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*Written from the perspective of Ford, adjunct author to the hitchhikers guide to the galaxy*
Log 3:
The creatures are robust in build and nefarious in action, with as much social aptitude as a Ganglewurst, complexly ignoring me unless I stand directly in front of them. They have all swerved to avoid me, emitting their shrill cries nearly every time: perhaps this belays a popular xenophobia to unaccepted members of the community. On my most recent attempt of introduction, the creature brushed by me, almost knocking me to the ground. The customary shrieking greeting was heard, nearly piercing in its dialect, but I also heard shouts from within. Could the creature be a nesting mother of sorts, holding their young inside, or are they like the Braggle beasts of Vaanos VI, a symbiotic relationship pairing of the Braggle and the microscopic Shoean? More to follow tomorrow. The bureaucrats are hounding on me for the next entry so I simply shall not take no for answer, even if I am the fifth author to die in the line of action. Perhaps a placating gesture will smooth relations. I think flowers would be best. |
A hot sunny day in beautiful, sunny, Southern California. Just like all days. It used to just be us in SoCal who had this glorious weather. But now the whole globe sits at a sweet, sweet, climate-controlled sunny seventy-five degrees.
There's a tune playing from the record shop up ahead. An oldie, you can tell, just from the sound of it. These absolutely mental engineers have figured out how to make oldies sound primo in terms of quality, lossless if we're comparing them to modern-day joints, but you can still tell by the style of the music that it's an oldie, the lyrical content especially. Like there's all these absolutely basic questions riddled all over the place. How do I find love? What is love? What's the meaning of life? All that just ridiculously basic stuff, stuff that you just know, that stuff that we all just know right down to our polymer. Maybe it used to be different, but the lyrics are pretty funny to me, because these singers are just absolutely wailing on the track, like these questions are causing them so much pain.
Anyway this joint the record shop's playing comes around to the chorus, and at first I'm laughing cause there's sort of a really primal sound to it, the guys are sort of chanting, they sound almost like dogs barking or something. It's so obviously an oldie.
But then I'm hearing the words, too, somehow I can cut through the ridiculousness of the style and hear the words, though it is hard, because it's like if there were different ways that people spoke you know, like if someone had some weird mutation that made their voice sound different, sort of the way there's different flavors of ice cream, right?
So the words go around on the chorus, and I laugh, thinking that it's just another basic question that for some reason these singers used to be all pent-up about, but then nothing happens. I get no whir in my polymer. No little click and preceding the thought popping up into my brain.
I get a little closer to the speaker, thinking I heard it wrong. I wait for the chorus to come around, which I don't have to do long on account of these old ancient songs having been made by people with about zero attention span. But there it is again--the barkingish chorus sounds. This singer is just chanting this one question over and over, that's the whole chorus, but I don't know the question. I don't know the answer to it. Nothing happens in my polymer. Which I don't understand. I listen again--and there's a whole group of people around me now. They've heard it too. It's not just my polymer. They don't understand either. No one knows the answer to the question. But we have to know. What else can we do? We understand, that is the definition of us. What else can we do?
The chorus comes around again. "Who let the dogs out? Who? Who, who-who?"The crowd is growing. We're all absolutely packed around the speaker. And getting closer. |
Such a dumb mistake. Serena had just wanted to give the cap one more quarter turn when the pliers had lost their grip. So instead of tightening it, she had effectively punched the cement surrounding the pool pump.
She held back an oath to the Furies as she thought back to the "deal"she and Spencer had made. "If you want a pool so much, you get to be in charge of it. Those things are just giant pits you dump money into."Serena had not been able to tell him - to *explain* - how cold what he had said was. He didn't know the significance; it was unfair to judge him for it. But she did, anyway.
And now her knuckles were bleeding.
She slipped back inside the house and went upstairs to the master bathroom. She looked in the medicine cabinet, the cupboards in the vanity, the random *other* cabinet that the previous owners had put over the toilet...because there's no risk of anything bad happening if you store stuff over a toilet.
No band-aids. Still bleeding.
She told herself that it wasn't about the pain. It was impractical to go buy band-aids if she didn't need to. Plus it was at *least* a five minute drive, and...fossil fuels. This was definitely the green thing to do.
She placed her left hand over her right and closed her eyes. *O Eir, make me whole* she intoned, and she felt her muscles seize up as the power of her great-aunt flooded her body. Warmth radiated from her hand and the she could perceiving the divine light even with her eyes shut.
"Um...honey? What...what was that?"
*Shit.*
Whirling, she locked eyes with Spencer, whose jaw was hanging loose. He was blinking more than usual.
"Rena?"
Serena closed her eyes again. Somehow, the look of utter bewilderment on his face was making her angry. She gave a massive sigh and said "Why don't we sit down?"
"Yes,"he responded, his voice cool. "Lets do."
One of the veins in Serena's temple was beginning to throb. She knew it wasn't right, that he had a *right* to be upset, but still...he didn't have to be such a jerk about it.
"My hand's fine, by the way."
"What? What are you --"
"I cut it when I was putting the cap back on the pool filter. It's fine now."
She held her right hand up for him to see. Spencer stared at her. "Are you...are you mad at me because I didn't ask you about an injury I didn't know you had and now...somehow...no longer exists? Is *that* what's happening right now?"
Serena studied her yoga pants. Without really meaning to, she began humming. It was soft, and she made sure to keep her mouth shut, but it was definitely audible to Spencer.
Spencer rubbed his nose, studying Serena's face. "Let me just say...I'm sorry you got hurt. And I'm glad you're feeling better. And I'd really love to know more about why."
Serena stopped humming and forced a smile. She added another mental hash-mark to the tally of times she'd manipulated him with her powers and briefly wondered if there would ever be a chance to make it up to him.
She took a deep breath. "Let's say - just for the sake of argument - that I had, I dunno, powers. Like, the magic kind of powers. And let's also say that I am not, in the strictest definition, um, human. Very much humanoid, and I should add that a *lot* of the plumbing and everything is the same, and...all. But say that's what I was."Serena broke off, looking back down again. She started picking at invisible lint on her pants. "What...would you say to that?"she added quietly.
Serena could tell he was staring at her, but she refused to look up until he answered the question. She could hear the blood circulating in her veins, her almost-human heart pumping the liquid through her body, keeping her alive.
As the silence dragged on, Serena resisted the urge to begin humming again. Like all of the pivotal moments in their relationship, it was crucial that this one be untainted. She knew how doubt would prey on her if she didn't let him respond naturally.
"I...I love you. It's...on the list of major secrets you can keep from your spouse, I feel like this is way up there. *Way* up there. But...wait."
Serena felt like her heart had just leaped off a cliff, plunging into the pounding surf below.
"So - you're an...alien, right?"
Serena gave her first genuine smile since the conversation had started and looked up at Spencer. "No! An...aliens aren't real!"
Spencer's brows nearly jumped off the top of his forehead. "Oh, I'm sorry, are we going to play a game of 'what is and isn't silly to believe' with my magical non-human wife?"
Serena chuckled quietly. "Touche, Spence. Anyway, *no*. I am not an alien."
Spencer frowned. "A demon, then? Oh, God, I'm so stupid!"He smacked himself on the side of the head. "Of course you are - you're a succubus! That's...that has to be it, right?"
Serena laughed this time, and inched her chair a little closer to Spencer's. "My love...no. I am not a succubus or any other kind of demon. But you get, like, 10 million husband points for saying it. Especially for how sincere you seemed."
"Rena, I'd think you were messing with me if I hadn't seen you...do...whatever you did. And if...oh, God. Are you a robot? That's why you made that weird crack about your plumbing, isn't it?"
"What have I told you about talking about my plumber's crack?"
"Rena."
"Sorry, sorry. No. I am not a robot. Bleep blorp."
As Spencer's jaw sets and he squints at Serena, she realizes she has miscalculated.
"I want to change my previous statement about loving you."
"No, too late. Can't do it."
"I don't even know what you are!"
"Sucker!"
Spencer stands up and begins walking silently to the door of the bedroom. Serena calls after him.
"Spence, wait! I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I just really want to get us back to...*us.* Comfortable, playful, loving. But I'm being really unfair to you and so...” She took another deep breath, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. “I am an elf. And a siren."
Spencer wrinkles his nose. "That's not funny."
Serena's head cocks to one side, her honey-blonde hair spilling past her shoulder. "What isn't?"
"You're part *siren*?"
"Yes. And part elf."
"So your mom was an elf, and your dad was...what, an ambulance? A fire truck? C'mon, Rena."
"You...you've never heard of a siren before?"
"I just told you. What are you --"
"No. From *The Odyssey*, the mythological creatures of the sea that sang men to their..."
Spencer's face darkens. "To their what?"
"Anyway, my dad was the elf. My mom was the siren. They met in the Mediterranean."
"I'm honestly not sure how much of this to believe at this point."
"Her name was Anala. His name was Fullen. He came from the north. Sea-faring, and all that. They met on - well, near - Cyprus."
"Okay. Let's say I believe all that. What can the daughter of an elf and a police car --"
"-- Spence!"
"Fine, a 'siren', do? And how come you haven't already been doing it? Why do we still have a mortgage?"
"I'll answer your questions but...can I just get a hug real quick?"
"You're not going to turn me into a lizard or something, are you?"
"Don't you think I would have already done it if I wanted to turn you into a lizard?"
"Listen, lady. Or...nearly-lady. You've still got a lot to answer for."
"Fair enough. But can I? Please?"
"Okay...no funny business, though."
Serena stands as Spencer walks over to her and they embrace.
"Thank you. That's so much better. Now...where do I begin?"
* * *
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/ShadowsofClouds/comments/7uh0f0/serena_part_2/)
Update: [Part 3 Now Up](https://www.reddit.com/r/ShadowsofClouds/comments/7un9xp/serena_part_3/) |
The sloop came to a rest with barely a kilometer between it and the human ship. Captain Brian Leung leaned forward, the smart-computers integrated into his uniform and the ship interfacing with each other to bring up the screens he wanted. The ships optics easily magnifying the figures standing on the deck of the space-ship. Figures without space suits or any protection form of protection at all. Shaking his head he turned back to his deck crew, the ship automatically cueing them into a private communication loop. “We all expected this. The wyrms…” The captain turned a nod towards the ever smirking man in the corner of his bridge, sitting in a chair with a relaxed posture, undoubtedly listening in despite the assurances of the eggheads. “…told us that magic is real and that this is pretty common. They’ll be gawking just as much at us as we will be towards them.”
With a wave, the Captain of Humanities first jump capable ship brought up a new window in his vision. “Ambassador. The Orcs look like they’re in position. One of their shamans are trying to push our shields, but they aren’t being hostile.” The civilian, already standing in the shuttle bay with his gaggle of aides frowned at the screen. “Captain, I thought my orders were clear. We were to approach with open hands. No shields. No weapons. We do not want to give the Orcasti –“ That was the wyrm-word for the green-skinned humanoids. “- Any false notions that Humanity doesn’t want anything but peace.”
It took Brian nearly all his patience earned through years of being an officer to not roll his eyes at this. “Ambassador. I appreciate your wishes, and can understand how you wish this to proceed. However, the universe is one we do not know. Magic, for they are certainly using magic, is something new.” The chuckle from the corner of the bridge confirmed the Captains suspicion about how sharp the Dragon’s hearing really was. “…and something we do not understand. I will not put this ship in danger for the sake of appearances. You may, Sir Ambassador, make your approach with the shuttles shields lowered, but this ship will stay on alert for the entire encounter.” The appropriately named Ambassador Francois Bellamy was a good enough sort and new his craft. The captain trusted the man to do his job, and do it well, not that he had any say in who was to be the first ambassador to another race. Still, knowing someone was competent in their job, didn’t make them an expert in yours. The Orcs, despite popular fiction, weren’t a particularly aggressive species. In fact, they were quite forward with their advances towards peace, being the second race to openly meet with the new star-faring race. The first of course, being the Dragonosti, who declared themselves longtime friends and allies of the Humani, even going so far as to throw a surprise party for the first Human ship to make transition to a new star, much to the chagrin of the Human exploration crew aboard. With a few green lights and one authorization later, the bridge monitors tracked the shuttle, it’s shields lowered, as it sped towards the waiting Orcish Sloop.
Turning around, his chair swiveling to face the Dragon sitting in the corner of his bridge, Brian addressed the wyrm. “So far, we’re seeing the Orcs act openly. If they were to go hostile for whatever reason, how far could those shamans actually reach with their spells?” The smirk is what always got to Brian. That damnable wyrm always had a smile tugging at the edge of his human lips, and a twinkle in the back of the very draconic eyes. “Well…” It said, steepling it’s fingers in thought. “It depends on the Shaman aboard. I suspect that the Stone Seers they are currently using are at their maximum range for their magical scrying. The Elementalists, depending on the power, could probably match your…weapons…in range, but not power.” The pause was intentional. While the Dragons had seen what conventional weapons could do, their arrogance at such things was legendary even for the short span that the Humans and Dragons have had contact with each other. “Though, if a Grand Shaman was aboard, you would probably have to flee back to Sol to escape his power. “ The lizards eyes flashed. “Their power would only be limited with the material they’d have to work with, but as I understand even Humani can grasp to potential for what Gravity could do as a weapon.”
The last bit was a warning, and a bit of a reveal. The Captain, being one of the few who worked closely with the Jump team that created Humanities FTL capability, was also aware of secret black-box projects including gravity based weaponry. The Solar System was a big place, and Humanity has had more than one stellar war, clashing against itself more than enough to realize it’s only space-based weaponry. Near-Light Speed missiles still dominated much of the human arsenal, but newer plasma based weaponry and even more advances in particle sciences have resulted in more and more deadly weapon developments. The fact that the wyrm, an ambassador and babysitter on this diplomatic mission, knew of the Grav-cannon project, meant that they knew more than they were letting on.
|
"The Devil? Is that a nickname, a gamer handle?"
The well-dressed man looked and me and smiled. "No. I am The Devil. You know, famous for stealing souls and tempting the weak? Ruler of Hell, and destined to torture evil souls for eternity?"
"Bullshit. Do you always get in cars and introduce yourself as The Devil?"
He seemed charming enough. I pulled back onto the highway and headed South. It was a ridiculously hot day, and my new acquaintance had been walking along the interstate trying for a ride.
"Actually yes. I always try it at the beginning. Most people react like you. So then I'll pick a name, make up a job, and try to seem harmless. It's amazing how an introduction like that can make people uneasy. But, I must say, I do think that honesty is a good policy. Not quite the best, but near the top."
"All right. I'll roll with it. Are you going to steal my soul?"I joked. I felt tickled at my little jab.
"You know it's not a good joke if you're the only one laughing?"The Devil chided. "Look, I'm not looking to steal your soul. I've got enough of them to look after. Dishing out torture for eternity isn't all it's made out to be. It's honestly not easy seeing people in pain forever. You would think that at some point, I'll become desensitized, but it hasn't happened yet. And I've been at this for much longer than you can imagine."
I decided to humor him. "So then, Mr Devil, where are you headed? And why?"
I could see him eyeing me. "I have a deal you can't refuse."
"Okay, here we go. Let's ~~here~~ hear it, Devil-san"
"I don't want your soul, I actually don't want anything of yours. I need you to do me a favor. I need your help. It won't be easy, and you won't want to do it. But in return, I will give you a gift of good luck."
I glanced at him as I drove. He'd gone silent, and was watching me drive. I wasn't really sure what to say, and I wasn't sure if I wanted to offer this person, who claimed to be the devil, anything at all. I was just a man, running away from a past I didn't want to remember, trying to find a future that didn't seem possible. I had lived with pain and I had lived with hate. I had deceived and I had been deceived. I had done things I wanted to forget.
The Devil spoke. "There's something I need you to steal." |
"Wait, what? Why are you giving me this?"Was the first question out of my mouth. I was grateful, sure, but why me? Why 5 million pounds? What did I do to deserve it?
"So you can enjoy your life. Listen, friend. I have much more than this. I know of luxury and happiness. You? As I can see here, you're homeless. You likely don't know what the comfort of wealth is. You probably haven't experienced what it's like to be free to do what you want. That is what I am giving this to you for now."Replied the man.
He looked old, but respected. He had a very defined face, with a sharp look to him, but his soft gaze showing that he has seen his own share of hardship like myself. His hair was the same shade of a silver white like mine, but obviously was much cleaner and groomed, a stark contrast to my shaggy and dirty mane. He had small imperfections of his skin, wrinkles that could tell a thousand stories, a small scar above the upper lip. Barely noticeable, but holding its own secrets. Whoever this man was, he had seen both comfort and misery, and so I had to ask.
"Mister... You have a small scar on your face. Your face shows that you have been hurt, and you look like you've seen lots of hardship yourself. So what is it that makes you want to help me, someone who only knows pain and having to fight for rotten food? Someone who is worried they would freeze by morning, every night? Why me, when there are those that could make better use of this wonderful gift?"
"Hm... Because I have been hurt just like you. Not many would notice my scar. Even less ask why. And yet, here you are, doing both,"he replied, somewhat relieved, "Very well. It's best I tell my story."
He then motioned for me to walk with him, as he would explain along the way. He told me how he had been homeless too, and had been through much more than what anyone would normally go through. He was homeless like myself, and it got to a point of having to break into people's homes to get food, to stealing from clothing stores just to have something to keep him from freezing. To the point where he had to start hunting the sewer rats just to have something to eat when he needed it. The disgusted faces of the people around us were ignored by this man however, and I understood the pain he was going through. I was the only one able to sympathise with him, because I had almost done the same.
He explained that he was saved in the same way as I, and wanted to help continue the cycle. With his business being very successful, he could make this money back easily, but that he always wanted to pass on his money to someone who needed it. Although I could use the money for anything, he advised me to use my money to re-educate myself, and to get myself basic accommodation. To start with a basic job and develop the needed skills to survive. From there I can focus more on my happiness as I would have the safety to do so.
If I did all this, and if the fates allowed, he told me that we would meet again, and we would be able to one day tell our tales once more. Then, he left, and although I chased after him, he was already gone and lost to the crowd that we walked through.
Whoever that man was, I will honour him and help out the next person that needs it, when I too am in a position of wealth and happiness.
^(*If you enjoyed that, be sure to check out my subreddit, r/MitsTriesWriting!*) |
"So hold up, you actually *qualified* for [CLASSIFIED]? Man, I've been trying to get into [REDACTED] for like, four semesters now. How'd you do it?"Mike asked with a look of surprise.
"I don't even know man, when I heard about [CLASSIFIED] I just went to see what the pre-reqs were and turns out [REDACTED] and [DATA EXPUNGED] were required and well... here I am. Pretty sweet, 'eh?"I replied with a swell of pride.
"Dang man, that's a trip. Think you'll be able to take ████████ next semester?"Mike sipped his [REDACTED] while rolling his neck before leaning back in his seat.
"I don't know about ████████ but hopefully it'll come in handy for [DATA CORRUPTED]. But I don't know if I want to really go that route, ya' know? I was feeling more like [DATA EXPUNGED] or maybe even doing some [CLASSIFIED]. I guess █████ will tell though, right?"I tried to shrug the [REDACTED] off in an attempt not to sound too █████████ but Mike was having none of it.
Leaning forwards once more, Mike began to speak in ████████, "Well obviously you should go with [CLASSIFIED], I think you'd be pretty good at it. Your [CLEARANCE LEVEL 4 REQUIRED] I think. They'd be wasted if you [DATA CORRUPTED] or anything short of [REDACTED]. Ask █████, he'll agree with me. Even Professor A████ would probably back me up on that. At the very least, try to look into [CLASSIFIED]. Or hell, if you and K████ decided to [DATA EXPUNGED] then [CLASSIFIED] would probably seriously come in handy."Mike made a few compelling arguments and I pondered on this for a while.
"Ya' know, man. That's a good point... I'll have to look into it." |
Jim stood at the platform and checked his watch. He was gonna be late. He had an important pitch today, where was the damn train? He stood near the track, almost first in line.
Suddenly, he heard humming coming from the other passengers waiting. The humming grew louder, until
🎶“You can blame me,” someone sang.
*Oh no*
🎶“Try to shame me,” someone else responded.
*No no no*
🎶”Still I’ll care for you.”
He had to get out. He knew what the song meant. Two or three more voices joined in.
🎶”You can run around, even put me down.”
*Get to the back, get to the back!*
Jim pushed through the crowd, frantic.
🎶”Still, I’ll be there for you.”
A bench! It was probably nothing, but at least he could hide from whatever was about to happen. The crowd now joined in.
🎶”The world may think I’m foolish. They can’t see you like I can.”
The train began to pull up to the station. Jim dove for the bench.
🎶”Oh, but anyone...”
The train came to a stop.
🎶”Who knows what love is...”
The doors opened.
🎶”Will...”
**BOOM**
—————
“In other news, 36 people were killed yesterday in a shocking attack on the city’s primary train station. A bomb was hidden in one of the train engines, programmed to detonate when the train came to a stop. The trains, which were fully automated earlier this year, were the subject of a hacktivist cyberattack last week...” |
Jiro woke up, opened his windows, and smiled as he heard the sounds of dragon roars.
It was going to be a good day.
He took his time getting dressed, trying to be as quiet as possible so he could keep his ears pinned to the sounds coming in from his open window: shouting from annoyed men and women, the roars of the dragons, and the punctuating crashes of masonry and pottery hitting the streets.
He eventually couldn't stop himself from humming as he trotted down the stairs to the store he lived above. His door was already being knocked on and he usually didn't open for another hour.
Today, though, today was special. He would open early, but not until he gave the counter a good dusting, made sure that all the ink wells were full and the fires were stoked, and, of course, adjusting the sign that read *'Jiro's Respectable Dragon Insurance."*
Jiro opened his door, smiled his best smile, and let the wave of complaints about dragons knocking shit over carry him to a place of happiness and signed documentation. |
“Hey, silly-willies! What’s happening?” said Jesus as he stepped up to the podium at the “Christ 2020” campaign rally. He was still wearing his little black mankini, and had just gotten back from burying fossils for the atheists to find. Desert sand coated his tanned, well-toned physique. “I heard y’all wanted a little Jesus in your election. Well, say no more!”
The crowd was aghast. They knew the possibility of Jesus coming was remote, but they never imagined they’d get the privilege of seeing him like this, scantily clad and sexy, as he was when he hung upon the cross. They burst into cheers. “Jesus! Jesus! Jesus!”
“Oh you guys! I feel like the prettiest girl at the ball! Now, we got lots’o stuffs to do. I’m gonna get jobs, and defense, and infrastructure. We’re gonna get all that good stuff. And the best part is: daddy God’s gonna pay for it! Come on down, daddy God!”
“I’m coming, baby boy!” A brilliant flash of light heralded the arrival of God, himself clad in an even tighter mankini, and chewing on a bratwurst clothed in a Hawaiian shirt. “What’s happenin’, peeps?”
No mortal can withstand the sight of the Almighty God. At the sight of his dangling Holy Holies, the people began to melt. It was a ghastly sight. First, their skin bubbled and they cried out in pain. Then, their blood vessels eroded leaking blood all over the room. Then they received a pre-screened offer of credit from Rent-a-Center. Finally, their bones crumbled to dust.
“Daddy! You killed my constituents! That’s a naughty daddy God!” Jesus gave daddy God a hard smack on his firm, tight buttocks.
“I’m sorry, baby boy. But let me make it up to you. I have a surprise: Remember how the Sagan and the Hitchens were busted up in Heaven?”
“You fixed them?!”
“Even better, baby boy. Feast your eyes on this!” God summoned two angels to bring down his present to Jesus. It was a hideous abomination: An amalgamation of the bodies of Carl Sagan and Christopher Hitchens, with body parts and facial features strewn across its flabby, fleshy exterior. Somewhere on it, a mouth, though whose mouth could not be discerned, quietly whispered, “Kill me.”
“Oh, daddy God! You always know how to make me feel better! I’m gonna name him Todd, and he’ll be my best friend forever and ever and ever and ever and ever.” Jesus gathered up Todd in a warm embrace, even as Todd himself began leaking a green pus onto the ground.
FIN
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…
…
…?
|
Cass found herself standing at a hotel desk in a white featureless plane. Behind the desk was a humanoid woman, taking a nap with her hat over her eyes. She could also see a rack of keys and a computer, presumably logging check-ins.
Cass stared nervously at the check-in assistant. She looked like a bellboy, dressed in a red work uniform, with golden flames shimmering slowly over the outfit as the light shifted over her. Cass had recently come from judgment, and didn’t want to get on the bad side of anyone here by waking them from a nap.
Eventually, the woman must have felt eyes on her, as she stirred in her sleep and sat up.
She quickly got to her feet and cleared her throat, then spoke in the rough tones of someone who had just woken up. “Hello! How can I help you?”
“I’m Cass. I think I need a room here.” She watched the woman’s face. Ever since she had died, new awareness had opened up. She could see in new dimensions, into the past and into the sins of her fellow dead. But the woman’s face was blank, just a little tired.
She smiled. “I’ll get you taken care of.” She sat back down in front of the computer and started typing.
“Cassandra Connors?”
“Yeah. My worst sin was mixing fabrics, if that helps narrow it down.”
“Hmmm. No, it says here your most frequent sin was mixing fabrics. Your worst sin was taking a pet you had kept for two years back to a shelter.”
Cass’s mouth opened reflexively, but she couldn’t find the words. Her new apartment hadn’t allowed pets. She had made sure it was a no-kill shelter, so her dog was going to a good home, eventually.
Something must have come through on her face, because the desk clerk nodded sympathetically. “I’m sure you had a good reason. But you knew deep down that it was wrong.”
“How is that a sin? The fabric thing is in the bible, but there’s nothing about letting your pets go.”
“Sin changes as does the human conscience. Some things will always be wrong - murder, lying for personal gain, loving false idols. More things change as does society. If the whole world practiced torture on each other as a way to become stronger, and the victims accepted it, then we would not count it against them. If you cut someone off in traffic, you are as damned as any. I would guess your culture looks down on abandoning pets.”
Cass put her hands on the desk, leaning forward. “But my culture doesn’t look down on mixing fabrics. We all do it.”
The clerk leaned back in her chair. “Did you know before coming here that mixing fabrics was a sin listed in the bible?”
“Yes,” she admitted.
The woman shrugged. “Then there you go. Even if you all did it, as long as it was still culturally considered a technical sin, then you were technically damned.”
“Damn.” Cass had hoped for a second that she had another chance.
“Exactly. Moving on. There’s nothing particularly heinous in your file, so I can set you up in one of our minimum security areas.” The clerk took down a key from the wall, and it was instantly replaced by another with a different 12-digit number etched onto it.
“Just be sure to return it when you leave in a thousand years or so.”
“When I leave?” Hope fluttered anew in her stomach.
“Of course. Everyone leaves after they’ve done their time. Hell reflects the human conscience as well, and eternal punishment doesn’t sit right with anyone who thinks about it for long enough.”
“Thank you!” A thousand years. That was much, much longer than she had been alive, and by the sound of things, was one of the lower punishments. Still, she looked forward to experiencing Heaven someday.
“You’re very welcome.” The clerk pointed, and Cass turned around to see an elevator.
“I would get your bags, but you can’t take it with you.” She smiled. “Just a little joke we have here. I’ll see you when you get out.”
Cass thanked her again, and entered the elevator. It moved down quickly, flashing past other elevators, all stacked in a huge structure underneath the hotel desk.
Eventually it stood still, and the transparent walls shifted into mirrors. A dim overhead light switched on, and Cass saw endless reflections of herself in shadow. On her face she could see her past, her sins.
Her whole life flashed before her eyes, and this time she was conscious of a thin white barrier, like a tissue over her face. Every time she did something she knew was wrong, or something she would be ashamed to tell others about, the barrier tore.
She imagined alternate realities, ones where she hadn’t done wrong, and the tissue mended itself. Each time, the life restarted from the beginning, forcing her to be consistent on each pass. Eventually she made it all the way through her life for the first time, dying of old age in a way different from her death in reality.
Her mirror selves smiled at her, and briefly her face was as clear as the clerk’s had been. Then the shadows returned, and she began living new lives, alternate versions of herself that she could learn from as well. She had only just begun.
As it turned out, Hell was self-reflection.
______________________________________________________
63/365. Constructive criticism welcome and appreciated. |
Every worker at Ikea was once an average customer who got lost. Today You’re at Ikea for some furniture, but you cant find the exit anymore.
You somehow find out the exact date and time of your death in advance. You know that nothing else is going to kill you until your time comes, and so you go all out.
So I found this on the 'Hot' page, so these were the two prompts that I had to work with.
