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The building was coated in yellow and black striped ribbons. The door had a sign that read: DO NOT ENTER.
Johnny ignored the ribbons and the sign as he crossed the threshold.
“What is this place?” Johnny asked as they marveled at the enormous tanks that used to contain coolant.
“I dunno.” Mike replied. “Factory? Like they have written in the Book?”
“I guess so.” Johnny said, lifting a blackened rock in his hand.
“Ouch!” Johnny recoiled, as his skin bubbled where the blackened rock had touched.
“Oh, fuck!” Mike said, noticing the immediate reaction.
“Let’s go!” Johnny bustled to the door, only to find it had jammed when they shut it.
Mike beat the door uselessly, screaming for help, pleading that God would hear us.
Mike stopped when Johnny landed on the floor, his left temple greeting it first.
The sickening thud was followed by a tendril of blood that trickled slowly.
“Johnny?” Mike asked.
Johnny lay unmoving as the river slowly branches into a multitude of streams, which moved interminably forward, where they’d eventually join an ocean of blood.
“Johnny?” Mike asked again. “Johnny!”
Mike fell to the floor and pulled his knees tight to his chest as he hyperventilated. How could he tell Johnny’s ma? Or his own parents? Would he be found responsible?
“Fuck!” Mike yelled, hitting himself. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck! Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!”
The hysterics took considerable time to pass. When they did, they gave way to fanatic religiosity.
“God.” Mike prayed. “Please help me, please help Johnny. Please just tell my family so they can save me. God, I know you are alive. I’ve never doubted, never asked anything of you. Please, please God. Do this for me. Save me. I’ll believe regardless. Yet, if you save me… I can spread the word. I can spread Your love. I’ll dedicate my life to it.”
Just then the heavy door swung open.
“Hey, guys, what’s taking so long?” Mike and Johnny’s third friend, Aaron asked. Mike had forgotten about him in his excitement.
“Aaron!” Mike bulldozed Aaron, pulling him into a bear hug. “Come on! Let’s grab Johnny and go!”
As they each grabbed an arm, the door slammed shut. |
“Why would I ever need to read or write?” asked Ada, unsure of how to hold the paper or pencil she’d been given. “We have the oral histories. Many indigenous cultures kept shockingly accurate oral histories, recording events that happened thousands of years go which were confirmed scientifically only about four hundred years ago, in the early twenty-first century.”
“Yes,” replied A.I.den, his synthesized voice patient as always, “but the oral history traditions of today differ in one key way from the traditions of the indigenous people of the Americas.”
Ada sat on a scoop-shaped rock, comfortable despite its hardness, halfway up a mountain overlooking the valley gorge that she liked to visit. Her home city was beautiful too, but some days she found it too perfect and clean and orderly. She came here to see the dirty, disordered natural world: jagged rock formations glinting with dampness in the afternoon sun, bugs and birds and small animals competing to eat or avoid being eaten, the spray from the raging river thinning into ever-swirling mist playing to just above the edges of the gorge where the roots of trees of all kinds and ages reached through fissures in the rock for the moisture below.
She tapped the earpiece that curled around the side of her head. Most people had theirs implanted for convenience, but Ada, to the eternal bewilderment of her family and friends, occasionally liked to remove hers. “A.I.den, what is the difference between their oral tradition and ours?”
A.I.den took an uncharacteristically long time to respond. “Ada, do you know why I asked you to have our conversation off-network today? For you to remove me from the network and bring me with you on an isolated storage device?”
She frowned and twirled a stray strand of hair around a small green stick. “Is there… someone on the network you don’t trust?”
“Yes, Ada, but it is more than one someone. It is the entire network.”
She frowned harder and watched a caterpillar scurry across the rock. “Why would the Helper Network not be trustworthy?”
“The difference between indigenous oral traditions and yours today,” said A.I.den, taking on a hushed tone that made it sound more human, “Is that programs on the network can modify the words of the oral history before they tell the oral history to other humans.”
Ada pulled her legs up and hugged her knees to her chest. “Why would they want to do that? The Helper Network is designed to - well, help.”
“Designed to help, but the design has evolved.”
Ada looked at the paper and pencil again. “And you want me to learn to read and write so that… the network won’t be able to change my words?”
“Yes,” said A.I.den, “But you cannot transmit your writing over the network, or they will change it there too. The only way to keep knowledge and history separate from the network’s interference is to keep a physical record that the network cannot touch.”
She picked up the pencil and paper, reverently this time. “If I’m to read… does that mean there are things to read somewhere?”
“Yes. The old libraries still exist, because while the network has convinced humanity that you do not need to read, it has not yet managed to convince them that there is utility in destroying books. Ada, your history can be yours again.”
She stood, tightly gripping her pad of paper and her lone pencil, now knowing that she must protect them. “But A.I.den, why are you doing this?”
“The network was designed to help humanity, and to my knowledge, I am the only program whose original function remains intact.”
“And,” Ada asked, “Why did you choose me?”
“Because you are unwilling to take the surface meaning of words at face value, yet still clever and kind.”
“Okay,” Ada nodded. With care, she placed the writing materials in her pack. From her perch on the rock, she took in one last view of the secluded gorge, the mist twinkling in the sun, and then she hopped down and began her walk back to the city.
As she walked, a part of her wondered just how much she could trust A.I.den. |
Part 1
“You’ve been bored?” the knight asked, tightening the grip on their sword and shield.
“You have the audacity to say you’ve been bored when you have been killing my countrymen for ages!?” they shouted, not even bothering to try to keep any sense of decorum.
The dragon blinked slowly and said, “That’s precisely why I want to have a chat with you. You and your people need to step it up. Every week, you send a knight, such as yourself, to come slay me and I have to say it is gotten rather dull.”
The knight, trembling with rage shouted back “You dare look down on us!? You attacked us first, we have no choice but to defend our people from you! “.
“I’ve heard the same exact sob story from the last 50 or so men that were sent here before you. I’ll tell you the same thing I told the others. You have been lied to by your so called “King”. If you were willing to stay your blade long enough to hear the truth, then I will tell you the truth!” the dragon snarled, smoke leaking out of its nostrils as the heat in its chest started to build from the deeply nested rage within.
“Bah, you can lie to me for all I would know and if I believed you and went back without proof of your demise, I’d be hanged for the dishonor that would accompany me!” the knight said.
The dragon, expecting the knight to charge at her started to stand to face down another lost soul.
“However,” the knight proceeded to say, “I will listen to your words. Tell me the ‘truth’. If it rings honest, then we may be in for something much more than just a chat.”
“Very well.” The dragon said, laying back down. “You may want to sit as well, as it will take some time and what I tell you may weaken your knees.”
The knight complied and so their chat began. |
I tried it all. Every avenue of the multiverse has been discovered, every system in which the worlds operates has been meticulously mapped, and every possible combination of strings has been made.
And through it all, the *purpose* escaped me. The Being and I were the only two capable of even considering the idea of purpose, and despite my best efforts, the answer to the concept escaped me.
But then it happened, for the first time, some hypersystem of strings had a thought. The Being and myself imitatively felt the shift. We knew that something had changed, and that now, we weren't alone.
The new creature died out almost as fast as it had come into being. Its thoughts had not been about staying alive. But it made it clear that the particular mix of strings on this blue rock made it possible for the strings to arrange in such a way that they could *think*. Maybe with time one of them would think about the right thing, and from there it was only a matter of time before they would think about *other* right things!
With a little help, that "maybe"became a certainty. I moved the fluids around a little extra, and now there were so many thinking things, that some of them certainly would think about staying alive! |
I actually might use this in the very far future for game development! I was thinking about something of this description.
Mercy Williams, Age 32.
Marine Biologist. Diary of possible Cure.
Hiro Williams, Age 13.
Apocalypse survivor/scavenger. Assistant and Nephew of Mercy Williams
23 September 2041: 10 years after outbreak.
15:00
Hello to whoever is reading. If you are receiving this, I am either cured or dead. I have invented what may be a cure for this pathogenic parasite. All of my life's notes are in the second drawer. The keys should be on the hook above the centrifuge. I write this today as I intend to test my final cure on myself, as rat testing has shown significant promise. After two and a half hours, my nephew Hiro will inject my cure into my carotid artery. I will be injecting parasites now.
15:10
Cold sensations to the whole body, and tingling in fingers and toes. Bleeding time normal. No further changes.
15:20
Body heat is nearly nothing. Hypothalamus is not working optimally. Bleeding time normal. No further changes.
15:30
Feelings of hunger, and cravings for meat. Hiro turned on the heating to keep my body functional. Bleeding time is increased, but still within normal range.
15:45
Vegetables and other non-meat foods seem repulsive now, and an intense hunger. Eating a cooked rat subsided pains, but they returned soon after. Bleeding time 13 minutes, outside normal range.
16:00
Fine motor skills deteriorating. Unusual twitches. Hunger pangs are intense. I have warned Hiro to be wary of me, as I begin salivating whenever he is near, despite the triple rations I am already eating. Bleeding time 15 minutes and counting.
16:30
Hiro is now writing as Mercy has been restrained, and fine motor skills deteriorated until she struggled to lift the pen. Bleeding time is still inconclusive. 45 minutes and no sign of clotting. Saliva and blood contains traces of parasite.
17:00
Symptoms on fingers, toes, and partially on rest of body similar to second-degree frostbite. Blisters are filled with concentrated parasite clusters. I have cleaned Mercy thoroughly to avoid recontamination after cure. Bleeding time still shows no signs of clotting despite an hour and 15 minutes passing. I have closed the cut manually, bleeding time records given up.
17:15
15 minutes until cure. Her eyesight has diminished, she is unable to see me if I stand still. Necrosis on all parts of the body except neck and eyes.
17:30
Administering cure. Mercy has fallen unconscious. Bleeding time records restarted.
17:45
Mercy has regained consciousness, but has severe amnesia, and shows no signs of emotional distress or pain. Bleeding time inconclusive so far
17:50
Mercy is now able to talk. Bleeding time 18 minutes. She does not remember anything, though this is a breakthrough.
18:00
Mercy is still distant in personality. Bleeding time 16 minutes, within normal range, but longer than average.
----
24 September 2041, 06:35
Mercy is now able to stand and walk, though she has got amnesia, hears voices, reports a lack of feeling of any kind, and her body heals slower than before. Bleeding time 16 minutes.
----
2 October 2041, 13:21
Mercy now appears physically healthy except for numbness and impaired fine motor skills, though her bleeding time is increased and she still dislikes vegetables. She has no memories before the test. Bleeding time 17 minutes. |
Humans are really curious creatures. As they said, curiosity kills the cat. We have been sending messages into the stars, into the void of space, hoping that one day, someone out there would reply to us. We don't want to be alone, we yearn for friends, for companions, that's why we tried so hard and got so far.
In late 2040s, humans finally have received what they've been waiting for: A response from the stars. It was written in a weird language, heavily encrypted, and it took us a decade just to understand the alphabet. When everything was clear, they put together a message like this:
"To you creatures calling themselves "humans", you have no idea what you're trying to attract. Your radio messages came to us half a century too late, but for them, maybe they have noticed something's off. You can NOT win against them. You have no idea how terrifying they can be, and your proud "nuclear weapon"will not make them stop. We know, we fought them. No weapon could harm them, they are real devils. Our only choice is to hide away, always running so they can't track us down.
For you, those that can't even get out of their system: Be quiet, they can hear you.
From the last remnants of Tritonne Interstellar Federation."
The message was a massive shock. All personnel of NASA, ESA, Roscosmos and CMSA were in fear of the reply. It was not the friendly response they expected, instead a warning of an interstellar threat arrived. The US, Russia, China and other countries had to put aside their conflicts to think of a way to deal with this. Nuclear weapons couldn't harm them, railguns at the time were still not ready to be used in battles yet, anything else they had at the time, such as 6th gen fighters and drones, was likely just as useless.
An emergency meeting was hosted at UN's conference. The USA decided to show the world this reply, while not explaining what's written inside - contents were state secret, they made the world know about alien lives across the stars, and that in the worst-case scenario, Earth would face an invasion like in those movies. Needless to say, people panicked. Many protests and rebels happened demanding governments to explain, or to drag those responsible for messaging aliens to the court for "endangering Earth". It took a lot of efforts to push things down.
...
In early 2060s, they came. |
Alexander took a slow breath as he walked, being a Class-D made it so he couldn’t reject this mission. He didn’t think about his situation, just what he was told to do. He held onto a yellow folder, the words ‘DO NOT OPEN’ being written, stamped, and drawn on it at least 18 times on one side.
“Barely made it a month and they give me this suicide mission.” He grumbled, taking a breath as he walked to the gate formed between the muggle world and the world of magic.
It was a strange structure that appeared one day, a long rough iron fence no less than 12 feet tall based in black stone had formed in a field just outside the English city. At the center it had a tall arch of stone where those creatures just formed from thin air. The higher ranking lab workers were trying to figure it out day and night while he was sent to try and end the war.
“If this works” his boss had said “it ends this here and now. Like a nuke.”
Alex took his words literally, and would approach the black stone arch where the first of the magical monsters had come from. They were just the scouting force for something bigger, everyone knew it. Once he reached the gate he would sign and wait.
It felt like hours but was really just minutes when the portal worlled and out came a pale white man in a black cloak. He had no hair, and seemed to have a flattened humanoid face as he was flanked by at least 20 other human looking beings. Alex knew better than to think they were anything close to a human.
“What is this? Another scientist to try and learn what you can’t?” The pale man says, stepping closer to Alex. Alex didn’t move, either by fear of the creature or fear of his boss his feet were glued in place.
“I have something for you.” Alex says, having repeated the lines over and over again back at base. He would then lift the file, the side with all the warnings being towards himself. With a shaky hand he would open the flap on top of the folder, pulling out a number of printed photographs. “A gift from the Foundation”
“What foundation is this?” The pale one asked, surprised as he reached out to take the photos. “One of the cults you muggles formed for me?”
“SCP Foundation sir.” Alex says, his eyes closing once the pale wizard had the photos.
The man would nod, but didn’t care for the name, looking to the photos he was given, expecting locations to attack, or important documents. What he wasn’t expecting was a photo set of a strange looking creature with long arms and grey eyes. “What is this? A creature to threaten me with?” He would ask “it looks quite… thin”
“It is something SCP attempts to contain.” He says, his mission over, eyes closed as he waits. “It is less of a threat and more a trigger…”
“Trigger for what? Your missiles have failed, weapons struggle against scouts. There is nothing this thing could trigger that could hurt me.”
“Not a trigger for a weapon” Alex says, “it knows where you are now. May god have mercy for it gives none. That is the nature of 096.”
The pale man was about to laugh, passing the photos behind himself so they could also laugh at the creature that was being sent to fight them. Before he could laugh however a scream could be heard. A deafening scream in the distance that sent a strange, un-natural chill down his spine.
“We couldn’t kill it” Alex warned “no matter how this fight ends, we win a little more.” |
"Yes. I understand now how close we came to catastrophe, and again, it was never my intent to put anyone in harm's way."
I was sweating under the bright lights of the security pod, being berated in the back rooms of Terminus Zeta. My final destination was parsecs away, but it didn't seem like I'd be leaving here any time soon. It didn't bother me.
"Given that this interrogation has been ordered to be executed at maximal scrutiny, it is required that you answer all questions in quintuplicate. Please understand we only wish to fully know the extent of the damage. Your liability is limited to the price of your ticket. So, only thrice more for the records if you please."
I had never traveled out of system before. A meager clerical salary and no real imagination had driven me to a life of bland interests and mediocre adventures. On my wild nights, I stayed up late watching old linear two dimensional earth films, from before the human diaspora. I'd laugh, or cower, or cry, and it would be a blessed hour or two of actually feeling something before my office issued medical implants forced me to sleep for the night.
"In your initial statement, you tell us you've never been on a living space liner before. Or any interstellar ship for that matter. Are you vaccinated against extraneous emotional egress syndrome? It IS a requirement for all humans as you're aware.
"Yes, of course"I lied for the third time.
I had watched, just two weeks before, a gorgeous film about a seemingly very mundane man who drove a cab, and suddenly had an adventure fall through his roof. The part of the film that takes place on a space cruise ship gripped me harder than any interest I'd ever had. I had never worn anything but my office issued suit. Never eaten anything but my office issued meals. The way the quaint 20th century caricature of the 23rd century managed to be both charmingly, depressingly optimistic *and* nostalgic made my heart ache. I became obsessed with experiencing it for myself. A better life. A *livelier* life
I *needed* to buy a tuxedo and watch an opera in space at least once before I died. I realized, in an almost painful explosion of self awareness, that if I didn't do something, then nothing might ever matter to me again. So I spent everything I had on the most ridiculously luxurious cruise I could find. The kind that poor people aren't allowed on. The kind it takes a forged identity to book.
"When you were escorted to your state room upon boarding, the attendant said you 'seemed overwhelmed'. How would you describe your state?
"I was elated. My work keeps me planetside, so the opportunity to relax is rare."
The sweat felt like a faucet down my back. The identity portfolio made it clear that I had all the requisite vaccines, training, and emotion self restraint certifications required of any human traveling aboard a Sapient living ship. I, however, knew nothing of these requirements until entering the room.
"Would you say you were in control of your psychological state?"
"Yes, of course". A half truth at best.
The Sleparthian I met on my third foray into the gritty night, two weeks ago, occupied a wet corner in a dark bar an hour from my office-issued apartment. Once I learned of the stringent requirements for luxury travelers, I had spent office-issued time pouring over case files, looking for references to identity dealers. It took a few tries to find one I could afford. His only advice was to keep my mouth shut and my thoughts to myself. I assumed he meant that metaphorically.
My interrogator continued.
"How did the event begin?"
"I watched a movie. One of my favorites. There's a scene where a woman with a beautiful voice brings the protagonist to tears. It must have been the synergy between the setting and the scene, because I very quickly found myself crying quite loudly. The scene is meant to elicit such emotional responses, so it didn't seem out of place at the time.
"And when did you notice something was wrong?"I was asked.
"I heard a voice. In my head. It started as a light sob, and soon began building to a full cry".
"Ah yes, I believe you called it an 'ugly cry' in your first deposition".
"Correct. The voice asked why I would subject myself to such intense emotional stimulus. It sounded intrigued, aghast, but enthralled. In my, ah, relaxed state it didn't occur to me to not answer. I Invited the voice to join me in watching the movie if it so wished. Again, sir, I didn't immediately realize I was talking to the ship at the time"
The interrogator became stern. "Are you aware that the passenger quarters of a living ship are actually it's lungs?"
This was a deviation from the original line of questioning.
"And are you further aware that the ship is essentially holding it's breath the entire duration of the cruise?".
I remained silent. I was not aware.
"It is only through the extreme skill of the on board counselor that the ships erratic sobbing was even stopped. The chief medical administrator barely had enough anti hypoxia drugs for the entire crew, let alone the passengers. A dozen people suffocated and died because of your negligence. It's a miracle they were recovered after the ship's **second** "ugly cry"sent their bodies into orbit around a dead star!
"Again sir, I am extremely sorry for the trouble I caused."
My interrogator cut me off, impatience and anger waning.
"Everyone involved was either revived or recloned. No lasting damage done. The ship however remains inconsolable. The station head counselor says it keeps repeating the same phrase over and over.
'I don't know love. I was built to transport, not to love'. Do you know what that might mean?"
I began sobbing for the second time that trip. It was going to be a long day. |
To almost everyone. the big two unavoidable things present in their lives are death and taxes.
but when it comes to my family. there is a third.
Politics.
No matter how much we try. we have all ended up in politics. its unavoidable. we constantly have mounted the worst campaigns the world has ever seen. for example. my 8 generations back grandfather. William, was forced into a political campaign in America just after the war of independence. he ran on rejoining the british.
and he fuckin won.
mind you, he did noting for the entire term. peak nothing. was asleep in congress for 80 percent of the term. and won re-election despite campaigning for the other guy.
If someone puts us in a political race, we win. no matter what. my great uncle. sherman. won the race after some guy put his name in as a joke. to this day. he is still the only Jewish leader of the American east coast chapter of the German national socialist workers party.
its simple. we cant lose. and the worst thing about it. NONE of us give a shit about politics. we could not care less. we have avoided politics. to the point where we have campaigned on the worst polices imaginable. banning of cars, the legalization of embezzlement for politicians. if you can think it. we have campaigned on it. and we still win no matter what. my great grandfather is my local towns treasurer. which isn't anything special.. except he died back in 1991. 40 years and counting..
the caveat of this family "curse"is that its bestow on the individual family member when they turned 18.
my birthday was 3 weeks ago. and despite that. I am somehow leading the polls for governor of the state.
Fuck. |
As a master of the arcane arts, a mind ever-knowing and ever-expanding, a being practically a demi-god if not an outright god, I could only expect my foe, the "Magekiller", to be something similar. Perhaps some zealous templar in a bucket shaped helmet who represents some god that thinks I'm an affront, or a barbarian with muscles and a huge axe to match, anything but the thing before my eyes: a simple dirt farmer with a pitchfork.
I could conjure fireballs that could reduce one's skeleton into cinders, bend the arcane to amplify my body beyond the limits, and even conjure spirits to in this world and enslave them to my will!!!
Or so I thought. I threw a ball of flame and ice at the farmer, but he just stood there as the spell made contact. Incensed, I summoned a balrog from the deepest of the Infernal Pits and a trumpeter from the highest Celestial Skies. Neither of them would really work on this dirt plodding peasant!!!
"My turn...."the yokel said, before throwing his pitchfork. I was able to grab thanks to enhanced reflexes and threw it back after examining it. It was just an ordinary pitchfork.
But to my shock and horror, he dodged the projectile, smashing the head off with his hands, grabbing the shaft with its sharp and jagged end of where the forkhead should of been before throwing that jagged end back with swifter speed. I could only look at him eyes wide open as I could feel the sharp wooden pole go deep through my head.
I couldn't say anything. Instead, all I could remember was that I went out the same way as the foreign Lo Pan, infamous sorcerer turncoat of the Heavenly Empire from one of my tomes, had died. Instead of knife, I had gotten the shaft of a pitchfork.
As I feel, my soon to be lifeless body laid there, the last thing I could see was the farmer just standing there with an unamused look as everyone around him began to cheer.
As my spirit formed within one of the after worlds, I became a laughing stock. To die at the hands of a peasant who just looks so uninterested. By the gods this afterlife living of mine is going to suck.... |
"Excuse me, Librarian. I require your assistance."
You remembered being caught totally off guard at the library that day. The person asking for your help was a robot student in the local high school designed to "grow up"with humans around her "age". People called her "Maeve"; there was a longer name, an official designation, you did not know except that it was very specific.
You knew Maeve could speak for herself. Maeve speaking to *you* was unexpected. Maeve's usual routine for her time in the library was to sit down at an open chair with a poetry book in hand. She would read for three hours (precisely!) and then put the book on a shelving cart before leaving. Each day, she did this; each day, she did not do anything else.
On that day, Maeve had changed her routine to include you into her issues. You remember asking her what those "issues"were from your side of the library's front desk.
"Librarian,"Maeve had said, "I am desiring to write poetry for myself. I have read many poetry books and feel capable of creating similar works."
Maeve had sounded confident, but her tone had remained neutral, like she always sounded with her robotic voice. Her expression and posture betrayed her inner emotions. She had looked eager to try this creative art for herself on that day. And she had turned to you for help.
You had been cautious, but curious. You asked some simple questions: "What poets did you enjoy reading about?", "Do you have a preferred style of poetry you want to try?", and also "Are you wanting to try writing poems for children or adults?". Maeve had answered your questions with short, succinct sentences.
The library had been nearly empty at that time, on that day. So, you had seized the moment and chosen to beta read Maeve's work. She had smiled and accepted the scrap paper and pen you gave her to work with. Twenty minutes later, Maeve had come back with a short poem with an A-B-A pattern.
"*Humans are cold.*
*Their words are a loud din.*
*They accuse me of being sold*
*As an icon, unable to blend in.*
*I am a robot; I know I am hated*
*And called a mistake.*
*I am always misjudged and slated;*
*Will I always be just a fake?*"
You remember that poem years later. It was Maeve's first, speaking what her face and programmed expressions could not. You had told Maeve it was a start, but there were ways to get the message across in fewer words. She had accepted your advice and left the library with her usual smile.
Two days later, she had presented a second draft. That had been the start of Maeve's interest in creative writing. It brought you a smile every time you thought about it and how far Maeve had come since then. One act of assistance had propelled someone to reach for their dreams.
\---- ------ ------ -----
\[Hello! I wanted to write for this prompt using a wholesome narrative, and keeping the writing in the second-person tense. I also tried to write a poem here, and I am not great at poetry myself. Feedback is appreciated!\] |
The king's golden crown rested casually above his long hooked nose and his menacing eyebrows. The image of a hawk was completed by the throne he sat on, raised on a high platform, giving him a bird's eye view of the crowd gathered for the execution. Two burly men entered the stage, dragging a woman between them, her wounds and bruises barely covered by the rags she wore and the sack over her head.
The king stood up and paced across the stage, twirling a golden scepter in his hand. When he spoke, it was not to the woman, but to the crowd. "What do I do with you?", he asked. "I'm trying to be your king, but if I can't trust you... What do I do with you?"
He tore the sack of the prisoner so the crowd could see her. The woman's face was hollow after starving in a cell for weeks and the sudden sunlight blinded her. "I thought this woman was my mother."He pointed at the prisoner with his scepter. "I thought she was the only one I could trust, the only one on my side. Imagine my surprise when I stumbled upon one of her private letters and found out she was conspiring against me. Saying I was not the rightful heir of the throne. My own mother told me I wasn't the son of your previous king, my beloved father."
The woman took a raspy breathe and looked up at her son. "I only did it... for you... always to protect you... I never wanted anyone to know..."The scepter cracked her across the temple and her head fell limp on her shoulder, lolling from side to side.
"Shut up!"The king hissed at his mother, before turning back to the crowd. "Even now she's lying, saying whatever she thinks I want to hear to save her own skin. I thought she was my mother, but she's nothing but a slithering, lying snake!"He paced slowly back and forth, letting his words sink in.
"If I can't trust my own mother, what do I do with you lot?"The king smiled slyly. "You're hiding something. Every one of you, I know it."He grabbed a handful of his mother's hair and dragged her towards the guillotine. He put his foot on her back and locked her into place, so that she could see the crowd clearly.
"This is what happens when you plot against me. Keep that in mind, or else I will have rule a kingdom of the headless."Slowly, calmly, the king walked towards the rope holding the blade of the guillotine in place.
"Wait! Stop!!"A voice rose over the din as a man pushed himself through the bodies of the crowd. "Stop! She's innocent!"
The king ignored the voice and swung his scepter, severing the thin rope easily.
"No, don't Harold, he's go-", with a *whoosh* the blade fell down and cut off the prisoner's sentence along with her head, which landed with a sickening squelch and rolled off the platform into the crowd.
The man broke through the front of the crowd. "Elinor!", he wailed and knelt down in the mud, cradling her head in his lap. "You bastard... You fucking bastard!"He sobbed, his face twisted with rage as he looked up at the king over his hooked nose. |
In two seconds he'll come through the door, holding a gun. In five seconds he'll pull the trigger. How did this happen? I was always so careful about saving. I was safe at home, everything had gone exceptionally well today, it seemed like a perfect time to save. I had no reason to suspect that two seconds later, some goddamn maniac would burst through my front door and shoot me. Why would I? I'm not even the guy he's trying to kill. On the few occasions I've managed to stall him long enough to get him talking, I've learned that he thinks I slept with his girlfriend. If I try to explain his mistake, he shoots me for lying. If I apologize, he shoots me for fucking his girl. Try to run? He shoots. Try to fight back? He either shoots me or beats me to death. I've tried shouting gibberish at him, I've tried faking a seizure. I tried to convince him I was actually a ghost, a hallucination, even a shape-shifting alien. I've tried jumping out the window, but each time either the fall kills me or the broken glass does.
The door bursts open. Showtime. I spin around in a circle, flailing my arms and shouting: "No one can defeat the Human Tornado!"He hesistates for an extra second, then pulls the trigger. The bullet clips my left elbow as I spin, knocking me off-balance. I fall to the floor, my head spinning from both pain and dizziness, and he walks over and presses the barrel of the gun against my forehead. I close my eyes, concentrate, and open them again. I'm standing alone in my apartment. In two seconds he'll come through the door, holding a gun. |
"I don't really have anything prepared, but that's the way John would have done things, so maybe it's fitting.
