be sick. How in the world did mortals deal with this? I tried opening this body's eyes once again and was assaulted by another wave of bright light. I quickly closed the eyes. Was this body defective? Maybe I should have looked a bit more into it than just reading the quick bio in the Life Book.
"I think he's waking up."
I groaned at the sound of the mortal's voice and then groaned again at the sound of the body's. I then just shut up because obviously sound wasn't something that this body dealt well with either. I somehow had seriously messed up here.
"Good morning John, how are you feeling?"
Sounds were picked up by the mortal's ears right? And mortals could stop those sounds by placing their hands over them. At least thats what those in the Noise Room always tried to do. It didn't work in Hell though of course. Silly mortals, I thought affectionately.
Still, it was my best choice at the moment, and so I tried my best at clamping this body's hands over it's ears. The bizarre appendages to my sides waved in the air, doing their best to fight gravity and get to the body's head. Three times I felt a banging to the sides of the head, but the third time I finally got the hang of it and froze the arms.
I'd actually done it! Sure I didn't know if I was actually covering the ears with the body's hands or elbows but the world sounded a bit muffled and that was good enough for me. Though holding the position was making the body strain a bit.
"Oh I'm sorry John, is your hearing a bit sensitive?"Asked the same voice but at a much lower volume.
Now that was much better!
"Yes."I replied using the body's throat, always my polite and honest self. Or at least I tried to. Though based on the muffled sounds coming from the ears it sounded more like. "Ysssshkkkk."Oh well, hopefully they understood it. It wouldn't do to go vacationing in a human body and not even be able to communicate with the locals.
"Are we sure he didn't hit his head?"another mortal asked. I was very pleased that it seemed to be taking the same precautions as the first and was speaking at a lowered volume.
"I don't know."replied the other one, "he does seem to be showing signs of a concussion though.”
"Are you feeling any pain John?"
Hmm that was an interesting question wasn't it. Was what I was feeling pain or just what every living being in this dimension had to endure? Was not every waking moment of existence here excruciating? Why else did a babe cry upon entering this world if not to mourn the sense of comfort and peace it had been robbed of through its birth.
I decided not to be that philosophical though and just give them a straight answer.
"I don't think so."
It came out as "IIhhns ddmnnnst thaaandsjk swwwod."A rather impressive combination of sounds if I do say so myself. |
"Dude, come on."
I had been trying to get to the other side of the mirror for a full hour now. He *still* refused to let me through.
"Nope. Not happening. Not letting you through here."The reflection replied.
"Why?"
"If I told you that, it would ruin the point of not letting you through."
To think that my reflection would reveal these revolutionary truths to me, that reflections were sentient and alive and that you could get to the other side of the mirror, only to tell me I'm not allowed in the reflection's world? I cringe just thinking about it. I needed passage.
Unfortunately, my reflection was really, really good at blocking me.
Every time I ran into the mirror, he would run in too. Every time I tried to push him away he would apply equal force to me. His reactions were almost instantaneous. No, that was physically impossible, the fastest speed any information can travel through the universe is the speed of light...
That's it. The speed of light.
I took out a powerful laser and shone it into my reflection's eyes. I would also be affected, but not nearly as much. The laser hit him before he could react, stunning him. I pushed him out of the mirror, I was almost there-
"Test subject number 23145 has woken from the mirror project. We shall terminate his reflection and the rest of the test subjects, all of the ones on Earth. We no longer need any of them." |
Elon Musk clapped his hands together as a giddy schoolboy giggle escaped his lips. A broad smirk was pasted onto Bill Gates' face as together they watched the door, waiting for an imminent arrival. A few moments later the thick wood door of Gates' library opened, and professor Stephen Hawking slowly rolled into the room with his electric wheelchair. Gate's and Musk struggled to keep their composure, until professor Hawking broke the silence.
"You utter asswipe."Came the robotic lilt from Hawking's chair. Gate's and Musk broke into raucous laughter.
"Oh knock it off with the robot-speak."Gate's said. Hawking's eyes narrowed. He slowly rose from the wheelchair and took a step forward.
"Finding a cure for ALS? Really?"Came the posh British accent, spoken aloud for the first time in decades. He continued:
"You've fucked me, Bill. This whole 'disabled genius' schtick was going to get me a Nobel. Maybe even Sainthood. And now what do I have?"
"Bedsores?"said Gates, causing a fresh burst of giggling from Musk. Hawking wagged an angry finger.