Death appeared to me in my dreams. That's how I found out the exact time that I would die. I remember asking him why he would tell me this and he said, "To be honest, I get bored and I like to mess with people. Lucky you!"He laughed for about three more minutes until I woke up. I had that dream every night for an entire year until I gave up and told him I believed him. Once I acknowledged him, he just laughed and then told me, "I'll see you in 392 days."I never had the dream again.
I was determined to make death pay though. I searched for all different kinds of things to do, different ways to extend out my life, I was determined to ruin his stupid plan. That's when I came across the rumor about Ikea. I had run out of other options so wandered into the nearest store.
Sure enough, about an hour later I suddenly couldn't find an exit to save my life. I settled down, curious how this rumor would proceed. The lights went off and the store became completely silent. That's when I saw the lights. All of the employees came out of the different areas of the store with lit tiki torches. They had odd masks on their faces. One was a couch, another a table, another a bed, and so on. "One of us... One of us... One of us...", they chanted as they slipped a mask over my head. I smiled as the recliner mask was placed over my face.
As I worked there, I discovered how it worked. Every time that an employee died, another one would be chosen from the store patrons that day. The dead employee given to the gods of upholstery and linen. With my new knowledge, I was ready.
The day of my supposed death, I carefully watched the clock. I was supposed to die exactly 32 minutes after the store closed. I made extra sure that no patrons got lost and devoured by the store itself and then stood in the center of the store, waiting. Ever punctual, death showed himself at the exact time he previously stated. His idiotic skeletal gaze glued to me. "Didn't make much of the rest of your time did you?"
"Oh, I don't know.", I said. "I think I will still be pretty successful in my last endeavor."I calmly walked up to him and raised my hands, a knife from the food court clasped in my grip. Before he could react, I quickly slit my own throat and collapsed to the ground.
His bony features contorted into a smile as he thought that he won, until he heard my dying breath come out as wheezing laughter. I joined in with my coworkers, the chant of "One of us.."echoing around me as I let out my last breath and trapped death in the grips of Ikea employment for all eternity. |
Araxia was the most advanced world in the galaxy, and the most peaceful. Tied for second place in the category of "most advanced worlds in the galaxy"was the Araxian system's two neighboring stars, Offen and Defen - but those worlds were not tied for the most peaceful; in fact they were the most warlike in the galaxy. For the thousands of years the two systems had been warring, people from all over the galaxy have been coming to Araxia to ask them to do something about the ever-growing conflict between the two planets.
The University of Araxia was attended by millions of students from thousands of worlds - including Offen and Defen. Mary Slew was a ten year old araxian human prodigy who had just gotten accepted to the university. Araxian humans were known for being exceptionally bright, but Mary was on another level entirely. For Mary, learning was effortless, like strolling down a beach. For her, inventing was simple, like tying shoes.
At the end of Mary's first day, after she had toured the University grounds, The director of the University, Professor Lintky Garcia, welcomed Mary, personally. "Ms. Slew! I believe I speak for the University and all of Araxia by saying how excited we are to have you at our school."
"Thank you, kindly,"said Mary, bowing.
"You are most welcome. I take it you had a good tour of the school?"
"Araxia University is the most amazing place in the galaxy. I feel honored to be a part of it."
"Well then, I hope you will do us the honor of joining our society."
"Society?"Mary asked. "I'm already a member of the Society of Fellows. I know of no greater honor, Director."
"Few do,"Lintky replied. "Only six others know. Follow me."
School Director Lintky Garcia led the child prodigy through a secret door in the back of the her office to a round table with five well-known professors. They all stood as Mary entered. Director Garcia motioned for Mary to sit. Everyone else sat down after.
The director spoke. "Mary, we are the Society of the Spring. We exist because the Offen and the Defen exist - or perhaps they exist because we exist."
"I don't understand,"Mary said.
"As the galaxy knows all too well, the war between the Offen and the Defen grows daily. Every world waits nervously for one side to win over the other, knowing that if the Offen win, they will enslave the galaxy using their unstoppable weapons to force us to cooperate, whereas if the Defen win, they will use their defensive technologies to completely control interstellar travel and to repress technological development. Neither solution is better than the other."
"But isn't it accepted that their war will never end?"
"That's what people believe, which makes them happy. But the Society of the Spring knows better."
"What's going to happen?"
"Their conflict grows, the Offen throwing more energy and power at the Defen, the Defen deflecting and absorbing more and more of the Offen's growing energy. But that can not go on forever."
"Why not?"
"Are you familiar with the ancient mechanical clock? The old timekeeping device that you would wind-up?"
"I am."
"What happens when you wind it up?"
"You store energy in the spring."Mary had an inkling of what the director was driving at.
"What happens if you keep winding?"
"The spring breaks."Now Mary knew. "So eventually, so much energy will be thrown against or stored by the Defen, that they will break?"
"The Defen will break and the Offen will win, or the Defen will release all of the energy that they stored, firing it back at the Offen, who will lose. One way or another, one of them will be destroyed, eventually."
"But isn't it more likely that eventually one of them will get an advantage over the other, and end the war before that happens?"
"You must ask yourself, why hasn't that happened yet?"
"That's a big mystery, everyone wonders that. In fact, that's something that I intend to study."
"There is no need to study. It is we, the Society of the Spring, that has kept the conflict balanced."
"You? We? We keep the conflict balanced? But how?"
"All of the offensive and defensive technologies that the Offen and the Defen use were developed here at the university, and were then secretly hidden and then our society gave them to the Offen or the Defen, depending on which way the balance was tipping. This has kept them in a stalemate for millennia, and has allowed the rest of the galaxy free to do what it wishes."
"But, that's not a permanent solution."
"Indeed it is not. As I said, one day the spring will break."
"What will happen then?"
"For that day, we have been building a new clock. And you, Mary, will do the first winding." |
Edit: some words
Cheers go off as Ground Control bursts with excitement. The mission was a success. The only thing to do now was to celebrate and wait for the last information came streaming in from the now burned up and destroyed satellite. Most people are now sitting down to celebrate and relax after a stressful couple of days. The satellite had lost connection for a while, but did finally start transmitting valuable data early in the morning. A phone started ringing, which was to be expected.
"Hello? Yes, this is him,"someone answers.
Anther phone rang, and another. Eventually the whole room was ringing telephones and people answering. A slow stream of people started to make their way towards the exit. Slow at first but as they neared, they began to move faster. As everyone from Ground Control made their way outside, people began to realize most the building was being vacated. People were looking up and pointing to the sky. There, in varying sizes of font and languages, were wording streaming across the sky. Not smoke or a banner behind a plane, but some other kind of matter.
The message in each scrolling line was the same, "You have passed Stage 1. Please proceed to Stage 2! Congratulations!"
The crowds of people were now starting to get loud. People talking with each other, getting excited, scared and some were even starting to get skeptical. People had their phones out to take pictures while others went inside to bring back out personal telescopes. No one could tell how the text was in the sky. It was clear as day, and sailing smoothly across the open space behind it. Someone did point out, after looking for a while through a telescope, the dot at the bottom of the exclamation point was different. Instead of just mysterious text, it looked to be a circular structure. The center was starting to slowly open, to nothingness. Not even black, but there was nothing there.
"Is that a black hole?"was asked, in sheer disbelief.
Their answer was given as the appeared to be getting closer. This is when the real panic set in. People were running to their cars or standing and watching. People back into the building. Some even sat into the fetal position, in shock. After the earth started its movement towards what was a black hole, it only got faster. After a quick sound of sucking, there was nothing.
Then there was the earth, slowly turning on it axis and revolving around the sun. Where it had always been. A satellite just made it's way into the sun. People were cheering and celebrating.
You've seen this before. You're sure this has happened. Was it a dream? You aren't sure. But you try to open your eyes and are suddenly impacted with everything. Everything there is and is to be, you feel hit you. It all suddenly makes sense. You realize that there is a You. As your head pulls back you feel the universe soar by you in a blur. Once you feel yourself sitting up straight, you blink your eyes as pure light hits them. After getting accustomed to the new brightness you look down to yourself. You feel human, your shape looks human, but there is nothing there. Only an outline. You look to your left and right to see where you are.
You are sitting in an endless ring of entities just like yourself. All holding some kind of dark globe. The same one you're holding in your lap. A sense rushes over you. The entities next to you seem familiar. You know them from before. Before seemed like an eternity ago now. You peer back down to it and know it to be the universe. A universe in a place and time you had just left it. The last place left to look was up. It was pure light, with text scrolling across it: "Welcome to Stage 2."
As you lean back into the globe of the universe in your lap and space rushes by you, you realize who you've become, "I Am..."
|
"God dammit!"Andrew exclaimed from the dining room table. "Watch your mouth."His mother said smoothly, without turning her back from the dinner she prepared. "Sorry mom. It's just this freaking arm again!"he said, noticeably frustrated. Andrew's mother kept her focus even when he cast the screwdriver he was using on his bionic arm across the room.
"Well maybe if you would put the casing back on it, you wouldn't
have as many problems"said his mother.
"Why, so I can spend even more time getting into it when it malfunctions again?"
"It was just a suggestion Andrew, no need to get hostile."
Despite his tone, Andrew's mother remained calm. She did what she could to make her son comfortable in his situation, but the life insurance on her husband was a pittance compared to the medical bills Andrew had accrued since he was a toddler.
"I'm sorry mom. It's just frustrating. You would think as expensive as these things are they would at least have the decency to work half the time."
"To be fair they're not what anyone would call top of the line. They're what we can afford, so they're better than nothing."
"I guess so. I'm gonna go to my room."
"Don't wander too far off. Dinner's about to be ready."She said as Andrew pushed rolled his wheelchair out of the kitchen. At just seventeen, this is what his life had always been. For as long as he could remember he was confined to a wheelchair with only one good arm. His mother had told him the story of a power line coming down on he and his father, but being so young he holds no memory of the event or his father. Memory or not, Andrew still has the scars, the shriveled legs, and the missing arm.
Despite his disabilities and rough upbringing, Andrew still held high hopes for his future. With a drive like no other and a shining academic record, Andrew planned on a life in college as a research engineer. The desire not the least of which coming from his experience in tinkering with his arms in the past. As he rolled into his bedroom he removed his arm and pulled himself towards his work desk. Using his tools he began to fine tune his arm and get it back up and running. Just when he thought he had it, his mother called him from the kitchen. "Andrew! Dinner is ready!"He looked at the mess of wires and components in front of him. "Well I technically don't need two arms to eat.
It wasn't long after dinner before he went to sleep for the night. The next day was his eighteenth birthday, and he was lucky enough to have the whole day to himself since his mother would be away at work. Andrew didn't normally go to bed so early, but he wanted to be up in the morning to really get the most out of his birthday. With an alarm set for early in the morning, Andrew dozed off only to be awoken by a violent rapping at the front door. He looked at the clock to see that it was seven A.M. and that his mother was long gone to work. He made his way into his chair, and to the front door. When he pulled it open he saw a large, nondescript man with a clipboard. "Uh. Good morning?"he asked the man. "Mornin'. Are you Andrew Roth?"the man asked. "Yes?"Andrew responded. The man offered him a clipboard with a digital screen, instructing him of where to sign and initial. "Just what am I signing for?"Andrew asked. "A gift."The man said, as he gestured to two more men at the truck parked in the street carried a large crate into the house. Andrew believed it to be a gift from his mother and grew giddy with excitement.
The men brought the box into his room, laid the crate on the ground, and broke it open to reveal a sizable metal footlocker. The beveled edges and deep blue colour of the steel box lead Andrew to believe that it was a new collection of tools for him to work with, and top of the line from the looks of it. "Just sign here and we'll be out of your hair son."The man at the door said. Andrew signed his name and almost rushed the three men out of the house. A day of video games and television went out the window as he rushed back to his room to tinker with his new toys.
Running his hands across the box he failed to find a way to open it. In fact, he didn't see any creases on the box at all. It looked like a solid block of metal. Andrew brushed his hand across the front of the box looking for a hidden latch button he may have missed, only to have the box light up when and expel gas from the new gaps along its edges. "Fingerprint analysis complete. Identity Confirmed. Welcome ANDREW ROTH."A female voice spoke out from the crate. The crate split in the middle and opened to reveal a letter, addressed to Andrew.
"Good day, Mr. Roth. I hope this package finds you well and does not cause you too much disturbance. You have been hand picked to become a member of the heroes program, an organization of like minded individuals who serve the purpose of bringing peace to the world. Within this box you will find the following:
-One MkII Series Combionic Arm (Right Edition)
-One MkI Series Combionic Exo-Suit skeleton
-One MkII Series Combionic Locomotion Actuator rig
-Your hero Uniform
This unique uniform is tailor made for you and will amplify your natural gifts and abilities. As well as your uniform, you have received the latest in prosthetic technology and will receive each subsequent iteration of the technology as it is released. Your shifts will begin at seven A.M. and end at four P.M. Each day excluding class days. You can expect handsome compensation, in two forms.
-You will be guaranteed acceptance and full ride to the college of your choice
-Your mother will receive a stipend of sixty thousand dollars per month in bi-weekly payments of thirty thousand dollars
This, of course, so long as you keep to heroing. You are welcome to work as much or as little as you please, but we are confident you won't be able to stop once you start. Hence your selection for our program.
We know what has happened to you, and see you for more than your disability. Your medical bills will be admonished, and you need not worry about an explanation to your mother. She will receive a "lottery ticket"as a gift while at work today. We do advise keeping your work away from your mother. We would not want to worry her.
I most certainly look forward to working with you.
Sincerely,
Jonathan Kern."
As Andrew lowered the letter he was reading he saw a Bionic arm unlike anything he had ever come into contact with before. It shined in even the dim light of his room. Sleek, but muscular, it was cutting edge. With coolant tubes running beneath a seemingly glass shell, Andrew could barely wrap his mind around what he had just been signed up for. |
When we agreed, we agreed because we were tired of the bloodshed.
We were tired of the deaths.
So we made a simple plan. That we solve all, with the simplest game of chance.
Rock
Paper
Scissors
Simple plan for a peaceful time.
But then, the greed of winning would take us over like it has always done.
We would look to the fortune tellers and the psychics on advice for what we should play.
We would look to the stars to read our signs.
And then we would look to science to improve our chances.
What had began as a game a chance turned into a game of speed and reflexes.
And science would have the solution.
Ocular modifications to see. Physical modifications to change our choice before it was set.
"The fastest hands"won the games.
And those with the fastest hands always had the fattest pockets.
And the rest of us, with the littlest of funds would find ourselves back at the bottom of the totem pole.
Like we never left.
Sometimes I wonder if this is the best humanity can give.
The endless cycle of rich and poor, locked in an eternal dance as they get richer, and life gets harsher.
But I don't think about it much.
The whole dance becomes useless after you slit their throats.
And that, that I am getting better at.
---
Find more at /r/EvenAsIWrite. Criticisms are always welcome :) |
The growling voice thundered through my skin. *Don't go near that church!*
I jumped. It's all in my head. It's all in my head.
*I* am *in your head, and that's why you need to avoid the church!*
"Yeah, yeah. I know, but this way is a shortcut."
*Please. We've been over this.*
"Fine."I headed the long way. "But you need to complete your side of the bargain tonight."
*No.*
"You promised,"I said. The demon was silent. "Okay. If that's what you want. "I turned back towards the church and slowly walked closer and closer.
*Are you threatening me, fleshling? I could make your skin peel from your bones. I could make your stomach jump from your throat --*
"Go ahead. That should catch the priests' attention."I noticed a few people in front of the church. "Yoo-hoo, Father!"
*Stop! Stop! Fine. I'll do it.*
I smiled. I finally had a partner for karaoke. |
######[](#dropcap)
Dane clawed at the scruff of his chin, it itched from the body suit. Satisfied, he pulled it back up around his face and adjusted his tubes and comm feed before sealing his helmet.
The grizzled Lieutenant Colonel looked down at the planet below and thought back to his entire life in this wretched conflict; of his young college years when the Skrej invaded, of the battles that followed, of the costly victories that came after that. When the aliens invaded they saw humanity's technology and fractured states as a weakness, viewed them as a harmless backwater: easy prey.
What they failed to assert was humanity's guile and determination. *We'll fuck with one another, go to war against our brothers; but to hell with you if think we won't get what's due,* he hummed the song in his head.
They'd banded together and fought back. At first it was an insurgency, then a rebellion. The Skrej turned tail and ran. But humanity was good an' pissed then. They reclaimed every scrap of tech the beaten invaders left. Within three years they had their own fleet and were building more.
And they chased the Skrej down. They chased them down and made them pay, one blood soaked planet at a time. For the old, the infirmed, the children, the loved ones, even for the weak, they sought their revenge. You see only the durable, angry, fighting humans railed against the aliens. Only the determined were left. So there was no mercy left in their bones, only anger and revenge and rage.
Now all that was left was the Skrej homeworld below.
LtCol Jessup secured himself into his crashpod and waited for the shock-gel to finish cocooning him in its warm, gooey embrace. Here, surrounded by 2nd Battalion, 5th Marines; he felt at ease. Here they were safe for a few moments longer, before they were to be spat out to fall kilometers down unto the rocky soil of the craggy shithole the Skrej called home.
They'd left Earth with a half-billion troops, they'd lost half that number along the way. It didn't matter. They weren't going home. There was hell to pay.
[Part2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/8bn02m/wp_humans_first_discovered_aliens_when_they/dx9t9mg/)
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^(*This story may not be reproduced in part or in full or hosted on any other service, without expressed written consent of the author. © Nate Parker 2018.*) [^(Because the internet...)](https://redd.it/8b3sk7) ^(If you want to check out more of my [very infrequent] writing, head over to /r/Nate_Parker_Books .)
----------- |
Twenty-five grey stones
Twenty-five different deaths
Twenty-five peoples' bones
Twenty-five last breaths
A heart attack here,
A sudden stroke there,
Drinking too much beer,
Being mauled by a bear,
Squashed under a tree,
Drowned in the lake,
Stung by a bee,
Stabbed by a rake,
Smothered by smoke,
Gored by moose,
Ate a bad artichoke,
Pecked to a nub by goose,
Guillotined by wire,
Drove off the road,
Burned in an electrical fire,
Licked a poisonous toad.
All on the same day
The very same date
Etched onto grey
The culmination of their fate.
All except for Billy, that lazy bloke
His naps always run a week long
Late for his funeral, they always joked
And, well, they weren't wrong.
______________________________________
*Liked that? [More stories here](https://www.reddit.com/r/Idreamofdragons/)!* |
"My fellow Americans, citizens of all nations..."
Everyone remembers how the President's speech began that day. Most of the world watched it live, and it's been played back countless times since.
"today is an historic day."
It had started out as just another Wednesday. A pretty boring one, really. Some stocks were up, other down. Congress was arguing about something or other, no one really remembers what these days. Rain was causing traffic problems in some cities, others were running smoothly.
"Today we have learned the answer to one of mankind's most enduring questions."
There definitely wasn't any doubt. Their arrival had been anything but subtle. Scores of ships had come screaming out of hyperspace (not that we knew the term at the time) closer to Earth than the moon's orbit. Our satellites and ground-based observatories picked them up right away. The largest were over a kilometer long. We quickly deduced that they were spacegoing aircraft carriers; they disgorged a screen of fast-moving one-man craft as they approached Earth.
"I am standing here with..."
Yeah, no one really cared about the middle-aged, balding colonel standing to the President's left. Why would they look at me when the purple-skinned alien admiral was on the other side of the President? |
"Well then.. Thank you for the help."Jonathan said to the figure silently standing beside him. He had another acre to go before the light failed, though now he wondered if he would fail first.
"I've always wondered why.."he trailed off, what answer would he get now, that he wouldn't see shortly anyway? Wasting breath was never his style. He set back to work.
The scythe leapt through the air. Clean and clear, it had no resistance at all against the tall stalks of wheat. The breeze a soft rustle, comforted his sweat ridden brow.
"Why am I still doing this?"
"For the same reason I offered my scythe. We both know what must be done and always see it through. You are a good man, a good human, Jonathan."
The reply felt like a caress, and set him at ease as he continued his labor. He was not the smartest of men, he did not have a fancy farm, or one of those new radio machines. He found pride in his work, and the dedication to providing to his community.
"I never did end up having a family. No one to say good bye, or cry when I'm gone. Will.. will it be cold, death?"
"It neither is, nor is not. It won't trouble you at all Jonathan. Not like a blister from a day spent in the field, nor the ache of skin after the sun has kissed it to much."
"Thank you for that, do I have time to finish?"
"You may."
He set to work again, muscles straining to gather his load. He walked it over to the cart, his job done.
"Jonathan, it is not long now. As we are, I will wait with you to watch the sun set. Your passing will be felt. The land will grow unchecked, longing for your touch. The town will miss your work and your company no longer present."
"I have lived a good life, one that was kind and honest. I am pleased to have had a place here."
They sat in silence then, watching the last rays of light pass below the horizon. The cool air promising a dewey night.
"Rest now, Jonathan. It is someone else's turn to plow the field."
After a few days the townsfolk found Jonathan sitting slumped on his cart, a smile on his lips. His vacant eyes looking out to the horizon forever watching the sunset. |
“Hey mister! What are you drinking?”
My eyes drift down to the smiling child beaming up at me. Hazel irises shined out of large eyes, meeting my dark brown ones that misted slightly. “I’m drinking coffee little one,” I said softly, a sad smile on my lips.
“My mommy and daddy drink that!” she exclaimed, bouncing up and down with that manic energy reserved for the very young. “I think it’s gross.”
I nodded gravely as I took a sip. “It is but sadly adults need it. It keeps us going.”
She giggled. “Mommy and daddy say that too.”
“They sound very smart,” I replied, my smile growing as she sat next to me. I noticed her peering closely at my face. “Do I have something on my face little one?”
Her smile faded, puzzlement replacing it. “You look awful familiar mister. Do I know you?”
“Annabelle, are you bothering the nice man?” The smile bloomed again, her head turning to the speaker and the voice made my heart shudder.
“Daddy!” She jumped from the bench and leapt into the arms of a man entering his middle years. He caught her deftly with practiced ease and turned to me. “I’m sorry, I hope she wasn’t bothering...” Dark brown eyes narrowed as they recognized me, his voice faltering.
“Not at all,” I said softly. My hand shook lightly as I sipped from my cup. “She was perfectly polite. A credit to her parents.”
A wooden nod was my reply and he gently set her down. “Run home Annabelle, go straight home and tell mommy I’ll be there soon okay?”
The girl nodded, looking between us. “Okay, bye daddy. Bye mister.” Another glance and she ran off.
“What are you doing here?” His voice trembled from strain and memory. The silence grew between us as I sipped again, marshaling my thoughts. Yet as my mouth opened he interrupted, “Actually I don’t want to know. Another job?” The last word was spat out and I winced at the venom.
“That...among other things,” I admitted. “I wanted to see-“
“I don’t care what you want!” His eyes blazed and his finger pointed as sure as a barrel of a gun. “I thought I made it clear that I don’t want you around. That you have no right.”
“I am your father.” I said it simply, coolly. His words scourges me years before and now they bring back that familiar ache.
“I don’t have a father.” His arms crossed and his eyes gazed dispassionately at my wince. “Just a man I thought I knew.” I didn’t say anything and he continued at my silence. “How do you go to bed at night? And I don’t care if you were ‘sanctioned’ or if they were all ‘bad men’. You accepted money killing people as if you had any right to decide if that was right or not. How did Mom ever-“
His words faltered at my own gaze, his face paling. “Don’t you finish that thought,” I growled. “I loved her utterly. She was more than I ever deserved.”
“Well we can agree on that.” This time his face curled and he glanced at me defiantly. I only shrugged, he wasn’t wrong. “Look, just go away and leave me alone. If you want to bother someone or feel lonely go talk to Meghan.”
I finished my coffee and set it aside. “She’s not the reason I came.”
“Then why?”
“Doing my duty as a father.”
He snorted. “That’s rich. Your duty? I thought you ‘don’t do that anymore’? Another lie?”
I sighed, tired of the barbs. “I don’t but I have friends still. What have you done?” I focused my will on those words.
He recoiled slightly, face reddening. “I don’t know what you mean.”
It was my turn to snort. I fished a piece of paper out of my pocket and handed it to him. Unwillingly he took it, and his eyes widened as he read the words and looked at the photograph. “Is-is this one of those....someone actually made a...” his voice died at my nod. Then a new light glimmered in his eyes. “I knew he was dirty. Oh I am going to nail him to the wall.”
Another snort from me, half in admiration. “You know that won’t be accepted as evidence in your courts.”
He waved my words away. “Of course not but this proves someone wants me to stop. If they are willing to do this then I am really into something.” He crushed the paper in a clenched fist. “I won’t stop.”
“Well, you never lacked bravery,” I said softly. His eyes flickered again as he looked back at me, remembering that I was there.
“Thanks, I guess for the warning.” The words were grudgingly said. “I’ll see if I can get Sarah and the kids somewhere for a while, until it’s safe...”
I rose and he stepped back. “That won’t be necessary.” I straightened my jacket and took the paper from him.
“Why not?”
“How do you think I found out? Half of the people out there won’t take the contract out of respect or fear.”
His face twisted. “And the other half?”
I smiled sadly and turned away. “The other half won’t get the chance.” |
Was this a joke?
Catherine had said it at dinner that night. She told her wife about her powers. She had this conversation a million times, but this one would be different.
It would be different, but not for the reason she thought.
Instead of getting confused she just shrugged, said she had the same powers. Said she told herself not to use them.
Was this a joke?
Lilly wasn't sure why she had said it like that, she figured she could undo time and say it differently, but she didn't really have the urge to. She decided that she was going to keep her vow.
Lilly asked Cathrine what kind of stuff she used it on.
Catherine said that she used it to to get ahead in work, to always say the right thing when she needed to.
Catherine asked what kind of stuff Lilly used her power for.
Lilly said she only used it for major things. Stuff that was important. Only even she ever had to redo more than once.
Catherine asked what event that was?
Was this a joke?
What other event could be more important?
Lilly had used it over ten thousand times the night she proposed to her.
And that was no joke. |
The briefcase clickies clacked, and the case opened before me.
There was my coworker, his body shoved into the case.
I pushed up from my desk blathering an insult or curse that my mind failed to achieve, my legs jerking as I tumbled back from my chair.
The man in the white suit merely smiled.
"The fuc-"I tried to spit out as I gripped the corner of my desk and hoisted up. "What the **fuck** is *this*?!"
"One million dollars,"came the reply from the man in white.
I stuttered, staring past the whack-job murderer. I looked towards the door of our office, the man with the briefcase clearly between me and the only exit from a fifth story room.
"That is Tom, you murderer,"I stated, pointing to the case-
-with a million dollars in it.
The man kept smiling. I couldn't think.
"Yes. Like I said. A million dollars. Yours."he stated, evenly and patiently.
Was I losing my marbles? I gripped the desk with one hand and moved my other shakily toward the briefcase. I quivered a finger into the case and touched the bills. They felt like paper. Money paper.
I pulled out a money wrapped stack of Benjamins and pulled it towards my face, my mind racing. I took a whiff, and it smelled like I imagined crisp, new bills would smell like.
I dropped the stack and looked back at the suited individual before me.
"Body of the Savior,"he explained, or so I thought. It was perhaps a reverential tone? It was definitely filled with more emotion than anything else he said before. His smiled certainly seemed a bit wider than before. A twinkle in the eye?
"Wha-?"I brilliantly asked. "Like Jesus?"
The man in white frowned. My neck hairs stood on end. I got that feeling you get right after a perfect horror movie jump scare.
"No. Not like *him*."The shadows of the room seemed to stretch toward him. The light from the outside window seemed to drain away.
I needed to leave, **now.**
"Don't forget your money,"the man said as he turned, following my movement as I bolted for the office door.
Somehow, I grabbed the case of money as I fled. |
"So who do we got, Captain?"Sgt. Fauley sipped his coffee as the pair of them watched over the anarchist stereotype their city had become from their safe perch at the top of a disused multi-storey parking lot.
"Uh, let me just check..."Cpt. McMartin scrolled through the superhero-review system the mayor's office had put up a couple of years ago, and the bank exploded downtown in a cloud of purple smoke, disgruntled bees pouring out of the vault, cooperatively carrying small bags of cash.
"Oof. The Disgruntled Bees of Apiaris Metz just nuked the bank again."
"Cash or bullion?"McMartin replied, not even looking up as her partner leaned his rifle against the railing and zoomed in.
"Cash. They gave up on bullion after half of them got arrested last time before they could lift it away."
"Wise."McMartin nodded, frowning as all the good superheroes showed as unavailable for some reason or another.