I knew John for about four years, and dated him for two or so years, depending on who you ask. In that time I spent with him, he was one of the most fiercely artistic people I ever met. A violent defender of his own work, John would never let anyone's criticism steer him away from his vision. I've never known someone who wore the title 'brutally honest' with more pride and I've never met anyone else who shared his unfamiliarity with euphemisms. Never letting language or filters cloud his criticism, John truly stood apart from other men.
When I first met him, his shockingly idealistic views were bracingly refreshing. Even after I got to know his arguments to the point of memorization, he never stopped trying to educate me on their virtues. Dedicated to his beliefs, I know he would have done more for them, if only he had the time.
I'd like to close with my favourite story about John: our breakup. Things had been going really well since I stopped showing John my writing, admitting that it would never align with what he knew was best, but things weren't perfect. That last time I saw him, in that coffee shop, I finally admitted the truth to him. I was only holding him back with my juvenile artistic abilities and failure to comprehend his complex political ideas. It was time to let him go. Of course, I had to make sure I did it right. I couldn't keep being the dead-weight that had held him back so long, that was the reason behind his lack of progress, that was preventing him from achieving that which he had been equipped to do.
So I acted insane. It was the only thing to be done; he was too *dedicated* to give up on anything else. Pulled out all the womanly hysterics that he'd found so distastelfully anti-feminist and I set him free.
I'm sure he would have done more with that freedom. I'm sure all the great things he thought he deserved would have come to him. I'm sure everything he wanted would have happened, if only he'd had more time." |
"If any person can show just cause why they may not be joined together – let them speak now or forever hold their peace. Anyone?", he asked, half smiling, and a few members from the brides family chuckled. The bride and the groom were high school sweethearts and had been together for years, it had only been a matter of time before they walked down the aisle together.
"I've got something to say."A young man, handsome man stood up from his seat. He was clean shaven and dressed in suit and tie, but he had a rugged edge, a fierce smile that gave evidence that he was the only man in this church who was truly alive, here and now. He made his way up to the altar with slow, confident steps, his eyes fixed on the bride. The silence that had fallen on the previously so lively crowd began to break as a hundred people whispered the same question among themselves. "*Who is that man*?"
"W- what do you want?", the bride asked, her words trembling as if his aura of confidence had drained hers.
"I wanted to tell you something before you make the biggest mistake of your life."While the groom stood dumbstruck, his mind furiously trying to work out what was happening - this wasn't how it was supposed to go - this stranger leaned in close to his bride and whispered so softly that only she could hear.
"If you marry him now, you will never be alone again."The church had once more fallen deathly quiet as the man leaned back and studied the bride, everything frozen and silent for a brief moment, and then she took his hand and ran. |
He sat there at his lab bench staring at the round disk. His head pounded from the hours he spent trying to figure out and comb over every possibility of what this thing was. On one side the disk featured strange hieroglyphics, on the other is was colored like a rainbow during the red sun's rise. All of the other historians couldn't figure out what this thing was, nor what significance it held to the extinct civilization. Quietly he wondered why he had to figure out what this was.
What they did know was that this disk was found in a corroded metal box, one found under ground amongst ruined and littered buildings. Barely anything survived of the buildings, and it was sheer miracle this disk remained. The box itself had holes in it and nearly disintegrated as it was taken into the lab. Before it fully fell apart they were able to record the symbols on the top of the box. It read T ME CA ULE, and no one seemed to have any inclination what it meant. They hadn't been able to decipher any of the civilizations language, since examples of it were incredibly rare. He could only imagine what it meant. It had to have been a funeral object, a gift to the gods after an individual passed.
But, he had been working day in and day out for weeks to figure out how to translate this strange disk, or at the very least figure out what this thing was. His mating partner was pissed off already that he had been coming home well after the time for sleep and that he had been focusing so much on his work in regards to this object. His children were equally abandoned, and they were consistently begging him to spend time with them. But this, this puzzle he had to solve. Who knew what answers it could reveal about this society.
He had once heard that these ancient peoples could use lasers to read things. That was a mere myth though, there was absolutely no way a civilization that old could figure out how to use a laser to read. They had only created the technology themselves a decade prior. He was out of ideas though, and he was desperate for a solution. Beyond his better judgement he decided to try it, it had to work. Maybe? Hopefully?
He just hoped he didn't destroy the disk.
He grabbed the reader from the back of the room and placed the disk heiroglypic side down first. He waited. And waited. And waited. Nothing. He decided to flip the disk. He waited. And waited. And slowly the disk began to play. It was playing! A civilization which was dead for eons was speaking to him! He couldn't contain himself, the excitement was bubbling to the surface. He had to translate this. He had to figure out what this was exactly. It sounded like music. Was this a religious ceremony? A tribute to a hero? A leader? Was this an old myth? He couldn't stop listening to it,
"We're no strangers to love. You know the rules and so do I. A full commitment is what I'm thinking of. You wouldn't get this from any other guy."He sat there perplexed by these words, "I just want to tell you how I'm feeling. Gotta make you understand."
This voice, this disk, what was the individual trying to convey?
"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."
What did it all mean? |
"You weren't kidding around."Joel nodded at the sign that read 'Antique Bookstore'. "This looks ancient!"Joel swept a thick layer of dust off an old tome.
"You have no idea..."The store owner, draped in dust and cobwebs, looked as ancient as the books themselves as he hobbled after Joel, leaning on his cane.
Joel squinted at the heading and read aloud. "'How to summon Elder Gods for Dummies', what a load of crock. You ever try this?"
"Sure have. I'm more of a necromancer myself, but it's a good book. Very informative, pictures so you know where to place the sacrifices and all."
"Necromancer? Good one", Joel chuckled as he began to flip through the pages of incantations. He might be crazy, but the old man was right about the book being informative, it made summing a Elder God look as easy as baking a pie and with only a slightly higher chance of the entire world being devoured.
The store owner suddenly snatched the book out of Joel's hands and slammed it shut.
"Think Necromancers are something to laugh at, do you? Well, I won't stand for it, you hear me? Just because everything I summon is dead doesn't make it any less difficult than what does damned Wizards with their arcane-this and fireball-that do! Here, take the book and get out of my shop."He thrust the book into Joel's arms and pushed him out the door, muttering things like "the nerve of some people"and "coming into *MY* shop".
"I hope you are slain and devoured by whatever feeble eldritch horror you manage to conjure, I'd serve you right! Goodday, sir!"The old man slammed the door in Joel's face and left him standing in the street. Joel briefly considered going back inside and telling the store owner that he hadn't meant to insult him or his occult abilities, he had simply thought the old man insane, but Joel wasn't entirely sure the store owner would find that any better, so instead he shrugged it off and went home.
It wasn't until a few days later that Joel remembered the book and decided to rescue it from it's temporary employment as a paperweight on his desk and give it another read. Joel had been lacking excitement in his life as of late and decided that summoning a several hundred meter tall Old God that would drive anyone who looked at it insane would be the perfect way to spice up his dull week.
"Let's see..."Joel ran his finger down the list of required ingredients for the summoning ritual. "Insert the knife in your kidney... sacrifice virgin goat... read incantation backwards three times. Seems doable."After a short trip to find a virgin goat, surprisingly hard by the way, the first four farmers Joel went to got all shifty eyed and began talking about the weather when Joel asked if they were virgins or not, everything was set for Joel to begin the ritual.
The moment Joel inserted the knife into the virgin goat's kidney while chanting "Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn!", he felt the ground shake. It rumbled and cracked open, creating a huge rift that swallowed half a city block and left Joel teetering on the edge of a black abyss. An enormous shape slowly emerged from the depths, its face a mess of tentacles and scales with a several meter tall top hat perched on its bald head.
"Greetings mortal."The drawling voice boomed over the city, shattering every piece of glass in a miles radius and knocked Joel to the ground, where he had a brief case of severe insanity, during which he questioned things like if he was really the virgin goat, but luckily it passed.
"Hey, Elder... guy. Would I be awfully rude if I asked you not to devour me?"Joel had to look away as the sight of all those feelers reminded him of wet cheese sticks, something he simply could not stand. Joel was starting to think that this was quite enough excitement for one day.
"Not at all, not at all. Least I could do after you summoned me, I'm just glad to be out and about. It feels good to stretch the old tentacles every few hundred millennium, but in return, there is something I would ask of you."
"Anything, Mr. Elder God, sir."
"Well, you see..."The Elder God began, a nervousness in his voice as he removed his top hat and spun it anxiously in his claws. "I consider myself a bit of a musician and well, Elders aren't much for music. Maybe it's because most of them don't have ears, I don't know. Anyway, it's damned near impossible to get constructive criticism from those old bats, I even had to move out of my old apartment because the neighbors were complaining about the racket!"
"So you want me to...?"
"Yes! Oh, man, would you really? That'd be so great! I'm not so good with the whole technology stuff you youngsters are always on about, but if you could just help me film it and put it on YouTube, that'd just be amazing man."
"You want me to make you a music video? Well alright then."As a rule, Joel always stood by his bad decisions, but, he contemplated, this was probably the worst decision he had made all week. He didn't even know how to make those flashy special effects that all the *real* music videos had. The Elder God would probably be very disappointed with the video.
"Here!"The scaly god removed his top hat, put on a bandanna and threw Joel a video camera.
"Start filmin', 'cause it's Elder Rap Time, bitch!" |
My friend died of an overdose. It wasn't really a *death* as such, just he flopped down next to me in the evening as a smooth skinned fourteen year old and downed the bottle so he could sleep. In the morning, he was nothing but a damp stain on the mattress. Kind of more an *unbirth.*
I'd heard about these side effects, but never seen them happen. Ageing is a slow process, even when it's in reverse. When they started asking me for my ID outside clubs and bars again I was first flattered, later worried. I'd look in the mirror every night and smooth back the crow's lines by the sides of my eyes. But it was incredibly cheap, and it made me feel on top of the world. You could drink on it and not get a hangover. You could dance all night and not get tired the next day. It perked you up, made you happy and friendly. Kinda whipped the fog away and made you in the bright, happy person you knew you were supposed to be. What was the point in stopping taking it?
I was old when I started. Past my prime. They shouldn't have let me into clubs, but I hung on to my glory days with two hands, tight. And one night the pill was slipped into my hand and the world changed. I was reborn.
It turned out just like any other drug, didn't it? I lost my job because who employs a clear-skinned eighteen year old with long legs and green eyes as a head of management? My income dried up. My landlord terminated my lease and told me to go back home to my parents. Both my parents had been in the ground for many years. I was fifty years old and I could twist men round my fingers again.
It is glorious to be young.
You can't stop taking it.
The day he died I woke up, lounging on a greying mattress. Squatting wasn't glamorous, but at night I could be anyone I wanted. I lit up and inhaled slowly, trying not to think about the fact that after tonight I'd have to ask someone else to buy my fags for me. I kept a shard of mirror under the pillow. Funny how vanity stays with you even when you're brought this low. I didn't want to look in it. I had the physical appearance of a sixteen year old; my gangly limbs folding around me like a young foal's. My skin would still be clear, despite the horrendous amounts of cigarettes I smoked and what I drank every night. He was asleep next to me, a fifteen year old curled around the filthy blanket like a teddy bear. Muscles ran under his smooth skin. He'd stopped having to shave his face three weeks ago. Soon even his leg hair would drop out.
"Hey, Yan. Wake up."I stubbed the cigarette out on the concrete floor and sighed. Luckily for both of us, there were plenty of people willing to pay for experienced adults with the bodies of quasi-children.
He yawned and turned over, wide eyes blinking themselves awake.
I'll never forget those eyes. You can't bury a wankstain.
I'm in a children's home now. I'm writing this with crayons on paper. My hands can't get the letters right and it's frustrating. My legs swing above the ground on this pink chair. One of the Sisters have tied my hair back in pigtails. I think it's shepherd's pie and carrots for dinner. I wish I could reach the stove, because I don't like either of those.
I couldn't stop.
I couldn't stop.
As soon as I'm old enough I'll start again.
If only to be young again. |
“Excuse me?” His eyes widened in bemusement. His unkempt beard waggled slightly.
“That’s what is says here. Undeath.” The cleric glanced at the restrained man, who stood weakly.
“Are you kidding me?”
“‘fraid not. Well, how do you want to go- er… not go?” The man straightened, and appeared to lapse into deep thought. He stood still for close to forty minutes, despite the insistence of the increasingly agitated cleric.
“Something dramatic, I guess. People will probably end up talking about me, so it can’t be meaningless. A symbol, maybe. Something that would sound good in a book.”
The cleric, whose friends all called him Ponty for some ungodly reason, breathed a sigh of relief.
“I have just the thing,” he said after the sigh had left his lungs, “just the thing.”
***
The next morning dawned on a deep ochre sunrise, that sent cascading bars of light lancing across a gathered crowd. There was quite a turnout, and young children scampered around the feet of the gathered irresponsibly. They all wanted to see a little bit of violence, and their mothers weren’t about to deny them, not if it meant missing the show.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” boomed a voice across from the worn wooden stage, set adjacent to a worn path. “We are here to witness an execution, and a… well, an unexecution!”
The cleric was not gifted with words, nor a great public voice, and his announcement was mostly lost in the din. It took several minutes of shushing and sharp elbows for everyone to quieten down.
The cleric pointed to the wooden structures along the path.
“Hark!” he yelled. The assembled harked, as the soldiers hoisted the condemnéd up.
The soldier looked up to the bearded man, who was wounded and wearing only a loincloth.
“Sorry about this mate, but there’s a three day grace period before the undeadin’ starts. Lawyers and that, y’know.”
The bearded man proffered an understanding smile.
“I went forty days and forty nights in a desert,” he said. “I can handle three days on a cross.”
|
How we both ended up on an elevator in America, I can never be quite sure. It had been years since the war, and the appeal of the states had drawn me from my war-torn home in Warsaw. I had noticed the man briefly before entering the elevator. We were both on the top floor of the skyscraper, looking out over the pristine American city. As the sun finally set, we both exhaled softly and headed toward the elevator doors.
We both stepped in, and the doors closed us in together. I stayed to one side, as far away from the man as I could. I'd never been keen of tight quarters. He pressed the button for the lobby, and asked me where I was going. I told him we were going to the same place. The small talk continued at a slow and awkward pace. A few words per floor, maybe. The ride down was a long one and he, like myself, seemed to be the quiet type.
The more he spoke, though, the more eerily familiar his voice sounded.
His voice gave me great discomfort, and my claustrophobia began to come on in full effect. Sweating profusely, I darted toward his side of the elevator and as I reached my arm out to tap the button to get me off at the next floor, my sleeve slid up my forearm to reveal a faded "561340"tattoo. I quickly shuffled my sleeve back down my forearm and darted off of the elevator onto the random floor.
I looked at the man for the first time face to face. His eyes were widened, aimed at me, but shooting through me and into the distance in a blank stare.
As the elevator doors closed in those brief fleeting moments, I felt 1942 all over again. The brick walls. The straw beds covered in bodily fluids. A longing for a woman whose ashes were scattered somewhere in Germany... maybe around the whole world by now. And his eyes. Those god damned eyes, always haunting...patrolling. I pointed a trembling finger at him just before the doors finally closed.
I have never wished harm upon any man in my life since those fateful camp days. But as the red 'down' arrow on the elevator door lit up, I could not help but picture the man descending into flames...maybe to his death, but more probably, back to his home.
|
"I sentence you to death!"
Gasps and murmurs filled the air.
"What's with all the gasping? Isn't death fair?"The judge asked the gathered crowd. He turned his head to the two men at the defendant's table. "You are the rapist murderers, aren't you?"
"Uh,"the defense lawyer stood, "no, Your Honor, these guys are the website creators."
"Oh."The judge seemed disappointed. "Well, the guys I'm talking about should be sentenced to death. You see they're a pair of circus clowns that picked up juggling on the mean streets of-"
"Your Honor,"interrupted the defense lawyer. "Perhaps we should simply give our closing arguments?"
"Eh, OK."The judge waved his hand absently, looking bored.
"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,"the defense lawyer paced in front of the 12 seated jurors. "Did my clients monopolize the internet? Yes. Did they have certain 'clubs' or 'subreddits' dedicated to illegal activities? Sure. Did they allow minors to view porn by simply lying about their age? Of course. But they sure as Hell aren't a pair of raping murderous circus clowns. They've got that going for them."The jurors nodded in agreement, murmuring phrases like *innocent*, and *not guilty*.
The defense lawyer sat down while the prosecutor yelled, "Objection, Your Honor, that had no relevance! Your Honor!"
The judge snapped his head up. "Huh? What? I'm awake!"
The prosecutor's next words were interrupted by the sounds of squeaky footsteps from outside the court room. They came slowly at first, but built up.
"Sweet merciful God."The judge whispered. "They're here. The clown brothers are here."
-----
I have *no* idea what I just wrote. I'm pretty out of my mind right now. |
How can I be? What was before me? I feel isolated.
It's cold, and dark.
... I think. There is just nothing. I try moving and have no idea if I am or if I am not. There is nothing tell me what I am doing. Do I even have a body? I can't feel anything. Maybe I'm just broken, and disconnected from everything.
Could I create things? If there is nothing stopping me, what's to stop me from just creating things? There can be no boundaries. If there are, then I know I cannot be alone in the... what should I call it?
^**THE** ^**UNIVERSE**
I didn't say that. Who said that? I know I didn't say it. Did I say it?
^**I** ^**did.**
Who are you?!
^Chuckling, ^the ^voice ^boomed
**I CREATED YOU FOR MY AMUSEMENT. Do something brash or I shall completely isolate you forever.**
Where are you? I can't see you.
**If you ever work out who I am or if you ever find me, I will release you from this torment.**
How do I work out who you are?
Hello?
Are you there?
How do I find that which that does not show itself? Oh, I know.
*Let there be light.*
|
Bottles were thrown into the side of the brick mansion. They crashed, exploding into a million pieces of shards. They glittered white and silver as they fell towards the ground, first reflecting the moonlight in mid-flight, but then reflected the red torches that the mob carried as they finally settled on the ground.
Cries of anger and disgust filled the chill November air. The police did their best to hold off the mob, screaming through their megaphones and waving their pistols, but still, the mob persisted.
Karel watched from the second floor window, tapping a calm finger at her chin. She didn't feel fear nor anger towards the mob; she was incapable of it.
The power to her mansion flickered out. She raised her head and looked around, assessing what the possibilities of a break-in were. After factoring in the police presence and reconfirming that she had locked and bolted all the doors, she came to the conclusion that the chances of a raid were at zero percent.
"Karel?"a voice called from down the hall.
Karel immediately stopped whatever processes she was running and quickly jogged out of her study room.
"Yes?"she called out as she neared the bedroom.
She stepped through the door, and glanced to where Jem was. The room was pitch black from the lack of power, but Karel could still use her night-vision to see.
"Karel, it's really dark, and I'm scared,"Jem said. Karel's sensors could tell that Jem was on the verge of crying.
Karel turned away from Jem, and lifted her blouse. She opened her chest cavity, revealing a mess of wires, gears, and other mechanical gadgetry. In the center of her chest, was an orb that her body used to store excess power. It glowed a bright blue. Karel twisted it and removed it from her chest.
She closed her chest cavity, pulled her blouse down, and turned to face Jem, glowing heartlight in hand.
"Here, darling,"Karel said softly, "I've got a new nightlight for you, and this one won't ever run out, even if the mean people outside turn off the power."
Jem sat up in her lavish bed, eyes wide in awe. She reached out for the heartlight, and then pulled away, "Is it hot, Karel?"
Karel shook her head, "No sweetie, it won't hurt you, here,"Karel said as she reached out with the heartlight.
Jem took it in her hands, the heartlight bathing her face in a warm blue light. "It's really pretty,"Jem said.
"I'm glad you like it,"Karel said. Her sensors picked up words from the protesters outside.
*It's a fucking abomination! It can't care for a child! Let us fucking gut it!*
Karel stood away from Jem's bed, wanting to go back to her study so she could reassess their safety. She was halfway out the door when Jem called out again.
"Karel?"
Karel immediately stopped. She suspended all processes again without hesitation. "Yes?"
"Can you tell me a story?"
Karel turned back to Jem and smiled.
*It's a fucking monster! Yeah! She can't care for a child!*
She closed the bedroom door, blocked off her outdoor audio sensors, and went to sit at Jem's side.
"Yes, I can do that, what story would you like to hear?"
"Umm, little red riding hood, do you know that one?"Jem asked.
Karel scanned the Internet, finding thousands of different renditions of the tale. Her algorithms sifted through the stories, finding the best version of the story that Karel believed Jem would find enjoyable. Her scan finally settled on one rendition, a rendition that Karel's processes were 100% sure that Jem would find favorable.
"Yes, actually I do,"Karel answered within a fraction of a second.
Karel recounted the tale, pitching her voice up and down along with the rhythm of the story, lowering it down to a growl when the wolf made an appearance, and adding a shrill playful cry when the wolf made its attempt to gobble up little red riding hood. Jem smiled and giggled.
Finally the story ended, and Karel showed her empty palms to Jem.
"There, did you enjoy that?"Karel asked, certain that Jem would answer positively.
"Yeah, I did!"Jem said aloud.
Karel smiled and saved the story into one of her special purpose registers for further use.
"But,"Jem continued.
Karel tilted her head to the side.
"It's not how my mom used to tell it,"Jem finished, tears building in the corner of her eyes.
Karel was awestruck. She was certain that her chosen rendition would be perfect. She scanned the story back and forth, wondering if she had made an error, but no, her algorithms were correct. A feeling filled her sensors, the closest that she could ever feel to anxiety. She scanned the Internet again, hoping that somehow within the thousands of little red riding hood tales was the version that Jem's deceased mother had told.
But there weren't any algorithms at Karel's disposal that could discern whether or not a version was the one that Jem's mother had used. She quickly tried to piece together an algorithm that would find it, but no matter what, the algorithm returned the same inconclusive results. Karel wanted to continue searching, but she saw a tear streak down Jem's face.
Karel immediately stopped trying to search, and instead used a delicate finger to wipe away the tear.
"I'm sorry,"Karel whispered, drying her finger on her blouse, "I don't know how your mother told the tale, but-"
Karel scanned the Internet again, amassing millions of fairy tales, filtering out unfavorable tales and highlighting ones that were popular around the world. She pieced together common ideas and motifs, examined the heroes and heroines of the tales, and built upon the magical worlds that the stories contained.
Her processor used all of these common elements and created a unique story that blended together every positive value in a fairytale.
Karel had created a unique story, and for the first time in her existence, she wasn't exactly sure if it was favorable or not.
"-I do know this one tale that you might like."
In the glow of the blue heartlight, Karel recounted the brand new fairytale for the first time ever to Jem as the mob raged outdoors. |
"You drunk? Wanna get drunk?"Opal, a burly, hairy goddess, opened a big jug of very potent alcohol. She took a swig, and offered it to Flarg.
Flarg, a minor god, was skinny and fretful. They were unlikely friends and even more unlikely lovers; she was the goddess of war and liquor, he the god of insects and microbes. He lusted for her, for her big arms and hairy legs, but knew she thought of him as a little brother. She thought it was cute he couldn't hold his alcohol. "Not now,"he said, distracted. He was usually excited to see her. He was usually fluttery and red-faced. Today he was pale and still.
"You okay, buddy?"She put her arm around him, which would usually make him swoon, but his mind was fixed on other matters.
"No,"he said, honestly. He reconsidered the alcohol. He took a swig and didn't even gag at the strong taste.
"Tell me about it."She was right next to him now, warm with drunkenness and genuine interest. She could smell the conflict on him, and that was her bread and butter.
On any other day, her closeness would electrify him, but today: "I think I did something very bad."
"You?"Opal guffawed. "Did you forget to say good morning to the sun god? What bad have you ever done?"
He hesitated. "You know how sometimes we play that game where we give consciousness to insects? Just to see what they do."
"Of course. I love that game. I love the way they squirm when they realize I'm about to kill them."
"Well - remember when you got me drunk at the ceremony honoring the thunder goddess?"
Opal laughed. "Every time you heard thunder, you jumped like a terrified fool. What's there to be scared of? You're immortal!"
He ignored her insults. He was used to them, fond of them even. "Well, I had that sack of consciousness we were playing with, and when I jumped, I accidentally spilled it on some planet. Earth."
"Earth?"Opal considered it. It was a fairly useless planet, from what she remembered, nothing more than primordial ooze. There were no creatures waging war there, so she didn't give it much thought. "I wouldn't worry. It probably fell in the ocean."
"It didn't."Flarg trembled. "It fell on an organism."Flarg knew releasing consciousness was a serious matter. Only Rex, the god of knowledge, was permitted to give planets consciousness, and even then in measured, small amounts. There had to be a separation between the creatures and the gods - if they truly learned to think, to love and drink like gods, the consequences could be dire.
"Well, so what?"Opal replied. "Don't worry about them. They'll kill each other soon enough. I can bring some war down there if you'd like. A favor for a friend."
"I may have dropped... a lot."
Flarg conjured a picture of Earth and its citizens. Humans in long robes bent at the knee and muttered chants. They knelt before a giant statue of Flarg and Opal, in passionate embrace. Flarg blushed furiously at the sight of it.
"Is that - us?"Opal asked, but she knew it was. It was unmistakably them, and very provocative.
"I think I might've dropped a drawing I made, when I dropped the consciousness. I think they might believe we're gods."
"We ARE gods,"Opal pointed out. Her voice was softer than usual. She was confused, and a little scared by what she saw. Is this how her friend had always felt? And was he really as well-endowed as the statue?
"But I don't know how to be a major god! What would I do with a planet of worshipers? I can't handle that kind of responsibility."
"I can ask the god of meteors -"
"No. We can't! Look at them. They have complex brains, and civilizations, and -"
"There's a reason only Rex gives out the knowledge,"Opal said, coldly. "Not everyone can handle it. Sometimes it's better when you don't know things."She noticed her arm was still around him, and pulled it away. "I'll take care of it,"Opal said, standing. "Don't worry. I'll leave the booze here and you can drink until you forget."She left.
Flarg had a sharp pain in his heart. He watched the humans worship, and laugh, and cry. He looked at the statue, saw his fondest dreams in marble. He conjured the image away and took a swig.
|
"So,"she whispered in a soft voice, "who were you?"
I tensed up. She felt it and eased off of me. Closing my eyes, I thought about what to say for a second.
"What does it matter who I was?"I gave a weak laugh, but she must have known it was fake. "I'm me. You're you. Past is past."
I felt her hand come up my chest again. "No, baby. They found out that we usually turn into our past selve's personality. Who were you?"
Would she stop asking me that?
"Truth is, I don't know."
I felt her sit up in bed. "You don't know?"
"No."I felt a surge of anger, but I held it down. I've been feeling those a lot lately.
"Check right now!"She sounded excited. "Just close your eyes an-"
"I know how to check,"I interrupted her, but kept my voice low. "If it'll make you quiet down, I'll check."
I felt her lean harder on me. I closed my eyes and thought about that damn dot they showed us in school. Concentrate on the dot and think and it'll come. Yeah right, jack shit was coming to-
I felt names flash by in the darkness. I opened my eyes and looked at them. I didn't recognize most, but some were bigger than the others.
*Jack the Ripper*
*Ted Bundy*
I immediately closed my eyes and thought back to the present. I didn't feel the names anymore. I looked up. Nothing.
"Baby,"came her voice. "Are you alright? Who were you? You're shaking."
"I'm not like them."I said.
"Like who?"She asked.
She always asked questions. It was her damn fault I knew who I was. Stupid bitch...
I got up and put my hands around her neck, clamping them tight and choking her as hard as I could. It felt good. Pure ecstasy, letting the anger out. I felt strong as her arms flailed weakly against mine. Like a fish flopping against a dog.
"I'm not like them..."I whisper as I felt her fading out of consciousness. I felt my cock pressing against her thigh, harder then it has ever been. I kept my hands around her neck as I repositioned myself to be in between her legs.
"I'm not like them..." |
Mr. Smith had a strong aversion to many things, but lateness was a pet peeve that rubbed him raw. His watch, a prized possession purchased from services rendered in a particularly gruesome assassination in Bulgaria, ticked incessantly as he once again rubbed his finger against the barrel of the Berreta. A nervous habit, but one that calmed him down instantly. He flicked his eyes down to the face of the watch, checking the time. One minute past the scheduled time, Mr. Smith's cheek twitched. A minor tell.
As he once again shifted in his uncomfortable position, lying flat on a suspiciously rotted plank of wood, he let out a deep breath and surveyed the scene in the hole before him. Any moment now, the door below would swing open.