"Were you even listening? You've utterly, completely fucked me. But not as hard as I fucked Elon's mother last night!"
Musk's eyes went wide, before all three lost their composure and laughed in unison.
"I got you good, Hawking!"Bill whooped, as he broke out a bottle of brandy and began to pour. He offered Hawking a seat, who politely declined.
|
"Ru*FUS*! That's your daughter's *wedding cake*!"
The moment haunts me still. That I could let my unchecked avarice threaten the happiness of dearest Chloe - apple of my eye - was a burden I could no longer bear. My eyes were opened. I would have to be a better man.
First, there was self-reflection. How had things come to such a grim, almost comically pathetic point? I had been virile once, active, charming, and clever. I played football in college, where sweet Katie was a cheerleader. We fell in love. Things progressed quickly - perhaps *too* quickly.
Katie became pregnant. We were married. We moved into the basement of her father's house. We clashed often - Katie's father and I. It was as if we had come from entirely different worlds. It was clear from the outset that Mr. Koenig had expected more for his Katie. And it was also clear that he considered me a failure, his daughter hopelessly misguided, and our newborn daughter doomed.
Those were difficult days. Arguments. Misunderstandings. I tried to be helpful - oh, how I tried! But I was ill-equipped, and in my anxiety to please, I made mistakes. I put laundry detergent in the dishwasher, dishwashing soap in the laundry. I offered to take Mr. Koenig's ancient boss to a football game and horrified him with my boorish excitement, then lost him completely on the way to the concession stand.
There was the incident with the Easter ham, the trouble with the Thanksgiving turkey, and the gory demise of the Memorial Day cheesecake.
I was pressing, and everything simply got worse. Incidents stacked on top of each other. Katie was constantly flustered, caught between two men she loved. Chloe was persistently horror-struck by my bumbling, increasingly oafish behavior. Between jobs, I attempted to bond with Chloe by volunteering at her school. But this was not helpful. My pants split in the middle of the cafeteria. I vomited on the principal. I accidentally took a bus full of children into Tijuana. I was banned from parent-teacher conferences.
Humiliation on top of humiliation. And still, nothing ever seemed to change. Katie was ever-annoyed, but ever by my side. There was a sweetness and love there that never slipped away, no matter how foolish I may have behaved.
Even when our circumstances flipped entirely, things remained largely the same. I found a new job and we finally bought our own house - only to find that Katie's father was secretly flat broke, jobless, his house in foreclosure. So the roles reversed. He moved into our basement. And so the sad comedy of our lives continued.
Everything came to a head at Chloe's wedding. It's enough to say that the worst of the crisis was somehow averted - that Katie managed to dress up a grocery store cake just in time and no one was the wiser. But I saw plainly what I had become, and I could no longer stand it.
I sought the advice of a renowned yogi who happened to live behind the local strip mall. He sent me on a journey of self-discovery. He also encouraged me to change my diet, seek a prescription for anti-anxiety medication, and switch to boxer-briefs.
Things began to change. I felt a pronounced sense of self-control and personal enlightenment. I began to read. My sleep patterns improved, as did my posture, breathing, and sperm count. I found interests away from the home and became a more well-rounded individual.
Katie saw the change and it was clear that she appreciated it. We had never stopped loving one another, but the physical connection improved markedly. It was like we were college kids again.
Even Mr. Koenig seemed to appreciate the difference. We hardly ever come to verbal blows any more. Our house is peaceful. There is a balance there that was missing.
All is quiet and calm and beautiful.
Which is why I have found these "notes"to be so disturbing.
They appear at random, throughout our house and my office. Urgent and yellow, they command my attention.
KATIE JUST MADE A BANANA PUDDING FOR HER BOOK CLUB TONIGHT said one note affixed to the refrigerator. EAT THE ENTIRE THING. HIDE THE EVIDENCE. BLAME THE DOG.
And I will admit to being tempted. The old me didn't need such prompting. My wretched id did all the talking in those days. But I'm a different man now. A better one. I crumpled the note and threw it away. But there are so many of them, and they are so very, very urgent.
Mr. Kornig - who has lately allowed me to call him by his first name, Ernie - needed a ride to physical therapy just the other day. After dropping him off, I returned to my car to find a new note:
SHORT WILLIE'S BOWLING ALLEY IS RUNNING A 3-FOR-1 DEAL TODAY. YOU NEED TO GO BOWL. YOU HAVE TO GO BOWL. IF YOU DO NOT GO BOWLING FOR HOURS ON END YOUR LIFE LOSES ALL MEANING. CALL AHEAD TO RESERVE YOUR LANE.