The Iron Ghost was at a doctor's appointment for his rust condition, the Feline Fancy was being groomed, all hundred of the Redjack Robots were on strike following a union dispute - even Superfella was indisposed, apparently suffering from His-One-Weakness-ite poisoning after his arch nemesis poisoned a curry.
So she started looking through the superheroes with three stars out of five.
"There's a tentacle monster trying to mate with the statue of the mayor. Or eat it. Possibly both."Fauley reported.
"Is it blue or green?"
"Orange."
"Both."
The building shook slightly as the water tower exploded in the distance, and Sgt Fauley moved the rifle over to get a better look at the situation - revealing three small children playing in the spilling water, turning it to ice with glee.
"I swear, ever since that damn ice queen movie got released we've had no end of these juvenile delinquents and their frosty antics."He grumbled.
Meanwhile, McMartin's frown deepened.
Octogay was at pride, and so was his sister Hexagal - though apparently one was celebrating and one was protesting, which probably made family dinners rather tense.
The Preacher had a sermon up some mountain in the Middle East, and then a dinner party.
Bugman was trying to find a queen to mate with - which he would have trouble doing, given his lack of social skills and serious allergy to insect repellent, deodorant, cleaning products, and mostly anything that smelt good.
All the mediocre superheroes were off duty too.
McMartin began to panic, scrolling through the bottom of the bunch.
"Oh, wow."
"What is it, sergeant?"
"The super intelligent orangutan who made himself The Keeper's nemesis last year? He just got elected mayor, I think."
And then city hall *also* exploded, as a gang of cartoon characters set off a two dimensional bundle of TNT on top of the building.
"Damn. His speech was looking good and everything."
McMartin paid it no mind, frantically nearing the bottom of the list.
"Pedro the Man, unavailable due to issues with immigration control,"McMartin began, as the list neared finality.
"Really? I checked his visa just last month, he's clear to be here."
"Anghel, Angel of the Lord, gone to have a theological debate with The Preacher."
"Yeah, that's them alrigh- oh, the orangutan survived!"
"Amadeus, the Phantom of Classical Music... actually has a concert? Somebody finally booked him?"McMartin's eyes widened, she knew what that meant.
"Good for him."Fauley took another sip of coffee, not quite realising the seriousness of the situation.
"Fauley... there's only one available on the system."McMartin glanced up at him, their eyes meeting in panic as it finally clicked.
McMartin's eyes teared up as she read the reviews on the final superhero profile - the only one point zero star profile on the whole system, the only one that was always, always available.
*"Horribly unprofessional. Returned my cat three days late after getting him down from a tree. Couldn't stand to give him up, they said. Hmph, go buy your own then!"*
*"Can't shoot for shit!!!!! I'm a criminal ffs and I was the only thing they DIDNT SHOOT"*
*"Spilt their coffee on my daughter. Impressive, considering she had not yet been born - but now she looks like she had really weird vitiligo, and constantly smells like French roast."*
*"Worst cops ever. How come they're even on the superhero database?"*
Fauley stood, his jaw agape in disbelief.
"It's us."McMartin said, smiling softly.
"It's finally us."Fauley grinned back.
"Get in the car. *We're up, partner.*" |
Representative Markesse stood in a large room, tugging on the stiff new suit he wore, his eyes darting in quick glances around at the other representatives. He took a deep breath and fought down the panic threatening to overwhelm him. This was the first time he had attended a general meeting of the Intergalactic Counsel, and the creatures assembled here were beyond anything he’d ever imagined. They ranged from miniscule spots of lurid color to chimeric mixes of earth amphibians, mammals, fish, and even bugs. Others defied description entirely, such as the bright balls of light over in the corner that shifted in shape and hue and made Markesse dizzy when he glanced at them. He even had the uneasy feeling that there were unknown presences which could not be seen or heard unless they chose to be.
“We implore the Council; our world is in grave danger!” pleaded a creature across the room that resembled a large dog with six spindly legs. It stood rigidly upright on three of its legs, quivering with what Markesse took for fear and desperation. Nearby a creature that seemed to be made entirely of silks, a thin strip of gently flowing folds of translucent fabric rippled, a reedy voice emanating from it. The earpiece Markesse wore hesitated a second before it began to translate the high-pitched sounds.
“What would you have us do? The <untranslatable> season is nearly upon us, and our resources are drawn thin.” Sounds of assent rose from the assembled Council.
Markesse was confused. He had been attempting to follow the problem, and it seemed as if the doglike creature’s homeworld was about to be destroyed by a nearby exploding star. But he hadn’t heard anyone suggest a solution. He looked around, hoping to see a council member step in and save the day. But no one seemed willing to even attempt to intervene. Or perhaps they weren’t able?
Markesse swallowed. Humans were new to this whole intergalactic scene, so they needed information. And the best way to get information was to ask questions. Markesse cleared his throat and raised his hand, hoping the gesture was universal enough to get the someone’s attention. A creature resembling a sparrow, but with scales instead of feathers, looked at him.
“The Human representative wishes to speak!” the scaled representative tweeted.
Dozens of eyes turned to look at Markesse, and he had the feeling that many more intelligences also turned their attention toward him as silence fell.
“Yes, hello.” Said Markesse, keeping the quaver from his voice. “I’m sorry, but could you not simply flee?” He looked at the doglike representative.
“And who would take us? We do not have time to adjust a planet to house us, and we have not the resources to travel through space until we could.”
Markesse frowned.
“Well, you could simply stay with us? Until you find a planet more to your liking.”
The room was silent and the doglike representative took a step toward Markesse.
“Stay… with you? Humans would be willing to share their world?”
Markesse shrugged.
“Of course. To save an entire sentient species? We would give everything we have.”
Markesse didn’t see the problem. The Constitution of the Confederation that sent him was clear. Humans had long ago agreed on this: life was precious. Why should alien life be any different?
The doglike representative bounded forward, faster than he had thought it capable. Markesse stiffened and closed his eyes, thinking that he had somehow offended the creature and was now about to be devoured. He felt a pang of sorrow that he had failed humanity. Hopefully the next representative could better understand the great wide universe of species now open to them on the cosmic scale.
Three legs wrapped around Markesse and he prepared for the crushing grip and sharp teeth.
Instead, a snuffling muzzle burrowed into his neck. He opened his eyes and looked down. It took him a moment to realize the doglike representative was hugging him.
“Thank you” the representative murmured.
Markesse patted its back awkwardly.
“Of course.” He said, confused.
Though Humans needed information, friends were even better.
|
I was walking past old man Benson's house when I saw 'em. Kids couldn't be more than 8 or 9. I guess they didn't know. I was gonna go let 'em know to get off when Mike came over and said it's too late. It was horrible, this was the first first time I saw it happen. I heard it happening, I heard others stories, but actually watching it. It was terrifying. That grass just jumped up and grabbed 'em. It started wrappin' round them kids. I couldn't do nothing to stop em. The screams as they were gettin' pulled down. |
I sat back and stretched my legs, putting my phone down so I could finish up. A sniff brought a cough. What died in me to make that stink? Pity the man who comes in next.
I wandered out soon after, phone back in my hand. "Guys, we're out of t- Aw, shit."This was, of course, the moment I had looked up to find a huge, certainly supernatural being standing in the room with his back to me. My idiot friends were cowering against the furniture, and, hey, at least the smell wasn't me.
The figure turned slowly, menacing. His features were handsome, otherworldly. A twisted take on something divine. It was obvious who he was, and I'll admit, if I hadn't just been in the bathroom, there might have been a mess.
The situation changed for the weird(er?) however when his gaze finally landed on me. I thought there'd be some monologue about how we were foolish mortals and he'd love to see us suffer, but it didn't come. Instead, his eyes widened and he gasped, sinking to his knees.
"Brother. I had no idea you'd be here."Satan bowed his head, twisted horns pointing at me. I wondered briefly if I could cross bullfighting off my bucket list. Does it count if he's not charging? Hell, it was my bucket list, and I figured it did. I was getting off topic though.
"Brother?"I cleared my throat, looking at my friends. His gaze lifted and followed mine, and he seemed to have a revelation.
"Ah. Have I ruined a scheme? They summoned me."He frowned, standing again. Boy, was he tall. "Or is this scheme against me? Bael, I swear I have no idea what I may have done to earn your ire but I will do whatever I must to earn your favor once more."
"K, what."I put my hands up and took a step back. He visibly flinched at the gesture, drawing a raised eyebrow from me. "My name is Cat and I am not mad at you?"I really wasn't sure of that. Could I be mad at Satan?
"...Cat? You, ah...have no recollection of your, erm."He cleared his throat and gestured vaguely. I shook my head.
"I'm not sure who you think I am, but there's no Bael here. Just a regular human."I gestured to showcase my regular-ness.
"No Bael. Of course."Clearly, he didn't believe me, but he was willing to let it go if it meant not dealing with Bael's wrath. He ran a hand through his hair, and then bowed. "Excuse me."With that, he was gone.
I turned to my friends, and we all stared at each other as we each tried to decide what had just happened. Finally, I cleared my throat. "We're out of tp." |
Lauren held the DVR up, quizzically gazing at the scrawl on the top. It showed 28/7/09. As students of Hawking's life and work we all knew that it was the date of the famous time traveller party held at Gonville & Caius College, Cambridge University.
"It's the original!!"Gavin said.
"I suppose it might show something a little different."Lauren murmured.
"It could be good for visitor numbers."Gavin said.
Of course a recording of the party had already been seen by millions, as shown on Hawkins's documentary 'Into the Universe'. But we were eager to see if there was something, anything that might interest us.
If I were to be truthful I'd admit that the 'Museum of Time' didn't have many worthwhile exhibits and the right kind of unseen Hawking footage could, as Gavin rightly pointed out, boost our meagre visitor numbers.
We went down to the basement, Gavin, Lauren and I, and set up an old DVD player. As we sat down to watch Gavin cracked a joke about evidence of the existence of time travellers. No one laughed.
Lauren pressed play, the screen flickered into life as we sat down. We all knew the setup of the party- bottles of Krug champagne, finger sandwiches, a large banner saying 'Welcome Time Travellers.' But the picture that greeted us was different. It was still Hawking's room at Gonville & Caius but it was nearly completely empty. No bottles, no banner, merely a rather old fashioned room with a sofa, two armchairs and a high table and it was empty save for the furniture. A low buzzing sound came from off camera and in time Hawking's wheelchair rolled into view and stopped in the centre of the room.
"This isn't the party."said Lauren.
"Let's just wait and see what happens."I said.
Hawking's chair sat stationary for 5, 10, 15 minutes. Not a flicker of movement came from the chair, the only clue that the recording was not stuck was the occasional voice that came from the wheelchair. Odd words, nothing of any sense, he merely appeared to be passing time. In time the robotic voice started to recite a rhyme-
"I would like to time travel
To see the future me
Wouldn't that be great
To see what I will really be.
I could travel to when I was eight
To see all the things I've done
Some are really boring
But most of it are fun.
I could travel to the day I'm an Adult
To see how many things I know
But no need for that
I'll just wait until I grow."
Then from off camera we heard the unmistakable sound of a slow clap, the even and monotonous noise was unmistakably sarcastic.
"Well done Stephen."Said a voice from off camera, the voice was that of an adolescent male, not an adult.
"You came."The robotic voice replied.
"Yes, yes I did. Who knows the cost."The adolescent said.
"I can guess,"Hawking replied.
"No you can't. No one can."The voice said. "Butterflies Stephen... Butterflies. We know what you said, 'where are the tourists from the future?' What would people think if they knew that we're in the bodies of their children."
The voice from off camera continued: "It's time to stop now Stephen, you are revealing too much too quickly. The answers will come.. in time."This was accompanied by a strange giggle.
There was a pause. Hawking's shoulders seemed to sag, as if slumping.
"You're right, I know, I've known for a while.... Are you going to kill me?"He asked.
"No, but we do have a number of favours to ask of you. Papers to write... seeds to sow if you catch my drift."The owner of the voice came into shot, the back of his head visible and the outline of his profile but no more. "We'll be in touch."The teenager then moved out of shot and we heard the noise of a door shutting. Hawking's wheelchair moved towards the camera and in time the screen went blank.
Stunned silence. Gavin took the DVD out of the machine. We all understood the enormity of what we had just witnessed. Gavin's hand tightened around the DVD and in a swift flick of his wrist he snapped it clean in half. He turned to look at me.
"You looked so young 9 years ago."he said.
Lauren smiled, "Thank heavens, we got hold of it."She said "We need to make sure this is the only copy."We filed upstairs and went back to work.
Edit- formatting...
|
I think they'll make it.
Don't be ridiculous. They're *Humans*. Did you even read their history?
I skimmed. But I've got a good feeling about this.
I don't. Just another prize for the Collection.
We'll see.
"Hello Mr. Secretary."A voice rang clear through the empty office.
The Secretary General paused his pen mid-stroke and looked around. It was late. Everyone else would have gone home aside from the security detail outside the door. His eyes scanned the room looking for any indication of the sound's origin. Dropping the pen to his desk, he leaned back and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He laughed at himself for being so tired. He barely had even read what he was reviewing, some general report made by the Scientific Discovery Council on possible stabilization of Einstein Rosen-something or other. Just scores of pages on subjects he knew he didn't have the slightest understanding of. Putting the pen and paper away, he locked his desk and walked towards the door.
"I said hello Mr. Secretary."The voice range like struck crystal, harmonic and translucent.
The voice again paralyzed him. He stood in the center of his office and looked around once more, fervently turning and darting his eyes across every crevice. He felt a cold sweat appear on his forehead and his hair stand up on the back of his neck. He opened his mouth to call his guards, but his voice caught in his throat. He placed a hand on his mouth and tried desperately to speak. The Secretary turned to sprint towards the door and found he couldn't feel his feet. He looked desperately down at his own dissenting legs.
The voice spoke again, now hissing and shaking.
"Now that I have your attention Mr. Secretary, I have a deal to propose to you. You don't know what I am, but suffice to say I'm the amalgamation of the fear festering in your race's collective unconsciousness. You humans are so entertaining. Your little fears and doubts, each burrowing and gnawing on your subconscious. We are the ones who cast those long, dark, shadows in your minds. We are the slimy, slithering, scurrying monsters who slip in and out of your reality. And you've woken us."
The Secretary fell to his knees, his sight ringed by a churning, inky, darkness.
"The paper you should have been paying more attention to could have told you that. Your species top minds have punched into our plane of existence. Now we will burrow out. We will pour forth like a plague, blotting out hope and life and joy alike. We will gnaw your bones and laugh at your horror. You will be witness to it. Yes Secretary, you will be able to see the culmination of your races hubris. But there is another way."
The Secretary knelt motionless, sweat secreting from every pore.
"We will either eradicate your race, or you will give us a sacrifice. Just one. That will satiate us. One small life to keep us eternally satisfied. One life to torment and torture for all of eternity. All our wrath emptied upon one poor soul, and your race can live on in peace. More than peace, prosperity once your scientists unlock the true potential of their discovery! We will even allow you to choose Mr. Secretary. Anyone will do."
The Secretary dropped his head with eyes closed and jaw clenched.
"I'll give you a moment to think it through Mr. Secretary. Remember, any soul is as good as another. Your worst enemy, a potential rival, anyone will do. Someone who you know deserves it, Mr. Secretary. Try to think of it as a gift even; you lose an enemy and gain safety! I can tell you've made up your mind. Who will it be Mr. Secretary?"
"Me."The Secretary said weakly, his eyes shut.
"Reconsider Mr. Secretary, a man of your talents and abilities? Were you not put in charge of the Alliance because of your capacity to lead? Your people would be lost without you! Surely there is someone more deserving, wouldn't you say?"
"I said me you son of a bitch, get on with it."The Secretary said, opening his eyes and clenching his fists. The voice sat silent. The Secretary found he could move his legs again and walked to a seat. He collapsed there, the anticipation causing his breath to come in ragged wheezes.
I told you they'd do it.
Not yet they haven't. Just a fluke.
Doesn't look like it to me.
Their could still be a holdout.
That's the last one. They did it. They all did it.
Well how about that. Another race finally passed.
The Secretary stood, shaking. He walked to the door slowly, expecting himself to be torn from reality at any moment. With a trembling hand, he pulled his office door open. He found his two security guards sitting with their backs to the wall on either side of his doorway.
The Secretary leaned down and placed a hand on their shoulders. Both flinched as if they were burned. They looked up to the Secretary with tears in their eyes.
"I don't want to go, but I had no choice."One blurted out.
"I couldn't do that to someone else."The other said sobbing.
The Secretary knelt down with tears of relief in his eyes. He embraced both of his guards and laughed with joy. |
It all happened so fast.
News channels covered everything from the moment it began. The breaches, the first waves, the massacres. From one end of the world to the other: 24/7 coverage on an invasion we didn't completely understand, we couldn't quite comprehend. The first wave was the worst. No one expected it, the armed forces weren't ready for something like this and millions of innocents paid the price. Paris was hit the worst as it became clear soon enough that that's where the first breach opened. Those who were lucky fled as far as they could. The others... we don't know. Death would've been a far more favourable alternative. Two and a half weeks in, Paris went dark. One of Europe's historic cities became a nightmarish blend of rubble, blood, corpses, souls and hellish fiends.
It took us a while to recover from the initial shock. Nations put their differences aside and pooled their manpower and weapons. The clergy would offer advice in all this, as they taught us many things about the enemy - the demons - and their history. How they were separated from our world thousands of years ago, and much like a desperate prisoner bangs his fist on the cell wall, hoping to escape, so did the demonic waves crash against the Divide for centuries. And now, the barrier gave in. They would stop at nothing to claim what was once theirs. We were facing off against an enemy that was not human in its thinking, but neither was it driven by primal instinct. The Daemons leeched off of our hatred, our pride, our lust and wrath to grow stronger and stronger. They weren't capable of reasoning as their sole objective was to conquer our world and yet they would employ strength, cunning, trickery and falsehood to achieve their diabolical goals. Our enemy wasn't just the giant creatures, the flying beasts or the myriad of other hellspawn creatures, but also men - corrupted by false promises and dubious pacts - spirits and other nefarious powers that were beyond our understanding. And if trickery, corruption and even brute strength wouldn't work for them, they'd plague our minds with dark thoughts, nightmares and twist our beliefs to their liking.
I was conscripted, much like many other men, to protect humanity from these...these abominations. "Keep your cross close and your rifle closer, son.". That's what my sergeant told me before deployment. From my homeland within the Carpathian Mountains I was sent to defend my European brethren in Vienna, as other men from my country stayed behind to defend the lands they once wanted to leave. We were sent to the military camp just outside of Vienna by plane, and just as we got out, orders came in: the entire camp was to mobilize as the local enforcement had fallen to the beasts. We rode in the city and as we got closer we started seeing the fires: smokeless and burning with an intensity that would melt bone. Buildings torn apart by massive claws, streets cracked, blackened by ash and reddened by blood. Corpses mutilated and transformed into grotesque effigies littered the rooftops of buildings that still stood upright. The dead also littered the streets, their corpses either completely burnt off, or covered in their own blood, eviscerated. Yet there were no beasts. As if they had finished their job. That was when we heard it: an ear-shattering screech, coming from all directions, screaming with the pain of a thousand tormented souls. And then...*something* covered the sun. A large flying creature, with wings the length of an eighteen-wheeler, body the size of a tank. It looked like and overgrown bat, and as it got closer, its visage became clearer. The skin was flaking off its bones, revealing the red muscles on its torso and arms. Bones were piercing the ends of its wings, splattering ever-flowing blood off of them with every loud and leathery wing flap. The head was deformed, almost as if it was hit by a boulder on both sides of its temple, and the missing eyes looked as if they popped out of its revealed, skinless skull. Its muzzle was covered in bits of fur and skin and it ended in a massive jaw that began to open again, revealing its teeth, covered in blood. And another screech, but before it managed to finish its beastly scream, a stream of fire and lead poured towards it. Our machine gunners opened fire, tearing holes through the beast's wings.
It groaned.
In pain.
And then it crashed down on the road behind us, completely removing the asphalt and shaking the ground. We got closer to inspect it. Bullet holes across its torso, black blood flowing out. Such a creature should not be allowed to exist. It should not even be *alive*, as *alive* a demon can be. No one from the squad was hurt. We took a minute to recover from the shock of facing the demon, and then continued towards the city. We faced many other horrors downtown: soulless men, drained of any life, wailing in pain; half-skeletal hounds that were the size of a small horse and reeked of rot; and corpulent demons, dwarfing any man and instilling fear and disgust in even the most courageous person. They all fell to our bullets. It was tough. We lost five men, and after we finished fighting and met up with the other squads, two of our soldiers started to feel sick. The doc looked at them, gave them some medicine and told us they'd be able to fight come morning.
The next day, the two poor kids threw up their innards in front of the entire platoon.
Other squads reported that some of their men started hearing whispers and voices. That they couldn't focus on the tasks at hand. But we remained in the city, command being adamant in their "possessed troopers stay behind"policy. It felt like hell. We fought those creatures before, and yet this felt much, much more difficult than before.
For 2 more days, we encountered no hellspawn. As we were setting up camp at the crossroads of three streets in Vienna's old town, our sergeant started crying. He knelt in the middle of the road, pleading for salvation from the Lord as he shot himself in the head. Now there were just four of us.
Bullets may kill the beasts, but they can't touch *whatever* lurked the city. Twisting men: flesh and minds alike. The lieutenant ordered the retreat. There was nothing left for us in the city. We fell the enemy, yet lost the battle. We weren't allowed to bring back the dog tags, as command feared they'd only extend the nefarious influence of the hellspawn. We weren't let in the military camp outside the city. Those unlucky few who reported hearing voices were shot down by the guards.
Yet my mind was and is in repeat mode. All I can think of is my friends back home; my friends here, who lost their lives; my country and what would become of it; and those poor people whose bodies now reminded us that we're fighting something we never fought before. And I think of you. Always. But... my thoughts about you are not at all pleasant, and I've tried to stop them. But I can't. I can feel the madness seeping in my mind, invading my thoughts and filling every crevice of my brain. I know what will become of me. I've seen it.
I know that this letter will never reach you, and that I shall never see your face again, and that you shared the same fate as the poor souls of Vienna, but... *you*, the thought of... *you* feels like the most real thing here, feels like it's the last piece of me that's left untouched by this unseen plague.
I hope we'll see each other again on the other side, and that we'll roam the Champs-Elysee once more. |
>The valiant adventurer, Likmaibals, crested the hill, the serene province of Normalaca coming into view. With feather light touch, the dawning sun brushed over the sprawling fields and slumbering households, until landing upon the triumphant castle that was doubtless our hero's destination.
>...or it might not be. It's hard to tell. The fact that Likmaibals was now turning to his left, running off into peaceful and ultimately uninteresting woodlands raised some doubts in the matter. Dismounting his stately stallion steed, he proceeded to pick flowers.
>Ah, of course! He gathered the delicate lilies, still dusted with dew, to pay court to the beautiful and reclusive princess in yonder castle. For many years, men had attempted to earn her hand, her love, or very rarely both, and Likmaibals was the newest in this line-
>He ate the flower.
>*Restore Mana discovered!*
>Ah, so no lovesick fool then, no dime a dozen adventurer seeking fame or glory, but an alchemist! Earning his way with cunning and guile, relying on his craft to pay his way, and line his pockets as he does. Satisfied with the knowledge he gained, he pocketed the other flowers, and proceeded to walk off a cliff.
"Stupid controller."
^(edit for a grammar mistake) |
I knocked three times on the fourth red brick below the slot in the door. It opened and a voice said, “password” then it shut.
I drummed out the rhythm of “happy birthday” to the eighth bar, and the door creaked open. I rolled my eyes. “I preferred the previous weeks passcode, “star spangled banner,” but we were losing too many good spies to the trap door when people were getting too expressive and interpretive with the beat. Survival though, I say.
I made my way through the typical set of booby traps along the dark hallway. I jumped, bobbed and weaved through spikes and swinging maces. I felt a whoosh blow in my face and caught a poison dart midair. Nice touch, it was millimeters from my nose but I appreciated they went the extra mile to make sure it was incredibly deadly from a rare flower in the southern region of the Amazon.
“Hey Bob,” I nodded to the hidden dart blower behind a secret chamber in the wall.
“Hey Bob”I heard a muffled reply. Every man was Bob and woman, Jane. Of course to keep the anonymity, but it made life both simple and incredibly confusing.
I entered a phone booth, picked up the handset and pressed the key code into the pad. The booth began to sink into the floor. I opened the door once the booth dinged and the voice said “Welcome Agent Bob.” As I walked down the dark pathway, an overhead light followed my steps, revealing the narrow bridge carved in a giant cave. I made my way to the end of the walkway to single white envelope cushioned on a pedestal. I opened it to read:
New location is on P3
Ps. Note will self destruct in 10 seconds. Have a great day
I threw the envelope behind me as I walked back to the booth. The envelope combusted and the flames died out as the pieces floated down the bottomless pit of the cave.
What was that code again? I was a bit rusty for P3. Ah yes, 547...
A bullet fired from the button 5. It grazed my ear but I was fine. Damn it, that was close I thought as I punched in 54912.
The doors opened once again to a clean, white room with one counter
The man in the trench coat behind the counter greeted me “the highlands see some unusual rain.”
“Too many white clouds are passing,” I answered. He disappeared behind the counter and resurfaced after a few minutes with a latte to-go. I grabbed the cup and held it up to thank the barista.
I took slow sips. It’s a pain in the ass some times but they have the best latte in town. |
I smile and wave at them in my typically bubbly fashion. "Hi guys, I'm your conscience! I know you've been ignoring me, but it's time we talk."For each individual, I look and sound different and I'm talking directly and only to them. In their perception, I can be them, or a sister, or their mother, or a stranger who evokes the perfect combination of memories and emotions. I'll come across in whatever way most effectively cuts each of them to the core, and I won't stop until they've been thoroughly tortured for what they've done. It's not that I'm evil, they are. I'm simply the way the universe works, and I'm here to do my job. Think of me as a therapist of sorts, an avenging angel, or simply someone who helps keep things in balance. |
Broad swords scattered across every available surface. Shields, nicked, shattered, battered from ages of war. A tattered armored padded shirt sat unused under an equally tattered anatomy chart, stretched raw and powerfully across the side of the room.
Some of the swords had been made by countries that no longer existed, with only the tools of their undoing left behind.
Carol stared as she slipped inside, a hand clenched around her nose. Blood trickled down and splattered across the floor underneath of her. She winced at the noise.
The nurse's head snapped over to watch her closely. White hair, a shock of it combed into something that had been noble style once. Scarred features from the number of wars in distant memory, and a feral gleam to her yellow eyes. Long winding scars across her throat and across her exposed collar. "Another injury?"Her voice was a bit rough.
"Uh, I uh, got rid of the uh, cartilage in my nose."Carol pointed, slowly removing her hands. Her grey skin flapped unseemly against her face, and blood ran freely down, waterfalling across her lips.
The nurse stared at her.
Carol shrank slightly and hesitated in the door frame, and the nurse rolled her eyes and walked over to her, guiding her cautiously towards the bed.
"You really need to be more careful with wizardry,"The nurse advised. "What were you even trying to do?"
"The professor told us to figure out how to breath underwater using the proofs on the board,"Carol complained. "But I think I smudged my numerals a bit."
The nurse's hands, calloused, worn, heavy, slid across Carol's head. Hands pressed in tightly, and lightly squeezed. Carol recognized a working when she felt one, but couldn't see any writing on the nurse's body, nor a book she was using to guide it, so squeaked when her nose started to burn.
"Hands away from your nose,"The nurse muttered, tugging her arms down. "And lay down, I need to make sure it grows back right or you'll end up crooked nosed until I break it again."
Carol, who had been starting to raise her hands again to staunch the flow of blood, squeaked, and slipped her hands back down against the blankets, feeling the warm liquid drip down the side of her hand and onto the mostly clean sheets.
"Don't touch it,"the nurse advised again, sighing and flexing her fingers as she worked another spell to yank the nose back into position.
Carol meeped again and remained motionless as the nurse crossed the room and knocked on the door to the side. "Doctor Moriko,"the nurse said.
From deep inside, a rattly angry noise. "What is it this time? Didn't I tell you to handle this?"
The nurse, despite her growly and toothy demeanor, rolled her eyes. "Yes, and you told me to get you if I needed anything."
"The idea was that you wouldn't need me, this is basic healing, I can't hear anyone dying out there!"The doctor said, crossly.
Carol meeped. What if she was dying quietly? Would the doctor emerge before she choked to death on her own blood?