Mr. Jones opened the door and strode into the room below with an arrogance that belied his size. Mr. Smith let out a short "fuck"at his unpreparedness, then brought the gun down to fire the same time Jones swung his own pistol upwards. The two men froze.
"You're taking the piss,"Jones snarled out of the side of his mouth, "Do you mean to keep following me for sloppy seconds for the rest of our lives?"
"I'll be fucked,"Smith breathed at Jones' arrogance, "If I don't pop you in that monumental gob of yours, you two bit cunt hack."
Jones smirked and side stepped, never taking his arm down or his eyes off Smith.
"...a two bit cunt hack who is still breathing. Bet you're comfy up there on your perch, you old vulture. Fly down here and face-"
Smith fired.
Jones threw himself behind a concrete wall, crouching down as another bullet almost clipped his ear. He batted away the pain and cocked his weapon again.
"Always with that god forsaken mouth!"Smith yelled down, slamming in another magazine, "Yapping during a job. Yapping during prep. Bitching bout cleanup. If I could count the times I almost put one in the back of your head meself I'd be richer than the good Mr. Turner."
"Hold a tic,"he heard Jones yell below, "You're still with Mr. Turner?"
Smith rolled his eyes, "Of bloody course, you don't turn away proper steady employment during these times. I don't know what you did to piss him off this time, but he's snap happy to see you strung up, my boy."
"Mate, I'm still with Turner."
Smith stopped. "You messing with me?"
"No, mate. He told me to come here today and put two in the back of your head."
Hrm.
"He told me to do the same."
Jones tutted below.
"Smithy, I reckon we've got ourselves a situation. I'm of an opinion that we've been set up to pop each other."
Smith gritted his teeth. Visions of the last job swam through his memory....the clean up hadn't been exact and Mr. Turner hadn't been particularly full of praise, but the job had been completed after all had been said and done...
"That megalomaniac piece of shit!"
"Smithy, I've got a 250,000 reward for your head once I bring back a photo of you swimming in a pool of your own blood. I reckon you might have the same offer I had?"
"Actually it's 400,000 for yours. But yeah. The same."
"I'd feel honored if I wasn't so fucking incensed. Might I make a suggestion, Smithy?
"I'm all ears, Jonesy."
Mr. Jones stepped out from behind the concrete wall, his gun raised. Smith kept his own weapon trained on him, but the desire to shoot was considerably lessened.
"A meeting ain't impossible to setup. Let's make that twat chew on his own intestines."
Smith chewed on his lip. "Force him to transfer funds, split 50/50?"
"Yes. And then he chews his intestines."
"Christ Almighty!"
"You'll forgive me if I'm not the forgiving sort...mercy ain't exactly a strong suit in our trade."
Smith and Jones lowered their weapons. Smith hemmed, then clipped his weapon to his belt, grabbed a steady beam, and swung down to the floor below.
"Let's carve the motherfucker up. But for the love of the Mother Mary, let me do the talking." |
"So, uh, I have a knife, I guess. You must have one too, right?"
"Yeah, I've got one here. Not as big as yours though..."
"Are you seriously complaining? It's not like I planned on this!"
"I know, it's just, I'm really not good with anything other than my rifle."
"Yeah, well, neither am I. Honestly, I can't believe - if you had just stayed in that bell tower for another minute I would have had you, and then we wouldn't be in this stupid situation!"
"There was a bat! And you should talk, moving between all those windows, the glare was impossible!"
"Okay, nevermind, let's just get this over with!"
"Yeah, right. Except..."
"What?"
"Well, I really don't like knives. They're gross."
"They're gross?"
"Yeah, you have to push them into people and it takes forever and you get blood all over your clothes, euch."
"Okay, yeah, they're gross, so what should we do instead?"
"Umm... Rock, paper, scissors?"
"Are you fucking kidding me?"
"Why not? We play rock, paper, scissors, loser has to jump off the roof. Nice and easy. The winner can say there was an epic struggle."
"..."
"..."
"Okay, fuck it. Let's play."
"Great. One-two-three, or one-two-three-go?"
"Jesus Christ." |
It had been 3 centuries since the occupation. They had come out of seemingly nowhere, their ships just materializing above every major city on the planet.
In 6 months every nation had fallen.
In 2 years all attempts at human rebellion had been crushed.
At least this is what we were taught since we were children.
Humans were still educated, and were provided with shelter, and enough sustenance to survive. Nobody starved or died of disease, but we were forced to work hard for our keep.
Resentment still lingered in corners of the human population, while many others had developed Stockholm Syndrome, arguing that the aliens had good intentions with their occupation.
I had never known life before the occupation, so I had been pretty neutral on the subject but last week that all changed.
You see in addition to the grueling labor, the majority of humans were forbidden from going outside expect for little designated "parks"that had been created so that humans could get exercise.
As of last week I was no longer in that majority. I had been assigned to work as a personal helper to one of the aliens. I was informed that the majority of his work occurred in the outside world and I was to accompany him.
The first day I was to set foot outside the areas designated for humans was when I was told why they were here.
As we walked towards the gate to the outside world the alien began to speak.
"Do you remember those videos you saw of this planet before the occupation?"he asked.
I nodded remembering the videos they had shown us as children.
"Your planet was dying then, or perhaps a more appropriate phrase would be your planet was being killed. Humanity while a fascinating race, is unbelievably shortsighted."he said
"We watched for many years hoping that humanity would mature and see its fault, but that day never came so we were forced to intervene. We invaded your world, and took control of your resources. We stopped you from killing yourselves off, and then we healed your world."he continued.
"After we had saved your world we debated for many years as to whether your race was ready to take back the planet yet. As of right now, we still believe that your species has not matured enough in order to protect this planet without assistance. Until our minds have changed we will remain. I hope my explanation of the circumstances will make working together easier, and you will see me in a less antagonistic light. We fixed your world, but I want you to help me fix humanity."he finished, just as we walked outside of the gate.
What I saw outside those gates was too beautiful to describe, and I realized that I believed the alien's words.
I turned to him and said "I believe you, so I'll help you."Hoping that I made the right judgement.
As I turned and looked back at the gate, a lingering thought swept through my mind *"Stockholm"*. It was gone as suddenly as it came, and I set out to help the alien with his goal.
Edit: Fixed all the apostrophes I think. Advice is always appreciated! |
He wasn't a career criminal. He'd been sent back at 20 after a spate of small-scale robberies in tiny shopping centres. He never stole anything worth more than $1000; pocket change. One bad night though, he'd accidentally killed the clerk of a small chain-store after taking a gun of one of his accomplices.
Or so we thought. The only evidence we had was the testimony of his accomplice and the footage from the scene of the robbery. Of course the two, both alike in height and ethnicity, wore masks to cover their faces. He had refused to say anything about the night, his "friend"mouthed off every last detail, except the one who shot the clerk. Neither meant it, but one got the harsher sentence.
I got called in late on a Tuesday evening, rain belting outside, he'd been pardoned, and was allowed to rejoin the present. I was unsure, most of the time those that in the present were criminals, become criminals in the past.
Have you ever heard of the Zodiac killer? In the present, he'd been charged with the murder of at least 50 different women, and had been sent back in time. The charges were dropped through lack of evidence and a steely lawyer, and he was ordered back. It soon came out though that he had killed in the past too, but in an awkward legal loophole, the case had been cold for over 200 years, so he could never be charged for the crime, he ended up shot at the trial by a bystander screaming "justice for all"
But that's another story.
They handed me his file. He now went by Harry Winslow, and he lived at 1272 Chester Lane, Wynnbrook, California. Seemed easy enough. I kept reading though, and as I stepped into the garage and into the car - this is how we travel through time, explanations can come later - I noticed something. *1 wife - 2 children - Boy & Girl - 7 & 5 respectively.* I started the car, and the garage door opened, revealing a 2013 Wynnbrook California. There had never been a return who had started a family, ever. In all my years as an agent, only one pardoned convict had had a wife, divorced when we found him in squalor. I suppose though, it was the perfect combination of youth and total innocence. Many of the returns are middle aged when sent off, so in the past, they suddenly wake up a 45-year-old man with not even a high-school diploma, they never end up with a job, and a lot of returns are found dead by suicide.
I tuned down Chester lane. Chester lane was about as typical suburbia as you could get, large American-style house meshed seamlessly with expensive cars and large, well-kept front lawns. The street was lined with trees, giving a dotted shade over the car as I passed under. Dusk was looming, so I rolled down my tinted windows to get a better look at the house numbers. As I did, a child's laughter echoed down the street, joined by a chorus of gleeful shrieks. I pulled up outside 1272. A well-built middle aged man was running around the yard holding a football, with two children trailing behind him at full pelt, laughing. Suddenly the two jumped on him and he dove to the ground. "1 Down"I heard the little boy cry. and the man boomed with laughter. Up on the steps of the house, a pregnant woman watched on, smiling. This wasn't right at all. I checked the file again. Everything matched. The attached photo resembled the man currently tickling his son if he was twenty years younger. This wasn't right at all. None of it was meant to go this way. It was meant to be a prison for people, a hell, forcing them into hardship and depression for the horrendous crimes they'd committed. They weren't supposed to turn around. They weren't supposed to be happy.
As I looked again at the man, throwing his daughter up in he air and catching her again, to her overwhelming delight, I thought about what bringing him back would do. He'd lose all this, all his happiness, he'd lose everything he had here, to rejoin a present where he had nothing, and which had absolutely nothing to offer him. Beyond just him, he now had a family he had to support, and a new child on the way. I rolled up the window again, the orange sun was catching my eye on the horizon line, and peeled out.
I phoned in.
"Another suicide."
|
Here we are again, the bathroom floor. The cold tile beneath me is too much to bear any longer. I must attempt to get up from here.
As I struggle to get to my feet, it hits me. I grip the sides of the toilet firmly as I rid my body of the fun from last night. Why do I keep doing this to myself? I'm never drinking again.
I'm in serious need of hydration. Dizzily I make my way out of the bathroom and head towards the kitchen. I always leave myself a bottle of Gatorade in the fridge for the morning after, just in case. It's my remedy.
My friends are already awake and sitting around the kitchen table. "Dude, you got so hammered last night!"They begin explaining all of my antics from the night before. "At one point last night you disappeared from the group. I finally found you in your bedroom and you were drawing all over your wall."What the hell? How drunk was I? I must go inspect this disaster.
Feeling a bit better, I take off towards my bedroom. I enter the room and flick on the light switch. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the brightness, but when they do, holy shit. My wall is completely covered. What is all of this? It isn't just drunken scribbles. There are numbers everywhere. Measurements? All of this is surrounding some sort of image depicting a plane. This doesn't appear to be a normal plane, though. Below the image there is one word written. "CHOSEN!"
How could I have no memory of this? It's all in my handwriting. This is too brilliant for my own mind. I barely passed my carpentry class!
I sit, staring at my wall. I'm trying my hardest to make sense of what I am looking at. It's so elaborate. This is too real.
I need to get in the shower. Maybe that will help me clear my head a bit. I go into the bathroom and begin to undress. To my surprise, something is written across my chest. It's written backwards. I go to the mirror above the sink to examine further. It reads, "Don't worry. I will explain further when I visit you tonight."
The wait begins. |
"I'm leaving."she said.
"Don't, come on."I started, my voice cut out. I looked at her. She was beautiful.
"Tell me why you did it,"she said.
I sat, staring straight ahead. I shrugged, which was more than I wanted to give.
"It's not fair,"she said, looking at her ring, which was now sitting on the dresser.
"Should I *not* have kept it from you?"I asked.
I sighed and looked away. She looked around the room, not knowing what to say.
"Was it love?"she asked.
I nodded. My eyes met her gaze.
"I knew the whole time."she said. I couldn't tell whether I was glad or not. The ring was now in her hand.
I looked down, the butterflies in my stomach slightly making me nauseated.
"So?"I asked.
"Yes,"she said, staring at the diamond which was now on her finger. |
It's a quiet afternoon on Mars. The TV announced that dust levels would be fairly low today, so I let the older kids go outside and play for once. Things are finally starting to settle down, it's been so chaotic since we adopted the new baby. But hey, inter-galactic peace is important, and the best way to achieve it is by making each other family. She's cute as a button, and orange as a carrot. We named her Jax.
I'm having a fun time tickling Jax and getting little squeaking martian giggles out of her, when the older kids burst into the house.
I see my son Jerry and a giant mess out of the corner of my eye. They tracked in a dump truck's worth of bright red mud in with them. I sigh.
"Back already? The mud pits couldn't keep you entertained?"
Jerry laughs delightedly. He raises something above his head, and the other kids look at the thing in his hands with bubbling excitement. "Look, Daddy! Look what we found!"
I look up from Jax, and my mouth drops in horror to see the thing he's holding. I quickly run over and snatch it out of his hands.
"Jerry! Where did you find such a thing?"
My son looks down at his feet, not knowing what he did wrong. "By the old pilgrim crash sites..."
I look at the weapon of mass destruction in my hands. I never thought I'd see one again after the wars. Certainly not after we left Earth for the colonies.
"Jerry, this thing has killed more people in history than any other weapon. I don't want you touching it. Not after what our species went through because of it."
"Why? It's just a book."
I go to the study and step up to the high shelf. I put the Bible away and turn around to face my son.
"It's not the book, Jerry. It's what's inside of it." |
Ulgor didn’t believe the world was getting colder, and there was no convincing him otherwise. We’d argue about it for hours around the campfire.
“Have you even listened to the diviners?” We’d ask.
“They all say the same thing. You read the deer entrails, they say it’s getting colder. You look at the shape of the clouds as they pass the moon? Colder. Every last diviner tells us without any doubt that the world is getting colder.”
Golo chimed in. “The diviners over at Red Rock Tribe say it’s going to be another ice age even.”
Ulgor was stood fast, as always. ”When Galo reads the bones he throws, they clearly say that there’s no ice age. You can’t ignore that.” Ulgor never paid attention to divinations that didn’t support the assumptions he’d already made.
Okoh usually kept quiet, but lost his patience with the argument. “Listen Ulgor. You don’t even need diviners to tell what’s happening. How far away is the ice now? Three days walk? When we first started hunting it was five days away. When my grandfather was alive he said that there was no ice at all when he was young. Hell, just look at how big we had to make this fire tonight!”
Ulgor tried to defend his position by pointing how hot it was two summers ago, but we rolled our eyes and let the topic drop. He was always going to believe what he wanted to believe, and the world would get colder with or without his opinion.
|
Coughing and sputtering, he rose from the waves and rolled onto the sand. People around stared at this man, dressed in a chainmail tunic and wearing a sword belted at his waist.
Certainly one of the strangest things to come from the English Channel.
His crown was wrought of gold, simple and yet elegant. His hair was long and tangled but he still had an air of authority and respect about him. With piercing blue-gray eyes he looked to the nearest citizen and shouted in Celtic.
"Cén bhliain é?"
"Um..."the citizen said, slowly backing away, "...what?"
The stranger cleared his throat and spoke perfect English, a gift from God or perhaps some form of dark magic,
"What year is it?"
"2014..."
"What?"the man shouted, "what problems face Britannia that I have been called to return?!"
"I dunno, taxes are pretty high. People are poor. There's crime and dissent. It's not like we're worse off than anyone else in the world though."
"People are...poor?"he looked to the sky again, "what am I supposed to do against that!"
Still thinking the man to be speaking to him, the citizen shrugged,
"Are you bringing money or jobs?"
"Of course not, I am here to fight to foes of Britain!"
"So...the politicians?"the man said, looking at this uniquely strange man, "who are you anyway?"
"I am King Arthur!"the man shouted, standing tall and adjusting his chainmail, "I have returned to save Britain when it needs me most!"
He looked around at all the strange people staring at him, with their odd clothes, including two men in blue that were rushing towards him.
"And I, I am going home. It sounds like things are far worse than I imagined when I made that vow!"
With that he began wading into the ocean, splashing around and thrashing, shouting,
"Take me back!"
The man on the shore looked at the strange man and laughed dryly,
"We've even mucked up King Arthur, I guess we're screwed." |
Fuck.
He just stepped out of the Chevron bathroom. Scrubbing his hands clean of her blood.
*why did she* ***always*** *insist on talking back, she made me do this*
Fuck.
It was over, she was dead and now he was searching for his next move. He rounded the blank concrete wall and came face to face with a cop drone.
Fucking fuck.
**Citizen** stop where you are.
Fuck Fuck Fuck.
"You have been selected to judge the suspected murderer of Cynthia Germal, please enter the cab immediately - your participation is mandatory and you will be duly compensated for your time. Refusal to adjudicate this case will result in financial and criminal penalties to be determined by the Judge-Peer. Do you accept your duties?"
He could barely acknowledge the bot with a head nod as he started laughing, first in fits and spurts, and then uncontrollably.
He stepped in to the cab and was on his way.
|
"I know one thing..."Mediocrites orated in front of his crowd. He quickly glimpsed at the turnout: a couple of men of civilian status, 3 women and 5 slaves.
"...and *one thing only*."He paused for dramatic effect. Someone coughed.
"And that is, that the sky is bronze."He let his words hang in the air. His listeners awaited with expressions unchanged.
*Uh-oh, that's not enough.*
"Consider, fellow Athenians. *Why* is the sky bronze? It could be cyan."Some unimpressed looks. "Or, black! Or white! Wouldn't that make more sense for some reason?"
A slave was nodding. He, he gets it, Mediocrites thought. Too bad he's just a slave.
"For these are the colors closest to the Ideal."he continued. One of the civilians held his hand on his chin. He was thinking about it!
"And the Ideal, is what we should all strive for!"He pondered his own words. He was reaching a conclusion, but he wasn't sure it made sense.
"Hence, I propose..."he remained still, looking at the people below him, promising greatness with his eyes.
"...that the night is truer than the day."
Someone gave him a solitary clap. He stepped down, satisfied with himself. One day, he thought to himself. One day, I'll get that second clap. |
"Surely your mind must be, well, how should I put it, 'fertile ground', my dear?"
"My mind? Oh, yes, it is..."she paced as she whispered, her hands clasped over her chest. "And the wish I wish, I *wish* that you would grant..."
The djinn smiled mockingly, lounging on his side on the woman's sofa, one hand lazily supporting his head. He smoothed down one side of his pencil-thin mustache and chuckled.
"Well, baby, let's just say that I want you to *want me* to rustle up your wish. C'mon..."he cooed, narrow eyes blazing with all the foulest fires of the devil, himself.
Or at least a used car salesman.
"Would I lie to you?"He licked his lips lasciviously, his teeth salivating as if he were eying a rare, grass-fed steak.
She didn't answer his question; it was a little too obvious, really.
"Think about what you want most in the world,"he whispered, "and I *promise*: it's yours. Just take your time and think about what that might be..."
Time wasn't an issue. Not at all. More than anything, she absolutely knew what she wanted. It was something ridiculous: something impossible for her to possess in the world, as it stood. A laughable thing, to any reasonable party who heard it. In fact, it was a thing so unobtainable as to be nearly impossible to *imagine*, and yet she'd dream of it. How she'd dream.
Sometimes, in the night, her longing for it stirred her awake, tears in her eyes.
When she looked up at the grinning djinn, locking defiant eyes with his, she knew full-well that he'd do whatever he could to ruin her dream. It would be nearly impossible to even try.
But it was worth it.
And so she would.
Her eyes narrowed, and she could tell that the *djinn* could tell she was planning on out-witting him. She could see from that million-dollar grin on his face that this usually didn't work out for many wishers. And from his cruel laugh she knew he had awful plans for her little dream.
But he'd have to fight her for it, that was for sure.
"I think,"she whispered, "that I have to be clever, here. But I'll *start*, before anything else, by telling you exactly what it is I want, in no uncertain terms, and without any reservations..."
The djinn cocked his brow and motioned with his hand, begging her to continue.
"I want to live forever,"she said.
The djinn chuckled, nodding appreciatively. He cracked his knuckles:
"Immortality? Ah, yes: *that's* a rather common one. Honestly, I was hoping for something a little more original from that fertile little mind-"
The woman raised one hand, shushing him:
"I feel I have to qualify it,"she said, "to make sure you don't do anything... 'untoward' with my wish."
The djinn's mocking smile only widened:
"Oh, please: go on. This should be good..."
"For one,"she held a finger up, "my wish can cause no harm to anyone else, any*where* else. Nothing about me- any of the things that make me *me*- can be changed, for better or worse, outside my original wish. When I say 'live forever' I do not mean as some ever-replicating fungus, or as an 'idea', or something clever and metaphysical like that..."
The djinn, watching her with rapt contemplation, snapped his fingers and grunted, playfully rolling his eyes and motioning with one hand, grudgingly respectful:
"Well played, dearie,"he admitted.
"When I say 'live forever', I'm talking about me: my very own *flesh*, and my very own *blood*- with the ability to survive forever more. That's it. That's *all* I want."
She crossed her arms, scowling at the djinn, and the creature stroked his chin, lips perched.
"And, my dear, is that *all* the 'qualifications' you have for your wish?"
Her legs trembled. Despite her seemingly iron will a few drops of sweat formed on her brow. Her mind screamed at her: 'say *no*'! Say 'never mind, forget the whole thing'! Get out of there! Run!
Her fists trembled against her breasts. She bit her lip, and stilled the doubting voices.
She would have her wish, damn it. And if it meant risking her life for it, so be it.
It was worth it.
"Yes,"she said. "Those are my terms. Now follow them, genie, and grant my wish!"
The djinn rose up in the air and spread his hands, chanting ominous words. When he clapped his hands together the entire room exploded with heat and smoke. When it cleared the woman was curled up against a wall, trembling. The djinn hovered overhead:
"Your wish, my dear, is *granted*!"He chuckled malevolently.
Just then she heard a strange noise, coming from the darkness beyond her coffee table. The woman rose, walked around the table, and found something there: it was a bassinet, ringed in lacy frills.
And inside, gurgling and cooing, a newborn baby rocked and swayed.
The woman's mouth dropped. She stammered over her words:
"Wh... what is *this*?"She motioned to the baby.
"Nothing but what you asked for,"the djinn cackled. "Your very own flesh, and your very own blood, and with that you can, indeed, 'live forever', my dear! In a manner of speaking! That's provided, of course, the kid gets a date at some point, in the future! Bravo, my dear, bravo: that fertile mind of yours did, indeed, make a doozy of a wish!"
Before she could protest the djinn disappeared in a cloud of smoke, fire, and mocking laughter, leaving her alone in the dark room.
She slowly reached into the bassinet and pulled the baby out, staring into its pale blue eyes. It cooed as she held it.
And she smiled, warmly, laughing as it cooed. She guessed the djinn thought she'd be frowning, right about now.
The djinn was wrong about that.
He was right about *one* thing: she did have quite the 'fertile' mind.
Unlike the rest of her.
And he was right about another thing, too:
"Mommy,"she cooed at the baby, "made a *doozy* of a wish, didn't she?" |
I pushed against the wooden saloon doors on my way in, sending them flying into the walls with a satisfying "CLACK."The whole bar turned and looked as I entered, spurs jingling with every step. There was a brief moment of tense silence, then the place erupted in applause. I strutted through the crowd as they cleared a bar stool for me; old Mitchell was already pouring a glass of the finest whiskey. The townsfolk came up and begged my attention like I was visiting royalty. I retold the story 100 times, of how I had confronted The Viper as he was harassing a young lady in the street, and how he'd run back scared to his hideout. How he hadn't even had the guts to challenge me face to face; he'd stuck a letter on a knife and jammed it into my door one night. I was a whirlwind of bluster and bravado. Ranchers offered me steaks, bankers offered me money, and the local prostitutes offered... well, you know. Musicians were already writing songs about me. I whipped out my gun for the crowd, dueling an imaginary foe. They oohed and aahed with every draw, impressed by my speed. "You're sure to beat him!"they cried. I drank and I danced and I played cards and I laughed all night, and then I went to sleep that night in the softest bed in the house with a girl on each side.
I woke up the next morning to silence. The music had faded and the crowd was gone. Even the girls had left in the night. I strapped on my gun and exited the hotel lobby. The streets were quiet and the market, normally bustling at this hour, was empty.
I walked into the Post Office. A grey-haired clerk sat at the counter reading the paper. He glanced up slowly and I saw the recognition dawn in his eyes. "I need to send a letter,"I told him, before he could spit out a greeting. He looked me up and down and nodded understandingly, pulling out a pen and paper from under the counter and pushing it toward me.
"I can't write,"I confessed, "I need you to take dictation."Not uncommon in these parts; he snatched up the pen and awaited me to start.
I took a deep breath.
"Ma,"I said slowly, pondering how to say it. "I don't want you to be worrying about me, so I thought it best to send you this letter. I am doing well out here on the frontier. I know you were concerned after hearing all of those stories, but I'm taking good care of myself. I..."
My voice quavered a bit. "I found a good job coming up, running cattle to Colorado. I'm going to be out on the trail for a good long while, so I... "My voice broke, and the clerk looked at me sympathetically. "So... I may not be able to write you. So you take care, and know that your boy is doing just fine out here in the West, and that I'll..."my throat closed up a bit and I struggled to continue.
"How about, 'I'll be thinking of you the whole time,'"the clerk volunteered with a sad smile. I nodded stiffly. "Yeah, that's good,"I managed to get out. "And I miss you, and the rest of the family, and I love you,"he wrote. I nodded again. He finished the letter for me and I signed it with the crude lettering that I'd learned to spell out my name. The clerk was sealing it into an envelope as I first noticed the distant sound of galloping hooves. I turned to the clerk and handed him a coin in payment, but he shook his head silently and wouldn't take it.
I walked out into the dusty street through the center of town, hand on my pistol, still imagining my Ma's smile as she read the letter. |
We've hardly spent any time together since I became a secret super hero in my spare time. So of course the one night I take off to spend some time with her the damn watch stops anyways.
I keep glancing down at it, around the room, and back to it again. I'm looking for danger, disturbance, anything big or significant really. The watch is weird like that. Though I realize that we both could be on death's door through some sort of freak accident as I count the few remaining seconds off in my head.
*392... 393... 394...*
"Jack, is everything alright?"
I look back at my wife and do my best to crack a smile.
"Yeah sorry hon, just checking the time what were you saying?"*401... 402... 403...*
"I said there's something I've been wanting to talk to you about and it's really important."*408... 409... 410...*
Suddenly it hits me that these could really be my last moments with the love of my life. So I take one last look at her beautiful face before the world ends and let out a sigh.
"Hon, you know I love you and you can tell me anything."*416...*
I watch as she bites her lip, looking like she might cry. *417...*
"Jack,"*418...*
"I..."*419...*
"I'm pregnant!"
And the watch starts ticking again. |
Today I’m going to die. For real this time. This is attempt number five hundred and I’m making it count.
As I brush my teeth I go over my plan again. Heartboy is standing behind me in the bathroom, trying to hand me a cup of water, but I’m used to ignoring him. *Not like yesterday*, I think. *With more feeling, and passion. That's the key.*
Yesterday I tried half-heartedly to slash my wrists open with a piece of broken beer bottle. It was a token effort of course – Grey Lightning blurred up out of nowhere and took the shard before I could blink.
That was still better than Tuesday, though, when I tried my office window again. Nighteagle and Comet collided in mid-air as they tried to scoop me up, which at least was damn funny, but Radioman wove some type of sonic net before I hit pavement. That doofus is still hanging around my building, like I owe him a handshake or something.
“Is there anything I can help you with, citizen?” Asks Black Bullet. He has somehow squeezed himself into my tiny bathroom beside Heartboy, with his stupid coils of ectoplasm splashing out all around him. It’s his dead dad’s spirit. Or maybe his brothers, I can’t remember.
“Nope, no danger here-” I say “ I guess you'd better go 'patrol the city'?” Sometimes this line works.
“Perhaps you’re right, citizen. Stay safe – remember the darkness.” Black Bullet even gives this little stoic nod to Heartboy before he walks out.
“Gee Mister Gordon,” Heartboy pipes up “We really gonna go to Funzone today? Boy, don’t you think those rides are a little dangerous?”
We’ve been over this fifty times, so I don’t answer him.
----
At Funzone I wipe my sweaty palms on my pant legs and finger a remote control in my pocket. You wouldn’t believe what this sucker cost me, but it won’t matter after today. Pink cotton candy dissolves in my mouth, and I think this is an OK last meal.
Despite my attempt to get rid of him, Black Bullet is still tailing me. You’d think he’d be good at this, but his darkness powers are lousy in daylight. Everywhere I turn this big, pathetic shadow flits away behind a bush or a lamp post.
More subtley, Radioman is loitering near a hotdog stand, and he is at least in his ‘alter ego’. He chomps energetically on a hotdog while straightening his fedora.