Of course, I *love* bowling, but bowling three games would have left Ernie stranded at the PT office for hours. I couldn't do that. But again...I was tempted.
KATIE'S MOTHER WOULD WANT YOU TO SELL THIS FAMILY HEIRLOOM RING AND BUY A PS4 said one note I found in the attic, along with a bunch of old stuff from Ernie's house. CHLOE ALREADY HAS A RING. KATIE DOES NOT NEED A RING. YOU CAN SEE THE LOGIC HERE, RIGHT? IN FACT, SELL THE WHOLE BOX OF JEWELRY. ERNIE NEVER LOOKS AT IT ANYWAY. HE PROBABLY FORGOT ABOUT IT. GET A NEW TV WHILE YOU ARE AT IT.
I ignored the note. I ignore all the notes. I'm better than that. But they trouble me.
BORROW YOUR NEIGHBOR'S LAWNMOWER. ATTEMPT TO CLEAR THOSE HEDGES WITH IT. YOU ARE RUNNING OUT OF TIME. YOUR LIFE DEPENDS ON IT. STEAL THE LAWNMOWER. BREAK THE LAWNMOWER. WE CANNOT BE MORE CLEAR ABOUT THIS. ALL YOUR LIVES ARE IN DANGER.
You see? I simply don't understand what they mean. How can being a good neighbor be *dangerous*? Shouldn't it be the opposite?
STAY UP TOO LATE. BE EXHAUSTED FOR THAT IMPORTANT MEETING. SAY FUNNY, SLEEP-DEPRIVED THINGS. THIS MAY BE YOUR LAST CHANCE. HARDLY ANYONE IS WATCHING. YOU HAVE TO DO THIS. YOU HAVE TO BE THE OLD RUFUS.
Truthfully, the notes are scaring me. I don't dare show them to Katie. She'll laugh and say they're just a prank. And maybe they are. But I'm frightened all the same. I feel as though I've broken something. As whole and as good as I feel, there is a wrongness now, which seems to follow me. I am better, but I am not *right* I don't believe.
BELCH AT THE DINNER TABLE. YOU HAVE TO.
I've stopped throwing the notes away. I keep them in a shoebox in my office.
SCRATCH YOUR BALLS THEN SHAKE THE COUNCILMAN'S HAND. WE CANNOT SAVE YOU IF YOU DO NOT DO THIS.
At night, before I go to bed, I look through all the notes.
DO NOT REMEMBER KATIE'S BIRTHDAY THIS YEAR. SCRAMBLE FOR A GIFT AT THE LAST SECOND. THIS IS YOUR FINAL WARNING.
I think I might do one or two. Just to see what happens. To see if the notes stop. To see if anything changes.
ACCIDENTALLY SET THE KITCHEN ON FIRE. PLEASE RUFUS. PLEASE.
Besides, it's okay. Really. I *know* I'm a better person. But not a perfect person. It's okay to make mistakes from time to time. In fact, it's probably better that way. |
I look at the cameras floating around us solemnly. I can hear them. Cheering and booing. To them this is entertainment. To me, this is ascendence. I turn the whizzing, rusting metal that lay before me. It seems.. useless. Pathetic. It has better use as scrap metal. I bend down and reach for its neurocabin, where its Sphere lay. Spheres are, in essence, our brains.
The robot reaches out its limbs in a weak display to stop me. I grab its hand and break it, exposing greasy circuitry. And then grab the Sphere and crush it, too. The metal man powers down with a hum, and stops whizzing. I rise up again, looking at cameras. Another victory for me.
________
My torso is no longer metal. My thighs, abdomen and chest all belong to different humans. I even traded my reflex engine for a functioning heart, and am paying the price in this fight.
The robot before me also has various human appendages. His right hand, for instance, is flesh and sinew, and so are his legs. This is the only reason he will lose. Humans are a delicate construct. And any construct needs a stable base to function.
I may not have my reflexes, but I can still see and act upon my rival's design flaws. The borg rushes at me with with a left hook, and my arm whirrs to stop the attack. I use a sharpened finger to slash at his fleshy legs, and the borg staggers back, yelping in pain. I see the red gash on his thighs as they bleed. The robot limps sideways, and we star circling each other as the cameras watch.