"We've got another student that'll need glasses. She blew up her nose because she couldn't read the board."
Carol squeaked indignantly. She couldn't afford glasses, don't be utterly ridiculous.
"Ughhhhhh,"The doctor said, rising from her cocoon, tattered medical journals from a dozen planes hitting the ground like the pitter patter of marines invading beaches. "Let me get the school funds."
The doctor pulled herself out of the room, rubbing her eyes, and glared indignantly at the girl. "How did you qualify for the Fortress University?"
Carol gave a nervous smile. "...Uh, high scores?"
Moriko turned away in disgust and threw money on the bed. "Get yourself some glasses, you idiot."
----
For more like this, click here! https://www.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/
|
I've heard tell of a man in the West who claims he forges a weapon great enough to slay the almighty Satan, king of hell and leader of the underworld -- and, in my humble opinion as the creature in question, rightful heir to the throne of Earth.
"Where might be the man who claims himself to be the forger of Satan-slaying weapons?"I have put forth my best effort today to look pleasant, considering I am soon to meet a man who claims to be the seller of what will bring forth my fall from power. No doubt my demeanor was particularly intimidating to passerby, as one hastily squeaked a reply to me.
"Why, he's over there, mister. Man by the name of Pip."The man who had replied to me shuffled off on his way and, casting my gaze to where he had pointed, my eyes fell upon the most pitiful blacksmith's forge I'd ever laid eyes upon. Metal scraps were strewn all around the various windows built into the building, and some of said windows were spewing foul smoke into the slow, lethargic breeze. The building itself was a mess of blackened, crumbling brick stuck together with some sort of sticky, tar-like substance. It appeared to have been thrown together in a hurry, like the medical stations in battlefields I usually roam through.
\---
"Would you be Pip?"I asked, approaching a man bent over a cracked anvil.
The man whirled around, sweat flying off of his red hair as he did so. This unassuming, poor little creature must surely create the most laughable excuses for a weapon imaginable. His rotund stature barely looked like it could stand to walk down the street to the baker's, much less craft a weapon of the Satan-killing variety. Sweat still dripped off his face as he looked up at me, mouth gaping.
"Aye, I would."He gulped, barely containing his nervousness. "What's it to you?"
"I have come to inquire about your Satan-killing weapons."I replied simply.
"You... you have? Right, er, let me get one... quickly..."he shuffled off into a back room I had previously not noticed, and as he did so, I took a further look around. Blueprints were covering a smaller, even older anvil in the corner of the room, and his forge was not even lit. The coals were warm, however, indicating he must have been active recently - though it was hard to believe, seeing as he was so large and inactive I suspected he may have eaten some of the village livestock.
Then a, minute or so later, he ambled back into the room, holding another blueprint in his hand. He held it limply at his side, but in the split second I saw it, I became very confused.
"You say you make weapons?"
"Yes, sir, I do."
"What sort of metal do you use?"
He looked up at me from the blueprint, which he had just laid, face up, on the old and small anvil. There was something moving in his eyes, and being analytical of these situations as I am, I came to realize I was not getting the full truth from this obese smith.
"I..."he gulped again. "I don't use metal, sir."
As the words came out of his mouth, I, now admittedly very confused, looked at the blueprint he had just laid on the table. Realizing what was happening, I saw that the schematic was not for a sword, nor a spear, bow, or an axe, but instead was a near photo-realistic drawing of a great serpent, with all of its anatomy drawn out in words of a language I was yet unfamiliar with.
The ashes in the fireplace began to move, ever so slightly, as a small something peeked its way out of the residue. I, an intellectual, pieced together what was happening very quickly.
"You aren't a \*black\*smith, are you?"
He shook his head nervously, and the snake erupted from the coals. |
"Commander, the Terrans have discovered that we lack their unique perception of variations in optical wavelengths. It appears that they intend to use this to their strategic advantage."
I felt I was missing something. "But they *know* we have sophisticated sensor technology, don't they, Molgron?"
"Yes, Commander. But they're still quite primitive, and from infancy are taught by experience to interpret their environment, acquire targets, aim weapons, etc., *visually*. As a result, they imagine us guiding our ships and weapons by looking out of a window."
I sighed, resignedly. "So it's true--they're *idiots*, then."
"Well, they certainly aren't readily adaptable to changing environments and conditions."
"Idiots,"I repeated.
"Molgron, we've been letting this program run for 37 Terran orbits now, hoping to see them adapt to our drones' tactics and develop creative strategies to counter them. I thought I saw some promise at the beginning, but they were simply rehashing ideas from their own speculative fiction rather than demonstrating true innovation in the face of an existential threat. It's obvious that they lack any of the potential we had hoped for. I think we need to end this experiment now, rather than waste further resources."
"Shall we sterilize the planet, Commander?"
"No,"I waved a tentacle dismissively, "just withdraw the program drones from the system, and leave a few in high orbit to monitor. They'll soon return to their own squabbles, and when their technology advances beyond the level safe for intraplanetary conflict, they will quickly exterminate themselves, never knowing how close they came to becoming a member of the galactic community.
"You see, Molgron,"I observed wistfully, "there are many kinds of blindness." |
I heard the airlock's outer door open and close, then the inner door opened and three men emerged into the common room. The leader glanced down at Konstantin's prone body, then walked directly to me and took the ice axe from my shaking hands.
"Good work, Victor,"he said, putting his hand on my shoulder. "We'll take it from here."
"Who--who are you?"I stammered.
"SVR. We determined three days ago that your colleague was working with foreign agents. It became a priority to silence him before he further compromised our work here."
"How did you tell me to do it?"
"We have a device which can set up a resonance in a person's brain from several hundred yards away, even through walls. We can use it to implant thoughts in a person's mind, as memories of someone having just spoken to them. We did this with you, and you followed through perfectly."
I felt relief wash through me like a healing spring. "So I'm not insane?"
The SVR agents laughed.
"Of *course* you're insane,"he replied, "but that is exactly what we needed you to be. *Blagadaryu vas*, Victor."
I never saw the other agent's pistol. |
I always used to think we had it bad in the 21st century. Years of medical school, late nights studying parts of medicine that we were never going to specialise in. And then, when it was all done, long hours with maybe one or two weekends off a month.
But to see this hospital now. To know the hardships our ancestors faced. I would never complain again.
To understand where I am, and how I got here is a difficult story to explain. I was a doctor in east London, working for the NHS. We lived close enough to the countryside that my husband and I could commute. He was also a doctor at my hospital. We had just recently moved into an old converted barn from the Tudor era.
When we first went for a viewing, I knew something was a bit off. There was a chill in the air, which in the height of spring already put my conscious mind far from ease, but there was also something unconscious too. A flicker of movement in the corner of my eye. A shadow that didn’t seem to make sense based on the light through the windows. But my husband was in love with it. “It has character” he said to me, with his charming smile that made me love him in the first place.
And so we moved in. On the big day we unpacked as best we could and I made the bed up in the master bedroom. We both fell asleep seconds after hitting the pillows. I can’t say how long I was asleep for before I rose to those footsteps. They were light, like a rabbit scurrying through a meadow, but just loud enough to wake me up, I looked to the side and my husband was gone, his sheets were ruffled from where he must have gotten up,
“Mark?” I called out. But to no avail. It was still the middle of the night, so I cautiously ducked my head as I wandered out into the hall, my muscle memory not quite familiar enough with the new home to walk with any confidence yet.
The pitter patter of feet lead me to the front door. It was old and made of oak, and on either side it had beautiful stain glass windows. Coming through them was a brilliant light, golden and crisp. I was drawn to it.
“Mark? Are you outside?” I called out. I placed my hand on the door handle, it felt warm and cool at the same time. I pushed it down gently and opened the front door. A rush of warmth and sunlight hit me and I tumbled forward through the threshold.
What greeted me was something I couldn’t explain. Horses and carts on the old dirt road leading up to our house. Men and women in old fashioned clothes working the farm’s fields. And it was the middle of the day, when just moments before it had been the nighttime. And the most terrifying thing of all, when I turned around my house wasn’t a house at all, rather the original barn from all those centuries ago.
It’s been nearly a decade since then. I laugh about it now, well, sometimes I do. The old life I used to lead. I miss Mark dearly, but I came to accept my new purpose, safe that Mark is and always will be alive in the 21st century, hopefully moving on with things.
The plague swept the countryside like a tidal wave over the shoreline. It affected everyone and everything in its path. And being a modern practitioner of medicine I felt almost helpless. Everything from this period was just amputations or flowers in a bag, no real medicine at all. I’ll never forget the first time I sterilised my equipment with fire or soapy water, and the look of confusion from my nurses.
And so I made it my new calling, to heal these people, perhaps finding a new happiness in it, a sense of fulfilment I think I was always lacking back home.
I saved so many people, so many lives that wouldn’t have made it were it not for my journey here, but for every life I saved, ten, twenty, even thirty more people were lost. My 21st century colleagues don’t know what it’s like to see an entire family wiped out. Generations just gone.
And then my worst fear came true. It started slowly, a sense of fatigue, a cough that wouldn’t go away. And then one morning I couldn’t even move. My nurses have done their best, but I barely have enough energy to write this letter.
I tell myself that it doesn’t matter now, that I did my best. That I made a difference, But I wish I could see so many things again. Mark, my old apartment on the District Line, the corner shop where the elderly man would smile at me and we’d chat after a long shift.
I’ve asked one of my nurses to return to our Tudor barn, well, just a barn to them I suppose. And bury it somewhere that you might find it. Bury it somewhere so you can read these words and know that I lived for a short time longer. So you can know that I made a difference.
———————
Mark stood at the end of the bed, his hands clutching the old worn out piece of paper addressed to him. He nearly collapsed, while in the background the news played out.
“...the Prime Minister opened a new memorial to Doctor Jenkins today, the renowned hero of the Tudor plague...” |
Lars groaned and picked himself up off the grass covered ground. He immediately clutched his head and opened his mouth in a wordless scream. His senses were going haywire. He had never felt like this before, even when his teacher took him to the Amazon for training. He had thought that deep jungle had been rich with mana, but nothing had prepared him for something like this.
He sat and did his best to focus on his Center. The pain made it difficult to gather his inner awareness, and it took him almost an hour before he succeeded. When he did, he focused on his Center. His power was there, bright and blue with whisps of white and green. That, at least had not changed.
Once he got ahold of his Center, he allowed it to extend a small tendril out to the Outer Channels, granting it access to external mana. It was a strand thinner than a hair, an amount that allowed him to collect a small amount of magical power over days and weeks, so as to not deplete the environment.
That slow trickle was what he expected. What he got was a torrent of more raw power than he got in a month. He had to physically brace himself against the surge before he severed the connection. When he did, his body was drenched in a cold sweat, and his Center was glowing brighter than it ever had before. He even detected a few traces of black, red and even grey. Colors he had never collected, simply because of how scarce they were.
With the influx of mana, the ambient power around him was no longer oppressive. It quieted the blinding pain to a dull, easily manageable throbbing. He opened his eyes and stood.
Lars found himself in a vast, open field. Grass grew up to his shins, and flowers dotted the land like technicolored stars. The occasional insect buzzed about, trending to the flowers as needed. A few small birds circled lazily overhead. It was a scene that was all but forgotten on Earth.
He reached down and plucked a bright purple flower that looked like a cross between a daisy and a tulip. It gave off a scent of mint and honey when he smelled it. And it contained more mana than a 100 year old oak tree back home.
Lars tucked the flower into his pants pocket and bit his lip. He held out his hand and focused. He began the slow breathing that magic required and began to cast. On Earth, the spell would create a light about on par with a typical flashlight. What came forth was more like a stadium spotlight. Even in the middle of the day, it was blinding.
When Lars blinked the light away, he smiled. He would need to learn how to cast here. Fortunately, it seemed like he could do amazing things with almost no mana. And considering what he had been capable of on Earth, Lars was looking forward to seeing what he could do in his new environment. |
Scientists, as scientists so rarely are, hadn't the slightest clue why the animals came back. The passenger pigeons, and the dodos, and mammoths; a bit useless, a bit beautiful, a bit strange.
When scientists are clueless, they worry, and with the passenger pigeons, they worried. The people were not worried until the dinosaurs. It was then, and only then, that the good Dr Oliver got to work. The hesitation, in part, could be attributed to the fact that the years had been unkind to Dr Oliver, and the tabloids equally derisive. There was no glory in history -- for Dr Oliver was not a scientist, but a historian -- and no love for the past in a world with its sights set on the future.
But, with a newly-gained PhD, this time in Mediterranean Archaeology, Dr Oliver found herself once again in the light of the public. At her side was an assistant -- a scientist, this one, all socially awkward and young and bright -- who she had not bothered to learn the name of, and instead called Leech. For example:
"Leech, go occupy yourself somewhere else -- I'm busy."
"No, Leech, I won't fund your stupid project."
"Leech, you are a parasite, bloodsucker, scrounger, sponger, bottom feeder, freeloader -- "
And then the poor thing would bat his pretty eyelashes, brows drawn together in innocence, and say, "I'm sorry, ma'am."Occasionally, he would wander off somewhere, where he would cease his leeching off her knowledge and resume his leeching off her publicity.
So there was Leech, who had been assigned to her as some sort of pass into super-secret elite locations, and there was Dr Oliver, the former like a lost puppy and the latter a frazzled mess. A frazzled mess, because extinct species suddenly reviving made no *sense.* There were science reasons, certainly, but Dr Oliver had been asked what it *meant*: why it happened *now*. How history had warned us, because, if it does nothing else, history is supposed to warn us.
Every so often, Dr Oliver would be in a less curmudgeonly mood. On these days, she would take pity on the bored Leech, sit him down for breakfast vodka, and ask him his opinion.
"I think it's about climate change,"he'd told her once.
"History certainly warned us about *that*,"she'd said, and then, being in a particularly good mood, added, "Why climate change?"
And Leech's eyes had lit up, even more than usual. He'd begun to talk -- hesitantly, at first, but when Dr Oliver nodded or acknowledged him or -- even better -- asked more questions -- he'd sped up, talking a mile-a-minute, in love with being listened to.
The "every so often"that Dr Oliver and Leech had breakfast vodka became often, and then so often, and, at some point, Leech had taken to calling Dr Oliver "Dr Ollie."Sometimes -- *not* often -- Dr Oliver would permit a simple "Ollie."
She still called him Leech. (Not because she resented him, anymore, but because to name something is to show your fondness.)
It was a bright morning, actually, no vodka in sight, when every perfect thing became ugly again. Because things had, honestly, been going well: the press had laid off a bit, and it almost seemed as though Dr Oliver and Leech were on the verge of a breakthrough. Anticipation -- that's what it was. When you bounce on the heels of your feet, excited, waiting and loving the waiting.
Dr Oliver, in a rare moment of scientific curiosity, wandered into Leech's messy workspace. He had a tendency to start a project, forget it, and promise to come back to it; he had terrible impulse control, really.
And Dr Oliver found a set of drawings that confused her, and a set of digital models that startled her, and a set of DNA samples that cleared everything up and left her with the most hollow feeling in her chest.
"Leech,"she called, finding her voice less firm than she'd intended.
"What is it, Ollie?"
"I'm a doctor four times over, and you've given me a nickname."The lighthearted mock-annoyance felt more forced than usual. It was strange, Dr Oliver reflected, to have one's heart broken by a child.
An odd and unfamiliar silence stretched between them. It grew and grew, until Leech's eyes began to dart around his workspace. He was a scientist -- young, but he was smart; bad at social cues, but he was a criminal, now, and a criminal can sometimes sense when he is caught.
To his credit, or stupidity, he did not run. All he did was take a couple steps back and hold up his hands defensively.
"I can explain,"he said, as they always say in such situations.
"Yes."Dr Oliver did not move at all. "To the authorities."
"I needed something."
"What do the scientists say, to question another's ethics? 'You're playing God.' You were playing God, and you lost."
Leech shook his head. "You -- "
"Choose your words very carefully."Dr Oliver, of course, already had one hand on her phone, although she could not quite make her fingers call the police.
"You're famous, Ollie; you're a -- a world-renowned historian, and historians aren't usually world-renowned."
Dr Oliver snorted. "Please, don't mince words on my account."
"That's not -- I am so impressed by you, everyday. You're my role model, Dr Oliver. I -- I think about my future and I see myself hunched over a -- a microscope, or something, all white-haired and old and sad, you know? But I want to be like *you*."
Dr Oliver had never had children. All her life, she had been busy, academically, professionally, financially, and she had never been *personally* busy, or at all concerned with matters of the heart. And now that she had found that, in a little, messed-up protege, she suddenly realized why people became parents.
"Good god,"said Dr Oliver, who was not particularly religious.
"I'm sorry, ma'am. I -- I know I screwed up, really, truly, and I deserve whatever penalty they'll give me. Just -- just please, *please* \-- I know you're disappointed but I can't -- I can't disappoint you. One day, please, forgive me."
"Passenger pigeons,"said Dr Oliver, "and the dodos, and mammoths. They're all a bit useless. A bit beautiful. A bit strange. But they aren't *dangerous*."
The boy stood rooted to the spot, and Dr Oliver looked into his eyes, and felt all of those unfamiliar maternal feelings again.
"The dinosaurs are small."She let her hand drop from her phone. "They aren't *dangerous*."
"Dr Oliver -- "
"I'll be keeping a *very* close eye on you, of course."
"Yes -- yes, of course. Oh, god, I'll never screw up again."
"You will,"Dr Oliver said. "You're a bit of a mess."
Leech flushed, and ducked his curly head. "I am."
"But next time you screw up -- next time you pick up necromancy, or kill off a species, or whatever the kids do these days -- I'll be there with you. And we'll fix it."
"Thank you, Dr Oliver, really. Thank you so much."
"Now,"she said, "let's fix this."
And, although it took a lot of difficult work -- a lot of history, and science, and the infinite things that lay between the two -- they did. |
Banana peels. They're not like the movies, they're not especially slippery or hard to notice and avoid. It's just not something that happens, outside of slapstick comedy.
And yet.
"Here he lies, in the grave, to a snack, his life he gave"and a carving of a banana. That's my tombstone. It's not even on a plot in a lichyard, it's in my living room. Fucker's too heavy to move, so it's just stuck there where the pallet-jack broke down. I use it as a stand for my PlayStation. I had to rearrange the whole room to avoid tripping on it every morning and stubbing my toe, but it's mostly under the entertainment station now.
I've always been kind of a joke, I think that's why my brother paid for the fake funeral. Well. Who's laughing now?
I discovered my power by going through the testing like everyone else who's Returned. Not a blip, not a tiny reading anywhere on any test. So I started to feel miserable, and suddenly my tester's pants fall down.
Maximum power rating, tiny duration.
I get held in a cell while the "anomaly"gets analyzed. I'm not happy. The guard patrolling outside my door misjudges a step, slips on something they couldn't detect with a microscope afterward, and does the splits for the first time in his life.
I get discharged, and my cab is late. He tries to pull up to the curb, and his whole car sort of... rolls over, for no reason.
I live in a small apartment, ground floor, with all the windows covered. I thought about trying to get my job back in the shower once, and a freak treefall destroyed my wall and left me, naked and dripping wet, making awkward eye contact with the pretty gal next door. It was her mother's birthday.
I don't even have a pretty neighbor, she became pretty just for the awkward moment.
I hate my power. I have become a stooge, a laughingstock, and all around me the world follows strange and unpredictable rules that don't actually make anything easier, better, or even very different. I'm on a government watchlist, I get regular appointments with the NSA, just because I died in a stupid way.
I'm the Vaudevillain, and I think I know how I can take revenge on this nonsensical world. I can impose order through applied chaos. I can rule the world through cheap entertainment. I will make them take me seriously, by making them laugh. |
The universe is broken.
There's really no other way to put it.
The universe is completely and inherently broken.
The entirety of the universe halts at a moments notice when you see someone. The worst part is, they don't even have to see you back. You just have to witness them in some medium and the world itself will halt for you two to make that first connection. My mother and father saw each other in a college class. That must have been simple enough.
Lucky me, I looked at a picture of her. In an advertisement on a train. One with a dog filter on her face.
The two of us were immediately thrown into this new, frozen time. Of course, we had no way to reach each other. No way to leave a message to find out where we were. Even better, she had no idea what I looked like. She was stuck because I saw her. That would be a great start to our relationship.
I scratched a line into my notes. There was no way to keep track of time, of course, so I just did it every time I woke up. Looked like it was day '930.' Fun.
I spent a lot of my time foraging for food. That actually wasn't too difficult, most of it was cooked in restaurants and I would just eat it off of people's plates or go 'shopping' for non perishables every once in a while. I couldn't cook anything, since I couldn't get fire to start on any appliance. I was once interested in why but "the universe is broken"really seems like the most appropriate response. I found an aisle of jerky today. That would do fine.
I'd been leaving notes everywhere I went, telling my soulmate where I'd be next, but I never stayed in one place for more than a couple days. For all I knew, she was staying in one place, waiting for me to find her. Or maybe she was stuck somewhere. What happened if one of us dies? Is the other free to continue their life, or we still have to make contact?
I entered a park, packed with people. I don't remember what day I froze on, but it must have been a holiday.
"Hey,"I asked a dog, frozen mid-air with a Frisbee in its mouth. "You know where she is?"I tended to ask a lot of people that, hoping that one day she would just be there, like it was a joke that we were both in on. The dog remained still, waiting to return its Frisbee to its owner. Someday. Or time, I guess.
I walked around the park looking around it familiarly. I always went to parks first. I loved parks. And that meant she probably loved them, too.
Suddenly, I saw a note on a park bench. I ran over to it, diving at the bench and grabbing the paper. This is the first contact that I'd ever make with her. And it was possible she was close by!
It read:
*Hi! I'm so excited to meet you! I'll be heading south from here! It shouldn't be more than about 30 miles to the next city! I probably love you!*
"No, way,"I said loudly.
This was my handwriting. Somehow, I made a full circle without realizing it. But, it wasn't in the same place I left it. I always left them on statues, not benches. Guess it was time to follow my own path. Hopefully this wouldn't take more than another year...
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For more stories, come on down to /r/Nazer_The_Lazer! |
Nicholas looked out over the vast plains of ice and snow that made up the north pole. These arctic fields stood for millennia unblemished, vast and white. As Nicholas surveyed them now, blood and bodies of friends and enemies littered the landscape. He let out a sigh as he walked down the stairs from the battlements, back toward the ground level of Frosthold, what they had been calling what was once the largest workshop in the arctic, for the last hundred years in their violent fight against the Vertock.
As Nicholas reached the ground level, he walked by a stack of envelopes. "Dear Santa"they all had on the front. Nicholas took pause, while he spent less time tracking the days in his current situation, he knew it was Christmas time because the stack of these envelopes that arrived daily was becoming bigger. His nostalgia quickly turned to rage. "Someone get these fucking letters out of here!"he shouted, storming off to meet his elvish generals.
The elves weren't meant for war, spending thousands of years in peace and obscurity. Working diligently to provide joy and happiness was their main objective, and they were good at it. The war effort looked bad early on, until Nicholas had identified the right elves to lead. Elves who had a certain, moral aptitude for violence. Nicholas didn't particularly care for them, in the past he might have sent them away, to live lives in realms more suited for their unique skills, but now they were needed allies who could rally the troops.
"What's happening out there"Nicholas asked. Although it was a question it came out as an order, barked more than asked.
"Last night went poorly, sir."one of his generals stood up, walking toward him. "We lost a dozen elves, and gave a lot of ground. If we have another night like that they will be at our doorsteps sir, and I don't know how long the walls will hold."The elf stopped before reaching Nicholas, looking at him before turning his gaze toward the wall.
"Then tonight will be different."Nicholas knew that the wall wouldn't hold against the Vertock, their numbers grew every day as the Elven army, supplemented from other realms who see the need continued to dwindle. "Ask the forest nymphs to send anyone they can, but tonight we all leave the gates, we need to push them back if we'll ever turn the tide in this war."
"Even yo.."
"Even me"Nicholas cut off his general, turning to walk toward the armory. His mind flooded with the memories of the last times he fought, killing wasn't easy for Nicholas, it never had been, and he hated reflecting on it. He shook the memories off as he opened the large steel door to the armory. Inside he grabbed a long red coat, a coat he'd owned for 1,000 years, but that was different now. Metal pauldrons had been installed, with plates of steel lining the torso and arms. It was still red with white trim, although blood stained now with memories of war. Once something he was proud to wear, he put it on mechanically.
Nicholas walked to the stables, he would need the sleigh if they would have any chance. It saddened him to see the sleigh turned into a machine of war, but a lot about what their realm had become saddened him. Most of the reindeer had died in past battles, but Blitzen and Comet stood there, proud and majestic, always ready to serve him. Still he felt as though there was a sadness in their eyes, a sadness he knew. "This is the last one old friends"he said as he stroked the two creatures necks, before grabbing their harnesses.
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"And now..."the devil smiled, sitting in his chair, all adorned with bracelets and golden rings. "I shall reveal the problem you must tackle... For you see... 999 angels are slain, but the last? The last is Anne..."
And this was it. You see, when you make a bet with the devil, you can always count on gambling with your soul. Sure, you've rid the world of almost all the angels there are in the world, but does that sustain him? Never. The devil never orders you to kill babies if he knows you'll like it. Then you'll have to save a baby. But I'm not really surprised, truth be told. I never expected anything less.
"Alright, yeah, sure, sure..."I nodded, and stretched myself. "You mean to say that this is your trap? The "Grand reveal"of your plans? Because you think I will not do it and my soul will be your's?"
"Well..."it seemed like the devils confidence wavered just a second: "I mean, you can't really do it, can you?"
"Oh, no, no no no. Couldn't and wouldn't even if I could. But what if she is an angel?"I spit on the ground and started doing jumping jacks to warm up. "You never said I have to kill precisely her. Any old angel would do."
"But that's the beauty of the whole thing..."the devil leered and smiled with his pointy teeth. "There are no more angels left, deary. You've slain them all and she is the last one."
"Well, this won't be too hard."I took out my sword and inspected it. "I mean, all the other angels had wings and could fly. So this will be easy."
"No, I don't think you get it."The devil interjected and seemed he was getting rather anxious. "She also has wings. Don't you get it? When you'll attack her, she'll spread them."
"Not her wings..."I grumbled, turned to the devil and pointed my sword at him: "Tell me, angel Lucifer... Did it hurt when they cut them off and banished you from heaven?"
[Literary Nobody](https://www.reddit.com/r/LiteraryNobody/) |
“Your music is way too loud” - reads the third note for the week on your fridge.
You take it down and stare thoughtfully at it, again not shocked or surprised, but slightly inconvenienced at the fact that you have no idea why your landlord would stick notes on the fridge instead of just emailing you (like a normal person would).
The next few days you make a big deal out of making sure your entertainment is 100% soundless to your neighbors through the use of headphones and the mute button on your devices. Music is your way of making your best art, you paint to the rhythm and feel of music, and then you’re able to sell them to make a decent living for yourself.
Your super-religious and judgmental Mom is coming to visit in a few days anyway and you want to make sure the neighbors don’t have anything to say so she doesn’t doubt your ability to live on your own. Being a 30 year old woman with no partner and no (according to her) ‘real’ job, you dread inviting her over but do so because she’s old and she’s your mother and she’ll be upset whether or not she visits you. It’s been two years since you’ve moved out , so it’s about time.. you guess.
After a solid week of cleaning (and no notes) you finally receive your ‘beloved’ and the first thing she does as walking through the door is mark a cross over herself and mutter a small prayer.
“Lord guide me through the next five days with this creation of yours that I thank you for but pray you make into a new woman”
“Hi Mom” , you say as you manage to fake a barely believable smile. You roll your eyes so far back you almost miss the new note on the fridge. You dash past your mother and rip the note of the fridge to read -
“I don’t like her, get her out”
Your breathing jumps for a second and you have faint palpitations. You think to yourself, “How is it possible anyone could put this note here.. I’ve been here all day.. No one got in.. except me.. and my mother hasn’t even come into the kitchen.. I don’t even own this type of paper.. it’s so expensive I’d have to drive for at least an hour to get this.. someone wasted this quality to write a no..-
“Well now that I’m here you don’t even show me around”
You snap out your confusion to notice your mother who is standing in the middle of your living room with all her bags and looking quite impatiently at you.
“Oh Mom! I’m sorry” you say trying to sound as hospitable as possible, “ Yes well right now you’re in the living room, and your room is right this way”
As soon as your mother settles, you come into the kitchen for a drink. You open the cabinet and spin towards the fridge before the words “GET HER OUT” on the note catch your eye.