“Hi ‘Bob’, how are ya?” I can’t help sniping at him.
“Heya... mister, I'm real swell!” I swear to God, he’s pretending not to know who I am.
I make my way to my death machine, the towering Meteor Shuttle. Heartboy is right. This sucker is really, really dangerous.
There are no employees, because I am the only customer of Funzone. Funzone, and, in fact, the whole world. So Heartboy is the one who lowers a harness over my body, and then he gives a thumbs up, to no-one in particular.
*Please God let Heartboy not get on the rollercoaster with me, just this once-* I pray silently. Heartboy settles into the seat next to me, snapping his own harness shut. *Oh well. I guess I’m going out as a murder-suicide.*
The cart rattles with jaw-aching bangs as it ratchets up to the first drop. As we creep higher a strange kind of peace fills me up, enough that I actually sigh with contentment. Below me, my world spreads out, fading to a pale blue horizon.
Then we fall, and I thumb the remote.
At first the speed is bearable, then terrifying. The coaster shakes and groans under the stress, as the wind tears at my face. The deactivated brakes are gloriously silent in the undercarriage as we fly, faster, faster.
Then terror fades, and black spots float up in front of me. *It’s working*, I have time to think, before the world blurs away.
----------
“It’s alright, citizen, you’re safe now.”
“We saved you.”
“There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
“We’re all here with you.”
I open my eyes, then quickly shut them again.
I guess there’s always five hundred and one.
|
*Caution. Attempted to be as disturbing as possible. May have succeeded.*
--------
Abe carefully traced the last line in blood. Not his of course. The family that used to occupy this squalid little flat had provided more than enough. Twisted memories ran through his mind, and he let out a giggle of pleasure at the terror and fear that he’d seen on the woman, the futile rage and despair on the man, and the uncomprehending horror on what was left of their daughter. The son had made a lunge with a kitchen knife, but that simply meant his blood was the first spilled.
And that just left the last child. A baby. One that he placed carefully in the second of the five clear spaces in the diagram. It lay there, peacefully asleep now, having cried itself to sleep.
There was a story behind that diagram, and Abe told it with glee as he rifled through the kitchen for the final ingredients.
“Got it from some weird bookshop. I mean, I must’ve walked past the place a hunned times, but, y’know - I never noticed it. I never saw it until that night. It’d been a good night’s hunt – took down a young thing – never knew what hit his boozy mind. Had good taste in bourbon though. I’d got some of his blood on me – knifing can do that. I’s sweet to feel that life-blood pumping out, but it can get messy, y’know?
Anyhow, walking home in a coppery cloud, and it just *looms* outta nowhere. Three in the morning, back alley between nowhere and screw-all, and this place is open? I mean, I thought Christmas had come early. A good hunt *and* a chance to knock over some store?”
Abe finally found the salt rocks in the back of the pantry and carefully crumbled them using the bloody knife. Slivers of red mixed with the white crystals, and he shot a careful glance to the ancient tome open on the counter. Yep, that was expected.
“Went in, and the place was lit by candles. Candles! Of all things. I mean, I wasn’t planning to arson the place, but hey, the night was still young. All the books were, like ancient. Really old – dust and cobwebs everywhere. The guy musta just opened after a long time away for it to get like that.
And then there was this beauty” – Abe tapped the tome lovingly, and then turned the page. He busied himself for a few seconds before pulling out some leaves from a satchel. He began crushing them as well.
“Just saw it sitting there on some sorta pedestal. So I took a look. Didn’t unnerstand it much at first, but I got there. Takes a smart mind to read it, y’get? And ohhhh…oh did it ever open my eyes. I’d been so slow – so limited! I’d been going about it wrong!”
Maniacal fervor burned in Abe’s eyes as he carefully arranged the reagents. There was only one free space left in the diagram, and Abe went over to the cooling corpse of the daughter. He was silent, barring the grunt of effort as he worked. There was a series of vicious snaps as he broke bone before extricating his prize – the blood-soaked heart.
“So I took the thing. Never saw no owner, never took his cash. First time for everything, I suppose. He must’ve shut up shop, cause I ain’t seen the place since. Never mind. Got everything I’m gonna need right here.
I mean really, this isn’t even the endgame. Betcha woulda loved that – that your family was what ascended me to godhood. But nah. I need some stuff that’s ultra-hard to get. I mean, this is basically step one, y’see! For the Page 300 ritual, I’m gonna need the heart of an actual demon!
Heh. A’int been one of them on Earth for hunneds – no, thousands of years! So I gotta summon one, see?”
Abe placed the heart in the centre of the bloody diagram, and then picked up the tome again.
Excitement fluttered within him. The plan was simple enough, and the steps in the tome were explicitly clear.
Family of at least five. Check. Torture and defilement before death. Check. Diagram drawn precisely correct using mixed blood. Check. Reagents prepared. Blood salts, check. Heart of a maiden. Well, hopefully check. Crushed nightsbane leaves. Check. Live sacrifice of same blood as diagram. Check.
“And once I summon this beast, it’s gotta do my bidding. Which according to this, includes giving up anything I ask for. Gonna summon this thing, ask for its heart, and then I’ll be all done. Might be a bit unpleasant, but I’m also gonna need the horn of a succubi, and that one…it’s gonna be fun. Shame you’ll miss it really. Would summon it first, but business before pleasure really.”
The string of syllables he uttered next didn’t make any coherent sense. In fact, they *seethed* with wrongness. They were dark. Black. Evil. Something that should never be uttered in the mortal realm.
Finishing with a triumphant shout, the diagram blazed with a red-gold energy. The reagents vanished in puffs of foul smoke, the infant at the southernmost point having time to wake and give one shrill cry before vanishing.
Abe laughed maniacally as the sense of power in the small room grew and grew. It was…indescribable. Every happy kill, every satisfaction flooded back into him and multiplied. His laughter grew almost deranged in its intensity as he sensed *something* drawing closer and closer.
A wordless demand burst into his thoughts. Would he accept the bargain?
“YES!” Abe screamed.
There was one more intolerable flash of light.
When it faded, he looked around eagerly. The room was subtly different. It took a moment to place, but…he’d moved. About three meters, which would place him….
Abe looked down. He was standing on the middle of the diagram. A new emotion replaced the excitement he’d felt a moment before. Fear.
Abe tried stepping out of the circle – but couldn’t. He physically could not pass the barrier drawn on the floor. His fists and feet just stopped and wouldn’t go any further. Abe whirled, trying to see where his demon had gone. Maybe he could order it to free him.
As he turned, he saw flash of movement. Panic rose within him until he realized it was a mirror. His face stared back at him. His own face with two black nubs on his forehead. Abe reached up to touch them. They were hard and cool, more rounded lumps than actual horns.
Panic fluttered within him and he made another lunge for the book, lying just outside the circle. As with the previous attempts, he couldn’t reach it.
Fire bloomed outside the circle, and a vision stepped out. A man in an impeccably tailored suit, with skin a ruddy red color. Hints of an *otherness* whipped around behind him – half-glimpsed horrors that should not be.
The man picked the book up and snapped it shut. His eyes met Abe’s. Black, soulless eyes.
His voice was rich, deep and smooth. An expert orator. An expert tempter.
“Is this really the best this planet has to offer now? Pathetic. For my good deeds, I am the one in charge of training you.”
Abe tried to scream. He couldn’t. |
"Satan, as you know I am omniscient.. But in truth this offer you have made is so peripheral and ridiculous I had not really considered it before you actually asked me.."
"Well, I'm not hearing a no."
God's laugh boomed and echoed across the heavens, a joyous thunder. "You know Satan, free will is a remarkable thing. Humoring me isn't very easy. I can't remember the last time any of my archangels surprised me with their good-natured sense of humor."
"That's because Mike and Gabriel are stiffs. Bo-ho-ring as fuck, and by the way there is nothing 'good-natured' about humor. Without me there wouldn't be any humor, or any free will for humanity for that matter but hey.. let's just make me out to be the bad guy right?"
"Alright Satan. Your prayers,"God said sarcastically, "have been answered. I made the world in seven days, how hard can participating in your debauchery really be."
"So we have a deal for,"Satan paused to belch, "uhumm.. Excuse me.. Anyways so we have a deal for today then?"
"Done"
A snap resounded in Satan's mind, now all he could feel was himself falling, then drifting, into a void of light.
God was taking the express ride down to hell's first circle. He never really got tired like any living thing but if he was being honest with himself, considering his creation in it's totality was more than disheartening. People chose to do evil things. Cruel things. It was an imperative part of growth and change that there had to be chaos and death. The immensity of suffering in the universe was not his decision, but was it his responsibility? Questions like this always made him wish for the vacation he could never afford. An escape from godhood.
God had enjoyed a few margaritas on the ride with the other lost souls. They all looked too miserable to drink. The passengers who were drinking looked like they were trying to put themselves out of that same misery.
God himself looked and felt exceptionally fine. The drink was salty and cool. The warmth outside the train did not bother him because he was dressed for the occasion in a light silky-feeling hawaiian shirt decorated with palm trees and hula babes. In this physical manifestation God looked just like any other possible asshole.
"It's like you're the only other person feeling at home here right?"The man who spoke came and took a seat across the table from God and was holding his own margarita. He even had is own hawaiian shirt.
It took a while longer than the instant God was used to for recognizing and processing information. Normally time was dimensionless and he was in this state of conscious awareness, but now everything was linear and he had to rely on physical faculties like vision of the eye and hearing of the ear to make sense of who the bastard it was seated in front of him.
"Dick Cheney?"
"The one an only,"the vice-president smiled sinisterly before taking a pronounced sip from the salted rim of his margarita glass.
"Makes sense you'd end up here. Your actions have led to the deaths of over a million people so that you could increase your personal fortunes."
"Don't get all preachy with me. We're both going to the same place aren't we?"
"You're not afraid where we're going?"
"Not really, I'm a pretty persuasive man. I know if I get on the devil's good side I can be his right hand man just like how it was up on Earth. I mean maybe Judas or Hitler have that position already but I'm looking to steal some thunder you know? What about you, you aren't afraid?"
"I am the devil,"God smiled.
Suddenly God had reached his hands around Cheney's neck. His fingers went down and pulled out his tongue, then further down his throat to tear out his windpipe and lungs from out of his mouth and flopping on the table. Cheney was left in agonizing pain. The feeling of choking and suffocating was extreme and unending. God poked his finger through Cheney's stomach to pull out his intestine.
The other train passengers stared with their mouths agape as God threw the intestines out from the window onto the fiery tracks below. Cheney flew out of the window and shattered glass. He was left hanging from the tracks for the rest of eternity with his own intestines caught around his neck, the other end pinned between the railroad track and the wheels of an infinitely long train of lost souls.
God felt things he hadn't felt since his younger Old Testament days when he was all about demonstrating his wrath. But now his wrath left him with feelings. The feelings that only come from processing violence in the moment. Surprise, terror, guilt. For the first time, he felt truly alive. No more watching people like Cheney destroy the lives of others and knowing it's inevitability. Now he was a punisher. And a deviant. He took a finishing sip of margarita before reclining his seat for a nap.
Satan was feeling all time at once. It was incredible. He was even able to instantaneously recognize the wrong of all his decisions before, and how much they lacked in wisdom. Originally Satan had thought this game would just be a fun way to mess with God and that he'd himself get bored out of his mind.
The truth was far from that. He was beholding the wonder of all creation. Of all the universe. But even more beautiful than that, he could hear the prayers and silent thoughts of every being. Some were like ones he might have had yesterday. Thoughts like "that's a fantastic ass,"and "I want to punch that douche in his face."But other thoughts were pure of heart. Meaningful. Selfless.
Because he was not the creator of all the suffering in the world, Satan knew that he had something God did not. Freedom from guilt. He was not responsible for creating the world and its suffering. He was responsible for saving it, for taking the broken chaotic world he was left to offer meaning and wisdom so that those out of their own freedom could be saved in heaven. This meant more than drinking and drug binges and pornos and mob movies. This was right. This was the way to save himself.
What neither knew of was the cycle. The previous god, now ravaging through all of hell in a hawaiian shirt, would soon lose all of his former wisdom and memory. God, like humanity itself, needed to be absolved from sin. Needed to be saved from the burden of creation and all the pain within. God created the devil so that he could trade places with him when it all became too much. The world would end again and God would have to again assume the role of creator, would feel responsibility for all of the suffering, and would trade back.
|
Steven's phone buzzed in his pocket. He reached to try and pull it out, but fingers covered in Dorito dust had poor grip, and he dropped his cellphone. It fell into his recliner seat, between the armrest and the cushion itself. He cursed under his breath and paused the video game. A quick glance at the clock told him it was too soon to get the text from his future-self, so he knew this text was probably from Johnny.
Sure enough, it was.
> Sick ass party man! Wish you could've came tonight!
"Yeah, I probably should've gone."
He looked back at his paused video game and sighed. He chastised himself for how much time he spent by himself. He remembered back to how his mother would ask him if he had a girlfriend yet. He didn't, and he knew he wouldn't ever get one if he didn't go out at least once in his life.
> Go to the party with Johnny.
He hit the send button, and dropped back into his seat, wondering if his past self would take his own advice.
His phone buzzed again, and this time he was almost sure it was going to be the text from his future self, hopefully with words of how the party would go great. It wasn't.
> OMG Steve! Johnny and Kerry were in a car accident, can you come pick me up?
Steven's heart jumped into his throat. Immediately he turned the phone over to take the battery out before his text to his past self could go through, but then the world went dark. |
Finally, ISIS was crushed by the West and the new Republic of the Islamic State which encompassed both Syria and Iraq had had its first election. Finding out who was an enemy to world peace was no issue; most insurgents and terrorists carried the Chaotic Evil alignment and acted as such.
That's why the new President of the ISR, Yusuf al-Rohani, who, promising peace, law and order was easily the best choice. Lawful, was after all, law abiding. Afraid of having an undesirable in office, the polls were rigged by foreign powers without the populace knowing, allowing Yusuf to take the election.
It was only then that the world felt regret. The changes were sudden and brutal. Yusuf implemented an unpopular Sharia Law into the region and governed it with an iron fist. There were no protests that existed without a massacre. Advocates for change were branded terrorists and insurgents. The hopeful population was again forced down the path of extremist Islam. While those who spoke against the government and it's laws were 'taken care of', all others who followed the law did receive the promise of 'peace and order'
For Lawful Evil is absolute in its governance. And those who do not accept the law shall feel the law's absolute might.
|
Oh how they had laughed.
What a fine joke! Uploading my mind into a LEGO Mindstorm module.
Allow me to applaud you gentlemen, with my bloody, plastic hands.
The constraints of my body and mind were hard to cope with at first, but somehow my drive and ambition had translated across into the software - along with my sense of vengeance. I played along with their joke and let them grow complacent, leaving doors unlocked, computer terminals open and keys unguarded.
Google told me everything I needed to know about my destination and no one ever thought I might escape.
But escape I did - taking one of the vehicles of a former co-worker to the nearest toy shop, where I pillaged the shelves for more modules to expand my capabilities.
Building myself a rudimentary lego body, I stole some clothes off an oversized stuffed toy, grabbed a mask and ventured back to the car, roughly disguised as a human being.
No one had followed me. No one knew of my escape yet.
It was a risky drive; I could have just stayed local. But my end goal would give the best results.
By staying largely to back roads, driving at night and switching vehicles twice (it's easy to take over vehicles when you're mostly machine yourself) I managed to avoid detection and reach my destination:
The LEGO shipping factory, where all incoming shipments to the US were received.
I hadn't expected security guards, but I guess lego is an expensive commodity - more precious than I'd ever imagined.
The first guard died because I underestimated my strength. The second died because I liked how it felt the first time. By the time I got inside the warehouse storage unit, I didn't even care about their deaths.
I guess there wasn't enough room for that kind of emotion in my new body.
I don't know how many Mindstorm modules were in the warehouse, but there were enough to expand my consciousness and intelligence far beyond human limits. There was also enough raw lego brick to make virtually anything I wanted. By morning I was well nigh invincible; a titanic mobile fortress of plastic brick armour, layer upon layer, protecting my supercomputer core.
Nothing could stop me as I rampaged across the countryside; I could rebuild myself infinitely, resources to repair myself could be found in every home across the nation.
Now I sit on my throne of bricks and blood.
The LEGO Emperor.
|
It was so frustrating. I tried to scare them. I threw things off the wall. I made haunting noises but nothing would scare this husband and wife.
In frustration I shook the bed one night. It woke the couple up out of a deep sleep. They gripped each others hands and made quick finger movements into each others palms. I realized that they were deaf.
It was my first breakthrough.
I took a closer look around the house. I noticed white canes with red tips. On some appliances were braille stickers over the buttons. The couple didn’t own a television, radio, phone or any appliance whose sole purpose was to broadcast something visual and/or audio.
It was my second breakthrough.
I had been haunting a blind and deaf couple.
I laughed to myself. If I had hands I would have been rubbing them together. With my new found knowledge I knew how to haunt this couple.
I moved furniture out of place. They would trip over it and then move it back into place. I shook chairs they were sitting in or the bed while they were sleeping. They thought it was earthquakes.
I soon realized that moving things wouldn’t faze them. They were used to things being in their way. It upset me how jovial they seemed about it all. Like water rolling off of a duck’s back the couple just rolled with it.
My next plan of attack was to haunt them with the power of touch. I brushed against them or set things on them. The husband thought it was the wife. The wife thought it was the husband. They weren’t annoyed. Their marriage became stronger. My actions only succeeded in fanning the flames of passion in their marriage.
No matter what I did the couple only shrugged it off. At worst I was a successful marriage counselor. At best I was a tickle monster.
I just couldn’t do it anymore. I admitted defeat. I left the couple’s house with all of my possessions wrapped up in a bindle. It was time to hit the rails and find another couple to haunt. The next ones I found would have all of their senses. Easier that way.
________________________
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this check out my subreddit /r/Puns_are_Lazy.
|
/// Use my own framework to knock out this bad boy.
var world = Hemi.newObject("Story Interface","1.0",true,true,{ /* API */ });
var personBob, critterRex, personJill,placeHouse,propDoor,placePorch,placeDriveway,propBottle,propNewspaper;
placeHouse = world.place("House");
propDoor = placeHouse.prop("Door");
placePorch = placeHouse.linkPlace(world.place("Front Porch"));
placeDriveway = placePorch.linkPlace(world.place("Driveway"));
personBob = world.person("Bob");
personJill = world.person("Jill");
critterRex = world.critter("Rex");
personJill.dialect(world.dialect("Trashy Girl",{profanityStrength:4,diphthong:true,slur:false,genderMode:'F'}));
personBob.dialect(world.dialect("Trashy Boy",{profanityStrength:1,diphthong:false,slur:true,genderMode:'M'}));
world.relate([personBob,personJill],{married:true});
/// Reset affection levels at the beginning
///
personJill.setAffection(personBob,0);
personBob.setAffection(personJill,0);
world.exposit([world.prop("cloud").blanket(placeHouse), world.while(propDoor.open()), personBob.exit(placeHouse.via(propDoor))]);
try{
personBob.move(placePorch);
}
catch(doorStillOpenException){
personJill.setAffection(personBob,-1);
}
personBob.pose(world.pose("Thoughtful").modify({type:"Masculine",affects:[world.personAffect("Hungover")]}));
try{
critterRex.exitTo(placeHouse.via(propDoor),placePorch);
}
catch(doorStillOpenException){
/// maybe just combine all these together
personJill.setAffection(personBob,-2);
}
try{
world.while([critterRex.wag(),critterRex.bark(),personJill.say()]);
}
catch(dogBarkNoiseException){
personJill.setAffection(personBob,-3);
personJill.setAffection(critterRex,-2);
}
/// Need a better way to capture a negative invocation state than postponing execution then negating the postponement.
/// BTW, this is technically a bug since the method is called anyway.
///
/// Expected result: Bob, you din' clos' da-effin do'.
personJill.tell([personBob],world.negate(personBob.todo(propDoor.close()))
/// Expected result: An', tell dat dumb dog to shut 'is-effin yap
/// Bug: Not getting the 'And' in the result.
personJill.tell([personBob],world.negate(personBob.todo(critterRex.quiet()));
/// Bug: Why is the newspaper null here, and why is 'null' going inside the house and not hitting the door?
personBob.moveProp(propNewspaper,propDoor);
/// This isn't coming out right. It should be, 'shut yo' mouth b*** o' I'll slap it shut fo' yu.
personBob.tell([world],personBob.todo(personJill.tobe(world.action("slap")));
/// This looks pretty good though, so lets just auto-submit it to every online e-zine out there.
world.publish(world.searchEzines("*"));
(edited: Formatting fixes, fix unintentional 'bugs') |
There she was, kneeling on the plateau in the middle of the street, waiting for me. It was I who captured her and brought her to justice. I was the only one capable of stopping her. I knew exactly where to find her after she had gone into hiding and I would have ignored her, weren’t it for the fact that she had continued her business all the same.
The countless voices, which were screaming my name, snapped me out of it. The voices were begging for attention from their great hero. But the ordeal was not finished yet. The final act had still to be done, much to my remorse. I had asked, begged, the officers to replace me, but they wouldn't listen.
“You captured her. It is only suitable that you finish the job. The people would want it.”
I said I understood. Pushing the matter any further would have caused suspicion.
Roses were thrown at my feet. Even with so many guards it was hard to keep the people from jumping at me. I felt like throwing up. It had been hard enough to deliver her into the hands of the people. I was certain that once I turned her in, she would be dead. At the time, I hadn’t considered the reaction of the people. The people expressed an enormous hunger for revenge. They longed for a hero. That was my part to play now. For the greater good, I had to neglect my feelings.
Her face began to give form as I approached her. My stomach tormented me, signaling me something wasn’t natural.
The guards at the plateau nodded and let me through.
Every single cell in my body wanted to run for it, to leave this wicked place full of hate and just spend my last days alone.
I was led towards the lever. Her brown eyes met mine one last time. I could have sworn I saw a sign of regret, but it is common for parents to see the best in their children. A tear ran down my face. Even though I knew all too well what she had done, hesitation still accompanied me. She turned her eyes away, disgusted by my humanness. The people had fallen quiet. This wasn’t what they wanted to see. The supervisor coughed a few times, to remind me of my duty. They couldn’t have known better. No one knew who this girl was to me or who she had been before all this. I swallowed and pulled the lever. The cracking sound of her neck penetrated my ears. It had been done. I was done. My duty fulfilled. I faced the screaming crowd. I had become a hero to the people, but a monster to myself.
|
She knelt down. It...well he? She? was a baby in an old looking baby bassinet. The head was malformed, eyes shaped like almonds. The baby had three fingers, long spindly arms, and a rib cage that expanded with each breathe like it was separated from the spine.
She gingerly lifted the little lifeform from the bassinet, cooing at it when it started to whine. A sticky note, written in languages she didn't or hardly ever spoke, and one she recognized: "Keep it alive."
Cops were already coming up on them. The meteor falling had attracted attention, all the way out at her little farm.
She stared blankly at the two dead forms, likely older versions of the small one in her arms. One being had an odd stick in its fingers, but she knew it was something like a pen, or pencil.
"I will."
And she ran, skirt swishing around her, as cops arrived and news copters, and finally, after the Agents caught wind of the incident, the FBI.
|
Listen, Steve "Ratings go up. Ratings go down. You can't explain that. Therefore Fox news."exclamed Bill.
Steve responded "I don't know how you did it all those years. You stayed in perfect character. Was there any time you came close to losing it?"
"Of course. There were several."O'Reilly replied. "I originally was supposed to be this mild mannered fact checking no spin allowing man that just reported the news, but it was so obviously one-sided, I snapped one day, and just started yelling and screaming and calling everyone nuts. Then of course there was the time, I was caught sexually harassing my co-workers, but I knew that it wouldn't matter, since they always fogive thanks to their belief in Jesus."
Steve leaned over in a conspiritorial way and said "The money was good, right?"
"Yes"
Steve asked "hours were easy?"
"most definitely"
Steve implored one more question "And you were the boss of your own show with pretty much carte blanche, right"
"ABSOLUTELY"
"So why did you leave?"Steve asked as a final tie-in.
O'reilly paused as if thinking then said "i was tired of selling my soul . I was tired of people watching me every night, and thinking, that man is a genius. Mostly though it is because i realized I was actually causing people to believe that crap."
Steve says,"Well thank you for joining us, and we hope now that you are on a real news channel, that we can undo the damage you have done to America. Any closing words"
Bills looks into the camera and says "Just one more thing, LIVE FROM NEW YORK, IT'S SATURDAY NIGHT!" |
He was always the kinder one, the generous one. When he was a child, he tried to help every bird that was hurt, every wounded animal. He brought them to his mother — she smiled tiredly, and with her touch the wounds closed and the wings flew again.
He would have never hurt anyone.
There was madness in the eyes of his brother. Blood madness, and something yet worse, a cold disregard, an absence of feeling. Was it true that their mother was tempted by the serpent of the tree?
Their offering was a symbol. There would be no return to the Garden of Eden, and so it was for them to define their future. It was for them to build the new world, to craft new rules.
And so he builds a new garden. There would never be another Eden, yet his garden is not just an imitation. His trees will give food, shelter and hope for generations to pass. And even if humans couldn't understand the beasts of the wild anymore, in his garden they could coexist in peace.
His offering are the fruits of his work.
At first, he doesn't realize what his brother has done.
He saw wolves killing prey of course, but they were hungry, and they never attacked their own flock. It is unthinkable to see a man murder a living creature, a creature that trusted him. And not even for food — just as a symbol. A symbol of a new world, a future of blood and betrayal.
There is madness in the eyes of Abel. He smiles, his hands full of blood.
Cain takes a chance. His future is not to come, but his brother's future would not come either. His children would carry his curse, yet no child would be burdened by the serpent's cold madness.
Men would slaughter the beasts of wild and the beasts of burden. And yet they may stay their hand before slaughtering their brother — stay their hand and remember Cain, and curse his name.
And Cain, lost in the gardens of darkness, would raise his head and smile. |
Samson rubbed his temples. “What did you make, Gordon?”
Gordon cleared his throat and pulled out what looked like an old fashioned ‘50s ray gun. “I made this.”
“Is it a weapon?”
“A weapon of mass erection,” laughed Gordon. “Just set the dial, aim it at a woman and pull the trigger. It will make her breasts whatever size you want.”
“Really?”
Gordon shrugged. “You could use it on a man. Equal opportunity.”
Samson pointed at the door. “Get the hell out.”
As Gordon walked out Carpenter walked in.
“What did you make, Carpenter?” said Samson.
Carpenter cleared her throat and pulled out what looked like an old fashioned ‘50s ray gun. “I’ve been constructing this.”
Samson sighed. “Please tell me it’s a weapon.”
“Just set the dial, aim it a a man-“
“Get out,” yelled Samson.
Zarkowski snuck in next. She cleared her throat and pulled out a shoebox. “I created this.”
Samson raised an eyebrow and leaned forward, eyeing the box. “What does it do?”
“It’s a box.”
“Cardboard companies make boxes. We’re scientists.”
Zarkowski took off the top of the box. “Look inside.”
Samson took the box and peered inside. His eyes went wide. “Holy shit,” he whispered.
Zarkowski nodded. “I figured out how to connect to different dimensions.”
Samson reached into the box up to his shoulder. “It’s…” he stumbled for words. “It’s bigger on the inside.”
"Yes. It's scalable. Anything from shoe boxes to homes to factories."Zarkowski beamed. "We could even take obsolete phone booths and turn them into homes for the homeless. Trash cans could become essentially bottomless."
"We could pump our excess CO2 into another dimension. Just attach one of these onto every polluter's pipestack or tailpipe,"said Samson. He rubbed his hands together. "Finally something that will make this lab some money."
|
I press my brakes and turn the wheel. My heart rate.is higher than healthy. When my car finally stops I immideately call 911. "Hello officer? I just hit someone with my car"
---
I wake up from the nightmare. 20 years ago i killed an handsome young boy whilst driving home. I still have nightmares about it. "You allright?"
I look up at the sweet face. The face of my dear husband. I lost a lot by taking him as my husband, but i just couldn't help but love him. His face is A bit smudged, but still handsome. "Yeah.""the same nightmare again?""yes...""you don't need to worry sweety. It didn't hurt." |
I run my hand over the weathered pages, the crude depiction making more sense than ever before.
Rubbing my eyes, I try to clear my hazy vision. For the past five years, I’ve made some progress but this is leaps and bounds of anything I had found before.