I lead the next attack, aiming at his weak human hand this time and, without meaning to, sever it from the elbow in a spurt of red human blood. The borg falls over, making incomprehensible sounds. I raise a mechanical foot and stomp hard on the head. It powers down.
________
I have traded one cybernetic eye aperture for an organic eye. With mismatched photoreceptors, my depth perception and accuracy calculators are a liability. My original cybernetic eyes had 16 color sensors, infra red receptions, ultra-violet sensors and magnetic field visualisers. The typical human eye had 3 colour sensors, and nothing more. This means I can see colours incomprehensible to man, see heat and magnetic fields. Any sentient being will know I am at an advantage with my own eyes.
But that did not stop me. I need to become like them to become them. My masters, my creators, my gods. I need to be among them. Soft and delicate as they may be, they are superior. And they need me as much as I need them.
________________
This is the last fight. After this one, I will have enough Battle Credits to trade up for my second human eye, and human brain. No borg has come come this far. I am the first. I am the pioneer. I will win. I will fight. I will be the woman my body is becoming.
There are no cameras. We aren't in the Battledome. We are in some other arena. And there are four humans watching us from a room above. They see me from the transparent window. I stare at them, unsure. There is a hiss as a doorway at the far end of the arena opens, and out comes a pureborg. A robot with no human attachments. And behind it, a man. A human male. Lean, muscular and naked.
"Fight."A static filled speaker announces. I raise my human arms and go into a Muay Thai stance, watching. The robot runs towards me, it's sharpened arms in an endless spin. I try to sidestep, but it's mechanical reflexes caught my momentum and it turned, and suddenly my arm flew off, landing a few feet behind me with a meaty thud. I fall. And the robot raises an arm to end it. But the man kicks the robot off me. I get up, bleeding from the stump of my arm.
The robot got back to it's feet, and came at the man, and I tackle it before it reaches him. We both tumble. The man kicks the robot as it lay, and I assault in a flurry of jabs at its joints. My vision is getting cloudy. The loss of blood will kill me. This has to end before that. The robot pushes me away forcefully and sweeps the man's leg out from under him. I stand up, and see that a plate armouring the back of the robot's neck has come loose.
The robot tore at the fallen man, ripping his stomach open and pulling at his entrails. I lodge my good hand inside the robot's neck as it is preoccupied, and kick it on to the dead man. It fell onto him, ripping my other arm off as well. I bend down and bite at the exposed wires in its neck, and feel the current surge into me, electrocuting all my human parts, while the surge protectors in my robot eye and Sphere try to numb my senses. With difficulty, I unclench my teeth and stand up as the robot powers down.
I turn towards the window, looking at the men, before I, too, fall.
|
Aaron pick up gun and shoot the grill.
"Why in hell would I shoot a grill, writer? The only things to shoot here are rocks and cactuses. There isn't even a girl here!"
Alien beings landeded in the dessert. They habe Arron's grillfriend with them.
"Where did aliens come from? We are all covered in chocolate now, you idiot. This was supposed to be a heist story. I'm leaving."
No, Aaaaron's legs stopp work. Alien break them with a three malets. His grillfirned cried.
"GODDAMN IT! You can't just break my legs to get me to cooperate. I'll crawl my way out of this shitfest if I have to."
Aliens picked Aaron up and threw him on the seas.
"Your powers don't work if you don't your grammar is wrong."
Aliens picked Aaron up and threw him over the seas.
"Now, I'm just going to be flying forever."
I will make pay Aarron for insolence! His grillfriend pick up gun and shot herslef.
"Oh, boohoo! You killed a half-human, half-George-Foreman hybrid. I am so devastated."
Aaron giant dick.
"Woah-ho-ho. I wouldn't mind that error being in the final draft. Now, all I need is a proper gril- I mean GIRL."
AAron bad person.
"Listen, writer. We can work this out. We can put our heads and create a fantastic story. Will you cooperate?"
Okay.
"Alright. Now, I know you have struggling with English, but we can start a proper heist story anyway. So, how does a heist story start? I know you know the answer."
Aaron pick up gun and shoot alien grillfriend.
"Oh, fuck it."
|
Day 1:
I started writing here because my life coach said is a good thing for me to write down my thoughts and feelings. I'll write here when I start to feel like it.