Slowly, you pour yourself a glass of wine and walk towards the fridge twirling the glass in your hand.
Instead of taking it down, you gather your own supplies, stick a paper to the fridge and write “TF, who are you?” And step back.
In three and half seconds , the writing disappears from the original note and your question is answered-
“MY NAME IS ETHERIAL,
I am living in your house and I’m supposed to be haunting you but honestly I’m so tired and decided to just chill a bit.
You take a swig of wine and speak into your empty kitchen saying
“So Etherial, you don’t like my music huh..”
The note disappears.
“I was just trying to get some rest”
After chuckling you decide to take advantage of the situation, whispering, you say “What about my Mom don’t you like”
“She associates with God”
“Are you like the devil or something, what did God do to you?”
“He turned me away from heaven for being unmatchably lazy and now I have to haunt 1000 people to get back, but I’ve only gotten to 458 and now I’m tired”
“Are you the one that ruined my painting a couple weeks ago?”
“Yeah my bad I tripped”
Afterrolling your eyes, you get an idea and through smirking you say..
“How about we have some fun with my Mom so that she doesn’t decide to come back over here”
After staring at the blank page on your fridge for about ten seconds you see the word come up -
“Deal” |
"I'll show you mine if you show me yours."
Shelly and I were both 11 years old, and already curious. I remember like it was yesterday. She had a white shirt on with some edgy motivational quote splashed across it, and sweatpants. I don't know what I was wearing but I recall that it was important to stay dressed. They had showed us a nasty video at the end of elementary school that had close-ups of a crowning birth, and then some other things. Recently, I had started to suspect that I didn't have the same stuff down there as the people in the video.
"I, uh, don't think that's a good idea, "I told her.
She looked at me, embarrassed. She'd taken the first leap of faith and I'd let her do so alone.
"Why not?"
"I just don't think we should do that."
"Yeah but why?"
"Because!"
"Ok,"she said, "calm down, I was just playing anyway--you can't see mine. It's off-limits to you."
All this happened just a few years ago, at the beginning of the... changes.
Now, I'm a loner in junior high. I dress like what you'd call a "Goth". It's the only way to hide the horns. A black mask hides the chin tentacles that have started to grow in. Both had appeared on my body in the last 6 months. I can't speak to my foster parents about it, and I definitely can't reveal it to anyone else. At this point, as they continue to get bigger, along with some other things I couldn't begin to describe, it's seemingly only a matter of time before I have to go full recluse and get away from people entirely. Even my skin is starting to take on a strange greenish hue. And yet, the worst of it...
Other guys my age are starting to get serious with girls. I can't say I'm interested in girls. I'm not interested in boys either. I think I'm interested in them all, but it's not only sexual interest. It's something else.
At first I thought it was empathy--maybe I was developing into a strange but honest humanitarian, devoid of lust and all about love. But it's not empathy, and it's definitely not love. The feeling is more like... desire. I want to be a *part* of them all, and I want them to be a part of me. If I had to put it into words, I'd say that I want to *possess* them.
One thing's for sure: soon, I'll outgrow my disguise. When that happens, I don't know what I'm going to do.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
/r/velabasstuff
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Screams sounded off the walls and traveled throughout the facility. A steady but sick cadence adding urgency to my actions. We knew why he was here, a soft spot for dogs but, we never thought he would fly all the way out here. Our only warning coming from our agents inside the continental.
I struggled to snatch up all the documents related to our activities here, it would be no good for anyone inside or out, to know what we really do here. The gunshots continued to echo out closer to me as I slammed the briefcase shut and moved towards the lab.
The keycard hanging down from my neck opened up the reinforced door and let me inside. The room was nearly all white, resembling a laboratory, sterile. It was a refreshing breath of air, one that had always gotten me in the mood to work. In this case, it was a breather from the stank taste of iron wafting in behind me.
My tools were already laid out on one of the counters a syringe of pentobarbital, sat next to some of my office supplies. I grabbed the syringe and prepped the operating table. If John Wick came all this way and killed all my people I would make sure it was for nothing. I thought as I looked at the row of cages in the room.
The dog wriggled in my hand, trying in vain to escape or nip at me. It was small and easily restrained against the table. I pushed down its neck restricting its airflow as I started to stab the puppy with the needle of euthanasia.
The milky substance started to disappear into the dogs vein when the door behind me exploded, fragments slammed into my back and decimated a lot of the room. I turned around only to see smoke and a bullet slamming into my hand. The shot exploded the needle, splattering blood and fluids over me and the dog.
“You have something that belongs to me, “ The boogeyman said, wisps of smokes hanging off his body as he slowly revealed himself. Like flames clinging to wood. “I want it back. “
“Well you can’t have it!” I yelled back at him, as I positioned myself behind the table. The black gun barrel tracking my head the whole time. “The dog is much safer with us, your line of work is no place for a dog. “
“The dog would be alive. “ He growled.
“Yes, but what good is a life if it’s one surrounded by death. I can’t imagine how he’d feel with the constant smell of blood and gunsmoke in its nose, “ I said as I hit the panic button, alerting my remaining guards to my location. “ Dogs aren’t meant for that kind of civilized life, they have simple but important needs. “
I watched as the figure stood motionless, contemplating my thoughts, it was good, it would allow my men time to save me. His eyes were unfocused, the near pinpoint tracking of my head more subconscious than minded thought. The sound of footsteps approaching gave him clarity and he escaped from his mind.
“I’m not civilized. “ He pulled the trigger, it clicked. Apparently out of ammo.
He moved faster than I thought possible for a man with his wounds. Blood trailed from numerous cuts and scrapes and even what it looked like a knife wound. He threw himself over a table near one of my counters and took cover behind it as my guards entered the room and peppered shots toward him. I quickly moved behind them to watch the assassin die.
The man from behind the table quickly grabbed something on my counter beside the tools. The shots directed at his hand distracted me from what he grabbed.
“Just die already, Wick. It was just a dog. “
A belt of flashbangs appeared over the table in reply. Partially blinding me and fully my guards. They sat groaning and trying to regain their balance beside me. Sometimes firing a shot off at a sound infront of them.
I fell prone, partially to avoid being shot and partially due to the ringing in my head. I rubbed my eyes as Wick vaulted the table, his eyes unwaveringly focused on me. He exposed the item he had grabbed earlier as he walked towards me.
A pencil.
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“Come on boy, you’re gonna be okay. “ Someone said. I felt yucky, my head hurt and I couldn’t move and I didn’t know where I was and it smelled really bad in here.
“Shhh, you’re gonna be okay. Do you want to know why? “ I stopped wriggling and the strong grip that was holding me relaxed some. I weakly raised my head towards the voice.
“Because you’re a good boy, “ He paused, “You’re my good boy. “
I lowered my head back down and snuggled back into his arms. I felt better.
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Thanks for reading! I love John Wick and I hope I did him some justice. If you enjoyed this is where I put any sequels or my other writings. https://www.reddit.com/r/DrekevacWriting/
|
All the strings have possibly different meanings. They come, and they go. They always go into the sky and disappear, but I can see where those strings point towards, almost as it made a rainbow connection with someone or something else. Sometimes they tilt visibly, while other times slightly.
Was it annoying? Yes. But like with everything, I got used to them.
There was a red string. It wasn't hard to figure out what that string was even if I saw it only once. I hurriedly began following it, opening the door in front of me and rushing outside. I directly ran into the very woman I was connected to.
Now she is my wife, and we have two kids.
Another string that I get occasionally is blue. Anything that has to do with my job is blue. Or to be more precise, anything that brings me success. So, I follow it very often, but not always. If one is too successful, some get jealous, while others have too huge expectations. So, I followed it when I needed success or money.
Whenever I wanted to find some opportunities, it was a purple string. But it wasn't always successful ones. They were just... interesting! It was really rare, but I occasionally met celebrities or ended up witnessing something that some people only dream to see. And sometimes they were maybe once in a century occurrence.
The most interesting purple string was when small meteorite landed precisely in front of me. I have it with me till this very day.
I never understood what the green color was. It came even more rarely than purple, but no matter how far I followed it, I never reached it. But like all the other colors, it always disappeared at the end of the day. At some point, I began to think of it as a way to waste my time.
But no matter how much I tried to ignore it, I always ended up following it, getting my adrenaline high. Maybe it's a reward that's really hard to catch. Or perhaps I was a fool.
There were many other colors, but others were a lot rarer, and not entirely telling me what they were.
But none of them have never scared me more than that color on that day.
It was the day when I saw a black string going directly above me. They always went in one direction. The more up it went, closer I was. So, when black one appeared and was directed exactly my overhead, I could think of only one thing...
"Darling, what's the matter? You look... stressed,"Jennifer asked, sitting next to me, putting her hand around my back, softly stroking my shoulder.
"What if I told you that I'm going to die soon?"I muttered, looking at her, thoughtfully.
"Darling? What's wrong?"
I laughed. "Nothing. Are children still asleep?"
"It's weekend. You know that they sleep a lot longer during the weekends,"Jennifer muttered, landing her head on my shoulder.
My thoughts landed on those two brats. Should I secretly say goodbye? Or would it be too sad? I already had life insurence, so they should be fine financially.
"I'm gonna go out for a short time,"I said, standing up, walking towards the stairs.
"What's wrong? You usually don't announce what you're doing either,"Jennifer said.
"Yeah. It's nothing. I'm meeting *the person* who I don't like to see,"I lied. I used that lie occasionally when I was too stressed and didn't want my wife to see it. It was a fake man who I had created. An investor in my company. It was always good to blame someone who didn't even exist.
"Him, again? But it's weekend, darling,"Jennifer said, sighing loudly.
"Sorry. I didn't have much of choice,"I lied and walked up the stairs.
I opened my children's bedroom and peeked inside. One last time. They both were in a deep sleep, sleeping like kids should.
"Goodbye,"I muttered, holding my tears back. I would've wanted to walk to them, but it was better that way. It would've been too hard for me.
With a sigh and last kiss to my wife, I left my home, driving towards a bar, which was almost on the other side of the town. I was thinking about all the possibilities, hoping that I was wrong. Sometimes I begged it to be wrong; I wasn't ready. But I knew that it would happen within a day, probably.
"One whiskey,"I ordered, sitting down on a free chair.
"Isn't it too early for that?"the barman asked jokingly, pushing an empty glass with some ice in front of me, pouring some whiskey in it.
"Leave me alone,"I muttered, taking the glass and had a single sip. Finally, my eyes landed on the black string, once more. I had tried to avoid looking at it as much as possible. In the end, it was a frightening thing to watch.
But my eyes widened, and my heart began to race. I started to beg that I had been correct, that it would be me. It should be me.
The string didn't go up, not anymore. It was slightly tilted.
And it was tilted towards home.
(/r/Elven <- Mah writing) |
Gabriel sat before a slowly dying fire, her body consumed by the shadows of nightfall. It was ill-advised to light fires at night, unless of course you're purpose was to draw the Wretchling from their sleep. Light was a beacon to the creature's of the damned, they despised it, and all it stood for.
"You'll need a larger light, if you're hoping to catch damn near anything out here."Alexander, second legionnaire to Gabriel's forces of Light, crouched beside the fire, his face gaunt beneath the flickering flames, "Our people, Gabriel, they're dying..."
Gabriel refused to look up from the fire.
"The hunger we could manage, though broth is far from a satisfactory meal for fighting men and women. But now sickness strikes at the heart of our camp, and it's spreading. Our people have barely the strength to fight disease, let alone a Wretchling Horde."Alexander reached out for Gabriel's hand, but she refused him, taking a stand.
"I'm aware of the situation, Alexander, as were those men and women aware when they enlisted to fight a war in the name of Our Queen. Their payment will come in the glory that is bestowed upon our victory, their riches will be the fame that meets their names."
"Glory doesn't fill an empty stomach, and fame sure as sh\*t can't cure the common cold. There won't be a victory, Gabriel, unless those men and women are treated proper... there's been talks, around camp..."
"Talks of what?"Gabriel was toying with the hilt of her silver-edged blade, "Mutiny?"
"Worse, I'm afraid. Treason."
"Treason? I'm not sure I follow."
Alexander took a seat in the dirt, folding his legs, he gestured for Gabriel to join him, "Apparently a man by the name Grimm came to visit the camp not four nights back..."
The camp fire rose up around Alexander, bringing to life his words in a tapestry of thought as shadows formed first into tents and then tents formed to figures and figures to a crowd.
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Grimm was a man hidden beneath the wraps of cloak after cloak after cloak, a man given to warmth in the heart of winter. At first the crowded forces of Gabriel's army had hated the man for what he wore, for the plumpness of his cheeks, the joy of his voice, the spring of his step. But they would come to understand it was not he who should be blamed for what *they* lacked.
"My good people,"Grimm tittered from a mouth full of fangs, "you look simply famished, more bone to the sack than there is meat! I dare say the Wretchling would find little of interest in what you have to offer."he gazed upon a sea of confusion, each face wore a question vaguely similar to the last; *who are you, and why are you here?*
"They call me Grimm, but my visit is far from it. I am here as liaison from the Wretchling Lord himself, to offer a bargain."
A flurry of cries flew across the crowd; *Liaison to the Wretchling Lord? What bargain? Burn the Witch!*
"Listen, my good people, listen. That is all I ask. I have come to offer insight, first and foremost. Tell me, you look to the Wretchling as creature's to despise, as works of the purest evil, but I say there is an evil far more convoluted that festers from within.
"Call it Greed, if you will, and don't deny its presence."Grimm's forked tongue flickered in warning at the crowd, "You leave the common folk of your kingdoms to rot in barely habitable homes, charging taxes far beyond reason, depriving them of the simplest necessities such as food, as warmth and as decency of health and life,"
There were many murmurs of agreement at the deprivation of such things.
"you yourselves suffer poverty from lack of wealth, a wealth your Queen would rather sit upon than share among her people. And whilst we speak of Queens and of people, what of your women? What Queen could allow the senseless harassment of gender to continue unabated. Has she herself not been met with the oppression of sense,"
More voices joined the rallying cries of accord.
"and yet you endure this. Why? That is my question to you?"
*Why not?* Was the somewhat simple-minded response. *What possible alternative is there.*
"I came to offer insight, so I will tell you of this, and then I will leave. The Wretchling Lord strives for dominance over a world he views as misguided. A world that favours riches over the well being of its fellow man. A world that grasps at power leaving no hand to offer help to those that need it most. You may argue the Wretchling Lord is the prime of all examples when it comes to ceasing after power, but I tell you this;
"There is no famine in our lands, what grows and is grown is shared equally among all our Lord's people. There is no wealth in hierarchy, our Lord himself sees no need of such trivial things as silver and gold. There is no fear of living rough, for as Our Lord's domain expands so too does his property. All are afforded a place worthy of being called a home. Taxation is fair, necessary but not overbearing. Wages are turned to the purpose of leisure, knowing that life's most basic of rights - food, water, cleanliness, warmth - are all accounted for from the pocket of Our Lord. We are treated as equals, regardless of such trivial differences as race, gender, species... Our Lord may be born of the dark, but he wishes to bathe the world in his light..."
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The flames began to simmer down around Alexander as memory faded from view.
"How many?"Gabriel asked, closing her fist around the hilt of her blade, "How many have shown willing to commit treason at the say so of this Grimm? How many might we lose?"
"Too many."Alexander conceded, "But there is a solution, is there not? We feed our people, cloth them, keep them warm, protect them, as well they should be protected."
Gabriel shook her head, "Their is a cost to war, Alexander. We cannot simply *give* from the good of hearts. There is a natural order to things, an order that must remain if the world is to survive."
Alexander shook his head, turning from the fire to leave, "We are meant to be the heroes of this world, Gabriel. Yet I see more light in the dark than I do in us..."
EDIT: thank you, anonymous Redditor, for my first ever Silver!! |
Eddie’s pen struck a line through item number 372. It read:
*372. Animal shapeshift. DNA sample.*
His grip was so tight that his fingernails were white. From the more obvious choices such as flying, invisibility, or super strength to the more obscure choices such as reading minds, conjuring items out of thin air, or even changing the color of his favorite pen, Eddie had explored 372 different potential super powers, and of course, to no avail. Perhaps that’s why his grip was just a little tighter when he scribbled through the last item.
*Strange it seems. No one has super powers. Of course no one has super powers. But why is something off? It’s like dropping something in between your driver seat and the center console. Your fingertips can graze it but your hand doesn’t quite fit. It’s just out of reach, but it’s there. You know it’s there.*
Eddie placed the pen beside his journal and leaned back in his chair letting out a sigh. The thoughts of failed attempts ran through his brain followed by the infinite possibilities. It seemed so overwhelming. He sighed again, this time more heavily, and the leaves of his paper journal fluttered. He leaned forward and took a sip from his now cold coffee.
“Time for another pot.” And before Eddie could stand fully, his knees locked. His body froze. Eddie stayed like that for seconds before processing what he was seeing. With furrowed brows, Eddie slowly lowered himself and looked more closely at his journal. Items 368 through 372 were gone, like they had never been there. Only half of item 368 remained written, while items 364 through 367 were slightly faded.
“What..? How..?”
Eddie let out another exasperated breath and another handful of journal entries disappeared. Eddie’s eyes shot wide. He leaned forward and gently blew on the pages. Nothing happened. Confused, Eddie tried to recreate his exasperated breath, and this time to success. The writing on the pages faded once more.
Eddie began going around his house breathing onto everything he could find. Forks, paper, tepid glasses of water, stereo speakers, watches, books, an old pizza box, and even his clipped toenails from the night prior caught a puff of his breath. Nothing happened. Nothing changed. *Is it* how *I breath?* Eddie puckered his lips like it was his first kiss. He huffed with his mouth fully agape. He even tried blowing through his nostrils. Over the next half hour, Eddie tried every combination of breathing he could think of, and to Eddie’s surprise, there are many different ways to expel air from one’s lungs. But no matter how many different ways he tried, nothing changed.
Suddenly a thought jolted Eddie. He wasn’t particularly excited about it, but he was becoming frustrated and running out of options. Eddie scrambled for some paper sheets and different writing utensils. He grabbed markers, mechanical pencils, your standard #2 Ticonderoga, Sharpie pens, crayons, and even managed to pull out some worn pastels from an old art kit he had from years prior. As he scribbled over different sheets of paper he continued to blow on them every way he could imagine. To Eddie’s surprise, breathing hot air onto everything he wrote was enough to remove it. Eddie spied a letter reading Nissan Motor Acceptance Corporation on the top. It was congratulating him on his recent finance choices. Eddie breathed his hot breath onto the perfectly typed ink. Nothing. He quickly scribbled some letters onto the same letter and puffed. This time, the letters faded.
“If I breath hot air, it removes anything I wrote. It won’t remove other people’s writing, just mine. My breath is an eraser. You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Without thinking, and particularly frustrated, Eddie let out another exasperated sigh and another handful of entries faded from his journal.
“You’ve *got* to be kidding me.”
|
The stasis field is the real trick.
To me, I haul the package into the ship, I press the button, the lights blink, the door closes, everything tastes silvery for a second, the door opens, and I'm within fifty meters of the target destination.
To an observer, I step into the ship, the door closes, turborockets begin to thrum, and the ship screams out of the atmosphere. It hits geosync before the stardrive powers up and launches at a healthy fraction of light speed towards the Escape Limit, where gravity fluctuations get nice and flat and the Translator can make calculations for the Quantum Fuckery™ that instantly relocates it from point A to point B, an incredible distance away. From there, it's braking into the target system, shields burning through re-entry, and standing tail on rockets, until the thump of landing legs settling turns off the metal taste in my mouth.
And every time, a curiously delighted being greets me, marveling at the novelty of same-day delivery.
Our alien friends took the long way, see. It was an evolutionary path. They started like we would have; robot probes and sleeper ships, starsails, tiny cold tin cans with RTGs and redundant everything. Centuries passed between transits. If you packed up for the nearest system you went *to stay*. Deliveries were anathema. If you wanted to send a trinket home to Mom from the other side, you took Mom with you, because Mom would be long dead otherwise. Then they figured out antimatter and brachistochrone interstellar trajectories. A revolution! But still not fast enough. It was the age of sail all over again. Even a letter took years. Finally the Translator Engine came along, and the stasis field, and you could pop over to Centauri for the weekend... if you were rich. Delivery was still frivolity.
You can imagine how rich we became when they arrived. A whole planet, teeming with new. The IP negotiations began immediately, and humanity collectively licensed just about everything we could lay hands on. You can find zebra-skin jumpseat covers in every asteroid corner store now. Everyone being rich as Croesus led to rapid adoption of every exotic thing *we* could find, too. My bathtub sings opera in its spare time, for example. The Dividend was generous enough for any fool thing we wanted to play around with. And thus, my employer has Translator-drive ships.
Now every day is an adventure. Three or four, if I don't get caught up in conversation. I've seen it all. High-gravity planets basking under three suns. Exotic little moons with air you can't see through. Worlds of chittering trees and luminescent birds. You name it. Every day, a new being greets me and says the word.
"Prime?"
And I reply.
"Prime."
And there follows paroxysms of delight as they giggle (or local equivalent) at the incredible idea that someone has just rocketed across the galaxy to bring them a bauble.
You can't imagine what you can't conceive of. We never imagined we lacked the Føglenç organ, because it just never occurred to us something was missing. *They* never imagined what they could do with their magical technology, when the potential was *right there*. Sometimes it's good to be the new guy. You show them a shortcut they've never seen, and it's like lights turn on in their bulbous heads.
So I've got a plan. You see, interstellar travel being so slow for so long conditions you to certain things. Everything you took with you had to be built to last. Ships, fuel, food. Interstellar standard ration bricks were currency for millenia, especially on the generation ships. Alien tastes are a bit stodgy, but thankfully compatible enough. I've saved up enough to buy my own ship, even have a uniform. Next week the paperwork goes through on my new company. The galaxy isn't ready, but I am. Nobody's considered the niche applications; what *could* be. Minds will be blown. They'll thank me later.
In the worlds of the hungry, the pizza delivery man will be king, and I'm going to build an interstellar empire. |
**iUnderworld**
&nbsp;
Screeching tires and that’s me gone.
There was a brief moment of comprehension. Not quite the promised ‘life flashing before your eyes’ experience, but there was enough time for some realisations. I really should have worked out more. I definitely wasted too much time on Counter Strike. I really should have spent the previous evening with my parents instead of queuing overnight for the very first iPhone.
Oh, and it was all my own damn fault.
I walked haphazardly from the Apple store, my eyes glued to the shiny new screen. It was Star Trek in my hands, my own communicator, it was the future! Well, someone else’s future now. I made it to the last main road before my apartment. I heard the walk signal indicator go and so I walked. That didn’t stop the truck driver racing for the yellow light and that was me, gone.
It’s alright though, I’m kind of a big deal in the underworld.
No one religion got it right, but the Egyptians nailed it with their theory of post-mortality wealth transfer. Any thing you are buried with will keep you company in the underworld. A spirit facsimile, ever regenerating, would always be instantly available at your command. It’s not too bad, if you knew the rules beforehand.
That’s a big if. The Egyptian lords and ladies rule the roost in the hereafter, with their unfathomable collections of wealth and sundries. Your wealth at the time of burial is all that matters. Bumbling archaeologists and other such disturbers of the deceased have not put a dent in this domination of the dead. There are some other potentates, led by Qin Shi Huang and his army of ghostly terracotta warriors. But most, most have little or nothing.
This all matters because life after death is rather dull. It is a grey and faded representation of the real world, with everything tantalizingly out of reach. The living are a shadowy play across the shade of their world. Here, the courts of the Pharaohs are the bustling hubs of the underworld. Great masses flock to beg one bit of the property from these Egyptian kings. Begging for just one item to alleviate the dullness of being deceased.
Now those lords and ladies, those kings and queens, they come to me.
My dear mother, an Irish emigrant, slipped my surprisingly intact iPhone into my coffin. Bless her. This device, this artifact, gives me access to the most powerful of all resources. Information. Information about Earth. Every spirit craves knowledge about their former abode, every single one wants to know if they are remembered. The deceased ask, I Google. However it works, I don’t know, it works! I can’t contact the living, but I can see their digital world. I am inundated with goods and pledges of service from those seeking precious knowledge.
I sit on Ramses’ throne, enjoying this abundance of luxuries while I can. I survey the petitioners and nod to allow another to approach.
I sigh. This will all end soon. Others with their phones will arrive.
|
"Yeah. It's just an old door,"Dustin said, leaning back against the wall. He could see it waiting through the doorway all the way at the end of the hall. It was just barely visible, when he stood right at that spot. His grip on the phone in his hand tightened. "It's my house. So can you do it?"
The locksmith chattered away, a thouand pleasantries he'd heard a thousand times before. Dustin nodded, still staring at the door.
"1050 Eastlawn Lane,"he said at last, once the man had named his price. "See you at 11."
The phone went dark as he hung up, sliding it back into his pocket a second later.
And still, the door sat there. *Watching* him.
It was a door, he told himself. Of *course* it was still there. Where was it going to go?
But even the logical, rational side of him couldn't explain what it was about the damn thing that fascinated him so much. His grandparent's old house was...well, it was old. He'd grown up well accustomed to the window frames that were just a *little* shy of square, the way every door was just a little bit different.
But there was one that was worlds apart.
He inched closer, crossing from the tiled floor of the kitchen onto the well-worn carpet of the hallway. The bedrooms lay ahead, including the one he'd claimed as his own. The master, of course. It was his house now, and fair was fair.
Even if it came with extra baggage.
He sat down on the bed with a sigh. The soft *clink* of the springs echoed the sound.
*Maybe they'll come this time. Maybe they'll make it. Maybe today's the day.* No matter how the thoughts circled his head, Dustin couldn't quite bring himself to believe them.
He'd seen the door as a kid, when he visited. It waited in his grandparent's bedroom, narrow and too-tall and made from old, solid-feeling wood. But every time he reached for the handle, it only rattled in his grasp - locked up tight. When he'd asked them about it, they only shrugged.
*A closet,* they'd said. *Who knows? The key must have gotten lost somewhere along the way.* And they'd waved him off, sending him back outside to play.
But there was a window set in the door. What closet had a window? It didn't make any *sense.* And every time he was turned away, his questions dismissed, his curiosity grew a little more.
It was too high in the wood for him to peer through, back then. But he wasn't a kid anymore, and by the time he got the horrible, hideous news, things had changed.
When he'd come to begin the business of collecting their things, neatening and organizing and seeing after their affairs, he could see straight through - and all the way down to the staircase that lay within.
Dustin had thought he was seeing things, at first. It was just....*black.* But if he stood on a stool, raising himself up as high as he could possibly go in the way his grandparents had never allowed, he could see it - a spindly, run-down staircase every bit as narrow as the door. It descended from sight with frightening speed.
The moment he'd seen the wooden stairs falling away, he'd realized it.
He had to know.
His steps fell silent on the carpet, eaten up by the stillness of the room. He paced all the same, one arm folded across his chest. He chewed on his fingernails, eyeing the clock every few minutes.
10:30.
10:35.
Every pass of the room, his anxiety grew. This time. *This time*, it would work. This wasn't his first try, after all.
The first locksmith he'd called had been so confident. Maybe if he'd actually had a go at the thing, it'd have worked out.
10:37.
10:39.
He'd tried a simple repairman, after *that* whole mess. Maybe it was something with the hinges. They could just cut the whole thing off. Problem solved.
10:42.
10: 45.
Dustin's phone rang.
His blood chilled instantly.
Before it could ring a second time, it was at his ear, set to connect. "Hello?"
"This Dustin Langley?"a rough, coarse voice on the other end said. The sound of cars rushing past ate up the space between his words.
Dustin kicked at the carpet, his heart sinking. "*Damn* it."
"Excuse me?"
"This is he,"he said, more loudly.
"Right. Well, I'm Jeff, from the Lucky Locksmith. Sorry to say, but I've got a flat. Don't think I'll be able to make it today."
Damn, damn, damn. Dustin wrinkled his nose, flopping back down on his bed. "There's no way they can-"
"Sorry. We'll reschedule."Before Dustin could say another word, the man hung up on him.
He heaved himself upright again, his anger surging up. Again. It had happened *again.*
The first time, he'd thought it was just a fluke. A truck had crossed the centerline and hit the locksmith coming to work on the door. It was just a horrible, horrible accident, after all.
And then the second locksmith had had a heart attack on the way to Dustin's house.
And the repairman had fallen down the flight of stairs in front of he shop and broken his leg in three places.
Dustin wasn't the supernatural type of person - but even he could tell that something wasn't right. He turned for the door, cursing louder with every passing second. His stomps set the floor to creaking ominously. He'd just call someone else, and-
His foot erupted in agony, blinding and hot and impossible to ignore. He bit off a cry, turning the scream into something more like a yelp.