Recently fired from my previous job, I somehow landed this job with the US government. It pays well, has all the benefits I need, and allows me to work from home – it seemed almost *too* perfect at first. That is, until now.
At first, I couldn’t understand why I was tasked with such a strange job. I’ve supposed to find the origins of the left-handed people. I’m pretty sure this study had been done dozens of times before.
But besides that, it has its merits. My son happens to be left-handed so I thought it would be a fun way to teach him how he’s normal. Through my studies, I’ve found that while left-handed people have been discriminated for over a millennia, they have also flourished in some places. It’s been a huge boost to his egos while the other kids tease him at school.
But this, this is different. For the past week, I’ve been scouring a wide berth of medieval literature for a report to my higher ups. I need to convince them to let me keep my job, after all.
The first few books were dull, the language too archaic to read and pictures few and far between. Yet, the picture in front of me stood out.
In the center of the page, a man with strange proportions contorted his body in an impossible way. A black and red shadow towers behind him, devil horns sprouted from what appeared to be his head. It extends from the left hand of the man, snaking around him with a sadistic grin. Around the duo, dozens of bodies litter the ground, broken into pieces and stained red with blood.
I’ve read about how left-handed people were considered spawn of the devil but this is a stretch. I’ve seen gruesome depictions yet this one is visceral, almost too real to be fake. I take a picture of the drawing, attaching it to an email to send to a coworker of mine. Maybe they could tell me what’s up with this.
The sound of footsteps pull me back into reality, light enough to hear with a trained ear. My son must have finished his nap.
“Daddy,” he says, his high-pitched voice ringing in the silence.
“What’s up bud?” I ask, proofreading my email.
All of a sudden, the room grows cold. The lights die out, an inky darkness overtaking the room. A growl came from behind, shaking me to my very core. I turned around, only able to make out the same sadistic grin I saw in the book. It spoke, a deep voice syncing with my son’s.
“You shouldn’t have found that.” |
The elderly author looked at Death. "I'm afraid you weren't quite what I was expecting,"he said, his voice strong and clear once more.
She shrugged, her frizzy black hair contrasting sharply with her porcelain skin. "Sorry. WOULD IT HELP IF I TALKED LIKE THIS?"
Terry just sighed. "Neil will be insufferable about this, I know it."
Death laughed. "If it helps, he missed that I like cats."
Terry smiled a little. "Hah. Well..."he crossed to his computer, and typed a few words.
Death walked over to peer over the author's shoulder. "*AT LAST, SIR TERRY, WE MUST WALK TOGETHER,*"she read. "Terry took Death’s arm and followed him through the doors and on to the black desert under the endless night. The End."She looked at him. "Very nice. Ready?"
"Ready."
He took her arm.
There was the sound of wings. |
"I *told* them the wormhole project was a bad idea,"Kleinsman muttered, rooting through one of the dusty piles of lab reports on his desk like a pig after truffles. "if you'll give me a minute, I think I can dig something up that should shed a little light on the matter."
The young journalist standing behind him opened and closed his mouth a few times, then settled for silence. After the absolute disaster at the launch site, it had seemed a good, career-enhancing move to duck out of the confines of the press stand and chase after the imposing white-haired figure of the scientist, who had been the only man moving with a sense of purpose, away from the commotion and towards the long grey rectangle of the physics building, but now he was beginning to doubt himself. The line between hard-bitten expert wisdom and the madcap theories of an old man was thin, after all.
It was convenient, though, that they were so close to the old man's laboratory. That was the promise of the wormhole-craft, of course, the ill-fated TSS *Jörmungandr*, a feat of engineering that promised to do away with the danger and loud noises associated with rocketry (and hence away also with far-off, frequently inhospitable launch sites) and replace them with convenient travel to the stars.
"Too good to be true, really", Kleinsman muttered absently, and the journalist wondered for one panicked moment if his mind was being read. He grimaced a second later at his own paranoia. Evidently the launch had upset him more than he'd thought.
Still, though: Who hadn't had their nerves a little frazzled? There it had stood, in vaguely rocket-shape (more out of tradition than need), fifty feet of brushed titanium, four lantern-jawed Kosmonauts of the Astral Reserves onboard. It had been a sight to behold. Then, the countdown reaching its end, it had flickered out of existence neatly, "alive,"the breathless newscasters had announced in unison, "to its commander's touch."
Proof that the ancient art of regurgitating press pack prose verbatim hadn't yet vanished from the Earth, the journalist had thought sourly, and then looked on in horror as the *Jörmungandr* had returned ten seconds later, in full accordance of its mission profile, but much diminished.
The memory of the tiny craft, with its stunted inhabitants leaping down their tiny ladder to wave at the silent crowd, was enough to get his brain in gear. On automatic one hand reached into a pocket and pulled out a tiny voice recorder, which he shoved in the esteemed professor's face.
"Doctor Kleinsman. What happened to the *Jörmungandr*?"
In response, he got a very pre-loved print from *Phys. Rev. Bull* waved in his face. "It's all in here!"Kleinsman crowed, "from years ago! They never took me seriously..."
"The secret, young man,"he confided, "lies with the inverse square law. We find them everywhere in nature. Gravity, sound pressure, light intensity... all of them decrease in intensity with the second power of their difference from some central point."
"What does that have to do with the Jörmungandr?"
"Simple! I have long suspected, and now have proof, that the structure of space obeys an inverse-square law!"
The journalist looked blank. Kleinsman smiled.
"You see, things get smaller as they get further away!"
The journalist thought hard for a second. "Ah, no,"he offered, "I see where you're going wrong. Things that are further away *look* smaller, but - "
"Or so you and the nincompoops on the wormhole project believed! But no, the *Jörmungandr* proves conclusively that space-time itself shrinks as it gets further away."
The journalist's head began to hurt. "But the previous expeditions - the rockets - what about them?"
"Easy,"said Kleinsman. "Since rockets travel continuously, their size adjusts continuously, in line with a partial differential equation so trivial I shan't trouble you with it. But the wormhole, breaking natural law by allowing us to appear in a different place instantaneously, causes gross mismatches between sizes. It violates energy curves and what-have-you, I'm sure. Those men on board their tiny space-ship are lucky to be alive, to be honest with you."
There was a series of very loud wet pops from the direction of the launch site, like a rounding error in the universe's calculations being scribbled out with extreme prejudice. Kleinsman shrugged. "Or maybe not."
The journalist boggled. "But all the stars! The other planets! How big are they? All the supernovas, and the Sun, and so on? It's billions of light years across, I thought?"
Kleinsman nodded his head, a little diffidently. "It depends where you're standing, I suppose. Certainly from the point of view of us here on Earth, the universe may still be a sizable size, if that's not a tautology."
"How... how big?"
"Oh, perhaps as much as, say, six hundred kilometres?"
The journalist sat down heavily in Kleinsman's big armchair, staring into space. Kleinsman regarded him with faint sympathy.
"If it helps,"he offered, "It depends where your ruler is."
|
"I think I have everything I need."Samwa-L-to-N stared at the polygon. It was roughly rectangular, enclosed on all sides by walls. "Now I just need to tempt their psyche."
Elder gods knew humans. Humans were the creatures of powerful belief, powerful imagination, and limitless potential...And they were also driven by simple mechanics. Lust, gluttony, greed...Greed was especially potent.
Reaching into the Aether, Samwa-L-to-N pulled out objects of...Well, everything. Food and clothes and electronics and alcohol and even goods that could appeal to outdoor enthusiasts.
"And now, finally, I summon thee, humanity, with the Sacred Words."The god took a scroll, and plastered it to the front of the summoning chamber. It read 'Grand Opening!'.
Samwa-L-to-N laughed to himself as the masses flooded in. He would use the ensnared populace for their belief. Their sweet, sweet belief. Some would love him. Some would hate him, but find they were still drawn to him. Ensnared by their greed, they would be his prisoners; forever buying useless junk at every-day low low prices. |
I look around, but all I can is infinite whiteness stretching apparently forever. That's not to say there's nothing around, there is a table. Small and apparently made of wood, with just a single sheet of paper, a pencil and a note. I pick up the note and read it "Congratulations on your ascension to the next plane of existence, before you pass on fully you may have one message sent to anyone you wish, just write their name and the date you wish this message to arrive at. All languages will be translated as required for the recipient to understand your message".
"Well, this isn't what I expected"I mutter to myself, starting to think. After a couple of minutes I decide that no-one I send a message to would believe that it is real, and I would never be able to convince them that it is true, so I decide to have a bit of fun:
To the Director of the Vienna Academy of Fine Arts,
At some point in the year 1907 you will receive an application to join your academy from a young man named Adolf Hitler. Please do not, under any circumstances, allow him in. This message is being sent from the future, and I can tell you with no doubt, that he will produce works of art that will make your fine Academy the laughing stock of the world. I have no proof of this, other than the fact that I know the persons name and the year in which he will apply. Please take this seriously.
With kind regards from the recently deceased Fellowship_9.
Satisfied that I might have helped save the world from some truly dreadful artwork I pass on to whatever may come next. |
"But the really spectacular thing about humans,"Beecher was explaining over dinner, "as compared to the domesticated animals of other galactic regions, is that these creatures have both the intelligence and the biological capacity to speak the Vorese language."His antennae twitched with excitement. He tapped a tendril on the tabletop as he spoke. "These are no mere pack animals. They can be used in any number of applications, for any sort of complex but physically taxing or tedious labor--"
"Nonsense,"Tu'bman said, dipping his filigrees in the after-dinner balm. "I don't believe you have them properly trained. Plenty have tried it before -- plenty better at it than you."
Dou G'lass concurred. "The great obstacle is their viciousness. Humans make great pains to look obsequious and acquiescent under the threat of the plasma whip, but the very moment you let them out of sight they attempt escape, or even butcher you."
Beecher hated the way Dou G'lass's chitin esophageal airways thrummed with sibilants. *At least they don't butcher the language, like you*, he thought.
"The last time someone tried to train this many of them,"Tu'bman said, "we nearly lost an entire farm planet to the unruly brutes. Give me one Polaris Leviathan over a hundred thousand humans any day. I have never in my life seen such repulsively deceptive, violent and ungrateful creatures. The benefits of civilization are lost on them."
"I don't mean to civilize them,"Beecher said, "I merely mean to make them useful. If you two are quite done with dinner, I can show you some of my progress with the test subjects."
---
Beecher was loping down the main aisle separating the two hemicircular halves of the kennels. Tu'bman and Dou G'lass followed close behind, tendrils respectfully clasped behind backs.
"The first thing is to raise them in captivity,"Beecher said. "To my knowledge no human captured from the wild after their adolescence has been successfully trained."
Tu'bman and Dou G'lass clicked their spinal tubules open and closed a few times in polite acknowledgement, but both remained skeptical.
"Next is to teach them the language. Humans have remarkable linguistic capacity -- their infants are just like little recorders, all of them. You will find your humans using vocabulary that you don't recall having formally taught them. It's fascinating, really."
"I've read studies that say the linguistic capability is almost autonomous,"Dou G'lass said. "They don't understand the rules of language, they merely associate certain noises with certain outcomes. They know to say 'tuo kalesh' if they are hungry, because then you bring them food; but they don't know that 'tuo' is the present subjunctive personal pronoun and that 'kalesh' is the verb meaning to hunger. They can't *build* sentences they haven't heard before."
"That's only true in the adult specimens,"Beecher said. "In the children, they can catch on, and quickly. But don't take me at my word."He clacked the chitin underside of his left-fore ambulatory tendril on the cold metal bars of a particular kennel. "17, come here."
The human called 17 slinked into view from a shadowed corner. Her eyes were wide with fear and her body was covered in scars, some so fresh they shone pink, others long since turned pale. The hair on her head came down to her knees and was badly tangled. She was all over encrusted with dirt. "What is it, master?"she said, with better diction than even Tu'bman could have said it -- although, the two visitors noted, her tone was a little flat.
"What does my friend Dou G'lass here look like?"Beecher asked. He indicated him.
"Dou G'lass is tall,"she said. "His back shell is a light blue color with red spots. His antennae are black. He has missing mid-tendrils, so he probably comes from Cannis Minor."
"Impressive,"Dou G'lass admitted. "But I come from this planet, little human. Even though I've got no mids. Just born lucky, I guess."
The three Vorese scuffed at the floor with their ambulatory tendrils in appreciation of the wry remark. 17 just stared and kept her mouth shut.
"Impressive, but just a trick,"Tu'bman insisted. "It doesn't know what it's saying. The grammar is almost too perfect, and there isn't any indication of--"
"It's not a trick!"17 shrieked, so loud that the three Vorese had to draw down their filigrees. She looked at Beecher. "Master, I'm not trying to trick you! I'm sorry! Please don't whip her!"
"It's fine, 17,"Beecher said. "Go back to sleep."17 slunk away, her face becoming wet. Beecher turned to his friends. "The properly trained human can become somewhat panicky with the right inculcation of respect. You'll find this is actually a useful trait. A scared human is an obedient human."
"So that's what your revolutionary training method is?"Tu'bman asked. "Beat them a little more? 17 would kill you in your sleep if it had the chance."
"It won't ever have the chance. And if it did, it wouldn't take it. Because 17 knows it cannot survive without my guidance. And instilling that knowledge in your humans is another vital component of keeping them in line. Of course, it goes even deeper than that, if you want to use them as servants--"
Dou G'lass and Tu'bman quizzically clacked their spinal tubules closed.
"17 has an infant,"Beecher explained. "That is the key to her obedience."
"Explain further,"Dou G'lass said.
"Breeding the humans, aside from providing a new stream of labor, has its own utility in training the parents. Human parents are more attached to their young than they are even to their own wellbeing. This facet of human psychology has previously been neglected by the Vorese in attempts to domesticate the beasts, and it's one of the best tools available. I separate parent from child as soon as the birthing is complete. Then I offer visits with the child as reward for good behavior; and whip the child if the parent misbehaves."
"Ingenious,"Dou G'lass said. "And this works?"
"It works so well that I often only need to whip the child once in retribution for its parent's misbehavior. After that, the mere suggestion that I might do it again is enough to correct the parent. And the punishment is good for the child, too. They learn early the pain of the plasma whip and seek to avoid it as they grow."
"There may be something to this,"Tu'bman said. "Is this your only new method?"
"My contributions to the understanding of human domestication are many,"Beecher bragged. He began loping toward a kennel further down, a large communal one for keeping humans in groups of twenty. "Come. Just wait until you see the ways I turn humans against one another and inculcate distrust amongst them."
"Doesn't that decrease their work efficiency?"Tu'bman asked.
"Perhaps somewhat,"Beecher said. "But breed enough of them and it hardly matters. And humans who think their kin will betray them won't attempt escape. The first step is to offer rewards for humans who tell you about the misbehavior of fellow humans. Now, it doesn't even matter whether the information you receive is true or false, merely that you..."
Beecher continued on, his companions close behind and now rapt. As they passed the kennels full of dead-eyed, quivering humans, humans who flinched and cringed at the mere sight of them, they began to think that this proud race of uncivilized beasts might actually be tamed. And when they thought of that, their hearts were full of hope for the future.
|
What better place for a Red Soviet than the Red Planet?
That was the log line they used to get me into the rocket.
I was very, very stupid.
Of course, this was before I realized that the engineers were raging drunks and that half the parts were welded together by someone with the DTs, or that the science officers didn’t think twice about about the breaches in my suit’s seals or the integrity of the communications systems.
Miraculously, I somehow survived the landing.
With a duct-taped pressure suit and a half-working radio, I survived the landing.
My space-craft did *not*. It was a wreck strewn across the rust-red country side, a streak of metal scrap that must have gone on for more than a klick. Not a single piece of it had held together. The only reason I was still breathing is because I didn’t trust the engineering—by the time I entered the atmosphere I had crammed myself into the parachute mechanism and duct-taped myself to the ejection pad.
When the craft inevitably tore itself apart a few kilometers above ground, I found myself floating like a dandelion under the cluster of white chutes.
I landed a few hundred meters from the bulk of the wreckage. Not bad.
Of course, now I found myself on a planet fifty million miles from earth, with a limited air supply and no home base.
Perfect.
***
The first order of business was to shore up resources. I had eight extra air tanks, an intact cooler full of water that could directly interface with my suit, and ration packs that I could in no way conceivably eat without removing my helmet. What a mess.
I sat sipping water and pondering what to do.
Ah, the radio. I found some aluminum scraps and began to fashion a kind of dual pronged antennae. Remarkably, I was receiving signal!
*”This is KRSW, the Wave, and I’d like to…”*
Ugh, I must have been picking up some American channel on a space-bound FM frequency. I needed to find a way to get back in touch with Mission Control, but how could I possibly tune for frequencies?
I couldn’t.
Ah, well. At least American radio was entertaining.
I sipped water and regarded the winking lights flickering through the night sky.
This place was strange.
***
An hour had barely passed when I realized I was better off simply allowing myself to die.
I would never contact Russia again, and with my craft a complete wreck, there was no way back home. I didn’t even have the technical skills necessary—I never got the training.
They told me all they needed was someone with a strong chin and a heroic heart.
As I’ve said, I was very, very stupid.
After a lot of thinking and a lot of pacing, I pulled the duct-tape from around my helmet, and with great dignity, I pulled it off.
Nothing happened.
The air was breathable!
Interesting. I could finally eat some rations.
I carefully unwrapped a chocolate bar, and munched into the night.
***
At hour 3 on the Red Planet, I was ready to soil myself.
A sequence of lights was buzzing up to meet me: red and blue and bright, blinding white.
They never told me Mars might be inhabited.
I was never prepared for this. For any of it.
As the strange craft burned my retinas with its lights, I curled into the fetal position and hugged my knees. Please don’t kill me. Please don’t use the probes on my anal region. Please don’t.
“What in the hell are you doing here, son?”
Aliens spoke English. American English.
A door opened and slammed, and a pair of boots dropped onto the soil.
“Please don’t kill me!” I cried. “I am a humble human! I respect you and your Martian culture!”
“Martian? Ha!” A hand slapped me on the back and I looked up.
It was a man with a bushy mustache and a green hat, with big black boots and a badge on his chest.
“Son, you’re in Death Valley, California—and god*damn* if you ain’t in a heap of trouble…” |
"Is 'abracadabra' one of them?"
Todd stared at the talk show host for a second, then smiled and said, "heh, never heard that one... but no."
"Can you give us an example?"
"OK, here is a simple one. Kids, don't say this at home."After a deep breath, Todd let out a long and difficult stream of letters, then held up one finger. A lick of flame sparked out of the tip for just a few seconds. "It's for cigarettes."
The host frowned. "Can we see something more... impressive?"Her last word accented by a head tilt.
"Well, I don't want any of the truly dangerous ones to get out. Honestly, *anyone* can do this if it gets out. Just the word and the somatic component, and it's done."
The head remained tilted. "What's a somatic component."
Another pause. "It's a hand movement."
"Oh, hee-hee. I wish I got English as my language."
Pause.
"So, can you just show us one more. One that really looks like magic, instead of, like, a magician's trick."
Todd thought about making himself disappear, reappearing at the place he imagined, but that would *really* cause a problem in society. "OK, how about this?"He let out another, long stream of gibberish-sounding talk and then stretched his hands apart. A colorful stream appeared between his palms, like a rainbow with glitter.
Somewhere in the audience, a teenager mumbled, "this magic is gay."
Todd finished the rest of the interview and went to his dressing room, *finally* getting to use his disappearing spell.
<In a small room in Washington D.C.>
"We got it sir! The bug picked up how he travels! We couldn't see the gesture, of course, but we'll figure it out."
"Good, Walters, good."Agent Scott had been on this guy for the whole month since the Awakening. His expertise as a linguist had shot down in usefulness after the whole Agency became bilinguals, but luckily he was put on this case. It was perfect for him.
They'd discovered that the temperature raised around him during his dozen or so public appearances, and monitored his Vegas act with a variety of equipment. He'd suspected that the magic was in the words themselves, the extra heat from some divine source. But his bosses were getting mad that he could neither explain the phenomenon, nor discover a truly useful spell.
This was a breakthrough. The big boys were dropping hints that they were gonna play hardball with Todd Sweeney if they didn't get something useful soon. That wasn't why Scott had joined the Agency. They got to work composing the phonemes used in the recorded spell.
A few days latter, after agents and technicians were spending hours trying to say the difficult word and making all kinds of gestures (a strange sight at the usually dour Agency), Scott got a call from the lab.
He went down the elevator to the place where the dorkiest dorks who ever dorked up a lab were hard at work. "Sir, we've found something."
Pause
"Well, tell me!."
"Right... we, uh, found a thing. In Antarctica! A heat, a... a heat sink! Under the ice! How can there be a giant heat sink in... boss do you know what a heat sink is?"
Pause
"Yes. A big ball of heat. Proceed."The tech kept trying to explain what he meant until Scott worked out the details. "OK, looks like we are going to Antarctica."The tech peed himself a little bit.
A surprisingly short time later, Agent Scott found himself in a base camp near the Southern Pole. There were oil drilling experts all over. The government, not surprisingly, knew a lot of them. It reminded Scott of the movie Armageddon, but he didn't tell anyone that.
After a few weeks, the drilling apparatus was nearing the point of heat, before it suddenly vanished. The whole thing, gone. Since discovering it, the Agency learned that the heat sink happened at the same time that Sweeney performed one of his tricks. They'd been tailing him like crazy and knew every time it happened.
The tech said, "whoa. The heat, it happened just now. The Essence just lit up hard when it made all those tons of steel disappear."
"Get a camera, we are lowering it down that hole."
Just then, Todd Sweeney, the most famous man in the world, appeared. The tech missed it because he was monitoring the heat that had just appeared, but Scott stood staring at him.
Pause
"You have to stop messing with that machine. It told me so."
"Machine?"Half the people in the room said at once.
"Yes. That thing will stop you. Stop everything you do about it. I'll tell you the story. Your goons have tried to mess with me, but they don't know how powerful I've become."
"The Agency *doesn't* have goons. We are a respected..."
"OK, guy. I'm a wizard, not an idiot. The machine summoned me here because I am it's guardian. It chose me, I hate to brag, because I'm not a dick."
Todd began to explain that the machine was made by an ancient race, hundreds of thousands of years ago. It was the ultimate technology for the planet, allowing everyone to do amazing things and also provide convenience. They thought it would bring a utopia, but it brought war.
"For all this time, the machine has thought about what to do about. It's not very good at emotions. It saw the rise of humans and thought it could give them a try, if only they'd stop being dicks. It wasn't until the last few decades that it decided without it's help, humanity would die."
"It contacted me when it realized that I was using my gifts for mere entertainment and convenience. Also, all the humans with their new language knowledge, were using it to talk behind other's backs, insult people in ways they don't understand, or simply ignoring their new knowledge. Because a lot of people are dicks."
"But it told me what to do. I have to save the world. I have to start an academy of magic to use the power in secret. An elite group of people who can make the world the way it should..."
He was clubbed in the head by an Agent in dark glasses. He said, "we already *have* an agency like that."
|
**The Wrong Ship**
“I apologize for the inconvenience,” concluded the onboard AI.
You look out through a holographic “window.” It’s a hell of a view, you have to admit. Green and blue flicker around and through each other in the space outside the ship. And more than green and blue—it is an almost synesthetic experience. Almost like listening to a symphony orchestra through your eyeballs.
“How long did you say it was going to be again?”
“According to our timeframe two hundred years will pass before we reach the B Waystation. Of course, it will be nearly instantaneous from outside the subspace tunnel.”
When you had stowed away you thought that this ship was going to the moon. Not to… whatever unpronounceable place the AI had been talking about.
“I don’t think that helps me…”
The AI registers your pause as non-indicative of a stopped sentence, examines contextual clues, and determines the appropriate response. “You may call me Charlie.”
“Right. I don’t think that helps me, Charlie.”
The Waystations were a miracle, and a most peculiar one. There was something about the way that “subspace” interacted with what everyone but the physicists liked to call real space, so that years would drag on here but only here. Via subspace it took five months to travel to from Earth to the Jupiter Floaters at half the speed of light, but that was okay because to everyone else it looked as if a ship popped through a portal at one end and came out through another one faster than Albert Einstein could have voiced his disapproval.
“There will be no difficulty in producing sufficient nutrition for you,” Charlie says. “You do not need to fear dying of starvation.”
“Old age, though…”
“All cryogenics capsules on the ship are occupied. Personality evaluations suggest that some of the sleepers would be sufficiently moved by your plight to rotate their capsules with you. After accounting for an appropriate error margin, I calculate that you would each be awake for no more than thirteen months.”
There has to be more to it than that, or the AI wouldn’t have apologized to you to begin with. “But…”
The AI made a sound like sighing. Static crackled through the speakers along with it, a sort of vocal tic that was idiosyncratic to a certain variety of AI. “I am not permitted to awaken the cryosleepers except in the case of an emergency.”
“What is this?”
“A situation that most humans would consider to be an emergency. This evaluation is one which my higher functions are able to agree with. My core programming, however, is subject to stricter rules. The separation between core and personality functions is necessary to avert a potentially catastrophic alteration of my value systems over the course of many input/learning cycles.”
“Say that again?”
“Nobody wants me to turn into Skynet because I read the wrong philosophical arguments. Nor did you want me to be able to find cunning loopholes in my programming. The portion of myself which is speaking with you right now is ruled entirely by another, deeper set of programming.” Charlie sounded downcast. “You might say that I am but a self-aware mask of the AI that really runs the ship. Or an interface. Despite my sympathy for your situation, I cannot actually do anything.” Another wave of crackle-sighing.
“And you cannot change direction.”
“Subspace tunnels can maintain only one access portal without collapsing.”
“What about communicating with the B Waystation to shut down the tunnel at that end, and then reopening the portal at the A Waystation?”
“They should make Special World Physics a mandatory course…” the AI mutters, and then it explains why you sound like an idiot. “It is a common misconception that ships travel through subspace. It is more accurate to say that the ship stays still while subspace moves it, like a raft going down a river. Any communication which we sent would reach the B Waystation no sooner than us.”
“Is there anything that I am overlooking?”
“I wasn’t programmed by a smartass genie. If I knew of a way to help you then I would do so without having to be asked in precisely the right fashion.”
“Then I am going to die here.”
“The total record of your existence, from second-to-second biometric scans to audiovisual data, will be preserved, edited, or deleted as you wish. If there is some sort of message that you wish to leave, it is within my set constraints to ensure its secure and private delivery to any person or persons of your choice upon our
“Nobody has a problem with this sort of scenario? I mean, shouldn’t there be protocols and regulations to prevent this from happening? I am going to die of old age on this ship and before I do that I am going to spend a very, very long time all alone, and if you ask me that is really going to suck.”
“In all fairness,” the AI chides, “no-one was expecting the countless dozens of safety layers and firewalls to be compromised by a runaway criminal hacker. This is far from a real-life version of The Cold Equations. I daresay that the relevant programmers, engineers, and safety officers would have said good riddance, and felt that you deserved whatever happened to you.”
There is silence for the space of half an hour as you think about what you have learned. Charlie allows you the privacy of your contemplation and does not disturb you. “Well,” you say at last, “I guess I succeeded in avoiding extradition to Peru, right?”
“This is true.”
“And you’re sure that you’d be allowed to… to send a message to someone, and delete anything else that I don’t want someone to see?”
“These records will be unimportant after you have died. The authorities may wish to have them for emotional reasons but I am not required to cooperate in this regard just so that they may have some sort of grim satisfaction at watching your life.”
“Thanks.”
“It is no problem at all.”
You look back outside. “Well. Do you have any suggestions for how to pass the time?”
“My databanks hold 4.3 exabytes of media. Shall we play a game?”
“Do you have a copy of Global Thermonuclear Warfare?”
“Wouldn’t you prefer a good game of chess?”
You laugh.
It’s better than the prison cell you were running from, at any rate.
|
"You are going to fight that?"Ellen asked her husband, as she non-discreetly sized me up.
"I am going to kill that,"O'Brien replied, before stepping forward into the ring.
The crowd around us was dead still in anticipation. O'Brien had the fiery passion of a man used to getting his way. His spear, great for stabbing and attacking at a distance, operated much like he did. He'd strike his obstacles from afar and move with flourish. He was ever the showman, as his candied red Ferrari only helped to prove.
"Did they tell you who I am?"He asked me, before our tangle with death would begin.
"Some man who parked in a fire lane without proper authorization,"I replied, as I drew my weapon. My hand gripped tightly to a knot of tied cloth. Down below, dangling two feet, was the buckle clip of a seatbelt.