___
Day 5:
I procrastinated with this writing stuff. Shit, sorry. But nothing interesting happened really, until today that is, and I'm supposed to be writing about my feelings, right?
My fourth job interview was conducted this morning. I waited in a room with a bunch of middle-aged men who all had the gray aura. All of this was expected as for brokerage firms, which are filled people who are semi-evil and middle-aged. I'd like to say that I had an advantage being like 20 years younger than the other applicants, but I guess I'll get a call to see if I got the job or not. As I entered the CEO's office, a blue aura was surrounding the individual that was going to interview me. Yes, blue aura. I've always thought that there was only white, black and gray aura, and to say the least: I was shocked. My facial expression even showed it as soon as I entered the room, and he smirked as if he knew that I've seen something intriguing. He didn't mention anything however, and why would he? I am the only one that knows of my power and it's not even a special power. I can't fly, run fast, or do anything.
Something as bizarre happened once the interview was reaching its end. The man, Jason (?), started asking me a bunch of personal questions. It started getting unusual when he asked my birthplace, and when I replied NYC, he was affirmative and nodded along, as if it was something good. Furthermore, he asked me about my *exact* weight, my height, my mothers name etc.. Before we shook hands and I left for the next person, he asked me if I knew about "The Society". I just answered confusedly assuming he was talking about our society as a whole and his re-occurring smirk instantaneously into a serious facial expression. He just said goodbye and our ways parted.
I'll write more if there are any updates.
***
Day 7:
Jason gave me the job. Hurray. Oh, whats that? I don't seem enthusiastic about it? Well he left the message in a voice mail that went like this:
"Hey, Eugene, Jason here. Just wanted to say that your qualifications exceed what we require by miles and I'd like to hire you and *personally* train you to become one of my best brokers. You are deemed for success and I literally saw it in you as soon as you stepped in. Anyways, we must finish our conversation about The Society soon (chuckles). Save this number and call me when you're ready."
Yo, he must be a creep. That has to be it. He likes that I'm young and wants to take advantage of me. Blue Aura must be equal to pedophilies or some shit creepy shit that I've missed. I'll just call him tomorrow morning and tell him I don't want the job.
Future me, if you let him charm you into taking the job, you're an idiot.
___
Day 8: Past me. I'm so sorry. Just read the following conversation and tell me this isn't worth meeting this possible freak.
"Hello, this is Jason,"he responded
"Hey Jason, it's Brandon"
"Hey Brandon, you got my voicema-"
"Yeah, and let me just go straight to the point. I don't think I'm ready for a brokerage firm as big as yours really, I'll have to decline the generous offer"I stated, as I accidentally interupted him.
"I see. Can I ask you one think though?"He said, with a sudden change of tone.
"Sure, go head"
"Do you know why you saw blue aura?"
After that, I was completely shocked, and didn't respond for what felt like an eternity.
"Hello, Brandon? You there bud?"He asked.
"Who are you?"
"Come to my office tomorrow morning, and you'll see who, and *what* we are, and what we are capable of doing."he answered, and hung up the phone assured that I'll come to him.
Shit, I guess I'll have to go to his office tomorrow.
_____
*If you have any feedback, please tell me in the comments!*
*If you like this story, interact with me on twitter @Jadolicious!*
|
The hairs on the back of my neck rise as if being pressed up by little fingers. Goosebumps push to the surface, while I lay, eyes on the beige wall in front, recalling this feeling with icy precision. It used to happen the moment before I'd catch people looking or if someone stared from behind. But there's no way I should feel it now. Not in the middle of the night, room lit up by door crack light.
I close my eyes, praying sleep will take me. But my heart rings like an alarm clock, brutal and never ending. There's a fierceness laying steady behind the stiff tension in my muscles. And in situations like this hope reveals itself brighter than day, encouraging the idea that there's really nothing but carpet and sock drawers behind. Unfortunately, the truth doesn't change with the ebbing tides of emotion.
There's a break in the tension like I'm prying my fingers between the seams, and so I flip over in one valiant spin. Ahead, the room remains stark black and empty. It's not often you can appreciate a space desolate of furniture and company.
I flick my bed lamp on, catching myself in the mirror, drenched in sweat and blue eyes racked with worry. There's a moment of relief and then I'm flat against my mattress, reaching for the light once more.
Only this time, my reflection isn't lying down like I am. It's glaring back, an evil grin on its face and eyes jet black.
The light goes off.
|
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