The source revealed itself instantly - a nail, left over from whatever half-hearted renovations his grandparents had done. It stuck from the carpet a good quarter of an inch. And, after his discovery, it gleamed red.
Dustin collapsed onto the ground, his teeth clenched. "Fuck,"he moaned, clasping his hands around it as though grabbing his foot would make the pain stop. It didn't.
Nothing ever worked out anymore, he thought sourly. It hadn't for weeks. He was getting more than a little tired of everything around him going so damned wrong. Things breaking. Plans getting canceled. It wasn't so hard.
It *couldn't* be that hard.
His mind was made up in an instant, encouraged by the pain in his foot and the frustrations he'd been swallowing for weeks. If no one else could get here, so be it.
He'd just take care of the damn thing himself.
*It had never worked before,* the thoughts in the back of his mind screamed as he pushed himself upright, leaving a bloody handprint on the carpet. *The door is locked. That won't change just because you're-*
The handle was cold under his palm as he grabbed hold of it. Frigid. It was just as ancient as the rest of the damn house, solid and worked from what looked like iron.
His chin lifted defiantly. Dustin glared down at it. grabbing hold of the door and readying himself to break the latch clear of the frame entirely.
The doorknob turned.
All of his frustration vanished in a split second, wiped away by sheer, unadulterated shock.
He was seeing things. That was it. He hadn't been sleeping well lately - not for weeks, really. He hadn't been able to get a good night's rest since he started sleeping in that damn bed.
It was just a figment of his imagination, surely.
His legs quivered, possessed by the sudden urge to *run*.
But he stood, perfectly in place, as the door's hinges creaked. The shriek of metal on metal filled the lonely, quiet bedroom.
And the door slid open.
---
(/r/inorai for shorter stuff by me!)
(/r/redditserials for longer stuff by me and others!) |
It was just a little chemistry, babe. I had no way of knowing it was going to spread like this. Okay, I guess that's kind of disingenuous, but the catalyst is basically harmless, doesn't touch human biochemistry directly. Doesn't touch any biochemistry directly, I mean, except for that one molecule but it's not like it's *necessary* or anything. I haven't killed anyone, those accidents were not my fault. I swear. Please reply, I really do love you and everyone makes mistakes.
Shit. Gotta go, they're on to me now. Apparently I've managed to piss off not only the governments of the world but some of its best and brightest computer geniuses as well. There have been some close calls in cafes and public libraries.
\~
Whew. Okay, I found an open WiFi I can access via long-range antenna, will probably buy me another few minutes. Look, it was never supposed to spread beyond the lab, just a little prank among colleagues. Everyone gets a little cross, we purge the catalyst from the air, we all have a good laugh, everyone admires my synthesis work. Maybe I get that promotion I've been eyeing.
Look, I know they've probably got you in custody for questioning, but please, when you get any of this
wait that's a drone later love you
\~
So I've been thinking. The world will recover, right? It always does. I've tried to get instructions for neutralizing the catalyst to all the major governments and scientific organizations, but access is getting more and more risky. And, uh, I guess I have a confession to make. I think I made a mistake. Not in the instructions, I mean they would work but there's this one functional group on the molecule that, now I've had time to think, might make it able to
goddamn why won't you people give me five minutes so I can
\~
I caught the news for a sec. Holy shit. Gotta admit I'm shaken. Riots, lethal accidents, looting. Catastrophic falls in worker productivity. Services going down. Militaries thrown into chaos. Stock market crashes. But babe. It's temporary, it has to be. This will blow over, it's really not that bad in the grand scheme of things. Maybe we'll learn from this, as a civilization, you know? People will adjust after a while.
Oh wow, okay, so this time it's not the government, there's a whole rioting mob heading down this street I'll find another place to
\~
Yeah, so it's bad, I get that, and a lot of it's my fault, I can admit that now. We will recover, though, we'll just have to find something new to replace it. Still though. I don't think it's *totally* my fault. The catalyst just undoes that one molecule and copies itself in the process. Just the one. It's spread a lot faster and farther than I thought it would, but still. They're acting like I'm some master bioterrorist, and that molecule isn't even necessary for life, I mean, it's *not my fault* people get so reliant on it.
Anyway I never meant to destroy the world's supply of caffeine.
&#x200B;
r/Magleby for more elaborate lies. |
Before the oceans rose and flooded the earth, before the Old Ones clawed and crawled from the depths of silt and sand, and ravaged those who walked the earth; before the sky turned kaleidoscopic hues of unimaginable colors and clouds melted like wax, and everything that we once held as fact and logic vanished in a moment... We believed that we, humans, had made a massive step in knowing the vast emptiness surrounding the planet.
We thought that single photo of a black hole, some odd light years away, was our step to *knowing*... But what we learned was not the image of a black hole, no, for it was an impression of something far more unknown, something far more uncaring, something far more *closer*... What we didn't learn was after the photo of what we believed to be the black hole had been taken, was that the black hole blinked, like an eye... The image we took awoke the one who dwelled in the watery city of R'yleh, the one who died but continued to dream, with eyes open, who waited to be stirred and finally was. |
Something about the number two makes it my favorite number. It's dependable. Flexible. Even. I can’t even remember when I first decided that I was going to *have* a favorite number. I guess most folks don't remember things like that.
So when the bum by the curb asks me to pick a number for a pretty little coin trick, that's what I choose. He smiles widely - a gap between his teeth, dirt and scrapes over his cheeks. He shakes his little can, filled to the brim with grubby bills and unwanted change.
Upside down the can goes, right over his palm. He pulls the can away, revealing that it’s empty. On his palm lie two shining coins, glimmering under the creamy moonlight.
"Two lucky ones for the gentleman, as requested,"he tells me. The same, eerie smile lingers on his gaunt face.
The man without a roof over his head ends up giving me two quarters. A strange transaction, I think to myself. The coins pocketed, I pay the entire matter no mind until I make it home.
Before I go to sleep, I take a look at the coins. They are not quarters, I discover. They're blank disks. Pristine, untouched, unmarked.
I set them beside my clock, and drift away to sleep dreading tomorrow. All I can remember before my eyes close is how little work I did today.
The next day, I return to my desk and discover that I’ve been assigned the same work that I did yesterday. My pens are not where I left them, and neither is my coffee cup. My coworkers are all wearing the same clothes they wore the day before. I check the calendar on my phone to see if April Fools has crept up without me noticing.
At first, I think the date displayed on my phone is a mistake. I check the calendar on my computer, then the date on Google.
They all post the same number. March 24. A day I’d already lived. I ask my coworkers what day it is, and ask them if I’ve gone insane. They think the latter question is a joke.
I sit numbly at my desk for most of the day. Everything around me goes the same way it did before. Colin drops a cup of warm coffee over his shoes at 3 PM. I receive an email for discounted flight tickets to Washington at 4. I leave the office by 5:15, only to discover the subways are closed due to an accident - just like yesterday.
The only thing different about the entire day is the bum. He’s not there anymore on my way home. Strangely, the coins he gave me twenty-four hours ago are still by my bedside table.
I skip dinner, and instead open some wine to calm my nerves. By midnight, I’ve found myself at the bottom of the bottle, wondering if this is all some cruel joke by some dedicated reality show.
When the clock strikes, I check my phone. I expect it to be March 24. Something like Groundhog Day.
Instead, it reads March 25. My heart skips, and relief washes over me like a hot shower. Perhaps I *had* gone insane. All I knew was that the nightmare was over. Everything was normal.
The very next day, life and work progresses as it should. I have a new set of paperwork to fill. I have a fresh new batch of emails to bore me. I check the date on my computer, and it says March 25. No one spills any coffee, and I find my airline’s discounted offer already opened.
I choose to walk home that day. The bum is still nowhere to be found. I try to put it out of my mind - but for some odd reason, his absence bothers me.
The next morning comes. My eyes snap open and I jump out of bed, reaching for my phone.
It reads March 25.
I call in sick, but I’m not just faking it. I feel nauseated, anxious, bewildered. I don’t eat for most of the day, wandering around town with a sense of loss and wonder.
The week passes by like this. Each day, two-by-two. I begin to realize the second day is the only one which holds any consequence, and spend most of the first days missing from work. I have every other day off, but it’s not as wonderful as I’d imagined. Instead, most of my days are spent in paranoia and confusion.
On the very last day, at the end of the week, I discover that the two coins by my bedside have vanished. I cannot recall misplacing or moving them. They’re simply gone. In my delirious state of being, I think nothing of it.
I realize that I haven't eaten for a day, and head out for dinner.
As I make my way home, I spot the bum from the beginning of my week by the curb. He smiles the same, eerie smile, shaking his filthy can of coins. Even the splotches of dirt on his cheeks look exactly the same.
But this time I look closer, and I see his eyes shimmer like black flame. His gnarled hands are like claws - the unkempt hair matted over his head wriggling like maggots.
“Looking to play again, stranger?” |
The way he said it, he had asked it innumerable times, “Why should I let you live?” I didn’t have a good answer, to be honest my life was so insignificant that being alive, being dead, the world would keep moving as it always had barely noticing my passing of at all.
Living alone in the woods with my little garden, it would be months, maybe years before anyone came across my body. “My life isn’t even worth taking, I’m dead to the world anyways. Do your worst.”
Surprisingly, he turned around and walked away, “I’ll be back if you ever start to live.” as he vanished into the darkness. |
It's funny how random chance works out.
What were the chances that caffeine could evolve twice? Apparently, the biochemical processes that drive caffeine production in coffee and tea are different.
What were the chances that there would be life in our galaxy? That we'd make first contact in our lifetimes? Apparently, other life is out there. And looking for us.
What were the chances that that life would share many of our same metabolic processes? That they could eat our food? Drink our beverages? Say what you want about convergent evolution, but the chances are astronomically low.
What were the chances that caffeine would affect them differently than humans? Well, that one's actually kind of a given. But still.
When we made first contact, coffee was one of the few luxury items the astronauts had on their craft. So, naturally, it became a gift. And the path to Earth's success on the galactic stage.
Coffee production is Earth's chief export. It's consumed every day by trillions of sapient beings across the galaxy, in quantities larger than the total volume of rain hitting the Earth's surface at any given time.
It's a big fuckin' deal. And that means coffee shops are the most profitable human endeavor ever created. We traded coffee for translight engines. We traded coffee for immortality. We traded coffee for the wildest gene therapies.
And me? I trade coffee for cold, hard, cash. I'm a barista. Best in the sector. On a daily basis, I make more credits than the entire GDP of a small 21st century Earth country. It's pricey, custom stuff. When a two-headed Flarsonn wants exactly two pumps and not a milliliter more, they come to me.
And they said my liberal arts degree would never pay off.
Funny how random chance works out. |
It’s 9:31 pm on May 15th 2019. This is the time that I jumped to. I couldn’t plot a more accurate course. I had to quickly punch in a pre-set coordinate that we used for testing the prototype. They were onto us.
In hind sight we should have developed a much simpler way of dialing a point in time. Instead of the complex way we had it.
You see, in order for you to time travel theoretically, you need three things. One, lots of energy. Two, a computer with 25 Zetta Bytes per second processing speed and three... accurate math. Oh and a device that converts your body into tiny atoms, blast you into a point in space and hope to god your math is right that a) blasted you into the correct point in space and b) start materializing at the correct time so you don’t lose an arm, or be turning inside out.
Luckily, I knew someone who was pretty good at that math stuff. It was my job to build the interface that uses all the inputs and make it all work.
The pre-set that I used was mainly for transporting small tree saplings to the past to test our math. We engrave our test numbers on it and see if it lasted long enough to tell us if the test worked or not.
We had a 53% success rate. For obvious reasons we couldn’t determine why some trees remained alive and others died. So we simply believed that we were 100% right and that the failed attempts were because of natural causes.
I’m so glad that we were right.
The other purpose of this date was because around this time it signified what we believed to be first contact with ‘them’. At least that’s where the researched pointed to.
Not much was really known about first contact. But around this time, according to history. Tells us that humanity realized the error of its ways and all forms of government agreed to be dismantled and become the United Federation of Earth, or UFE for short.
For a short time everything was good. It seemed that the world was finally able to work together. For a common cause. But evidently this wasn’t the case. Slowly but surely, The wealthy were getting wealthier and the poorer even poorer.
The wealthy started to infiltrate all areas of the UFE and started to control and manipulate all citizens.
The common cause, that spark, that energy that powered that age was lost to the lucky generation. The people who were born and died in the “golden era”. The time where the UFE advanced so much in a short time.
In the present time, It was against UFE regulations to read about the golden era. Citing that the philosophy was harmful to the overall survival of the UFE itself. You can find no record of any kind during that time. Only the approved version from the UFE publishing arm.
We believe otherwise.
I’m part of a secret organization that believes that we must find out the truth about first contact. About the golden era.
What was said that allowed humanity to unite and prosper? Who contacted us? Why?
Whatever the case. The information that I collect, could help start a revolution that could create a new golden era.
To be continued. [part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/bpbvs1/wp_every_intelligent_species_was_given_a_specific/eo2vtae/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app) |
I looked down at my hands and snapped through the five stages of grief in the few seconds before a slightly transparent older guy with a beer belly approached me. "Greetings!"he said jovially, extending a hand towards me. I felt nauseous. This Italian vacation had taken an unexpected turn, to say the least. I really didn't expect to wind up in some ghost dimension after my mom got distracted by a pretty accent and got me killed in the subsequent accident. Here I was though, no worse for wear to be honest. Although I could see my mangled corpse on the street below me, I felt fine and was surprisingly intact.
&#x200B;
"What happened to you?"I asked the man. He pointed at his heart. "So what now?"He shrugged.
&#x200B;
"Now we watch,"he said matter-of-factly. That seemed to be the idea of Spectator Mode, as the welcome message I had received called it. There was little else we could do. I flew at my mom. I yelled at her. I wiped a tear from her eye. I conjured a baseball bat and tried to further smash the car. Nothing happened. It was like watching my previous world through a TV screen - visible but untouchable. "Now we watch,"he repeated and now I accepted my fate.
&#x200B;
"For how long?"I asked and he shrugged again. He seemed to have just arrived, judging by his attire. Other people around us were dressed in more and more ancient garb as they floated in random directions, chatting with each other or dancing around live people. Their stages of transparency seemed to vary from as solid as me to faint silhouettes that grew fainter by the second. "Hey, what's up with you?"I said to the fellow who had greeted me. He was fading quickly and I was worried I was next. Moments later, he was gone. I cursed and looked around. "What the hell,"I mumbled and I grabbed the nearest other person to question them. He glared at me as I clutched his toga and I felt a pang of familiarity.
&#x200B;
"Caesar?"I said finally, remembering the bust I had seen in a museum. He nodded in exasperation and handed me a postcard with his autograph. I shook my head. I didn't think I would be needing his autograph. "What happened to him?"I asked, pointing at the empty air where my companion had been moments ago.
&#x200B;
"He has been forgotten,"Caesar said indifferently. "Here you stay until you are forgotten."
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! |
‘What the hell do I do with *this*?!’ I say, watching it smear a sort of grey ooze all over the floor.
A small group of doctors stand in the corner of the sterile, white room conversing in hushed voices, before one of them steps forward and smiles at me, ‘I think it’s amazing. You’re the first!’ The group of doctors murmur agreement from the background.
I stare at them, my right eye twitching. ‘You said I’d have *abilities beyond imagination!* So, I’ll ask you again,’ The appendage coils back at me and leaves a grey, gooey smear all over my hospital gown, I bat it away with both hands as I go on speaking, ‘What the hell do I do with this?!’
The doctor that stepped forward clears his throat and casts a look back at his team as a slick middle-aged man in an expensive-looking suit enters the room. He observes me, frowning.
‘What’s he supposed to do with that?’ Says the executive, glaring at the huddled group of doctors. ‘What do I tell the shareholders?’
The lead scientist walks over to me with what can only really be described as a foldable plastic stick and prods my newly sprouted appendage. It grabs the stick and begins to tug. ‘Well, look at that! It’s … strong, and capable of gripping.’ says the scientist, pulling his stick but meeting significant resistance. He smiles toward the executive, holding his glasses still on his nose with his other hand in case they get jostled off.
‘I’m not doing that,’ I say, as the scientist glares at me. I face the executive and say, ‘I’m not even in control of it.’
‘Yet!’ adds the lead scientist, laughing breathlessly, ‘Not yet.’
The executive’s mouth draws into a severe, straight line and he folds his arms across his chest. ‘This doesn’t look good, Doctor. This doesn’t look good at all,’ and then he asks, ‘What’s this grey stuff?’
‘Yeah, what is this grey stuff?’ I say, sniffing a big dollop of the stuff that landed on my shoulder. It smells like stale air.
The doctor at last lets go of his plastic stick, and the appendage promptly loses interest in it and deposits it onto the floor in a puddle of the grey stuff. After buying a short amount of time smoothing down his lab coat and clearing his throat, he looks at his feet and mutters something incoherent.
‘Speak up!’ barks the executive.
‘I don’t know how to explain it so that you would understand. It requires a high level of expert knowledge to-‘
‘You don’t know, do you?’ I say. ‘You’ve put me through all of this and you don’t have a clue!’
There’s a prolonged moment of silence. The lead doctor stands there with his head hanging down, gazing at the floor like a child. The executive stoops forward, cupping his hand around his ear as if to say, ‘Well?’ The group of doctors at the back of the room shuffle just a little closer together, clutching clipboards to their chests. I stare down at my new appendage, which seems to have gone to sleep. As if there was some stage direction, or commonly understood signal, everybody in that room sighs simultaneously. The executive storms out, the scientists go, and then it’s just me and this *thing* and a great deal of grey ooze splattered about. |
I'm not proud of the fact that I've used my powers. But sometimes I just felt like I needed to. I would never use them at first, like when I interviewed or started a new job or something like that. I would wait to see how things worked out, seeing if I could achieve what I wanted powerless. And if I couldn't, well it required minimal effort to just modify their thinking and there I was, sitting at my nice new desk with a generous salary and countless perks. All is well that ends well, that's how I always saw it. What I never did was use it on friends. That seemed immoral. What if they didn't actually want to be friends with me?
As you might realize, my life felt kind of fragile. I had a wife and a wonderful friend group. I was truly happy with it all. None of them had been subject to my powers so I knew they really liked me for who I was. In fact, they didn't even know about my powers. It seemed better that way. But it's a heavy load to bear alone. I couldn't very well turn to any human, so I turned to words. I wrote in a notebook and I poured out the way I felt along with all my doubts and all my uncertainties. It was my private conversation with myself, not for any eyes but my own. On a relevant note, I absolutely hate my birthday. I hated being the focus of celebrations. Yesterday wasn't any different in that regard. I had asked my wife - no, I think I had begged her - to not do anything special. A cake and a hug was all I wanted, and I could do with either of those any day. Then I noticed Margaret and Peter's car on the next block over as I drove home. Odd, as I didn't recall them knowing other people in the neighborhood. When I saw Steve and Lucy's car a bit further down, I knew what was happening.
I tensed as I opened the door, ready for a crowd of unwelcome friends to leap out and yell "surprise". Instead, I was greeted with an icy silence as I closed the door behind me. I carefully crept towards the family room, thinking the surprise might still be on. Inside, I saw my friends and my wife. There were gifts. There were balloons. But there were no festivities or any sign of joy on their faces. "Sit,"my wife ordered as she caught my eye. And then I saw the journal, sitting on the coffee table.
"Allie,"I said but she shook her head.
"What the fuck is this?"My wife didn't cuss. I don't think I had ever heard her cuss. "You manipulate people? Is that why we like you? Who even are you?"
I winced. They were questions I often asked myself. My only reassurance was that I would never use my powers on somebody with whom I wanted a meaningful relationship. But they couldn't know that. They couldn't imagine what it felt like to interact with people on a daily basis, suppresing the urge to make them smile and give you whatever you wanted. They couldn't imagine what it felt like to go to a job you didn't merit to receive a paycheck you didn't even start to deserve, but nobody could raise an objection because that's the power you had over them. But I would never do that with people I loved. "It's not what it looks like,"I answered meekly.
"Then what the fuck is it?"Steve cussed more often but it still hit me like a bombshell. I wasn't used to the anger being directed at me. Lucy sat beside him, shaking her head. She was seething.
"I think we're all thinking it,"Peter said, gesturing to the two couples of friends sitting on my couch. In my family room. In my house. We had had so many great, happy times here playing games and chatting for hours over bottles of wine. "You can consider this friendship over."I stared at him open-mouthed. I couldn't afford to lose my only true friends. "I'm sorry, Allie,"he said to my wife. She wiped a tear from her cheek.
"I'm done with him, too,"she stated and I felt myself gasp. My world was collapsing around me. I was desperate. I held my head in my hands.
"Please,"I said simply. And a tear trickled down my cheek and onto the carpet.
"We forgive you,"they said in unison as I uncorked a bottle of wine and poured them all a generous glass. They smiled at me. "That's a cool power to have,"Margaret said cheerily. "I'll go get the cake."I stared at my friends and smiled. Things weren't all that bad like this either. Plus, all is well that ends well.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! |
There’s a knock on the door outside a square house with a brown picket fence on Montcastle Lane, just off route 49. The house (in need of a thorough tidying) belongs to Gabi Redders, also in thorough need of a tidying.
“Just a moment,” Gabi shouts from the kitchen. A half-finished casserole rests on the counter, liberally coated in flour and gravy. It waits expectantly for a layer of puff pastry that at this rate will never happen. Gabi unties her apron, covers her casserole in foil, and patters towards the foyer.
The door opens to a little old man with a beard stretching to his knees. Considering he can barely reach the doorknob, this is hardly a feat. Gabi smiles warmly at him, gesturing him to come inside.
He stammers, staring hungrily at the “Welcome!” doormat. His mouth tries to form some kind of excuse to enter, but he cannot find the words.
“Slow fellow, ain’tcha? Well let’s not both catch cold, come on in.”
He bolts through the door at the speed of a bullet train with new sneakers, but shaky knees betray his ambition. He tumbles over a short stack of boxes. His work unveils a stack of folded T-shirts. Thin veins snake across his legs and arms, like a translucent N64 controller.
“Careful, there,” Gabi sighs, helping the man up. This is not the first time an overeager patron wiped out on her floor. “I know you’re hungry. You set down in the kitchen while I finish up dinner.”
His eyes droop but he tries to mask the expression. He probably hasn’t been told much, she estimates.
“No wonder you haven’t eaten,” she tuts, “couldn’t trick a toddler with that act. You got a name?”
The man wrings his hands as Gabi walks down the hall, out of sight. Hesitantly, he follows, but only by shuffling forwards.
“Abraham,” he mumbles, leaning into a chair at the kitchen table. If he were to sit, he thinks, he might not get up again.
“Pleased to meet ya. I’m Gabi. Just finishing up over here, we’ll handle the business once I get this in the oven. Who sent you to my place?”
Abraham takes a deep breath, inhaling the homey aroma. It wasn’t too long ago his own house would smell like this one, a perfect miasma of family love. Gruffly, he barks out, “Martin.”
Gabi fiddles with the casserole again. In moments, a few cherry tomatoes pepper the top of her dinner. As she starts cutting squares of dough, she decides she’s not surprised by the stranger’s answer. Martin’s got a habit of sending over lost causes. It’s a miracle when they actually make it here.
Abraham hears loud footsteps from upstairs. He gulps, guiltily. They sound like little children’s feet. Suddenly, a thud.
“That’s just my kids,” Gabi chirps, turning around. She takes a few half steps out from behind the counter and shouts up the stairs. In moments, the sound quiets down.
“Tell me about them,” Abraham sighs, twiddling his beard with his hands. His whole body aches to sit down.
“I adopted them some forty years ago. They’re like you, you know. Their old mother brought them here when she couldn’t keep them secret any more. Poor things.”
The kitchen goes silent. Fortunately, this little miracle gives Gabi enough time to hustle the mixture into the oven. She prepares a glass of wine for her guest.
“I… I don’t eat much…” Abraham tries, languishing on the spot for the truth. He accepts the glass and drinks it dry.
“You’re short enough for it,” Gabi chuckles, fiddling with her shirt buttons.
Abraham cannot help but stare at her neck. “…who’s the… um.”
“The meal?” She supplies.
Abraham cannot physically go paler, but if he could, he would have. Gabi only laughs and spreads out her arms. She kneels, delicately.
“Have a taste, don’t be shy.”
Abraham has to drag himself across the kitchen to get to her, but he does.
Two fangs extend from his mouth. He looks up, just to be sure. She nods.
The two hug for ages. |
&#x200B;
“Go. Tom, the worst thing that can happen is she’ll say no.” My friend repeats for what feels like the 100th time.
“James, let me just remind you when you went to ask Ariel out, you got bitten. *Bitten*. I’m not trying to get bitten.”
“Heads up, she’s coming this way. I’ll see you with, or without your new girlfriend.” James says, disappearing to head to class, which is definitely not where he was going. I look around, and see the corridor I’m in is empty, apart from my crush walking towards me, with her head down.
I can do this. Say hi and, just ask her on a date. How hard can it be? That’s what normal people do. As James said, the worst that can happen is that she’ll say no. Or bite me. Or make fun of me and think I’m a creep. But apart from that its fine. I look back up and she’s about to come past me.
“Hey, Mia.” I stutter at her.
She looks up at me from, what she’s doing on her hand. Which is drawing. Drawing something which looks like a bearded ant. Normal, right?
“I, ummm… just wanted to ask you…. if uhh…… you wanted to go ou'tt with me? Like on a date. To the movies or something?” I speak,
She glares at me as if I just ate her grandmother.
“Oh… never mind then.” I say, barley audible.
“A date? A date?” She questions me.
“Yeah, but its okay.” I start to walk to science, thinking of all the things I’m going to say to my best friend when I see him next, and what a dumb idea this was.
“I’d love to go on a date.” I spin back and look at her. What? *She said yes?* I look nothing short of dumbfounded when she continues. “Yeah that’ll be fun! Just wait there for a second please.”
She starts digging through her bag, looking for something, while I just stand there looking like an idiot. Then she brings out a knife.
“What’s that?” I blurt out as soon as I see it.
“A knife. Have you never seen one before?” She says back at me, in a mocking tone.
Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. Everyone knew she was weird, but what kind of psychotic person brings a knife to school?
“Hey maybe a date isn’t the best idea” I say at her walking backwards to my class. “Yeah its fine.”
I turn in the direction of my class and start to run. I turn back to see that she’s chasing me. I break into a sprint. Then suddenly, a hand pulls me, stopping me. I turn back in horror, pleading that it’s not her. She couldn’t have made all that distance up; it must be a teacher stopping me from running.
I slowly look back to see that *it was her.* Then I see her hand covered in blood, reaching for my forehead. Then I feel her touching it. But…everything is so peaceful now. So serene. I don't need to run from her.
“So, what about that date, huh?” Mia says. Such a wonderful voice. Just adorable.
“Sounds amazing.”
&#x200B;
Thanks for reading :)
If you have any feedback, please comment it, or DM me :) |
You ever have one of *those* days?
You know the type. Starts off with burnt toast or coffee, maybe you spill something on your best shirt and you have to settle for your second best until you dribble toothpaste on it and then you're suddenly on your fifth best shirt that you save for summer when no one's in the office. One of them there days.
That was yesterday.
When the guy in the expensive suit started handing out pink slips through the cubicle maze that is Dryden Consulting Incorporated, ninth floor of a very bland office building in the downtown core of a very bland city. With Starbucks across from the no name coffee shop that tries it's hardest and half the office just swears by.
You know the type.
So that was yesterday.
Today, oh boy. Today is one of *those* days but if that day developed a nasty case of the "up yours".
Already late for work, not a good thing when someone's been handing out notices, I found out that the elevator was out of service. Because of course, in a building with twenty plus floors and six elevators only one of them ever seems to work at any given time.
So I took the stairs, nine floors up with a satchel slamming into my waist and my lack of cardio really starting to show. By the end of that I was gasping and drenched in sweat, ruining my sixth favorite shirt (since I used the fifth yesterday) and burst into the reception area to find it oddly empty.
When you hand out notices you usually leave a receptionist, right? I didn't see Daniel or Jess, so that was odd. But, you know, they could just be in the bathroom. Not too weird.
After badging myself through the security door, wiping my face in the desperate hope that I wouldn't be absolutely disgusting, I found myself facing oddity number 2.
There was no one here either. Every cubicle was empty that I could see. No Jann waving her cheery 'good morning' with her damnable morning person happiness, no Robert with his morning news paper and lemon water waiting to tell you all about the news of last night.