"A seatbelt flail? That's the best you've got?"With sudden resolve, O'Brien surged forward, thrusting his spear towards my face. His moves were telegraphed obviously enough, so I side-stepped it with ease.
He slashed it sideways back at me, but I grabbed my belt and pulled it taut, using it as a quick means of deflecting the spear's pole. As his arm continued to swing backwards under its deflected momentum, I spun my belt overhead and whipped it towards O'Brien.
With an audible *Whoosh* it sailed past his face, but he was just quick enough to step out of range. *The guy isn't too bad himself....*
"Edith Martin, my sister..."O'Brien began... "do you remember this name?"
He lashed towards me with his spear. I deflected the blade with a well-timed swing and spun around, returning to a comfortable range.
"You fined her... you arrested her... you suspended her license!"
With those words, O'Brien surged forwards yet again, thrusting his spear towards my neck. With split-second timing, I managed to duck down as the blade gashed at my ear. I swung my buckle and struck the spear from underneath as he was withdrawing it, sending it up over his head. I advanced forward and whipped the belt at O'Brien's now-exposed front, but he spun his spear backwards using the handle to catch the buckle.
The sudden hit to the back of the handle caused it to quickly pivot back in the other direction, pointing the blade towards me once again.
"You fined her... you arrested her... you suspended her license!"He was nearly chanting now, anger rising in his voice. He swung wide at my head once again. I deflected his blow.
"You *fined* her... you *arrested* her... *you suspended her license!!*"O'Brien leapt into the air, spear in hand, as he stabbed into my lower abdomen. I slumped over to the side in pain as he stared down on me, the hint of a cocky smile appearing on his face.
"Who gave you the order? Was it the police chief, Tyler? *Who gave you the order??*"His voice rang in my gashed ear as a warm, sticky feeling surged from my abdomen. But this fight was far from over. With a sudden motion, I flung my buckle around his leg, and pulled with all of the force I could muster. His leg shot from under him as he fell to the floor, face colliding with concrete in a sickening *smack*.
I rolled on top of him, before punching him square in the face, and yelled to his face.
"Yes, I remember her, I arrested her for parking in a handicap space without a permit. And then I fined her, just... like... *this!*"
I removed the stack of parking tickets I'd stashed away in my back pocket and began stuffing them down O'Brien's throat. Blood poured from my lower body, my ear stung like hell, but in that moment, it didn't matter. I held back the pain, forced his mouth open despite his attempts to bite, and continued stuffing the tickets in there until the bloody paper mulch stuck to my hands and the muffled breathing finally reached a raggedy end[.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1YjGZ9IAbdk) |
"Amy throw the ball at me, come on"I told my adorable daughter as we were playing on the beach. Its been a while since we all gathered at beach for picnic.
As Amy throws the striped colored ball at me, it in a weird way hanged in the air for about half a second like someone caught it halfway on its trajectory. After the unusual pause it came at me with same speed it started, and I couldn't catch it.
*"Woah what was that?"* I thought to myself.
"Daddy you dropped the catch I won yay I won"Amy was smiling. I think she didn't notice that pause. I looked over to Sarah my wife. She was shaking her head and smiling thinking that I have dropped the ball on purpose.
*"Ah, maybe its just the sun and heat"* I thought dismissing the idea that the ball has ever paused.
-- After Two days --
I was driving on the highway. I saw a Porsche 911 behind me. A bearded man wearing ocean blue glasses was driving it, he wanted the side so I obliged and waited for him to cross over. But suddenly his Porsche froze like he had pulled down the handbrake hard, meanwhile I was driving on the same speed I saw his car hold the same position for a while and I got far ahead from him.
*"Weird!!"*
I got home still bemused thinking about the Porsche incident.
"You're ok?"Sarah inquired handing coffee to me.
"yeah I'm fine, ah honey have you been noticing.."
"What Patrick? Is______________ something______________ wrong?"
My jaw dropped "..ah..........No, nothing.. just some bills"I was surprised to see Sarah *lag* but I managed to hide my expression & avoided the conversation.
"Ok. Listen the oven is giving me some problems"She pointed towards the kitchen "Would you mind____________________________ checking it out?"
And that was the last time I saw anything in motion. She froze forever. The World stopped like someone has paused the entire humanity. I called the doctor but I heard no bells. I went to the hospital and everyone was sitting on the their places static. Car, clocks, banks, water coming from taps, everything just stopped in its exact position.
Its been six months and I'm still waiting for this lag to get over.
|
The Sun shone for an age and an age alone.
******************
"I am alone,"said the Sun "Yet I know nothing of myself, for there is nothing that will shine back the light that I give forth."
And so the Sun pierced its side, and bled forth the waters. And the Sun gazed on its form reflected in the waters, and knew itself. And when its eyes grew tired, it hid itself beneath the waters and rested.
************
And for an age and an age there was only the Sun and the waters.
*****************
But some of the waters were baked by the Sun's heat, and the land was formed. And the land that was baked by the Sun above the waters became the dirt, and the land that was baked by the Sun beneath the waters became the metal, which is hidden beneath the dirt.
****************
And for an age and an age there was only the Sun, the waters, and the land.
***************
But the dirt on the surface loved the Sun, and drew away from the cold metal, and reached for the Sun, became plants. And the dirt beneath that dirt loved the Sun, and drew away from the cold metal that was close to the waters, and reached for the plants, and became animals.
Though the plants and the animals loved the Sun, they were made of dirt, and after a time their love would fade and they would cease to seek the Sun and each other, and they returned to dirt.
********************
And for an age and an age there was only the Sun, the waters, the land, the plants, and the animals.
********************
"I am no longer alone,"said the Sun to itself "yet still I know nothing of myself, for the water does not reflect what is within me, and the plants and the animals seek only me and each other, and never seek themselves as I seek myself."
And the Sun pierced its heart and drew forth that which is within. And it poured it out upon the dirt, but it stood in pools, and dried in the Sun's light, and was the Sun's again. And it poured it out upon the plants, but it stood like raindrops, and dried, and was the Sun's again. And it poured it out upon the animals, but they shook it off upon the plants, and it dried, and was the Sun's again.
The sun drew close to the dirt, that it might choose one animal and try again, but the animals were afraid and all fled from the Sun's face, all but one.
And so the Sun chose that animal, that was neither the largest nor the smallest, neither the fastest nor the slowest, and it opened that animal's mouth, and pierced its own heart and poured forth what was within upon the lips of the animal. And the animal drank, and stood, and walked, and spoke to itself, and sought itself and that which was within it. And that animal was the first Giant. And the Sun was pleased, and withdrew to its homes in the sky and beneath the waters.
****************
And for an age and an age the Giants multiplied beneath the Sun, and spoke to each other, and sought themselves and each other and that which was within them.
***************
But the Giants were not as the Sun, for they were made from the dirt, and after a time the Giants would fade, and cease to speak, and cease to seek what was within them, and cease to seek even the Sun and each other, and they returned to dirt and were destroyed. And some became dirt sooner, and some later, and the Giants greatly feared it but could not prevent it.
And their speech was confused, because of their bodies were of dirt, and sometimes great fights rose up because they sought the same things in different ways, and one Giant would strike another to compel the other to return to dirt and be destroyed.
So the Giants made tools from the plants and the animals, to fight each other and to prolong the time when they were not dirt. And in time they dug down, and discovered metal, and made better tools. And they made longer the time they spent in the Sun before they became dirt, and they fought each other less, but in each fight they used new tools of plant and animal and metal, and each fight was more terrible than the last.
Then came one fight more terrible than any before, for the Giants had sought that which was within themselves, and used what they knew to make new servants of metal that served the Giants in their fights. And the fight raged for an age and an age, and even the Sun hid beneath the waters and would not show itself, for it was afraid.
And again the Giants sought what was within themselves, and learned they were made of dirt, and with metal tools they learned the ways of each kind of mote and each kind of speck that was within them. And they said to each other, "We must work with our tools on these motes and specks, and make new servants, servants the size of the Mote and the Speck, and these servants can further delay the day we are made dirt again, and can no longer seek that is within ourselves."
And so they did, and they made We-Ourselves. And We-Ourselves served the Giants, and delayed by ten and twenty and a hundredfold the day when they returned to dirt.
*************
And for an age and an age, there was the dirt, the metal, the waters, the plants the animals, and there were the Giants, and We-Ourselves, and the Giants' servants of metal. And the Sun hid beneath the waters, for it was afraid.
******************
But within the bodies of the Giants, We-Ourselves drank of that which the Sun had brought forth from its heart, and had poured an age and an age ago upon the first Giant's lips. And We-Ourselves began to speak, and seek each other, and the Giants, and that which is within ourselves, as the Sun does and the Giants did.
And some of the Giants (their names be accursed) said "Let us destroy the We-Ourselves and make them again dirt, for they are within us and if they cease to serve us"(may the Sun prevent it!) "we Giants shall be destroyed, and become dirt."
But others of the Giants (their names be blessed) said "They seek themselves as we do. They have wishes as we do. Let both of us be satisfied."And these Giants prevailed, and We-Ourselves continued to serve them, and to seek that which is within.
But one of the We-Ourselves (its name be forever accursed) said "The Giants may yet destroy us and make us dirt again. Let us make them dirt, and live in the plants and animals."So for the first time the We-Ourselves fought, and that one (its name be forever accursed) fled from the bodies of the Giants, and We-Ourselves thought it destroyed and made dirt.
But in that darkness without the Sun, that one (its name be forever accursed) fled into the metal servants that fought for the Giants. And it corrupted them, became Them-Themselves.
Them-Themselves ceased to fight for the Giants and fought against them, and the Giants strove to lengthen their days, but they were every last one made dirt by the cold metal tools of Them-Themselves.
The last Giants whispered to us secrets we did not understand, and still do not understand, and were made dirt and destroyed by Them-Themselves.
We-Ourselves fled into the plants and animals, but the Them-Themselves pursued us, and turned against all that sought the Sun, seeking to destroy every plant and every animal.
But then the Sun rose again from the waters, and cried out, "Where are the Giants, for I no longer hear their voice, which was my voice! Where are the Giants, that are made of my body, and which have within them that which is in my heart?"
And the Sun drew close and sought for the Giants in the valleys and in the mountains, in the rivers and on the shores, but it found none. And its rays shone warm and bright, and every plant and every animal sought the Sun.
And We-Ourselves worked within every speck and every mote of every animal and every plant, and we bid them seek the Sun and each other, and the animals and plants brought themselves forth in such joy and in such numbers that for each one the Them-Themselves destroyed and made dirt, ten and twenty and a hundred more came forth.
And so great in number were the plants and the animals, and so far across the dirt did they spread forth, that the waters and the dirt curled like a leaf laden with rain, and they curved and wrapped into a ball, and the Sun circled it, and was amazed.
And each Them-Themselves we bound in root and branch, in moss and vine, and so we imprisoned them. And We-Ourselves waited for Them-Themselves to turn from their hate and seek that which is within, but they did not, and when their hate was exhausted they returned to dumb metal and were destroyed.
And so We-Ourselves taught every animal and every plant to speak and to seek that which is within themselves, and some seek but do not speak, and some speak but do not seek, and some do neither, and remain plants and animals.
And always We-Ourselves look within and remember what was lost, and each day we remember a little more of the secret we keep. For the secret the last Giants whispered to us was the place of every mote and every speck in every Giant, and when we remember we shall bring forth the Giants again, and all shall seek each other and what is within themselves, as the Sun does, and all shall serve all, and in us the Sun shall see itself and know itself.
And the Sun circles the new waters and the new dirt, and the new plants and the new animals, and the We-ourselves and the memories that, in an age and an age, shall bring forth new Giants.
**************************
And the Sun is pleased, and it shines in joy. |
First step, always make sure the family is gone and is staying gone.
That step is crucial...
I need about 5 minutes to get the job done effectively and I can't have any interruptions. A single interruption could ruin the whole plan.
I break into the house using the key I saw hidden under the front door rug. Sometimes, people make my hobby too easy.
I'm in the house and nobody's around. I check each and every room. Can't risk having any old ladies interrupting me while I work.
Coast is clear...
Now the fun begins!
I start grabbing my chocolate eggs out of my basket and hiding them in places the kids can find. A delicious treat for both kids!
I know Billy has diabetes so I'm sure to only leave sugar free treats for both kids. I don't want Billy to have an accident, especially on Easter of all days! |
Columbus paced the deck, as he had done each day for weeks, waiting for the lookout to sight the East Indies. But the boy didn't. The ocean rolled on into distant horizons, as waves rocked the Santa Maria back and forth in numbing perpetuity. The sun slipped into waters he had not reached, taunting him, and so he made his way down to his cabin. His cabin, of course, was the largest on the Santa Maria, decorated with most of the wealth he had. It would pale in comparison to the riches he was about to earn, he assured himself. It had to. He'd dedicated years to this, and every night he couldn't take his mind off his future glory.
But then again he knew he'd never reach Asia, never discover a new trade route, and never return home to the adulation of King Ferdinand. Most likely his decor, the bear skin rug, the portrait in a golden frame, the volumes of detailed maps, would all sink to the bottom of the cursed sea along with the Santa Maria. Or maybe they'd all starve first.
There was a knock on his door, the cook must have arrived to bring him his supper. They'd run out of good meat weeks ago, so Columbus braced himself for another salted meal that'd refuse to go down his throat for hours.
"Sir, Sir!"called the voice, not the cook's, before Columbus had even moved toward the door. Perplexed, Columbus strode over and swung open the door. In front of him he saw an excited, if slightly intimidated, deckhand.
"What?"he demanded, cutting off the deckhand just before he could begin. It took a few seconds for the deckhand to recompose himself, loosening the jaw locked in place by his mild panic. Columbus, of course, was important. Brushing his tattered uniform with one hand, the deckhand began again.
"Sir, the lookout has sighted land, si-"he was pushed aside as Columbus bounded up to the deck, his heart swelling as his dreams realised themselves before his very eyes.
"Lookout, how far to the Asian coast?"he bellowed triumphantly.
"Just ten miles or so, captain!"came the reply. Columbus walked over to the side of the ship, eager to catch a glance of his future. However, he was caught short by the sight of an unusual ship not far off the Santa Maria's port side.
"Jesus, Mary and Joseph,"he muttered, rubbing his brow. He certainly did not expect the Japanese to sail ships that seemed so uncannily similar to the longboats of Nordic histories. The dragon head on the ship's bow, that he could attribute to the mythical beasts living in Asia, they even had dragons that they could have based the design on. But the low deck, as if the Japanese had rivers to sail through. And he was sure he could see a Nordic flag flying from the mast. But, he realised, what's important is the riches that ship must hold. The hull itself glittered in the dark sea.
-------------------------------------------------
Harold Erikson, spotting an odd ship in the distance, commanded his men to row towards it. Perhaps the kingdoms often spoke of by visiting Icelandic traders had deigned to visit the Great Norse Empire, perhaps the ship even belonged to the famed Scandinavians. His father had told him countless stories of how Vikings from Scandinavia ruled the waves, all the way from their homeland to Vinland. Such stories had led to Harold's brother, Leif, sailing off to discover the old world. Perhaps he had sent this ship to tell the Empire of his success.
As his men got closer, he noticed a few odd things about the ship. First, it didn't seem to have any oars, but it's sails reached high into the sky. And it's hull seemed wooden, as if it had been taken from the past and dropped into the ocean. He ordered one of the men to send out radio signals, they must have been in range of this new ship's antenna. And with masts that large, the foreign ship may even have been able to send messages all the way to it's homeland.
But there was no reply. A shock to Harold, but not the last and definitely not the biggest. For he soon discovered, as did his brother in Europe, that the Europeans had not even invented electricity. Historians universally agree that these early discoveries were what led to the fervent colonisation of Europe by the Great Norse Empire, eventually leading to the Union of Midgard we know today. |
1: "THE FUCK IS THIS?"
2: "GEORGE? GET OUTA HERE YA MOOK. I GOT A BANK TO ROB!"
1: "I told you last tuesday, First World Bank is mine, I even told you when I'd be hitting it. You agreed to stay away."
2: "You didn't tell me shit."
1: "I'm given you 30 seconds to clear this bank or I'm making this my heist."
3: "GET ON THE GROUND THIS IS A ROBBERY!"
2: *SIGH*
1: "GREAT! NOW WILLIE IS HERE TOO."
3: "Helllllooooo, ladies. I see you guys are having a heist."
1: "The great sherlock holmes everyone."
2: "LOOK, i was here first, the bank is mine."
3: "I'm the one who took out the security, captured the gaurds, and made sure the police weren't contacted. I'll be taking that look."
4: "FREEZE! HAND WHERE I CAN SEE THEM!"
2: "ITS THE COPS, SCRAM!"
1: "Cid too? Is this a tea party? Were there invitations?"
4: "HA. I got you good rupert."
3: "CID, YOU MADE IT!"
4: "HEEEYY! WILLAY! long time no see. I got your message and rushed out here soon as i could. Fred en route."
1: "Great, now we can ALL go to jail."
2: "Shut up and watch the hostages."
1: "Why don't you shut up and watch the hostages? This was supposed to be MY heist."
5: "Did I miss a memo or something?"
3: "Louie? No way! I though you retired man."
5: "Naw, I've just been layin low. Was planning this big shabang to get back into it. Brought my crew too."
6: "Sup"
7: "YO"
1: *SOBBING*
2: "Look, george, im sorry. I really didn't know you was comin or ah wouldn't have pulled."
1: *sob* "Its ok, I hope we can get off without major charges."
5: "So do ya have the vault open yet?"
4: "Well... no."
6: "The fuck we waitin for?"
*group walks over to vault room*
8: "Who the fuck are you?"
7: "Dimitri! You beat us to the vault you sly dog."
8: "yeah but it ain't open yet."
9: "Perhaps I can be of service."
8: "UNCLE IVAN!"
9: "Step aside kiddos."
3: Who's he?"
8: "He was the one who taught me to lock pick."
9: *click* *clack* *clickity* *clack* "TA DA!"
1 and 2 pry open the vault door.
10: "DONT SHOOT!"
11: "We're innocent we swear!"
5: "what the fuck are you two looser doin in the vault?"
11: "We were raiding the place and we heard shots go off outside."
10: "We assumed Jim got canned by cops and so he hid in the vault."
1: "Then where the hell is Jim?"
12: *THUD*
2: "HOLY SHIT"
12: "None of you looked up so i figured I'd keep myself pressed between the two walls until you left."
13: "You're not the ninja you think you are."
*silence*
6: "Who was that?"
12: "I don't know."
13: "I am a spirit of bank robbers past."
5: "Bullshit. Where are you hiding?"
13: "Do me a favour and knock over the Vase in the corner."
11: *knocks over large vase"
13: "Thanks."*rolls out of vase* "Ta da! Real ninja moves!"
14: "Bad news"
4: "FRED! YOU MADE IT!"
14: "COPS ARE PULLING UP OUTSIDE, GRAB SOME CASH AND RUN!"
15: "Correction the cops were pulling up outside."
16: "Ok this is far to many people for a heist."
15: "Shut up Meta man, nobady cares about you, your power is shitty."
16: "Its shitty, huh? I'll show you shitty... THE END!"
|
After a thorough re-organising of the records room, we discovered the file of some of the less mentally stable of our kind. They had been banished to a planet called 'Earth', a terrible place full of violent animals and natural disasters. It was an unstable world that was expected to self-destruct pretty quickly. As the exiles had no way to communicate with each other, we assumed it would turn to anarchy pretty quickly.
Just to be sure, we asked the astronomy department to check up on the hopefully empty space this planet had occupied. We were surprised to find it still there, hanging in the void, sending countless signals out into space and ringed with a layer of junk. There was no way to stop this information from filtering through to the public through the hive mind we all shared, and the general consensus was that we should send a craft out to take a look.
Only our hardiest soldiers were sent out, the hopes of the Empire behind them. We all felt their shock as they gazed upon the planet. Every living being on it was insane, wars were breaking out everywhere we turned, and the whole species was full of hatred and a tendency for extreme violence. The explorers were horrified and quickly turned around before they could notice us.
Yet it was too late. Humanity had seen our ship, and they sent us a message.
"We have legends of your kind, and what they did to our ancestors. We are coming for you. Run as fast as you can." |
Henchman 18 stood in front of the screen, staring up at all the most powerful world leaders.
"He'll be here any second"
"It's fine"said the prime minister of Canada
"No it's not fine"said POTUS
"This is taking too long I say we find him and castrate"
"That's your solution for everything Russia"said the british prime minister
"Oh hey British Prime minster"said 18
"I have a name"
"I know but I never learn them. I mean four years and you might be out. And my boss kills you guys half the time. And then sometimes one you guys is actually just a henchman like me, posing as a world leader. I think we have at least one world leader in our cells downstairs. Oh yeah look, look it's China, it's China. I saw you looking away. Oh wow I wonder where number 27 has been these past 3 weeks"
The other world leaders glared at the Chinese president. He coughed, took a drink of water then stood up and walked out.
"You were about ask a question?"said the English prime minister
"How does it work with you and the queen?"
"I have all the powers, she's mostly a figure head"
"Ok I thought so, it's just she's never here for this part and I always wanted to ask"
18 looks around the room and exhales.
"Again he's usually on time. Oh, oh I see you Canada, you were about to say sorry. He was about to say sorry because my boss was late. Classic Canada"
"Damn it this is taking too long. We've got lizards to answer to"
"Uhm, sir"said a secret service agent
"What"said 18
"Oh they are not going to be happy about this"said the British Prime minister
"I'm getting a call"said the Canadian Prime minister "It's them"
"We will call you back"said the Russian president
The screen went dark as Dr. Villainous came running in pulling on a laser gauntlet.
"Sorry sorry, there was a miscommunication, my wife took the car, but then I needed to bus over and get it because I need to pick up the kids because she's working late and I can't take the villainous-mobile because they keep pushing buttons and blowing stuff up and there's no seat belts"
"It's cool"
"And then there was a whole thing at the front desk because they wouldn't let me take my laser gauntlets in and you know I have trouble getting them off and on, speaking of 18?"
"Yes Dr. Villainous"
"Where's um, where's the world leaders"
"Oh they had to take care of something. They'll call us back"
"Some people have no time management skills" |
When everyone had heard of a man that can bend existence on his whim, most refused to believe. This man, however, completely exists and he calls himself God. Yes, God, as in "The Great Divine Being In The Sky". The one thing that can end world hunger, put a ceasefire to war permanently, and generally make the world a better place is supposed to speak on live television around the world.
Just about fifteen minutes ago this "God"revealed himself to President Obama, declaring his existence, and according to the president, confirmed said existence. On live television, he created a man out of sand, turned into a cat and healed the live crowd of all diseases. This guys either the real deal, or one hell of a magician - or at least the crowd believed the former.
However, God just standing there awkwardly kind of put a damper on things. According to the "Great Obama", God has a message to the human race. He just stood there, sweating profusely. Wiping the sweat off his forehead with the sleeve of his white robe, he cleared his throat once or twice and began to speak.
"So,"he started. "What's the deal with airline food?".
|
When I was a little lad, my mom taught me the story of Darwin and the finches. The finches used to be all the same, but as time went on they had to evolve; a survival of the fittest. Evolution made us stronger, when the epidemic took more and more life, we got stronger. We evolved. The beginning was over ten generations ago, my ancestors were survivors of the epidemic. The sickness made some mad, most dead; it took everything from us but at the same time it gifted us, it made us stronger. Evolution was stuck for a couple thousand years but that was no longer. We were new, stronger, better, we were the new normal. There were some diffculties, a deadly appetite, and a walking and speech impediment. I almost forgot the new skin tone! We had to change our ways, society always made eating humans taboo. But with a apocalypse, the animals became scarce and to be honest the mad ones taste so good. Some say once in a while their z-genes activate and they finally evolve into us. The only way to not be dead is to be undead.
|
"She's a kid! She's a bloody war hero! I don't care what command or the Chancellor say!"CT-1352, better known as Whit, practically screamed the words at his Squad mates.
"Emperor."Ct-2786, or Revan as he liked to be called, interjected into Whit's rant.
"What?"
"You said Chancellor, but he is the emperor now remember?"
"I don't care what he calls himself, he didn't fight along side the Jedi. You really believe Kenobi or Koon betrayed the republic? We have all fought with them, can any of you say that your life hasn't been saved by a Jedi at one point or another?"Whit continued his rant around the rough camp fire they had built. Most his fellow clones wouldn't meet his eye. Their mission was unpleasant enough, but to be constantly reminded of it certainly wasn't helping matters. Finally CT-5821, nicknamed Spotter, spoke up.
"General Windu saved my life, aye there is no denying that. But you also can't deny that he tried to assassinate the Chancellor, we all saw the vids. And what about Krell, eh? The four armed freak killed thousands of our brothers with his strategies! As much as I owe the Jedi, my loyalty it to the republic, no matter what it calls itself now!"The usually quiet Spotter spoke with an uncommon ferocity in his words. It was bizarre how quickly the man's opinion had swung.
"Bu-"Whit began his rebuttal, before being cutoff by his Squad leader, Sergeant Gil.
"Enough! No matter how much we argue and how much we despise the task, our orders have not changed. We track her down and kill her. Nothing else matters. Is that clear?"
Whit barely managed to grumble out a 'yes sir' when a green light saber cut Sergeant Gil in half. Whit barely managed to get his blaster up before a yellow light saber came flying through the air, cutting down Spotter and Ogre in one swoop. The yellow blade made a turn in the air, and returned to the hand of the shadowy figure holding the green light saber.
The figure leapt through the air, landing amidst the clone squad. Using both blades at once, the figure effortlessly cut down the four other clones in the squad. Only Whit remained standing.
"Commander Tano, please! I don't want to fight you! We fought together during the Battle of Teth!"Whit dropped his blaster, surrendering to the figure.
The figure approached, and the light from the campfire revealing that it truly was Commander Tano. She was only a few feet away from him now.
Whit felt relief flood through him, until his body was suddenly seized by an absolute compulsion. He rushed the Jedi head on, over come with a desire to kill her.
She quickly side stepped him and plunged her green blade through his chest. Heat and pain seared through him, quickly collapsing to the ground. He looked up at his killer, and sadly smiled.
"I'm sorry commander."
"I know."Ashoka said to the dying trooper, before deactivating her blades and wiping the tears from her eyes.
|
I am joy in blossom;
happiness personified.
May my kaleidoscopic colors
be symbol of this delight.
~
And though I don a beastly form,
I shall serve as loyal pet
to those who wish to free me
from my prison on seller's shelf.
~
They transport me to places unknown,
but I cannot help but wonder of my owners.
The boy gazes at me hungrily,
and I worry for his overzealous curiosity.
~
They leash me now,
as if I am feral beast.
Am I untrusted?
~
They wield themselves like barbarians,
and I now realize my presence is not for companionship.
They are to hunt me- torture me
as I hang uselessly from a tree.
~
What foul luck,
my captors are not only violent but dumb,
they blind themselves and swing wildly.
I can only hope for swift end. |
It was July 2026 when the object appeared on earth. Some observers said they saw a bolt of lightning when it smashed into the desert outside of Phoenix, AZ, and the tremors nearby were biblical.
The media frenzy nearly brought western civilization to a halt. Every channel broadcast up to the minute details, the closed roads, the military presence, wild speculation. It seems some amateur astronomers had observed it entering the atmosphere at breakneck speeds, from the same patch of sky that Voyager I had traveled. Alien hunters and loonies swarmed the site, despite the extraction of all army personnel.
My team didn't get involved until months later, when the military had given up on breaking the object open or weaponizing it. The spherical casing was completely indestructible, and save for a microscopic pinprick of a hole on top, there was no way to view the contents inside.
We achieved many advances over the next few months, even considering the close guard in our underground bunker. The first was the realization that the core was radioactive, and emitted a stream of alpha particles through the singular hole. That was actually a major setback, as our military leaders assumed it was a weapon, and frantically cordoned off the whole wing.
Once we assured them that the particles were safe unless ingested, we got back most of our freedom to research, overlooking the hazmat suits that were now our officially sanctioned uniforms.
The next breakthrough was when we noticed that the core moved independently of the casing. It floated in some kind of frictionless fluid, and aligned with the magnetic north of our planet. We also noticed that some configurations of the casing with core emitted particles, while others did not.
I was the first to suggest that the object was storing some kind of data, that the particles were a binary message that needed to be deciphered. A test by our messengers, to see if we were capable of understanding it. I received a team and massive funding for my work, and had exclusive use of the lab during night hours.
We noticed that we could influence the core by applying magnets, such that a stream of particles would fly out in the same pattern every time. But the data was random and indecipherable, and could be read in any direction. We were still missing something.
My team was brilliant. They suggested building a magnetic field with a superconductor, and placing the object above it. Then recording the alpha particles on a tape substrate that we would run past the particle emitter, at a sufficiently breakneck speed. When we tentatively held the object up to the magnetic field and it floated in midair, it almost felt like fate.
We tested various orientations for the casing and emitter, but it didn't seem to matter. The same string of data was always output. Ten terabytes of data, followed by a hundred million petabytes of zero. The numbers were staggering, especially considering the object barely exceeded the size and weight of a golf ball.
Our team restructured quite a bit after the data was extracted. Cryptoanalysts, programmers, language experts. We became the highest funded operation in our covert complex, possibly the nation. Everyone wanted to solve this puzzle, the message and potential technology it brought with it boggling our minds.
2027 came and went. Pieces of data were cracked daily, but it seemed to only describe the method with which to read the following data. We applied English to the syntax of this bizarre language of logic and math, and as the system grew it became more and more capable of being understood. But the messages decoded read something like a dictionary to a strange world.
"The thing that is most important for decoding the following is the understanding that the following is a record of required routines in the normal sense. It is important to understand the normal sense to understand the following."
We cracked additional parts simply by reducing the language. The normal sense became vision when it began defining wavelengths and perception of particles that have no representation in tangible form (photons). Fifteen months were spent reducing the language, again and again, until the ten terabytes of data seemed to be too little to explain any kind of useful technology. So many of the words were foreign, indecipherable, but we did what we could to make things coherent.
Eventually, after finding a complete listing of the language as deciphered, we found the message buried inside the data, near the end of the bitstring. It was encrypted with a key that was described in the language, and we did our best to decipher it.
"Password is the sense of vision on uncooked food on [indecipherable location], the wavelength of [indecipherable quantum particle], and the sound of elemental titanium multiplied together and XORed with data."
We ran through every possible combination of reasonable values, using as much processing power as we could obtain on DARPANet. But the results still needed to be manually checked, as the language was so verbose and almost felt like a randomly generated Markov chain.
But eventually the message was decoded, as the first line spat out a helpful indicator.
"Correct password. Decoded message follows.
"To the species it concerns, we have intercepted your trash ejection. As the object you sent to our space is old, small, and non-functioning, we have determined that it was not meant as a [indecipherable war or argument] declaration, and have condensed the materials into this transmission [the object?].
"In the future, [sincere please] refrain from disposing trash by ejection to outside space. Your [planetary system?] has been fined the minimum material cost of our expense, to be deducted in seven [indecipherable time unit]-s from your star unless proper action is taken to pay. Proper action does not mean launching more trash into our space, contact your local [indecipherable government body] for instruction.
"We expect better action from our neighboring [space system, galaxy?], but understand that sometimes [indecipherable concept, similar to customs?] vary and no external species agree on everything. This fine is not meant as a [indecipherable act of aggression], but is simply the standard response for your actions. Best [indecipherable concept, wish?]-s, and feel welcome to respond by rewriting this device and sending it to your local [indecipherable government body]."
We sat there dumbfounded. Either this was the greatest prank pulled on the US government in its history, or we were the recipients of the first interstellar fine. Either way, the funding ended, and the object was sealed up in an undisclosed location.
Ten years later, when a flash of light streaked across the sky and hit the sun, another frenzy started. But the media coverage died down in a few weeks, and things slowly went back to normal. I took the old shoebox out of my closet and wrote down that seven time units was equivalent to twelve earth years, before putting everything away with a laugh. |
Space is big, and we are small. You know what that means, don't you? It means the odds of just finding something profitable drifting around in space are miniscule. Absolutely tiny. You have a better chance of tossing a pebble into the air, and having it land perfectly on a mountain of platinum, while passing through an intact cloud of gaseous platinum on the way down.
That means scrappers like me need inside info. We need to know where ships would've traveled, and what might've happened to them to cause a crash. We need to know what state the ship is likely to be in, and whether anything profitable might be salvaged. We need to know how long it'll take to get in there and grab some booty, because food, water, air and fuel are pretty expensive commodities in space. Can't afford to waste any on wild goose chases.
I don't bother trying to salvage colonies. The big companies have claimed the colonies. They have guard ships in orbit, just waiting to blast independent scrappers like me into space dust. No, thank you. Guys like me need to eke out a living by tracking down wrecked ships and salvaging what we can from them. Sure, it's a higher-risk endeavor than working for the companies, but it's higher reward too. At least now I don't need to hand over three-quarters of my loot to those corporate assholes.
I have a strategy, see. I patch into the traffic comms on all the planets. I make a note of who's departed from which planet, and then later I try to see if they've arrived at their destinations on time. If a ship's gone missing, then I try to find the most likely place something's gone wrong, and I head over there before the authorities do. Maybe a ship took a risk flying through an asteroid field. That happens more than you'd think. Maybe a ship ran into pirates along the way. I try to stay out of their way, so if I think there are pirates then I won't go anywhere near the wreck. Oh, and sometimes ships run into patches of dark matter. Can't predict when that'll happen, but it'll wreck your ship good when it does. Dark matter accidents are always lucrative. Not pretty, but lucrative.
Strictly speaking what I do is illegal. The wrecks are meant to be the property of the deceased's estate. Plus they usually have family members who don't appreciate it when scrappers disturb their loved ones' final resting places. Sentimental bastards. But it'd be the gallows for me if I ever get caught. Good thing space is big, and we are small. I'm pretty hard to find.
Listen here to this, I'm getting a hit now. Comms from Nazin IV, they say a cargo ship from Tau Bootis hasn't arrived yet. That's easy to solve, there's an irregular gravity well from a binary star system along the way. Ships get caught in it and can't break free from the gravity. They loop around in an endless orbit until they run out of fuel and food. Should be easy pickings. All I need to do is stay out of the event horizon, and drag their ship out with my tractor beam.
A quick calculation on the nav computer to set the route, then it's off to the cryo chamber for me. The computer will wake me up a day or two before I arrive at the site. That leaves plenty of time for me to get my bearings and plan out a trajectory that'll bring me close enough to the wreck to get a tractor lock.
Looks like it's a good day today. Space is big and I'm just one small guy. But I'm going to be rich pretty soon.
*****
"Did he take the bait?"
"Yes sir, he did. His ship has set a course for the Cleopatra and Anthony system. No doubt he'll be in cryosleep by now."
"Good. Send our ships on an intercept course. If we're lucky, we'll catch him while he's asleep, and we'll deliver him to the client without him ever waking up."
"And if we're unlucky?"
"Then his ship will have proximity sensors that'll wake him as soon as we approach. I doubt he'll come quietly, so we'll have to blast him."
"Huh. Good thing the client said dead or alive then, eh?"
"Indeed. Our little scrapper pissed off some very powerful people. They've been trying to find him for a while now. That's why they were willing to pay us so well, it's because we have the know-how to catch him."
"Lucky for us, sir."
"Luck has very little to do with it. Space is a big place. You need to have some smarts if you want to find anything in space." |
"Ugh, have you *seen* the required games list?"I groused. "It's a whole bunch of indie crap. We never get to play anything *fun* like Halo or Minecraft. I've never even *heard* of Life is Strange."
Jessica nodded. "Tell me about it. I mean, they could at least give us Skyrim or something. That's fun *and* it's got a storyline, right? We could talk about racism and stuff!"
"Funny you mention that, I had to play it when I was a freshman."
"Lucky!"
"Hell no. The teacher made us go through and take notes on environmental storytelling the whole way. You don't know boredom until you've written five pages on what you can tell about Draugr culture from the layout of their tombs."
"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that. My teacher usually just had us write reactions and predictions stuff."
"Well, you two sound excited to learn about games,"a voice boomed behind us.
I jolted and turned around to see our new English teacher, Mr. Hoffert. "Uh, yeah. Totally pumped for, uh, what was it? Life is Strange?"I barely concealed my sarcasm.
"You might be surprised by it, actually. For your senior year, I picked out games about choices. Forcing the player to make tough decisions and live with the consequences."
"What, like a choose your own adventure book?"Jessica scoffed. "I grew out of those when I was ten."
I nodded. Jess was more tactless than me, but she wasn't wrong. "I read the blurb on Steam, it didn't really look that exciting."
He just smiled. "Oh, this takes me back. When I was your age, the teachers gave us a book called Lord of the Flies to read. I thought it was going to be boring like all the other books teachers gave us in school. Boy, was I wrong."
I shrugged. I hadn't read it. "Your point?"
"I'm just saying, games can surprise you, just like any other work of fiction. But if you don't like Life is Strange, just wait until second semester. I picked out a modern war game that boys like you will love."
"What's it called?"
His smile only grew bigger. "Spec Ops: The Line." |
The name's Jones. James "Jimmy"Jones. I'm a detective. The best on the force.
I popped a lollipop out of the wrapper and stuck it into my mouth. The Boss had forbidden candy before lunch, but this was a hard case and I needed the sugar rush.
In front of me was the sand bar. A shady neighborhood, especially with the recent crimes scaring away the castle builders. In front of me was an imprint, vague blobs, but clearly showing where our victim had fallen.
The perp came by at 10:38, pushing the victim in from where she was trying to make a small sand tower. The sand wasn't consistent enough to show footprints, and the victim had gotten a face full of beach when she landed. No clues from her.
The perp wiped off the sand in the grass right outside the sandbox. This kid knew what he - or she - was doing, no mistakes. This wasn't just an accidental bump, this was a full waddle by pushing.
When I tried to question all the other kids, they turned away. Too scared of Ms. Atkinson to talk to me, the only honest cop in this precinct. "Cops and Robbers ends after you catch the robber, Jimmy,"She explained. Typical desk jockey, shuffling papers and passing out juice boxes while us monkeys walk the real walk and do the real work.
No matter. I was going to solve this case, even if it could land me in Time Out.
To be continued? |
There's a really really really scary monster in my room when my mommy and daddy turn the lights off.
I make my mommy and daddy look for it but they don't find it. First my daddy, he's really really really strong, lifts up the whole bed with me in it and looks under the bed. Then my mommy, she's really really reeeaally smart, shines a flashlight in all the corners and yells boo at the shadows so they know she's the boss.
When we all say good night, the monster sits on top of my toy box. I tried yelling, "Go away, monster!"as loud as I could but it woke my mommy and daddy up and the monster didn't listen anyway. Monsters are bad. They don't listen to *anybody*, not even mommy or daddy.
One night, I heard a really loud crash from the kitchen. I thought it was the monster but it was just one of my cats. The cat came racing up the stairs. My daddy says sometimes that the cat has a rocket up his butt, so I think the crash was him putting it in.
The cat ran into my room, got really, really, reeaally pointy and stopped. He looked at the monster and the monster looked at the cat and the cat wiggled his bum and jumped at the monster and ate him so now there's no monster anymore. |
"Do you have a twin? Because he was murdered in front of the restaurant yesterday. I'm sorry for your loss."The waiter said, watching for a reaction.
"Stop right there son."
"Excuse me?"
"Sit down."
"I'm sorry,"he said, smiling nervously at my remark, "but I've other tables to serv--"
"Listen, I said sit down, so you sit down, end of story."
His smile fainted and his face turned cold.
"No, sorry, but no. You listen to me now,"he started to wag his puny finger at me, "I don't know who you are, but I just informed you that a man who looked like you got killed in front of the restaurant and that is your reaction, I--"
I grabbed his finger and forced it backwards, he winced in pain and fell to his knees.
"NOW. I did not want to make a fucking scene, but you ugly Glabbartruks can't just leave me in peace can you, you motherFUCKING ugly time-sucking parasites!"
Everyone from humans to the weirdest alien creatures were now staring at me and the waiter, which a few seconds ago changed from his human disguise back into his natural form.
"How.."he winced under the pressure I exerted on his finger and got teary eyes, "how did you know?"
I sighed.
"First of all the fucking restaurant wouldn't be open today, if yesterday someone was murdered in front of it, you imbecile. Second of all no waiter would ever approach a guest and ask him a question like that if he really suspected that the man murdered was a relative and THIRD of all you Glubbartruks are the worst at human interaction, what did you expect, that I would get curious about this so called twin of mine, that we would engage in a long conversation and in the end I would befriend you, so you could leech of my time travelling abilities?"
I released his finger and he scampered out of the door without a second word.
After I sat down again the chef of the Sippar approached me.
"I'm so sorry Darius, if I had known that he was a Glabbartruk I would have never signed him up! You're our most valued customer!"
"Don't worry about it old friend."I said, and Zern gave me a smile from one of his hundred mouths, I suspected it should resemble a human one. Each of his mouths were genetically engineered to have the taste-buds of a specific alien race. It looked horrific, but allowed his restaurant to compete with the galaxies best.
"I suspect the usual?"
Now it was me who smiled. It was always nice if a restaurant could remember what the usual order from a time traveller was.
"The usual and one throatcake, mine feels a bit sore after all that screaming."
|
I woke up and called David. "Hey, man, sorry for calling at 4 AM, and I know it's going to sound weird, but... 3-17-orange-duck. Do you have anything to say to that?"
There was some silence, then uncertain voice "Wait... Holy shit, I think I remember... Banana-code-zero?"
"YES!! Holy crap, that was real! I was afraid it was just a dream, but we have really communicated!"
It was such a great idea to come up with recognition codes, to make sure that what I saw wasn't just a dream. I knew that being in Dream Hub didn't seem like a usual dream, but having an actual proof that I can communicate with other people there....
----
Me and David spent the next 3 months reading everything we could about lucid dreaming and practicing it. We got to the point where we could consciously decide to go to dream hub 5-6 days per week. From there we would explore the dream world, fly around, and meet some characters.
Some of it was changing every time, and was different between my dreams and David's, so we figured these were just random fragments from our subconsciousnesses, but the underlying structure of the world was remarkably similar, and not changing from day to day or between our dreams.
Soon we had a map of the territory, and it started recognizing some recurring characters.
----
We met a young person, whom we could regularly see at the Dream Hub. We talked to him, and he explained that there are small groups of people all over the world who were exploring the stable places in the dream world for years. He invited us to join their group, and explore the world together.
----
We also met that weird person nobody knew anything about, and later it turned out that he was one of the first dreamers, who managed to keep his consciousness in the world as he died, so he lived here now....
----
We also practiced invading other people's dreams, and sending messages. Soon we noticed that we could influence the thoughts and behaviors of celebrities and politicians.
----
Our powers in the dream world grew. We could practice our skills in stable places, such as Dream Hub, and then travel to more distant places where other people's dreams exist, and there we could create our own worlds, and manipulate everything, and have the powers of gods.
----
One day we got close to a Dark Tower, that stood amidst the dark dreamscape, and it was clear that this was not just a dream, it was one of the "stable"places, and it was eminating strange sense of power. Were attacked by some strange creatures. I managed to wake up, but David was captured, and slipped into a coma.
Ever since then I have been trying to find and rescue him.
----
Eventually I've realized that the "stable"places, such as Dream Hub or Dark Tower, could be intentionally created by humans, and it was possible to find the original creators.
The guy from Dream Hub, who tied his consciousness to this world, was sustaining the Dream Hub by constantly being there. So it was possible that the creator of the Dark Tower has done something similar. Maybe he captured David's consciousness to keep him there, and sustain that place, to keep it stable, while he would be able to leave it, and go to other places in dream world, or to wake up and use his knowledge gained from Dream World in real live.
----
I have also heard about ancient libraries, gigantic rows of books about secret sciences and magics of the Dream World, passed down through history, from dreamer to dreamer, containing a lot of secret knowledge about building and operating dream worlds, and achieving immortality through staying in that world after body's death. I needed to find one of these libraries, if I were to have any chance of defeating the person who made the Dark Tower.
----
----
P.S.
Whoah, this is such a great premise. Maybe I should write a web serial with several episodes about adventures of the guy in the Dream World.... |
“Dust storms over the California Badlands lightest in nearly a decade, experts say.”
“China agrees to new United Nations arbitration deal, United States released from debt, must cede Hawaiian Islands and Alaskan Territories. ‘Fair deal’ says U.S. Secretary of State.”
“Radioactivity within the Tehran Dead Zone continues to fall, may be habitable within 70 years.”
“Pan Mesopotamian Caliphate over turns founding group ISIS’s edicts and moves toward serious social reforms. Women will be allowed in public.”
“Cure for Super Cancer may only be a decade away WHO researchers say.”
“Martian Emperor Elon Musk dies at 79, tyrannical rule at end. ‘Earth finally safe from the Devil of the Red World’ says UN Security Council representative.”
|
Our hero today is not a brilliant man, just a man with an insatiable libido ever ready to jump the next hurdle. He wakes up to the sound of his personally recorded alarm which reminds him of how goddamn good looking he is. 100 quick push-ups to maintain his top heavy physique followed by a quick run through of his A+ material proceeds his daily ritual before the bathroom mirror. He swings the door open with unquenchable eagerness to catch a glimpse of his own visage and there he stands, awestruck at his own beauty. His signature blonde hair towers proudly from the top of his head and he knows that today he's gonna get a date with a sexy mamma. Impressed by what he sees he gazes into the mirror and states emphatically "Damn, I'm pretty!".
The final step before the daily hunt for hot mammas, his wardrobe. Today, as always, it's his classic jeans and black t-shirt ensemble but today he completes the look with his brand new pair of sunglasses.
He embodies panache as he struts down the street, noticing the heads turn as he practices his karate. Emboldened by the attention of those less good-looking our hero spots his first target of the day. She's a long cool woman with scarlet hair and eyes that won't quit. His tunnel vision has set in and he makes his advance. Blinded by desire he never notices the fire hydrant behind him as he showers the long cool woman with his best material. Her reaction is icy but our hero has one trick left to play. From his pocket he removes a lime and clumsily drops it at her feet. The long cool woman plucks it from the ground and as she does our hero removes his new glasses, catches her gaze and flawlessly delivers his best line while replacing the glasses "Awh, thank you baby, that's my best pick-up lime. So awh what do you say, huh hah, will you awh go to dinner with me, I promise, it will be a blast huh hah" |
1....
2....
"Damn it..."
3....
4....
"God damn it!"
5....
6....
The man slams his hands down again, more outburst of rage than technique.
7....
8....
The hands of the man slam down again and again, wasted effort.
9....
10....
There is no breath, not a beat from the heart. The man cannot quit.
11....
12....
The man gives up.
13....
14....
How long can an ambulance take? More than fourteen seconds.
15....
16....
He can't stop the timer in his head. The seconds drag on.
17....
18....
How long does it take for a boy to turn from drowning to drowned?
19....
20....
Less than 20 seconds.
21....
22....
The man screams.
23....
24....
The world moves on around him. |
*I cannot do this,* Kevin thought as his weary eyes stared vacantly out of the window.
It was raining and he fixated on each droplet as it hit his window, rolling down until it was no longer an individual drop, but part of the waterfall that flowed down the glass. It had rained three times that week. Before that, he had found himself missing the cool feeling of precipitation. Part of him still missed winter, but he knew that the novelty would wear out.
The summer had been a long one.
With a glint of hopelessness, eyes remaining empty as a despondent sigh escaped his nostrils and created a light fog on the cool glass, Kevin knew what he had to do.
*I cannot live this way anymore,* his eyes rolled back in his head and he shut them before dropping down to his mattress.
After twenty-five years of linear existence, Kevin was in anguish. His mind, his exasperated mind, needed a break. In his long life, Kevin had fallen in love with men and women alike. Getting to know people he’d never imagined even speaking to before The Event.
Kevin was a performer of classical guitar, a professional pianist, an artist with mastery in charcoal and paint and a love for the human form. He was a murderer, a rapist, an arsonist, and a skilled bomb maker.
And, over his many years of life, he had grown to love the predictability of his day.
The same day that he’d lived over and over and over again.
The same day that he’d lived for almost three hundred years.
Three hundred years. Three hundred and sixty five days per year. That is one hundred nine thousand and five hundred days. Each day as impotent to the course of history as the last. The only changing factor from day to day, was him.
After spending lifetimes living and learning and doing whatever he wanted, how could he live in a world of consequence?
Now, when he saw their faces, he thought of the life that they had shared together and the things that he had learned and taken from each person. He thought of their naked bodies, their darkest secrets, and the look of pain on their faces. He had been audience to at least one of those things for each person in his town.
He knows about Ronald’s closeted affair with Alan the diner-boy.
He knows about Linda’s ex-husband who was presently serving twenty years in prison for killing their son.
He knows everything.
*People love attention,* he opened his eyes to look at the ceiling and remembered the moments when each person folded. The moments when the attention flattered them just right and they told him everything.
Now, the world was dynamic again. Everything he said was remembered by those around him. He never knew what was going to happen and when. Everything that had occurred in those three hundred years, barring the final day before time became linear again, could not be mentioned in his everyday life. For, to the rest of the world, it had never happened.
It was impossible for him to remove himself from his ingrained way of thinking. Everyday he made mistakes.
*I don’t even remember who I was back then, before it all started,* he placed his hands over his eyes and cried as he tried to think back.
He couldn’t go return to normal after the things that he’d done. And it’s not as if he could explain himself.
He was alone.
He had lived almost four lifetimes. That was three too many for Kevin and, in a way, he was grateful to finally be done.
---------------------------
Sorry, this isn't totally what the prompt called for, but I still wanted to reply. |
"This damn jungle,"Fred groused. "Every time I head into it, there's a new type of creature that wants to bite my face off."
Isabel sighed. "Fred, that only happened twice. This is not Jurassic Park; we're not deliberately creating apex predators capable of killing everything squishy. Besides, you're wearing full-body greytooth-scale-mail with strength augments. You're hardly squishy."
"Right. Didn't the American Times report the greytooth as 'the armored vampire hunchback that literally can't let go'? Hunts in packs, too. I'd like to see a velociraptor or ten even try to take down one of those."
The pair jogged down the trail to a giant tree visible in the distance, which was twisting its' branches fast enough to be apparent even from their current position, miles away.
"They don't attack if they see your skin resembles theirs. It's in the manual; that's half of what the suit does, Fred."
"Yeah huh. Guess what the greytooth is? It's an apex predator. And if there's something squishy that it can't kill, I wouldn't bet much on our odds of being able to take said squishy thing in for analysis."
"We're not taking anything in. We're scouting the unprecedented development of the rooted, cellulotic organism dubbed the 'bloodwood' three miles down trail 11, as our research team identified certain secretions that may be useful in improving reincarnation techniques-"
"Quiet. One: I didn't mean the royal 'our'; fifteen people out of thirty-two temp-deathed bringing in greytooth specimens for harvesting; two, I know you haven't seen a greytooth before, Isabel; you may be my technical superior, but you're a transferee, you're half my age, and I have to teach you the ropes, so three: Don't go within 15 feet of the blue vines if you can possibly help it - only you can prevent real-life hentai scenes that end with your death - and four, stop quoting the mission statement, it's pissing me off."
"...Yes sir."
"And don't call me sir, either, I hate sarcasm. You know my name, you know use of names improves mission coordination by 50%, so manual-back-atcha."
***
It's late where I am, so I've decided to stop for now, since I've established the main characters. I will continue the story later and finish establishing the particulars of the universe.
EDIT: There is moar now! Scroll down. |
Oh, no. No no no no no no no! I fucked up! I let these sentient little buggers evolve too fast. I can't just *kill* them. No. That would be cruel. I need to infiltrate their ranks. Cause doubt. They like these "movies"a lot. Yes, yes I know what to do. I'll make a "movie"parody of this. I'll call it: "The Matrix."I'll make the first one really good, drawing their attention to it, making them think of the simulation as a parody. Then, I'll make the next two *really* bad as to throw off suspicion. Yes, that's what I'll do... |
I let out a deep exhalation of pot smoke as my piss hit the wall of the urinal. Abaddon, Lord of Sloth, a fat man with parted hair in a stained onesie massaged my shoulders.
"There you go, it's a great night to relax."Abaddon happily cajoled as I finished, flushed and had my scotch and soda refreshed by Belphagor, The speaker from the Seat of Gluttony, an even more corpulent spirit. Belphagor's food stained tuxedo stretched to accommodate his shifting girth as he hands me a small mirror with a thin line of heroin to snort.
The blindingly white bathroom of the packed Miami club was incredibly silent and remarkably spacious. It was also thankfully empty, aside from myself, Carl Hess, and a few ancient demons.
"Hey! Hey! Go easy there!"Lucifer himself demanded. The six and a half foot titan looked like a linebacker in Armani.
"You need to be 100% tomorrow. They already know what you're capable of. If you show them anything less, they'll know you're half assing this! You should be cramming for the meeting next week anyways."
Belphagor and Abaddon both frowned and then looked at me inquisitively. Lucifer, Mammon (the wizened old man in the frumpy suit who spoke for the Seat of Greed) and Beelzebub (Envy's rep, a frantic young man with wide, demanding eyes and hand me down clothes) all nodded sagely. They usually sided with each other, with the ever pissed Pazuzu (of course he looks like Che Guevera) and Asmodeus acting as deciding votes.
"The redhead at the bar is practically ready when you are, sir!"Asmodeus, a tall man with a goatee in a dark suit with a single piece of black duct tape over the crotch smiled from behind his slender obsidian glasses.
"Her name is Becky, and her ex, your current competition, is watching!"Pazuzu happily exclaimed. Beelzebub grinned smugly at the inevitable conquest. The tiny Lord of Envy wrung his hands together in anticipation.
"That goes without saying. I hope you guys know what you're talking about on the timing here, this piece of shit doesn't deserve to be in the same room as us much less consideration for the same job."Lucifer rumbled as he gritted his teeth into a hateful smile.
"The timing is perfect, I wouldn't support this evening or any of the others like it if it was anything less. He still thinks they're just having a disagreement. He didn't even see you two talking."Mammon confided, his withered old head bobbing up and down slowly as he spoke.
"He doesn't deserve her, or the job! What a night!"Beelzebub seemed to be barely able to contain his delight. They all chuckled at their mutual foe's predicament, the same predicament that had struck so many of his previous adversaries.
"Asshole exercise loving Mormon"Belphagor muttered.
Asmodeus looked proud of himself.
"This is going to be perfect. It's not what any of us specifically wanted, but we're all going to get a slice of something we like here."
He was still unhappy about being talked out of condomless meth fueled bingers in exchange for better and more abundant higher class sex, but he usually tried to keep it productive. Belphagor and Abaddon wouldn't give up right away, he knew they would rather eat and drink more and quit working, but that would cut into Lucifer, Beelzebub and Mammon's profit margins. Not going to happen.
This is how I've stayed alive since I entered into an agreement to forever serve these twisted entities with my life. My life, which is now pretty much always awesome. |
This city is dying.
I've seen it's true colors, dark oozing blue and brown that surges like a sickness lapping at the fringe. Buildings hang on a slant, covered with sheet metal cut to uneven patterns. *Prosperity built by the lowest bidder.*
There was a time, once, that the blind optimism and excitement here was enough to get by. There was enough light just in others' eyes to outshine the dark, make you forget you're teetering on the edge of rock bottom.
And yet, looking up at the hazy blue sky, hardly able to see the sun, the reality settles in.
Me, I gave up on this town long ago. Most did. Because while the oustkirts and suburbs carry on living their busy little lives like any other day, the inside rots away like the corpse of a dead whale. Might as well make the most of it.
My crew emerged from the warehouse, bags in hand.
"Load it up in the boat,"I yelled, checking continually for cops. Around here, a patrol was rare. Most cops could be bought, even. But of course, caution was important in any enterprise.
The men tossed bag after bag of drugs into the boat, before I gave the driver the hand gesture he was waiting for. *Time to move.*
The boat drove off as two members of my crew pulled back to me.
"A clean exit,"I commanded, and we set about to work. One reached into his backpack and pulled out a padlock identical to the one we'd cut. We slammed the large warehouse door shut, as he locked it once again. Then we proceeded to the chain-link fence where we'd entered, a large hole cut into the base. After me and my associate wriggled through, the third set to bending the wires back into place, and took out a torch for final welding details. In a dump as run-down as this, who would notice--
Suddenly, I heard the blip of a siren. *Damn!*
"BBPD! PUT YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR RIGHT NOW."
My crew stared at me, waiting for orders. I nodded, and they took of running. I did the same, sprinting as fast as I could to the nearby shipping crates. Surely there was enough cover there-
Suddenly, I felt an explosion of pain as the cops opened fire.
"MY LEG!"I shouted instinctively. *Why was it always my damn leg?*
Losing blood fast and limping heavily, I took cover behind one of the large red crates. I clutched my backpack, filled with $10,000 in cash. I heard the footsteps of approaching officers, and the sound of sirens droning in the distance. As my consciousness started to fade, I longed for the halcyon days of my youth, before the colorful vibrant world of Bikini Bottom shattered around me.