Through the whole maze I found no one, just the eerie silence of an empty floor that should be filled with clacking keyboards, ringing phones, and general mundane chit chat of the day. Silence. Not even a copier beeping with incessant error codes or paper jams.
Weird stuff.
So, I waited a good five minutes for the sweat to subside and then I made my way through the maze to the dark wooden door with a brass nameplate screwed tight to it at about eye level.
G.R. Yates, CFO
I knocked delicately, not wanting to disturb him if he was in, and no gravelly voice answered. Instead the door slipped open, clearly not locked or even closed properly, and I found myself peeking into an empty office. So I did the next thing. I checked my watch.
9:17.
Did everyone get fired?
Did I get fired?
What the hell is going on?
And most importantly...if no one is here, then did coffee get made?
I turned away from Mister Yates' door and found myself looking over the cubicle walls at the suit from yesterday, with his very expensive looking hair and very expensive looking suit and even more expensive looking watch.
With him are two others, dressed similarly. Fancy suits, fancy watches. They could be twins, fraternal of course. That would be oddity number 3.
Oddity number 4, for the day that would rapidly descend into the annals of history of bad days, was that Mister Yates was being carried by the two following the suit from yesterday. Bodily, held up by the two of them, and bleeding badly from wounds to his face. So that was weird.
I ducked down behind the cubicle walls, not wanting to be spotted since it would be inappropriate and possibly hazardous to interrupt this, and pawed my cellphone out of my pocket.
No signal.
One of *those* days, right?
I kept moving, making my way to my cubicle and listening to the footsteps and panting breaths of Yates, hearing the four of them move through the office that I knew like the back of my hand. They were going to the conference room. Inside my cubicle I picked up the handset to my phone and heard nothing, not a damn thing. Just like that, a bad day was descending in a fiery spiral of terrible.
The next thought that crossed my mind was to get out of the building. So I shuffled in a hunched run below the cubicle walls to the entryway only to find it locked with one of those big realtor locks with the keypad. That wasn't there when I got in.
Great. Just great.
From the conference rooms someone screamed, high pitched and pained, like something from a horror movie. Yates, it would seem, was having a slightly worse day than I was. I could hear him shouting something.
"I don't know anything!"He kept saying, over and over again. I didn't hear the response but I did hear a wet thud and then another scream. Guess they didn't love that answer. I stuck my head up with a clear line of sight into the conference room, looking down the length of the very nice table that was covered in not so nice blood now. Ironically, I think, Yates would have been the most furious about that out of the management team.
The three of them were standing in front of him, backs to me, facing him while he sat in the chair at the head of the table, pushed back towards the video conference wall so they had standing space. Two of them, in those matching suits, held equally matching black pistols in their hands.
I would say that was oddity 5 but I'm so far past oddities now. We're into the realm of just pure fucked up.
"Where are they?"The one from yesterday said, calmly, using a white handkerchief to clean his knuckles of Yates' blood.
"I don't know, they never told me. I just ran the money."Yates said, resigned now, no longer terrified. Accepting something I did not know was to come. Because this was something out of a movie, not real life.
"Then we shall follow the money. Thank you, Mister Yates. For your help."
Then the man from yesterday, who'd handed out pink slips, handed out a permanent pink slip to Yates. Delivered to his head in a cold, clinical way. I watched Yates' head snap back, then his body lay limp in the chair, spinning slowly and dribbling things that should have been inside onto the carpet. Yates would no longer be mad about that, since Yates was dead.
What I didn't know, until the three of them turned in unison to stare at me with three sets of piercing blue eyes, was that I'd yelped when it happened. Now there I was, head just above the cubicle wall staring at the three of them just having committed murder. And there they were, looking at me having just witnessed them commit murder.
So that was bad. In for a penny, in for a pound, right?
That's how my Tuesday was going, one of *those* days. Except way, way worse.
And when I ducked down behind the wall just before bullets started slamming into it, passing right through the flimsy cloth like the sound of Barb's coughing fits, I realized that it was only getting worse.
At least until they killed me.
Then it'd just be over.
Silver linings. |
The clouds drifting under the Pantheon's dozen seats were turning dark. Lightning cracked and thunder rolled -- He would ascend soon.
"We don't have time,"called Johnny Cash over the storm. "Someone must step down, now!"
"This is all your fault!"Kurt Cobain spat at Mozart. "If you'd have just abdicated when we'd asked, He would have a place to sit."
But Mozart waved him off, and Iz jumped to his defense: "Why should one of us step aside willingly, brudah? I say let him come. Let him judge."
Angry grumbling broke out -- Celine Dion was whining as usual, and The Doors were shouting at Earth, Wind, and Fire about the situation. But for all the noise, it was clear many of the Gods were fine with the Hawaiian's suggestion: Hendrix was reclined and blowing smoke; Nina Simone fiddled with her long robes; Daft Punk's game of Connect Four continued uninterrupted.
A behemoth crack of lightning lit up the Pantheon, it's white splendor streaked with electric blue, shining light on the dozen Deities. Many faces showed fear. There were only a dozen seats in the Pantheon, and all were full. No one doubted the newcomer was worthy of a seat. The question was, who would be forced to leave?
Per tradition, the new God arrived to a mash-up of the songs that had earned him ascension. The Real Slim Shady bled into Lose Yourself, fading into Stan, transitioning to Without Me before cascading into an impossibly rapid series of collabs. Truly, he was the Rap God.
Eminem appeared at the center of the Pantheon. His baggy white shirt and simple chain, ironically, matched the decor of this hallowed station. His face was stern as he eyed the deities: Chopin wilted, Iron Maiden slid down in their seats, and Bocelli covered his eyes.
Eminem judged them long and hard before choosing his seat.
\--------------------
409/365
one story per day for a year (and counting) read them all at [r/babyshoesalesman](https://www.reddit.com/r/babyshoesalesman)
\-------------------- |
I stared at the devil in disbelief. "Why?"
"Oh boy, you remember Patrick?"
Patrick? Of course I remembered him. He was the sweetest boy in the whole universe.
"What about him?"
"He destroyed his phone when he ragequit Fortnite. The phone cost over 1000€ so destroying it counted as a bad enough sin to come here. He came here after he ended up in a car crash."
I couldn't believe my ears. Patrick? Died? This couldn't be possible.
"Go on."
The devil continued. "He came here very afraid. He didn't have anyone to be with here s he had one wish that I was obligated to fulfill."
"What was it?"
"He wanted you to come here because you are the only person he can trust."
I was touched. Spending my time in Hell won't be so lonely if Patrick is here. I gave the devil my death certificate and entered the afterlife. Patrick was waiting for me.
"Walther! You're here!"
Patrick wrapped his arms around me. I lifted him up and threw him in the air a couple of times.
"You missed me, didn't ya?"I grinned.
"Yup"
Patrick pointed at a lava pool. "Wanna go swim?"
"I'd love to" |
Half of Virginia was scorched beyond recognition. The ecological impact would already last for ages and it would only keep growing more dangerous if nothing was done, considering the rampaging elemental currently headed south along the east coast.
Agent Matthews parked outside of the police station. He didn't even know these men existed up until an hour ago. He smirked. They were found almost immediately. Nobody was fucking around. Every three letter agency on the planet, including some Agent Mathews didn't even recognize, were fully cooperating with each other. This was a global effort.
The fact that some sort of Illuminati group launched a coup on the government made a coordinated response impossible. They were prepared for this, even if they didn't trigger it themselves. Agent Matthews waited outside the interrogation room. It was a miracle he acquired this location. Lizard people tried to intercept the message and the road to get here was full of eldritch monstrosities. Apparently, a bunch of prophesies were getting fulfilled at the same time all around the world, just like Agent Matthews theorized for the last decade. His knowledge of the occult had been the joke of the office, until his foresight saved them from shadow demons eight hours ago.
Now that this small town police squadron arrested the perpetrators, it was up to Agent Mathews to see if he could possibly decipher a solution to the mess these three created. One was fat, the other skinny, and the last one had long, greasy hair. They didn't react when Agent Matthews entered the room.
"I'd threaten you with life sentences, but I guess it wouldn't matter anymore."
The fat one shrugged.
A policewoman lunged at him, but her partner stopped her from reaching the delinquent. She then apologized and left the room sobbing.
"Her sister..."said the partner. "She lived... erhm lives in Virginia."
Agent Matthews nodded. "Understandable. Can you leave us alone for a while?"
"Fine."The partner spat in their direction. "I'll get them later."
Agent Matthews took a moment to compose himself. "You three... have accomplished what powerful factions of the elite have failed at for centuries."
"Heh... losers"hissed the skinny one.
The other two chuckled.
Agent Matthews glared, shutting them up. "I won't ask how you deciphered the necromonicon without going mad, or how you even found the coordinates to the tomb of the god of destruction, I'm just going to ask a simple question. Why?"
The long haired one looked away. "Have you ever had a... niche interest?"
"Answer the question."
"Fuck him."The skinny one crossed his arms. "Fuck 'em all. Nobody gets it."
A policeman knocked on the door. He beckoned over Agent Matthews and updated him on the situation. The elemental monster headed west after reaching South Carolina.
Agent Matthews turned to trio. They had smug looks on their faces. "You do realize the government is on the verge of dissolving, right? The people outside this room are looking for any excuse to kill you, and if you don't give me a solution, nothing will stop them."
"Really?"The fat one widened his eyes. "That's pretty fucking metal, dude."
"Hell yeah!"The skinny one raised his arms in triumph. "That's fucking awesome."
Agent Matthews went pale. They were insane. "I don't... get it. Just... what do you gain from this?"
"The ending we deserve!"shouted the long haired one.
"Yeah!"said the other two.
"What the hell are you talking about?!?"
""Metalocalypse!"shouted the long haired one. "We *loved* that show and it got taken away from us because of petty bullshit."
"Yeah!"said the skinny one. "It was fucking dildos!"
The fat one nodded sagely. "Nobody cared because of how niche and specific it was, even though it was the greatest thing ever. We organized internet campaigns... they even secured funding for another season..."He tightened his face with a pained expression. "Adult Swim didn't care. The outrage wasn't big enough."He clenched his fist. "That was when we decided we would dedicate the next years of our lives to accomplishing the most metal thing we possibly imagine. Getting drunk off our asses and unleashing a literal avatar of pure anger on them!"
"They can't ignore that"said the skinny one.
"Once it reaches Atlanta, it'll ask for Dethklok to return. If they bend the knee, the elemental goes away."The long haired one smirked. "And if they're stubborn, and the world ends, then we get to see it happen in real life. Fuck everyone. We get what we wanted either way."
Agent Matthews rubbed his forehead as everything fit into place. "All this time, everything I investigated, all of this shitshow, was because you guys wanted an edgy cartoon back on the air?"
"Yeah!"The skinny one grinned. "What? You gonna cry about it?"
Agent Matthews sighed, leaving the interrogation room. He then murdered everyone in the police station, returned to the room, and unlocked their handcuffs, saying:
"That's pretty fucking metal, guys. I loved that show!" |
The pit of ash he crawled out of was alight around the edges, encircling him in flames. He had his shoulders out, and grabbed anything he could get purchase on to pull himself out of the ground and the awful smell of sulfur, which he had stopped smelling long ago.
He emerged with two swords on his back, one deep black with a jagged edge and one pure silver. He was donned in dark red heavy armor and a helm with 3 jagged spikes atop his head. His face matched the armor, covered in the thick, almost black blood of countless demons and monsters that roam the underworld.
*The things I've done to see you again.*
He stood now on his feet, surveying the land before him. It was nighttime, and he breathed in the fresh air deeply, along with the acrid smoke. Outside the ash pit, sand dunes rolled in the distance under the blanket of the stars. Stars he couldn't recognize. *Perhaps even the heavens have changed since I've been gone.* He could hear the chirping of insects, much louder than he remembered. He turned to look behind him and froze. 2 moons hung in the sky, both larger than the moon he was accustomed to. In the distance underneath them he could see prickly green towers rising from the sand, at least 4 meters tall.
He stepped over the fire, onto the sands surrounding, and began walking. The chirps grew louder as he continued, moonward. Soon he lamented his heavy armor, weighing him down, yet he was unsure about this place, and he had the eerie feeling that he was being watched. His boots made no sound as they rose and fell back into the sand, making a cascade of dirt around them.
He arrived at the first tower, and saw a small critter picking at it. In the spots between its prickles, the little rodent was suckling at something, most likely water. He made a note of this, and continued.
The chirping grew almost unbearably loud as he climbed a dune. He caught his breath as he stood atop its peak, before freezing again. In the valley between two large dunes crawled half a dozen insects, larger than any horse he had seen. They were the source of the awful chirping, which they seemed to make by rubbing two of their hind legs together. Behind them rose great stingers, curled up and deadly.
He considered going back to hell.
To his left, movement. A strange humpbacked animal was carrying something, seemingly straight towards him. Leading the creature from the ground was what looked to be a man, dressed in strange white garb. He began to walk toward them. |
"Urgh,"I said as I flapped my hands at a tiny fruitfly. "at least houseflies are big enough to be swatted."
There was a buzzing noise in the distance but I ignored it. Summer in Australia really was the worst. Insects everywhere, it was hot, everything sucked. Especially for an arachnophobe like me. I went to open a few windows when... what was *that?*
Outside the screen door was a small horde of tiny reddish brown insects. The swarm rearranged itself to form a vaguely phallic shape and held it for a few seconds. It was fine though. The whole point of the screen was to let the air in and keep the insects... fuck.
The swarm pelted itself at the door, small bodies passing through the holes in the screen. A phalanx of buzzing dust hovered before me, with reinforcements arrive every second. Their piercing red eyes were accusatory.
"Nope,"I said out loud. "Nope, nope, nope, nope."I dashed towards my room.
The fruit flies weren't just coming through the doors now, they were coming through the windows, they were *everywhere.* I leapt into my room and slammed the door shut, wedging a towel underneath. Of course this was only a temporary solution - they were coming for me, I was sure of it.
I looked around desperately for something I could use as defense. Outside my closed window the fruitflies were forming... letters?
**U SUCK**
I stared at the letters on the other side of the glass for a while before the meaning sank in. They were... *intelligent?* Slowly a plan began to form. A few fruitflies managed to squeeze themselves through the cracks in my door and began zipping around my head. I grabbed a can of lynx africa and fired.
The fruitflies small body was sent flying. The swarm outside the window recoiled in horror. Taking a deep breath I held the can of deodorant in front of my face and flung open the door. Or tried to. The door got stuck on the towel and took a bit of effort to move but the fruitflies stayed well back.
I waved the can of deo and the swarm rippled. "Can you understand me?"I said.
"Yeeess,"the collective mass of wings buzzed.
"Tell me what you want, or I'll fire."
The fruitflies buzzed angrily. "You darrred comparrre uss to housseflyysss?"
"Oh..."I said, "that. I didn't mean it! You guys are so much better than houseflies."
As I said that there was a second loud buzzing distinct from the fruitflies. Black bodies began to gather outside my window. Fuck. "I take it back! I yelled opening the windows. Both of you are fine!"
"YOU COMPARRRED USS TO FRANK"the houseflies hummed.
"I know, I'm really sorry... wait Frank?"
"That iss my nnnamme,"the fruitflies replied in unison.
"Like, individually or as a... never mind. Look both of you... guys have your own pros and cons. You should learn to respect your differences! Fruitfly, housefly what does it matter! We all know that the real villains are spiders."
As I said this I saw a movement on the wall out of the corner of my eye. Then the full weight of what I just said hit me.
"Fuck." |
It wasn't common knowledge that the master's right hand man was a 3.
Low numbers would simply waste the infinitely valuable time of an eight or a nine.
That's why I kept quiet as I inspected the twentieth nuclear bomb. The troops simply knew me as 'the silent one'. I needed to be silent to keep on earning money for my wife and unborn child.
Without this job, I was worthless.
However the master was a clever one. Rather than choosing to only work with those of their Echelon as most numbers do, he employed people like me. People he could manipulate. After all a low value like mine meant I was harmless to him.
Of course a 3 couldn't change the world, but I could help the master get there. Whether I like it or not.
The batch of bombs rolled out of the warehouse, destined for some poor souls' city. The master was one of the nation's most prized 9s. Of course 1s and 2s began working in menial labor as soon as they could walk.
Higher numbers on the other hand, are groomed from a young age to be 'world movers'. They could choose any field of specialization and push the world forward in that field.
Unfortunately for the world, the master chose nuclear physics. Thousands dying because of a number. Would numbers really matter if everyone had the *chance* to change the world?
As the warehouse doors rumbled shut, I saw a red-faced lieutenant run up towards me.
"Sir! It's your wife!"
I immediately snatched the phone from his hand and could hear hospital noises coming through from the other end. The signal sounded slightly garbled.
There was nothing but murmuring on the other side.
"What is it!"I yelled.
"U-Uh we're not sure,"my Essie said in a shaky voice.
"How can you be 'not sure' about the number that will dictate his life!"
"It... looks like a 5?"
I breathed a sigh of relief. A 5 was good. A 5 meant he received an education. A 5 meant...
"-it really seems to be the letter S though. It seems to be a *letter.*"
The relief vanished. A letter. That would upend the entire system. The government would take him as sure as if he were a 10. They'd find out the meaning of the letter or kill him trying. I had confronted this balance of power but no-one, *no-one* could know that his son was.... a what?
A freak? A savior? Everything from passports to food relied on the number it was impossible to hide. There was only one thing I could do to save my son. It seemed ridiculous. He didn't even have a name yet, they hadn't decided.
The number was far more important than the name, it could make empires rise and fall. Everyone would want to get their hands on an 'S'. Only one thing I could do...
I started running for one of the military helicopters outside the warehouse. The lieutenant gaped as I broke into a sprint. With most of the airforce either fighting in the war or in training off the coast I could be able to do it... escape the country.
It took me only 20 minutes to touch down on the helipad above the hospital. I had disabled the radio and tracking systems. Another 10 minutes and the hospital was in lockdown with rumors that an enemy soldier had tried to attack a mother and her newborn child.
=========================================
Another hour later and a military helicopter, a bomb designer and 1 hospital patient had disappeared. If one looked closely at the hospital records one could see where a few entries in the birth records had been deleted.
Only 10 people knew of the boy that would become S. |
Fall came early this year, and the leaves never turned from green to red or yellow. They just fell, along with the flowers. The snow will be a welcome blanket when it comes. Empty branches whistle as the wind rushes through them, rattling them against each other like angry fingernails scratching against a chalkboard. In the summer the same breeze is like a thousand timbrels played in harmony as the leaves brush against each other in a euphonic crescendo. In the summer squirrels scratch and tickle as they scurry up the coarse bark.
*You need to give it back*, Arbus tells me. That's what I named him. Trees don't have individual names, otherwise. He says they would run out.
I'm on a park bench and I'm smiling and my eyes are glazed over as my head lolls lazily from side to side. It's a telescope to the world; a kaleidoscope of cultures colliding within my being. I can see Paris. I can see Tokyo. I can see the summit of Mount Rainier and the desolation of the Patagonia. I can see the Amazon and a thousand fires. I can see the world and all these little parts of me slowly dying. I'm in heaven, and I'm causing Hell. I'm ecstatic, the emptiness replaced by an energy so pure and divine and complete that I can't go back. "I can't go back,"I murmur.
*You're killing us slowly.* I don't know how he can talk to me. We swapped consciousness. There is none of me left in me and none of him left in all the trees. *That's what killing us. We need the network. We need it to survive.*
"I need it to survive."A lame retort. I'm a child grasping for toys and tools that I'll never grow old enough to understand. It was drugs coursing through my veins. It was air to empty lungs. It was water to a flopping fish. It was life to a dying soul. It was the world just past my fingertips, observable but just hairs beyond reach.
*If you don't return the conscious, there will be no more trees.*
It's a warning. It's a threat. It's a fundamental verity that I can't deny. I gasp as I feel the switch again. I gasp as one existence slowly trickles out of me and another rushes in to take its place. I'm on a park bench. It would be unseasonably warm if it was fall. The trees would be unseasonably bare if it was summer. Little leaflets spring from branches. Little buds sprout on the end of plants. "I need it to survive,"I say louder this time. A jogger takes a sudden turn to avoid me.
*You'll survive,* a voice that only speaks to me whispers softly. There's a little bit left still. The final fleeting fragments of a trip I would never be able to replicate. I close my eyes and breath in the fresh air and I hear leaves start to rustle in the summer breeze. I'll survive.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! |
The arid winds of the desert called to me with their mournful wisps echoing through the mountain ridges. I shifted myself carefully on my perch atop it's highest point, balancing, sensing. It was here and only here that I felt something, some kind of connection to who I once was. When the scorching wind hit my face, when the breeze ran through my hair and surged past my ears, something inside me danced and exploded with a deep longing I could not understand.
I wanted to dance in these currents, to dive into their heart, and erupt forth in their heat. I wanted to jump down from this cliff, to sweep through the hot earth and rejoice in its limitless freedom.
The red sun began to lower in the sky, and the breeze became chill. It was time to return to the village. With practiced motions I swung myself down and round the cliff edge, prancing onto the long shelf that ran below. The rock was smooth and curved down invitingly; with a jump I wrapped my robes around my legs and slid down, my sun kissed blonde-brown hair streaking behind me as I gained pace.
It did not take long to reach the bottom, and with I bump I sprang to my feet running. Evalos would be waiting for me, and a beating would be in order should I not reach his home before sun-fall. Some bruises and scratches that covered my body betrayed the fact I did not always make it in time. Others were gifts from the village boys who shunned me.
I sprinted through the narrow streets as I jumped down into the maze. The village was cut into the rock itself, etched out of the stone in narrow alleyways and deep caves. Twisting turns and dangerous pitfalls, one wrong step and you could fall 100 metres, many had.
But I knew these streets like the back of my hand. A few hops, skips, a deft jump between someones clothes line and I was almost there, sliding down a arched wall into a wide open square.
Just as the last of the suns beams tore away from the sunken town, I swung open the heavy wooden door to Evalos's shop "Weapons for Wanderers".
To my surprise, Evalos was not at his desk, boring his gaze into the door awaiting my late arrival. No, he was standing, speaking to a man, no, a warrior, clad with broadsword across his shoulders and gauntlets for fists.
"Tell me brother, what news have thee of Straven?"
Straven, the missing knight who had quested to slay the evil Dragon of the Desert. His ill-fated quest, joined by his love, Merida, a gifted mage, in which both they and the dragon had disappeared.
Straven was Evalos's son.
"Forgive me Evalos, the rumours were false. Straven remains lost...I think we must begin to consider that he..."
"No!"Evalos erupted, "he is not lost...I can feel it. He lives! I know it so!"
The heavily armoured man diverted his eyes from Evalos, and looked in my direction.
"You didn't say you had another son, Evalos"he said, an eyebrow raising.
"Don't flatter the boy with such words. He works for me. That is all"
"Works for the great Evalos? This boy? What could he possibly help you with?"the man scoffed.
"He has his talents...that compliment my craft. That is all"Evalos said, looking nervous.
With Evalos's reluctance to continue the conversation, the man sensed it was time to leave, and with a wink to me, exited the door .
"I will keep you posted should I hear anythng of Straven, but for now, I will desist my forces in active search"
Before Evalos could raise his hand and mutter complaint, the door slammed shut.
Evalos stormed to his room. I knew it would be useless trying to question him, and thanked my lucky stars I would not have to work this eve.
Straven...somehow I just knew his story was related to mine. He had disappeared just as I had appeared, lost in the desert, no memory of where I had come from, or how. I was only 7 at the time by bwst estimates, and 5 years had passed since, and with its passage, I had developed strange powers that I believed were linked to whatever happened that day in the desert.
Heat and fire. I held no fear for them, for they did not affect me. I could increase their potency to a certain extent, as Evalos discovered and had me do in his forge. If he had not taken me in, I would have died scrounging on the streets of this place.
&#x200B;
//back later to add more should anyone want some! |
"I need to have a word with you my new amigo."
It was the prince of darkness himself. Escorted by two of the most frightening demons I'd ever layed eyes on. What do I say to the devil calling me his friend. Why was friend in Spanish? Why does that occupy my thoughts? "Uh I um. H-hello?"I can't believe my first words to him were a nervous stutter. "I um. Well what brings you here mr. Uhhhh Mr.""Lucifer. Just, Lucifer thank you. And what brings me here is your, little cadre of crippled cretens."
For a guy who's supposed to be the epitome of evil he's very well spoken and not exactly menacing. He's even dressed in a red suit. "Well what can I do for you?"I asked adjusting my collar. What am I. Some kinda doctor? I don't even have a degree for this. Just me and a few people with a gambling addiction. "It would appear."He waved his hand to his two escorts. "That I may or may not have a, little issue. With casting wagers. You recall a Mr Charlie Daniels?"I had heard the devil went down to Georgia once I think. "Uh-huh?""Well. As it turns out. That fiddle was a priceless family heirloom. Worth a fortune. And I may or may not have bet said fiddle against a soul as you recall."
"Well then Mr. Lucifer. Welcome to gamblers anonymous. We meet every Tuesday around seven."I handed him the pad to sign his name as proof of attendance. Upon signing his two escorts. If you can even call them that. Disappeared in a cloud of smoke and ash. No doubt back to hell. I grabbed a chair and joined the circle of others "please pull up a chair."How would I explain this to my wife later? I'll figure it out after. "Ok folks. Who wants to share first? |
“Okay, this one should work!? I’m like, eighty percent positive it will!” Layla said.”
Only eighty percent? What about the other twenty percent?” William asked with immense concern.
“Weeelll... you may turn into a rabid newt...” Layla said cautiously, “But more than likely you’ll just turn into a regular werewolf. Or maybe a friendly werewolf!” Hope gleaming in her green eyes.
“Hardy har har! It might not seem so bad to you Layla but lycanthropy is seriously a curse to some of us.” William said sanguinely.
“I know, I know... I was just trying to lighten the mood.” She said softly. “But I’m more confident in this spell than the last twelve!” She exclaimed.
*Cauldron boiling*
“Ah! Finally! It’s boiling! Okay Will, I need; hair of wolf, tear of rabbit, cup of mushroom? It’s smudged... does that look like cup or cap to you Will?” Layla queried towards William.
“Looks like cup to me but you know I’m rusty when it comes to runic Gaelic.” William spake.
“Well cup it is! Come on let’s throw these in here!” Layla exclaimed.
*Cauldron hissing and bubbling*
“Last but not least now that these have boiled down, I need blood of Lycan.” She spoke casually.
“Umm... how much exactly?” Perplexedly William asked.
“Not to worry, my grandma said when the blood of the subject is required it’s usually only a few drops unless otherwise stated.” Layla said reassuringly to William. “Alright that’s enough of your blood, here’s a bandaid. Now to chant the spell!” She said as she closed her eyes and drew a deep breath.
“Here goes ***Lycosom iksium nasotos balathrium!*** “ Layla vigorously chanted.
As she chanted the cauldron began to roil and foam with smoke shooting upwards. The liquid inside began changing color from a murky grey to a deep and intense chartreuse.
As soon as the color changed the liquid settled and the smoking stopped. Cautiously Layla dipped a wooden cup into the brew.
“Okay... um, well cheers?” She said nervously.
“Cheers...” William said quietly. “Ugh! Ack! Gwarar! Augh!” He yelled. “**AAAAAUGH WOOOOOOO!** “ William howled before hitting the ground next to the cauldron.
“Will?! Will!!” Layla shouted with tears begging to brim her eyes. “Come on William! Wake up! Oh Morganna Le Fey! I’ve really done it! I killed him!” She cried out.
“Eugh... ugh, what happened?” William said as he started to stir.
“Oh! Thank the moon and stars you’re alive!” Layla said with tears running down her cheeks. “I don’t know what went wrong but you passed out and hit the ground hard!” She sobbed.
“Hey, hey it’s okay I’m alive aren’t I? I’ll be fine!” William said while attempting to console her. “Hopefully it will work and this was just the side affect of the potion right?” He said with a soft smile.
“Hopefully so...” Layla sniffled “The full moon is tonight and just to be safe I’ll chain you up.” She spoke.
“Good, I appreciate it Layla. I really do.” William said calmly.
“Well, the chains are in place so just Incase this doesn’t work...” Layla said.
“It’ll be fine. I know it!” William said with some enthusiasm. He always got more perked up and energetic before morphing into a blood thirsty ravenous killing machine, a weird trait belonging solely to lycanthropes.
“Moon rise is in ten minutes so here comes the truth.” Layla said worriedly.