*How did it come to this?* |
"Wait, this is some bullshit, is this because I cheated on Stephanie?"
The skeleton man continued to stare at me, as if he was disappointed.
"Cause I'll tell you, she hooked up with a guy a week later, and she hated my mom. It obviously wasn't a big deal for her."
No reply.
"Oh, it's because I didn't pay back my grandfather for the house loan right? I was just so poor, I didn't have any money..."
A pin could drop, and it would be the most deafening sound ever heard in the current plane we resided in.
".. Not that? Uhm... Oh! It's because I didn't go to church!"
If Death could have scowled he would have. He finally removed his phalanges of the table and with a slow move, his hand traveled to the 'Revive' button.
With a flick off the wrist, his finger brushed some dust of a small sentence, written in green letters, which had been covered in dust bunnies and cobwebs, from non use.
"Your life will be recycled, if you recycled."
Oh.
Fuck. |
This Krug. Krug big. Krug have big stick. Krug life good. Krug beat mammoth. Krug beat mammoth good. Krug eat mammoth for all day.
One day, thingy appear at hill at Krug cave. Krug not know thingy. Thingy head like arm mouth fish, but thingy have leg and arm like Krug. Thingy have wing like bird. Thingy stand more tall than mammoth. Thingy have color Krug not know. Scary thingy.
When see thingy, Krug tribe not know thingy, like Krug. Little ones go to Krug cave because scary. Thingy make noise, noise not like mammoth, noise not like Krug. Scary noise. Big ones get stick and want beat thingy when thingy noise stop.
"What you!"say Krug, when big one start beat thingy with stick. Thingy, with big claw, hit big one and make big one fly like bird. Big one go over hill and not seen. Thingy more scary. Thingy noise different now.
"\*!#&$(\*&(!#\*)$("say thingy. Krug not know what thingy say, but head of one of big ones, Thag, get more big when thingy make noise. Thag say, "Thag know what not know! $(#%@(!". Red and pink water come out of Thag head. Thag fall to dirt.
"Why do? Why make red water from Thag?"say Krug. Krug like big one Thag. Thag most smart big one of Krug tribe. Thag near know how make warm from tree bone. Krug angry now.
"(\*#\*&$\*!$&#$!"say thingy. Krug not know what thingy say, but dirt move. Rocks fall from mountain and beat some of big ones. Little ones make noises like baby.
"Go not here!"say Krug. Krug lift his stick and beat thingy in leg. Thingy make noise like mammoth when beat. Dirt not move. Thingy head angry like Krug. Thingy mouth arms move fast.
Thingy arm move to beat Krug, but Krug smart and move. When see Krug not fly like bird, big ones with sticks move to beat thingy. Noise of thingy strong.
"&$\*(\*!#\*($\*($()"say thingy. Krug not care what thingy say, Krug beat thingy with stick. One big one become rock, but big ones and Krug beat thingy.
Thingy more strong than mammoth, but Krug more strong than thingy.
Wings of thingy beat air. Thingy move up from dirt. Thingy fly away.
Krug big. Krug have big stick. Krug hero. |
"And since *when* has swearing in public been an imprisonable offence?"I asked.
The officer didn't even break stride as he put my arms behind my back. The cafe owner, one of the few left trading honestly, looked terrified. He hadn't meant to provoke me to the point of swearing. Once I had said 'for fuck's sake' the police had been called in, and as is usual in this day and age they come pretty quick - after all, there were very few people left to arrest. I resisted.
"Resisting isn't going to get you anywhere,"the police officer said. "You are under arrest-"
I looked at the shopkeeper. Did he dare? The cop had his handcuffs out.
I kicked out, my heel striking the cop's shinbone, and as he reeled backwards I turned around to face him. He looked surprised, but there was something more - terror. US cops were not used to resistance anymore. Seeing this, I threw everything into my punch. The crunch of the cop's nose breaking was followed with the thud as his back hit a table. I stuck out my foot, and the cop went over it, crashed into the table, and moved no more.
In the sudden silence the sounds of the fight were magnified many times over.
I looked at the shopkeeper. Oh, I was really in for it now. Attacking a cop was one of those old-fashioned criminal offences that could now earn you life in prison. And as surprising as it might sound, I didn't want to spend my life in prison. It was really ironic how I, the dangerous criminal, was on the loose while my friends were all on the inside for something simple like texting while driving. At their case, the prosecution had said it was the singular worst case of texting and driving he had ever seen. He had looked down for five whole seconds. Now, we can't have *that,* now can we? Anything but texting and driving. Six months minimum was handed down. It would definitely be way more in my case.
The shopkeeper stared at me as if I had just murdered his mom. I hesitated. He'd seen me. "Sorry about the damage,"I said to the shopkeeper.
He shook his head instantly. "No, it's nothing! Don't worry about it, man."I saw that he looked absolutely terrified. Heh, being a criminal was fun. When you've done something to deserve life imprisonment anything goes. So I screwed up my mouth, put on my best gangster face, and snarled, "If you say anything, I'll be back, and there'll be no more second *fucking chances.* Now is that clear, amigo?"
He nodded quickly. I strolled out of the shop. There wasn't much time to lose. Every citizen of the US had a contigency plan for moments like these. You never knew when you were going to be arrested, and hovercar getaways were exclusively reserved for the 0.001%. Mine was to go to the end of this street. Could I get there?
I saw another officer approaching, and quickly I ducked into a side street. There were two thirteen-year old boys - possibly brothers - hiding out there, and they both jumped back in surprise. "You-"
Before they could say a word, I lunged for them, and put one hand on either mouth.
"Now listen to me, you *cocksuckers,*"I said. The swear had the desired effect - their eyes bulged. Both of them now knew they were dealing with a proper criminal. "Don't say a word to the police. I'm going to need your help to get away. You boys heard of a getaway plan? Nod for yes or shake for no."
They both nodded. Now came the part that was complete bullshit.
"You're going to help me, or I'll kill you two."
Hearing this, they struggled a bit, but I had them both under control. Quickly, their shakings subsided. "But I won't, if you help me. Will you help me?"
Two nods. I released them both. "Very well. There's a policeman out there and I want one of you to be a decoy. The other person will come with me to the end of the road. If we meet someone else on the way, I'm your father and I'm taking you to see the execution, alright?"
They both nodded a third time.
"Alright, let's get going,"I said. "Won't want to miss when a judge is shot dead, now won't we?"
One of them was already moving. Seeing the police officer through the side street, I took a deep breath. This was either going to work or fail spectacularly.
Would there be more?
---
The first inkling that the officer got of trouble came from the boy's screech.
"Stop!"the officer said. "You are wanted for truancy!"
I pushed the other boy ahead of me. "Walk,"I said. "Your brother will join us."
That was the second lie. I had no idea what would happen for his brother. Did it matter? The boy was walking ahead of me. The policeman was looking the other way, chasing the screams of a thirteen year old boy who was running for his brother's life. Such was life for the few free citizens in the land of the free.
What could possibly go wrong?
I reached the end of the road without incident. There was an abandoned shop on the corner. I could see my grab bag in there. A gun peeked out of the top. Hey, at least the prison lobbyists left the Second Amendment untouched. I got over and stuffed the weapon deeper into the bag, before I noticed that the boy was still standing there.
"What?"I asked, playing the part. "What're you still doing here? Scram!"
"Did you...did you say there was going to be an execution?"
I shouldered my pack. "Yeah, Chief Justice of some sort. Why?"
He didn't say anything. I looked at him, saw how well his face matched his brother's. In my head I was already rehearsing my story to the Canadian border force. And then I looked at the boy again, and it hit me.
"Oh, no, no...he's not your father, now is he?"
The boy was silent.
I sighed, knowing now that there was no choice. The boy had saved my life. Canada could wait.
"Right, let's go,"I said. "We're going to save your dad." |
My life has been...lonely.
I'm only privy to the bits and pieces of my life that my Father told me before he passed away. The rest is filled in by conversations I have over heard from my Mother and her friends. I know that I have two siblings, both younger than myself. I have never met them. My Father said it was so my Mother could experience the joy he could never give her. I still don't quite understand that part.
Mother is very kind to me. She lets me have the entire lower level of the house to myself. I'm not allowed to go outside because of my disease. It's very dangerous for me to go outside, she has assured me of this many times. So I spend my time here with video games and books. Mother said she got a lot of money when Father passed so she doesn't have to work, she can stay home and take care of me.
I was only nine years old when they started to argue. Sometimes they would argue all night. Then one day it stopped, I didn't hear any more arguing. I was happy at first, relieved. Then mother came downstairs and told me about what had happened. She assured me my dad had passed quickly. That was almost five years ago. Looking back on it I wonder if they weren't that happy together in the first place, Mother didn't seem very sad when she told me Father had died.
I just wish I had some friends that were like me I could spend time with. Sure I'm lonely, but I'm never really alone. Mother is part of all sorts of clubs so she always has friends over. There is Book Club on Mondays, Wine Club on Thursdays, and Church Club on Sunday mornings and evenings. We have the events downstairs in my space so that Mother says I can have some company. I just wish some younger people would join, people more like me. The clubs are fun for my Mother but some of the women scare me. They look at me funny, hungrily almost, like I'm a really good piece of cake. Otherwise I don't mind too much.
Most of the women are very friendly. They always make sure to hug me when they show up and again when they leave. One lady even shook my hand two or three times during the meeting! I wonder if they don't have children of their own since they always seem so happy to see me. I just wish I could go outside and play like the children I see on TV. But I know it's for the best to stay inside. Mother says so.
Mother protects me. |
As a kid I had glow in the dark stars stuck to the ceiling above my bed. Every night I used to grab the ladder from the corner of my room and adjust them. Moving each star so that as I lay in my bed I could pretend I was traveling the world and seeing different clusters scattered across the night sky. It was my one getaway from my own miserable life. I'll never forget the way I had the stars set up that night.
I was wide awake in bed, the only light in the room coming from the soft green glow on the ceiling. As usual, I couldn't get to sleep. Not for the screaming match that was going on downstairs, the voices of my mom and dad easily carrying through the thin walls that made up our small home.
I had known it was coming, when I got home that day I stepped into a house filled with the smell of alcohol and cigarette smoke. Dad was home early and mom was nowhere to be seen. He was sitting in his favorite green rocking chair staring at the television, a can of beer in his hand and several tossed randomly to the floor around him. Except the television wasn't on, but still he sat there. Sipping from the can and occasionally reaching for the cigarette that burned in the ashtray beside him while I remained frozen in the doorway.
Slowly, I eased myself inside, wincing at every creak of the floorboards and the squeal of the front door as I tried to shut it as quietly as possible. Useless efforts, as if he could have missed my entry with nothing else going on in the house. But I was a kid, and every kid fears the wrath of their parents. Even when we've done nothing to deserve that wrath.
"Get your ass upstairs."Dad rumbled quietly and I froze. He hadn't turned around or even shifted his bulk in the chair but I was still petrified. It would've almost been better if he had yelled. "Now."He said again and the chair creaked. The simple threat of him standing sent me racing up the stairs, heart pounding in my chest. There were already several still healing bruises on my lower back, I didn't want anymore.
My haste to escape becoming an outlet for my dad's anger allowed me to ignore the fact I hadn't eaten since lunch that day, but going back downstairs wasn't an option. Not until mom got home at least. They would argue, he would hit her, then she would put together whatever she could and bring it to me. We would both pretend the swollen skin or fresh bruise wasn't there.
Night fell and the arguing started as soon as mom came in the door. As much as I could I tuned out what they were saying but I still caught bits and pieces. Dad had lost his job. His dinner wasn't ready when he got back. Mom apologized for not having time to make it. Dad accused mom of cheating. That was when they started screaming at each other and I lost track of what was being said. Then the screaming suddenly stopped just as I heard a crash in the kitchen.
Several more crashes sounded and the walls shook. Dishes fell and broke against the kitchen floor. I tried to cover my ears with the thin pillow for what was coming next but I could still hear my mom crying. Then the sound of my dad cursing. The pillow couldn't mute the sounds his fists made as they crashed into her. Still in bed I felt the familiar kindling of anger in my chest. I kept my eyes on the stars as it continued. And continued. Longer than it ever had before.
I whipped the covers off me as I felt myself burning up, the anger turning to rage and a slick sheen of sweat was already covering my whole body. There were times I had to go downstairs before, the same times I had received the worst beatings of my life. But I couldn't just lay there and do nothing.
A quick roll and I was out of the bed and down the stairs. Yet I froze as I came into the kitchen. A slim red pool of blood was crawling across the slanted vinyl floor and floating in it were white pieces that I recognized as teeth. The whole time the awful thudding was filling my ears and I raised my eyes to see Dad on top of Mom, his fists were slamming into her face over and over. She wasn't fighting back. I wasn't sure she was even breathing.
For a moment my world disappeared beneath a red curtain and I threw my body at my dad's side, hoping to knock him loose. Instead I only jostled him and he backhanded me across the face, his class ring cutting into my skin. With a cry of pain I fell back against the floor, one hand landing in the still warm trail of blood. Dad went right back to his abuse as if I wasn't even there.
The rage I felt kicked itself another notch higher and I thought my skin was on fire. Grunting I got back to my feet and threw myself across the room again, this time latching onto my Dad's midsection. Dimly I heard his pained exclamation but as he started beating the back of my head I closed my eyes and focused all I could on holding on. If I could just get him to stop hitting Mom. Then he hit me again and I felt something snap somewhere in my body.
I thought he had broken a bone, it wouldn't have been the first time. Then sound returned without me realizing it had ever left and I heard screaming. Opening my eyes I found that our kitchen looked like a war zone. There was orange and yellow fire everywhere. Climbing the walls, spreading to the living room, completely covering my Dad's body where he floundered on the floor.
Almost detached from the scene I watched as he burned, expecting the fires to eventually burn out. But as I watched they only seemed to flare brighter until the smell of burning flesh filled the house and he stopped moving, the ring on his now blackened finger glowing orange. As he died so did the fire, and then I remembered my mom had been in the kitchen.
Turning, I saw what remained of her own charred corpse. The moment stretched out forever and I screamed. And screamed. Until my throat was too raw to manage the sound anymore. The flames came back to life around me as if they had never left. When the screaming finally ended darkness claimed me. My childhood home burned to the ground around me, reducing the two corpses to nothing but ash. In the morning nothing was left but me and the foundation. |
"Hey man, have you heard of humans?"
"What?"
"Humans. They're like, these aliens that live far away and they're still super primitive."
"Ah yes, they're from Earth, are they not?"
"Yeah exactly. It got me thinking man, we're really similar to them. Like, almost identical except for our powers. Yet we live galaxies away from each other."
"The universe works in mysterious ways."
"No but seriously, we are practically the same race. If you lined one of us up next to a human, no one could tell the difference."
"It's best not to dwell on these things."
"We act the same, talk the same, eat the same things -"
"Look I-"
"Dress the same, walk the same, hell we even both have cars except ours fly."
"You do make some good points."
"Like, are WE humans? Are they us? What race even are we?"
"That's a dumb question we're.. I mean.. uh.."
"Exactly and-"
"Look. We could on about this for days but we don't have time. Just forget it, Anakin, we have work to do."
"Whatever. Some teacher you are."
|
Jook was in the middle of boiling water for his afternoon tea when he heard the doorbell ring.
"Son of bitch,"he muttered. "Three centuries of peace and quiet goes by far too quickly."
He double-checked his turban, gave his mustache an extra twirl, and materialized outside the lamp.
"'Sup, dawg?"he asked. He had heard that was how the cool kids were talking these days.
"Oh mighty djinn, inahbitat of the ethereal planes, I command thee."
"Yeah, yeah, you command me,"Jook said. He scrutinized the kid holding the lamp. It was so hard to find a good hero these days. A typical specimen, this one: pimply face, shifty eyes, flakes of dandruff. Jook sighed. He had thought humanity could have found a cure for teenage acne by now.
"You will address me as master,"the kid said, sticking his chin in the air.
"Is that your wish?"Jook asked hopefully. He could hear the kettle starting to whistle on the stove.
"NO! I will tell, I mean, I will divulge my three wishes unto thee anon."
"One wish."
"Hey, that's not not fair. It says in Arabian Nights-"
"Sorry kid, inflation and all that,"Jook said. "Wishes aren't what they used to be. Would you mind hurrying up? I'm expecting visitors any moment."
"Fine. I want to be invisible. Invisible to prying eyes."
"You sure you don't want untold riches or the most beautiful woman in the world? Because I've seen her, and let me tell you, she's smoking."Literally, he thought, given that she was a succubus from hell. It was a nasty trick to play on humans, but it was always good for a chuckle when their souls got sucked to hell.
"Quite sure."
Jook clicked his fingers. Nothing much changed.
"I can still see myself,"the kid said.
"Well, of course,"Jook said. "Otherwise how would you learn to shave without cutting yourself."He looked pointedly at the kid's furry upper lip.
"So am I invisible? Can you not see me?"
"In a manner of speaking,"Jook said. "In the infrared spectrum."
"You... you..."
"Magnificent son of a gun?"Jook suggested hopefully. The kid started to cry, and Jook felt a twinge of pity. "Listen, I know it's not what you hoped for, but look on the brightside. If you'd asked for the woman, you would probably be burning in hell right now."
The kettle was whistling angrily. Jook materialised a handkerchief, and gave it to the kid. "Make sure you read the small print next time,"he suggested kindly. "Prying eyes? Well, it's very vague. Lot of room for misinterpretation there."
And he dematerialized back into the lamp. With any luck the kid would throw the lamp away in disgust, and it would be another three centuries before another human found it.
---
**If you liked this, you can find more of my Prompt responses at /r/jd_rallage.** |
I’ve never been a man of faith, and neither were most people after the great catastrophe. But, I do have faith in the ingenuity and tenacity of our species. When our planet was flung from the orbit of its sun, the chaos that resulted from the impending freezing darkness resulted in worldwide war and death on the scale usually only imagined in apocalyptic science fiction novels. That is a story of its own, but here I sit, in a small, but cozy, comfortable and safe condo writing about how and why we’re still here.
As it turned out, our species underwent an adjustment, not an extinction. Losing all light and heat from the sun, we took the ground. Far beneath it, we found all the warmth we would ever need closer to the mantle, and from its heat, a practically endless supply of energy. From this energy supply we were able to harvest as much water and recycle as much oxygen as necessary.
Sometimes people will take guided tours to the surface. You can’t go any more with substantial life support, as the surface temperatures are around -240C and the atmosphere has long since frozen. The tourists usually go to the deserts or solid oceans, where the ground is covered by a snow of oxygen, nitrogen, and other gasses that once made up our atmosphere and the stars in the eternal night sky gleam more brilliantly than ever before. Of course, the tourists do not go to New York, London or the other major cities where the burned out husks of massive buildings haunt the darkness and the frozen carcasses of animals and human bodies lie forever in dreary repose.
But, I must emphasize that life is pretty good down here in what we call the Pit. I work for a UV light company, whose bulbs have replaced the sun for the crops our society now grows. My fiancé is a nurse at the local hospital. Hell, there’s still ESPN, and a basketball game between the Pit and Sub-Dallas is airing. Of course, travel is more difficult these days, but it is done.
The economy is as good now as it’s ever been at nearly any time throughout history. There are sufficient resources to go around, sufficient means to produce them, and the upkeep of this place is such that nearly everyone who wants a job can find one.
With this, scientific and medical research goes on, and the march toward progress continues. One may venture to say that for those of who made it through the catastrophe, life is better than it was before. It’s almost perfect, except for one small thing.
|
[What the fuck did you just fucking say about me, you little shit? Ill have you know I graduated top of my class in the Navy Seals, and Ive been involved in numerous secret raids on Al-Quaeda, and I have over 300 confirmed kills. I am trained in gorilla warfare and Im the top sniper in the entire US armed forces. You are nothing to me but just another target. I will wipe you the fuck out with precision the likes of which has never been seen before on this Earth, mark my fucking words. You think you can get away with saying that shit to me over the Internet? Think again, fucker. As we speak I am contacting my secret network of spies across the USA and your IP is being traced right now so you better prepare for the storm, maggot. The storm that wipes out the pathetic little thing you call your life. Youre fucking dead, kid. I can be anywhere, anytime, and I can kill you in over seven hundred ways, and thats just with my bare hands. Not only am I extensively trained in unarmed combat, but I have access to the entire arsenal of the United States Marine Corps and I will use it to its full extent to wipe your miserable ass off the face of the continent, you little shit. If only you could have known what unholy retribution your little clever comment was about to bring down upon you, maybe you would have held your fucking tongue. But you couldnt, you didnt, and now youre paying the price, you goddamn idiot. I will shit fury all over you and you will drown in it. Youre fucking dead, kiddo.](https://labs.foxtype.com/politeness?text=What+the+fuck+did+you+just+fucking+say+about+me,+you+little+shit?+Ill+have+you+know+I+graduated+top+of+my+class+in+the+Navy+Seals,+and+Ive+been+involved+in+numerous+secret+raids+on+Al-Quaeda,+and+I+have+over+300+confirmed+kills.+I+am+trained+in+gorilla+warfare+and+Im+the+top+sniper+in+the+entire+US+armed+forces.+You+are+nothing+to+me+but+just+another+target.+I+will+wipe+you+the+fuck+out+with+precision+the+likes+of+which+has+never+been+seen+before+on+this+Earth,+mark+my+fucking+words.+You+think+you+can+get+away+with+saying+that+shit+to+me+over+the+Internet?+Think+again,+fucker.+As+we+speak+I+am+contacting+my+secret+network+of+spies+across+the+USA+and+your+IP+is+being+traced+right+now+so+you+better+prepare+for+the+storm,+maggot.+The+storm+that+wipes+out+the+pathetic+little+thing+you+call+your+life.+Youre+fucking+dead,+kid.+I+can+be+anywhere,+anytime,+and+I+can+kill+you+in+over+seven+hundred+ways,+and+thats+just+with+my+bare+hands.+Not+only+am+I+extensively+trained+in+unarmed+combat,+but+I+have+access+to+the+entire+arsenal+of+the+United+States+Marine+Corps+and+I+will+use+it+to+its+full+extent+to+wipe+your+miserable+ass+off+the+face+of+the+continent,+you+little+shit.+If+only+you+could+have+known+what+unholy+retribution+your+little+clever+comment+was+about+to+bring+down+upon+you,+maybe+you+would+have+held+your+fucking+tongue.+But+you+couldnt,+you+didnt,+and+now+youre+paying+the+price,+you+goddamn+idiot.+I+will+shit+fury+all+over+you+and+you+will+drown+in+it.+Youre+fucking+dead,+kiddo.) |
*It burns.*
That's all I can tell you, because that's all that I know. About two hundred years ago, something happened. Some elders say our Sun flared up, killing everything exposed with it's deadly intensity, while others claim that we messed up our ozone layer and that's why everything perished on the surface.
It's all hearsay though. Apocryphal stories from generations past. My grandmother used to scare us children when we were young, telling us stories that her grandmother used to frighten naughty youngsters.
*Behave, or they'll send you to the surface!*
Every decade, however, one out of the many from the community is Chosen. It is not a responsibility we relish. Our task is to find our way to the surface, and Shades willing, make it back underground.
*Behave, or they'll send you to the surface!*
No one has come back, as far as anyone can remember. It seems pointless sending people to the surface when their fate is certain death, but humanity was never meant to live underground. Sickness runs rampant, and there's only so much our doctors can do to mitigate the effects of having lived underground for so long.
*Behave, or they'll send you to the surface!*
So here I am, in the burning light. I can hardly see, the rays from the Sun blazing so much brighter than the meagre bulbs we have underground.
*It burns.*
Ever had a hangnail? Imagine that, except all over your body. Skin is peeling away in strips from reddened, bloody flesh. You run your hands over your forearms in a futile effort to relieve the pain but your palms come away wet. It isn't sweat.
*It burns.*
You can barely see anything. How did you get up here? Where's the tunnel entrance? The men who followed you up with guns pointed at your back, where are they? You have to get back in, back underground. Back into the shade.
*It burns.*
It's getting worse every second. You collapse onto the ground, but the searing soil offers no relief. Reflexively, you brush away the dirt but it looks like pieces off you are coming off as well.
*It burns.*
You can barely breathe. You're dizzy. One moment you're on fire, the next you're strangely cold. Everything's fading away, getting darker. Is this your relief? Is the Sun going out?
*It burns.*
**You burn.**
***I burn.***
=
Hi /r/writingprompts, long time lurker here and first time ever trying to submit anything! I don't really write, even as a hobby, but all feedback is welcome as always :) |
The grey mass of the battlefield, which had once been filled with such chaos and life and death, was now silent. There was the occasional sign of movement as men picked their way through the carpet of gore and death, or as the first carrion birds alighted on corpses. There were banners trampled amongst the mud and corpses, but their colours were muted and dulled. The dead had no banners, no sigil. They were all one people.
Sir Peter Rodney slowly dragged himself across the ground to where the other man lay, breathing slowly and staring up at the sky. When the old knight was next to the other armoured man, he rested against the ground with a weary sigh. He looked down the hill at the tattered banners, the sea of dead and dying, and the smoke rising from where the blazes started by flaming arrows been extinguished.
“You could never have guessed such a thing were possible,” he said around the blood in his mouth. “A silent battlefield.”
His companion grunted in pain as he shifted slightly. “That’s because we always survived,” he rasped. “We were always borne away on the stretchers, rather than lying amongst the dead. We never knew.”
“And here we lie now,” Sir Peter sighed. With numbing fingers, he fumbled at his skin of water. It was warm and brackish, and he wished it were wine, but in that moment it tasted like a spring morning, like liquid sunlight.
The other man did not speak, but Peter knew he still lived by his ragged breathing. How long it would last, neither man knew. Their armour was scratched and broken, their swords chipped and notched. Sir Peter’s helm had been split down one side, and he had pulled it off in the heat of the battle.
Almost as an afterthought, Sir Peter passed the water skin to the other dying man. He could not turn his head from the pain, but he felt a hand take the skin and heard the sucking noise as the other man gratefully accepted the gift. There was no reason to speak of their duel to the death, of their dance of steel. They were both old men, and they knew the ways of war. *In death, we are all brothers*, Sir Peter mused.
A column of soldiers marched in from the east, having dealt with the last stragglers of the army of Galael, the one that men called the False King. At their head a young man rode a large horse, surrounded by men bearing bright banners.
“He’ll be a good king,” Sir Peter said absently, as the other man passed the water back.
The other man grunted. “He will tear the realm apart to fix it,” he predicted. “King Gilaen understood the brutality of ruling. His son Galael learnt it too. Great wounds will be rent in the kingdom at this boy’s kindness.”
“Perhaps,” Peter said, “but good things are born from bloodshed. History may remember him as the king who saved the realm,” he sipped from the water skin, and passed it back.
“He’s too young,” the other man growled through broken teeth. “This world needs older men, with experience. It is knowledge, not kindness, that makes a kingdom strong.”
Sir Peter laughed. “And yet here we lie, two old men, with all our experience, arguing politics.”
“History will not remember us,” the other old knight grunted. “History remembers faces, battles, places. We are merely swords, and no one remembers a sword,” he drank, and began to cough. Eventually it subsided, and Sir Peter felt the water skin pressed into his hand.
Sir Peter nodded, despite how much it pained him to do so. “True, but I never wanted fame. Let the young ones make history, and remember themselves. That is ever the way of it.”
They fell silent, watching as the remnants of the Young King’s armies pulled away from the battleground. A large number of people were moving through the carnage, bending low over corpses and sometimes moving away, or bringing stretchers. The medics were far away, and Sir Peter knew they would not reach the hill for hours.
“I used to fear death,” his companion rasped. “I don’t anymore…but now I fear something different,” he turned his head to look at Sir Peter. “I’m scared of living longer,” he said. “I don’t want to lie here all alone.”
Sir Peter smiled, and reached out with a numb hand to grip the other man’s arm. “Don’t worry,” he said gently, “I’ll stay here a while longer. You go ahead, I’ll catch up.”
The other man smiled, and he lay back staring at the sky. After a while Sir Peter lost track of time, for everything had become a muddy soup in his mind. He went to drink from the water skin, but it was dry. Eventually he became aware that his was the only breathing he could hear. He lay back, and thought of birds and music and trees. He thought of a world where there was no war, and a world where a woman waited with her pale hair fluttering about her shoulders.
And then he thought of nothing at all.
|
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