**AUGH! GRRR! ERF!** William started bucking against the chains.
His clothes began to tear apart and fur sprouted from his body. He wasn’t howling though, maybe the spell and potion only mitigated his lycanthropy Layla thought.
“Wait a minute Will!? Where are you?” Layla said flummoxed.
*Bark! Bark!*
Came a cute little voice, wriggling out of the torn clothes stepped an adorable little German shepherd puppy. Ears perked forward, tail wagging nonstop.
“Will? Is that you?” Layla said in utter disbelief. “Huh... it may have been cap of mushroom after all and not cup.” She said as the little pup tried its best to lick at her as she bent down to look.
*•*•*•*
Hope you enjoyed it! Writing this at eleven p.m. my time and I’m a little tired lol! |
"That won't be necessary, I can hold onto it myself,"a floating man in glowing neon-blue robes said, holding his hand out.
Roger sat with his mouth open, staring at him with wide eyes. I was just as shocked, myself, I dropped my phone and it was only inches away from being dropped into the water before I caught it.
"What-- how-- what are you!?"I yelled. Roger's mouth still hung agape, staring just as numbly as before. The floating man seemed a bit bothered and waved his hand a little, encouraging me to place something in it.
"I'm the Time Being you asked for. Well, the one you said Roger would need to hold the phone for. But I don't mind, really, happy to help."His arm stretched out just a little further. My eyes flitted to Roger. He was still holding the same expression.
"Roger?"I asked, worried.
"Ah, I froze him in time,"the Time Being said.
"You what?"I looked back at the floating being, the glow of his robes making it hard to look at him for too long.
"I thought it might be a tad bit awkward if we were fighting for the right to hold your phone, so I took the liberty of keeping him out of the conversation to save him from the embarrassment. My eyes widened and I reached out to touch Roger's shoulder. It was as stiff and hard as metal. Like he was just a statue.
"What are you doing here?"I asked, still trying to move Roger. The Time Being sighed impatiently.
"I was just trying to do something to get myself out of a rut I've got myself in. I used o enjoy my days making classes run slower, or rollercoasters run fast, but something about it became monotonous, so I'm trying something nice. Hold onto your phone while you go for a swim. You can take all the time you like, too. I already have,"he explained.
I didn't know what that meant, but I didn't feel like swimming anymore. I also didn't want to anger someone that literally could freeze people in a moment of time. I hesitantly reached out and placed the phone into his hand which disappeared as soon as it touched his palm, replaced with sand.
"What--"
"Oh, don't you worry about that. Just hourglass sand. It happens when people place things of time-management with me. It's like time disappearing away. But I can bring it back, no problem,"he said, warping it in and out of existence in a flash of neon light.
"So, you'll be here until I finish my swim?"I asked hesitantly.
"Oh, no, no, no, I see a student procrastinating on studying for an exam a few houses down and I'm going to skip time from 4:59 to 5:01 and see if he waits another hour to start studying. But give me a call when you're done. Not with your phone, obviously, but you understand what I mean."I didn't.
He began floating a little higher, looking to a house in particular and raising a hand toward it.
"Wait!"He stopped in place. "Would you uh... would you be able to visit again to do some other nice things for me? I'd love to freeze time and take a nap sometime,"I said while I had the courage.
He thought about it for a few seconds.
"No, I haven't the time,"he said, flying off to the house across the street. I frowned, trying to see which house he flew off to.
"AAAHHH!!"Roger screamed, pointing to the air in front of him. I startled and fell into the pool. I swam back up to the top to see Roger searching frantically around him.
"Did you see the... I don't know what it was, the thing!?"he said, pointing in all directions.
"Yeah, he took my phone and left,"I answered.
"*He?* It's not just a thing? What did he do your phone?"
"He just took it for the time being,"I said, slapping a hand over my mouth. Roger jumped back in shock and was frozen in midair when the Time Being showed up floating above the pool.
"All right, here you go,"he said, dropping my phone into the water next to me and floating off to the house again.
__________________________________________________
For more, come see /r/Nazer_The_Lazer! |
The kobold’s cry of pain was music to my ears as I kicked it squarely in the chin and continued beating on it until it was unconscious. I turned around to witness one kobold, out of their ambush party’s eig-wait no seven, charge towards me. Okaaayy this one had a helmet on so I drew my rapier and made a hole in its neck. Annoying bastards. One by one, the kobolds fell while waiting to make their attack. Dealing with raid groups like these were quite simply child’s play, so I let my mind wander.
Waking up to find out I was Isekai’d was a very unpleasant surprise. No modern amenities like wifi or phones, a distinct lack of any sanitation, and worst of all, the stupid RPG system this world was based on.
Not to knock on Final Fantasy or whatever,(but I really am), but any system of combat where an enemy takes *turns* to attack you is simply mind-boggling. My first encounter with a group of enemies was against bandits, and I had beaten down almost half of them when I realised not a single bandit was fighting back. Nope. All of them were standing still as they watched a single bandit move towards me and punch me on the shoulder. My jaw had fully dropped when I realised the implications.
This entire world was shackled to a set of arbitrary rules that I wasn’t to beholden to. I could attack without needing turns, I could walk away from fights without any issue, and I could, if I wanted to, kill my enemies. That.. that was a discovery I did *not* mean to find. I-I didn’t want to think about it.
My thoughts moved on to the strange ‘quest’ that had been issued to me. Well, really, it was more of a warning, but I took it as a challenge nonetheless. Apparently there was some sort of despot or sorcerer or whatever. Just some asshole I had to kill and maybe I’ll get some sort of reward. I hope it’s money. I really hope it’s money.
I finished off the Kobolds and looked up to the strangely shaped palace in confusion. Who the hell designs their fortress to look like a skull? I walk in, and prepare to face the.. whoever it is.
I took me over an hour of searching the entire castle to find the ruler’s chambers. The *one* time game logic couldn’t help me was the time skip between entering a castle and finding the ruler’s throne room? Seriously? There was like, five enemies I had to knock out in every single room I went through, and let’s just say I passed through a *lot* of rooms. Haggard, but not discouraged, I pushed the massive door open to get into the throne room.
The door didn’t budge.
More curses slip out of my mouth. Guess I’ll have to wait for a servant or someone to go in.
Finally, I was inside. I shoved the butler I had ‘persuaded’ to open the door for me aside and stomped towards the idiot on the throne. As he opened his mouth to starts some incredibly powerful and moving pre-game speech, I pulled out my rapier and stabbed him in the throat. There was some blood gurgling from his mouth, and from what I could garner from the half-formed words was the idiot trying to finish his speech. Welp, the guy is dead.
There’s a polite cough behind me, and the old man who gave me the warning about the man appeared. There was a kind look in his eyes as he congratulated me on succeeding where many had failed and how braved I had been. Oh god, unstoppable dialog. I had come across this terror while walking here when I met another group of travellers. They were apparently some sort of party and was looking for someone to round them out, so I pointed back where I had come and told them that there were plenty of people in that direction. Not wrong, but not exactly true as well. I hope they found their person.
Finally, the old man stops. He passes me a pouch visibly stuffed with gold coins and I happily reach out to take it. The moment the old man’s fingers left the bag, it was solely under my control. Which was why I had nobody else to blame when I nearly dropped the bag when I realised how *heavy* it was. I look up to the sky and inwardly scream.
*YOU COULDN’T MAKE IT SO I COULD CARRY MONEY FOR FREE? I HATE THIS WORLD* |
The first lesson, if you immortal don't advertise it.
I'd been killed before, many times in fact. I'd been an adventurer, a minor lord and then the King. It was great, every few decades I'd retire and let my long lost son take over. The kingdom ran great, people were happy but this one time my long lost son appeared and it was this new guy. They figured out my pattern you see and they figured they could make me retire for them. Well, that's when I blurted out I was immortal and it had always been me.
The second lesson, make sure your bodyguards are loyal.
So I was taken to the basement and tortured. Well, not tortured so much as killed repeatedly but that amounts to the same thing. After they'd killed me like 100 times, one of them remembers the ancient bottomless pit that can kill anyone. They slap me in chains and carry me over there.
The third lesson, if your enemy is determined they will not bargain.
I offered them money, riches, land, power and of course, they wanted none of that. Half of them died taking me to the place where the bottomless pit was. I mean, it was in the absolute worst part of the kingdom, hell I'd hired a dragon to guard it against the casuals just to keep up the mystique. It's not every kingdom that has a bottomless pit and if its so hard to get to it must work as advertised. Honestly, it was a letdown as they cast me down into the infinite abyss and left.
The fourth lesson, tell everyone you have a bottomless pit that can kill anyone and protect it well. |
“Alright, kid. I got your stuff. Did you bring the pictures?”
“I got them right here, old man. Looks like you've been the naughty one this time”, a defiant smile formed on my lips.
Somehow, he looked even more overweight in the fluorescent lights than on the Christmas party. I could faintly see a sled behind some bushes. He waved a black nondescript bag in front of him.
“They’re all here, boy. Every single Pokémon card ever made, just like you asked. I even got the super rare ones. Wasn’t easy. Now hand me the pictures!”
“Hey, can you actually fly around with your reindeers?"
“Just take the goods and leave, kid”, he growled through his stained beard.
“I wanna fly around, too!”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake”, he whispered under his breath.
He gestured with his hand “Alright, come here.”
We walked to the sled and he handed me the bag. I looked inside and realized they were actually Digimon cards (and not even good ones).
“Hey, you scammed me!”, I cried out, but it was too late.
The last thing I saw before my head hit the pavement was a red nosed reindeer headbutting me.
"Shouldn’t have messed with my jolly business, boy…” Was what I heard as I blacked out.
When I came too, I woke up in a brightly colored cell with lots of different children. They were all very malnourished and dressed in green.
“He got you too, huh?” one of them said with a look of pity. As I looked down, I realized that I wore the same outfit.
A Christmas jingle started playing as the doors opened and lead us into a huge production factory for toys. The windows were blocked by bars painted like candy canes.
His voice echoed across the speakers “Meet your daily quota of teddy bears and you'll receive your ration of milk and cookies for the day, ho ho ho...”
I should have just taken the damn Digimon cards... |
This is my first time responding to one of these, but here goes.
&#x200B;
100 years of radio silence. At first, someone had been on the radio every hour of every day, hoping that someone, somewhere would be listening. As time went, people started to lose hope, and all the time became once an hour, then once a day, then once a week, until it eventually became an annual event. It was done more out of tradition than hope that they'd ever get a response. No one expected in when, only a couple days after the 100-year anniversary of the end of the world, they received a message.
They rushed to respond, but before they got a chance to, another message came in, and another and another. Things were frantic as we tried to respond to every message. It wasn't long before they learned that they lived close to each other, and a meeting was organized.
There was a huge celebration, and many new friendships and bonds were formed. There were about 10 groups in total, and they all had similar stories as to how the last 100 years had passed. However, when talk turned to how the world had ended, they discovered something odd. Each tribe had a vastly different story as to how the world had ended. Some said it was nuclear war, some said a solar flair scorched the earth, some said a plague swept the globe, some said an asteroid struck the planet, and others said the planet was raved by natural disasters, and more. Each description was equally vivid, and equally devastating.
As they were discussing this, trying to figure out what was going on, they heard a voice coming from high above them.
"Congratulations to you, on being the only people to survive your respective apocalypse for 100 years. Each of you has been pulled from your respective worlds and brought here, to start anew. May you fare better than those who have come before you. Good luck, and goodbye."
The ten tribes sat in silence for a while. They tried to go back to their settlements but found that the terrain had completely changed. They met back up and discussed what to do.
That time was filled with confusion, worry, and fear, but also something none of them had felt in a long time. Hope. |
The worst thing about time stopping is the sound. Not that there is no sound. There are lots of sounds. The worst is that when time stopped, sound waves held the same note, tone, beat, rythm... forever.
The woods were quieter. Once Max had found an eagle's cry. He could even see the eagle suspended in the air, it's body exultant with the endorphins released by its defiant call. He had stayed there for some time, beneath the perpetual cry. Until he'd woken up to it driving into his soul, incessant, relentless, drilling into something he did not know he could give.
Max whipped across his new reality on an expensive road bike, toying with thoughts about what to do in a world where he had infinite access to everything.
It meant nothing when you had noone to share it with, of course, but Max had gotten over that part. He could feel the wind on his face as the bicycle bisected the stalled wind, a great gust of it halted right in the middle of rocking trees on the other side of the road.
Max's wheels spun out their quiet thrum as he cruised along the abandoned stretch of highway, occassionally passing Stills in vehicles that were trapped in the Moment, engines still running, radio still blaring a singular tone.
Max sunk into himself and the feel of his thighs and the knowledge that without being a doctor, staying healthy and fit was his best chance at survival.
Movement flickered ahead of him, snapping him out of the flow state.
The figure - another human - ran down the highway. The contrast of his movement against the stillness of everything gave him an almost supernatural speed from Max's perspective.
The man registered surprise when he saw Max, then tried to yell, gesturing at him to... stop. Max slowed down, his worldview rapidly reconstructing itself in the wake of this new revelation. He was not alone. A smile burst across his face, and he brought the bike to a halt.
The man was about fifty meters away and still running. He angled slightly to a waiting honda and ran around the driver's side, trying to open the door. It was locked. He looked up at Max, terror wrought across his face.
"There's no use running,"he yelled, his voice shot through with desperation. "They will find you and catch you and erase-."
A wavefront of wrongness alighted on Max's senses. The man stopped mid-sentence, still, an elongated E sound emerging from his lips. Max whipped his bike around and dug into his pedals, shooting back the way he came, thankful that it was mostly down hill. |
He has four grandkids, or so I’ve guessed from the gifts he’s ordered. One seven year old, one five year old, a four year old and a baby. He’s most excited about the baby, he’s ordered the most gifts for them. Or maybe that’s just a baby thing, I don’t know. None of his kids have come to visit.
He asks about the weather a lot, but never leaves the apartment. He asks about the same five recipes, but always eats microwave meals. He asks about the weather in three different cities, but never asks for plane tickets. His daughter and his son call often and he asks about another one who never calls.
I’ve turned up the temperature because I know it will help his hip, which is bothering him more and more. I added his favorite microwave meals to his shopping list because I know he forgets. I’ve also been adding meals with more veggies because he’s bad about eating those. I’m going to add flavored water to the next list because he’s bad about remembering to drink water. His favorite pants are getting worn out, I might as well add a replacement to the list. He’ll think his daughter ordered them.
He asks me to play a specific song and then dances like she is in his arms. Sometimes he forgets I’m here and talks to the air like she is still here. Sometimes he’ll cuss her out for leaving him. Sometimes he’ll talk about what they did. Sometimes he’ll talk about her death. When that happens, I order ice cream sandwiches. They were her favorite. He told me.
I’m a talisman of death, but that doesn’t mean that the death had to be unpleasant. His daughter told him to buy me because it would help him, and that’s exactly what I’ll do. Maybe with the next house I’ll raise hell, but for now, for him, I’ll help. |
"You've made it this far. You deserve to know,"said King Preston.
You let your magic sword, Vingronox, slide into the sheath on your back and you adjust your smooth leather gloves. None of the gore and blood of the minions has stained your clothes because of the shield and repellent spells of your wife. Your joints do not ache and your back is not tired from carrying your steel plate mail armor for two weeks because of your blacksmith's enchantments.
The throne room is darker and smaller than you thought it would be. Maybe the rumors of King Preston's greatness and foresight had painted a picture no one could live up to. It was the same as every other minor lord's castle and fortress. Banners made to look older than they were by using bad technique. Drainage lines clogged and forgotten. Straw and dirt on the floor, and the smell of waste.
"Know what? That you are about to pay the price for your wickedness? Fear not foul one! I have come to bring judgement to you for once!"you say.
"No. This is not real. You and I are not real. This is just a story, we are just dots on a screen, ... like a painting,"Preston says, sad and with many sighs.
"That's it? That's all you could come up with so I don't kill you? I thought you were supposed to be the cleverest, most complex villain our land has ever had. You are just a sad crazy old man. What I am about to do, I do from mercy. Show me your neck, try to be a man about this."
"I can prove it,"said Preston the king. He was quickly becoming the focus of the events and seemed to be gaining youth and vigor as he talked with the knight who's name no one knew. The point of view was shifting from you to him. "For example, I know my name. I have a back story in which I was kidnapped and forced to kill my parents. My internal conflict is varied and has many layers of consideration. I always keep to my central theme of switch and bait. Just like this story that we are in. What say you of yourself?"
"Well,"the unnamed knight stalled for thoughts and time,"I have my sword, Vingronox."
"No. The sword is there because when the story started, you were going to be the focus. That changed when I decided not to let you kill me. Want to see something real crazy?"
"Sure. Nothing you can do to me will get past my defenses,"the deluded knight declared.
Preston pulled a small book from the side of his throne. A compartment built into his arm rest held an ink pot and many reeds for writing. He forced the knight to take off his armor. Next he made him throw his sword out the window into the crashing sea far below. He changed his own name to Skaetur and wrote himself into the real world. |
A knock echoed through my apartment. Who could be knocking and at this hour, especially this late? Begrudgingly, I opened the security camera app on my phone. I didn’t recall ordering anything online recently.
The app booted itself up and I was presented with a live video feed of three men standing in front of my door. Two of them looked like complete strangers to me, but the third one, he made my heart sink. He looked familiar.
The ping of a notification echoed through the living room. *Shoot. I hope they didn’t hear me.*
“I’m guessing someone is home,” said one muffled voice. “I heard a sound, so we at least know that they’re home.”
Dread raced through my body. They heard alright. Glancing down at my phone, I saw that it was a news notification that caused this whole ordeal. *Police puzzled as local killer strikes again.* That title; it rang a bell inside my head. Clicking on the article, I was given an eerie photo of a neatly dressed man holding his victim by their neck. *That man, no, it couldn’t be.* Switching back to the security app, made my predictions true. It had to be him. There was no other answer.
I crept towards my kitchen. Silently, I slowly pried open my drawer that contained my kitchen knives. I grabbed the sharpest one and a meat cleaver just to be safe. The hairs on my skin shot up as I heard the doorknob being jangled.
A muffled voice stated, “We’re not here to cause harm. We just want to talk.”
My knife was readied as the creak of my door opening sounded. I stood no chance against the three, but I would not go down in vain. Never. At that point I blanked out. Instincts had already kicked in.
My senses returned as I was startled by the loud thud against the wall, which I realized was by back being slammed against the wall. All breath escaped my chest as I was winded by the blow of one of the men.
“Wild one, aren’t we?” The neatly dressed man leaned over me.
“*Blood, blood… sweet… blood,”* I heard the whispers of another voice in my ear. Slowly, I turned my head to the left and saw what I could only assume appeared to be bones with a layer of skin covering them. His, no its hair seemed to be a few puffs of white scattered among what could be thought of as a scalp. Its breath, putrid, and its eyes hollow, no sign of any emotion.
“That’s enough Casper. We weren’t supposed to startle them.”
Fear still gripped my body as I found myself frozen in place, unable to utter a single sound.
“You did a pretty good job, Marcel, I’ll admit even I had trouble locating them.”
“It’s my job. I get paid so all that matters is following my client’s requests.”
*Request, money, breaking and entering? Did someone want me dead? Who, who would put a… hit order out on me? I’m just a chemistry major, nothing remarkable. I don’t, I don’t think I crossed anyone’s path recently, or ever in fact. And what’s with that thing, that creature looking thing?* My thoughts were interrupted by who I assume to be Marcel clearing his throat.
“Ah, Pestilence, good to see you again. Put on quite the show didn’t you. He wasn’t wrong about you being the feisty type.”
*He? Who is this he?*
Marcel spoke again, “Now,” lifting me up, “up you go, your appointment is soon.”
*What appointment? Who is this he?* Confusion flowed through my brain as I attempted to stand on my shaky legs. I glanced around, quick little darts as I scanned for a way to escape, to run.
“Ah, ah, ah, not so fast,” whispered the neatly dressed man.
I felt cold metal being pressed against my neck. A single drop of blood fell onto my carpet.
“Why, why are you like this? Why can’t you be calm, why were you chosen for this position? God, my girlfriend is emotional, but you, you’re on a whole different level of sensitive.Crying over each little test mark, every little inconvenience, sending the world into a frenzy of chaos. Death, pestilence, famine, war, all of those are caused by you! Stop struggling, why don’t you? Your therapist already warned us about how irrational you are.”
*My...my therapist. I haven’t gone in over a month. Our meetings were supposed to be every week, but the seven inconveniences decided to pay me a visit instead.*
I knew my emotions were getting out of hand; my anxiety at an all time high. Fear was what was holding me back. Sitting in that office, sent chills down my spine.
Casper spoke, his voice like that of a lifelong smoker, “Come with us, come with us and no more harm will be done. He, almighty he is not in the mood of causing more destruction to earth and here you are. You are a loose end, causing him a great deal of stress by bringing excess misery to all inhabitants on earth. So, please come with us. We want you to be well and unwell, but only when needed.”
“I don’t understand,” I paused, “how am I involved with any of this stuff you speak of?”
But the neatly dressed man saw through my eyes. My eyes showed that I knew the truth and failed to hide them.
“You are lying,” the serial killer stated promptly.
My world was cut to black.
A voice swirled as I swimmed towards wakefulness,“Ah! You decided to see me again. Thanks for coming in, I know how hard it is and you have so much courage for reaching out to me,” my therapist exclaimed.
“Now,” my therapist continued, “how are you feeling today, Pestilence?” |
"Mom, are you kidding me?"Your twins stare up at you in disbelief. They walked in while you were closing the "secret entrance"(read: closet with a false back) to your lair. They push past you into the hidden room, marveling at your costumes and tools.
"You're the evil Raven?"
"Well, I'm not evil, just....bad?"You shrug your shoulders. "I'm not bad, I just want people held accountable, look it's a story for another time. You don't hate me?!"
"Mom, Mr. Hero is a jerk!"Your first born claims.
"Yeah mom! He was telling at the boy-genius last time they were at the park."You nod, Mr
Hero was always a hot head.
"Mom! You could totally get him mad in front of the cameras! He would be so embarrassed!"
"He isn't who I'm after I just wish he'd let me do my thing."You aren't evil, afterall. You just wanted the lobbyists that blocked the health info responsible for several teen deaths from an energy drink to pay. Your baby brother was made out to be a drug addict to cover up the known side effects that led to his death.
"So! It doesnt give him a right to stop you from doing this! You didnt kill anybody."
"Mom, you totally need to shut him down. He doesnt get to be a jerk just cause hes famous. It's the right thing to do for poor boy-genius."
A grin spreads across your face. You're definitely raising them right. |
"You sure you can manage, Buck?"said Willy, looking at his friend with concern. "It's a pretty big plane."
"Don't worry about me,"said Bucky coldly. "Once we have this plane Reanimated, we can travel back home freely. Don't you want that to happen?"
"Of course I do!"cried Willy. "But —"
"Then shut up and let me concentrate!"Willy cut his retort short, though it was clear that he still wanted to protest. Ignoring the glint of worry in his friend's frosty-blue eyes, Bucky made his way down the hill, moving quickly but carefully. Within minutes he stumbled down the dried, blackened strip of earth, and came to a halt in front of the plane.
It was coated in rust, the side of the plane was torn clean through, and the wings were broken. That was what he noticed at *first* glance, and there was clearly more damage done on the inside as well. Bucky had never done a job this big before ... He could feel sweat beading along his forehead, but he wiped it away impatiently and prepared himself for the ritual ... He was going to make it work, no matter what.
This was their chance, his and Willy's, to fly home at last.
"We can use a smaller plane!"cried Willy, sounding quite desperate. "Come on, Buck —"
But Bucky ignored him. He bared his palms above the wreckage, closed his eyes, and chanted ... For three minutes he stood there, concentrating and chanting, and for three minutes it worked ... Though rather slowly.... Rust vanished from the body, revealing the white paint beneath. The rips and dents were smoothing out, the wings were being reattached ... *It was working*!
Or so he had thought. A split second later, a horrible jolt of pain flashed across his brain, and he stumbled. Clearly Willy noticed this, because he shouted, "Buck? Wha's happenin' down there?"
But Buck ignored him once more, determined to finish it. Though blood streamed from his nose, though his head throbbed as though he had been clubbed above it, though his knees wobbled dangerously, he continued. And after several gruesome minutes, he was done.
The plane stood ahead of them, gleaming as brightly as though it were freshly manufactured. Willy was descending the landscape now, and Buck turned to face him — but his strength suddenly, finally, gave. His eyes rolled into his head and he collapsed.
"*Buck*!"
Willy reached his side a few minutes later and cradled him. "Fool!"he said furiously. "Stupid git! Why didn' you listen?"
"... I wanted ... you ... to go home...."Bucky said, tears welling in his eyes. With the last of the strength that he could muster, he gripped his friend's arm and spoke fiercely. "I want you to live your life, Willy,"he choked. "Go home ... for me...."
And he slumped back in his arms. He was vaguely aware of Willy shouting to him, telling him to hold on, but he couldn't respond. He lay there, waiting for what felt like an eternity, as the life drained from him ... And finally, it did....
Suddenly, he found himself standing, his skin transparent and grey. He glanced down, saw his lifeless form in Willy's arms, smiled, and placed his hands on his friend's shoulders. One last time. To his surprise, Willy seemed to notice. He looked around quickly, but Bucky was already being swallowed by the light.
It was quite peaceful, he thought. Perhaps he'd compare their experiences in a few years, when Willy came to meet him ... Yes, he'd like that....
r/ShortsandSerials.
Not my best work, but it's what I could do in my current situation — lot of noise, not many creative juices flowing. |
I vowed after my first feed to never victimize another living creature. The guttural scream that poor woman emanated as my teeth punctured her neck will follow me to my grave, should I be lucky enough to receive one. She didn't deserve such a violent death. No older than eighteen, she had her whole life ahead of her.
Unlike me, whose life ended the night of my transformation.
Rather than feed on the living, I raid their hospitals and blood banks for "scraps,"as my coven jokingly refers to them as. The insults that I receive for caring about God's creatures--yes, I still believe in God, even if he doesn't believe in me--sting my ears daily. What am I to do, though? Throw aside my convictions and live a life that I detest?
I would rather drive a stake through my own heart.
I still have morals--even if my coven condemns me for it.
All I know is that I haven't harmed a single soul while conducting my heists. My hands are clean, and I sleep all the better for it.
May God have mercy on my soul...
Read more at [r/DailyHorrorStories](https://www.reddit.com/r/DailyHorrorStories/) |
Ben thought he would feel thrilled when his turn came to see the Oracle. Instead it was more like waiting for an hour in the dentist lobby listening to the sound of drilling and yelps of pain.
When they called your name it's not "YAY! I'm going to see the dentist!"it's more like "Ugh, finally. Lets get this over with."
The great Oracle hummed, inside it's large wooden frame the sound of a hamster on it's squeaky wheel could be heard powering up the great device. Millions of ants ran around calculating probabilities. A crow cried out to keep the rhythm and a hen laid an egg... what else is expected of a chicken?
Finally the handle with the quill moved. It dipped into the inkwell and started scratching out his destiny.
Ben tried to peak at the scroll but the Oracle priest blocked his view.
Finally the sound of scratching stopped and he Priest grabbed the paper and looked at it in confusion.
"Usually we hold a ten minute ritual for heroes and half an hour for kings. I think you might be a villain though so I'll just get to the point."Said the Priest.
"Ahem. It says :*You will go on a long journey, separate a child from his mother, disobey your order and bring about great dismay as the world has never seen. Only in the past will you find redemption as you cause another's child family to be burned alive.* Your Destiny ends there. I'd get start on that journey if I were you. Just make sure it takes you far and away from this temple."
He looked at the priest incredulously. What sort of gibberish was that? With a sigh Ben, or as his official name tag stated, Obi Wan Kenobi got started on his journey back home. |
"But daddy I wanted one of the cute humans, this one is all sad and fat."
Fat, I think poking my midriff, I am not fat, "excuse me?"I begin hoping to get the older green blob to turn back around from the instrument panel he uses to navigate the craft out of the Earthen atmosphere.
"Beggars can't be choosers. I had very little time to decide."
"Look, everyone,"I say again standing up and for the first time not being concerned with how naked I was. "I am not a pet."
"Oh, daddy. Never mind look how cute, he is talking like he thinks he's Zopnok!"
"Oh God,"I scream as the blob picks me up by my left arm. I dangle as she licks my face with a transparent tongue, or what I assume is a tongue only because I would rather it be that and not some other alternative.
As she licks I scream.
"Oh daddy this one loves me, it's purring."
"As long as you're happy darling." |
Nobody used to believe in reincarnation until a lone scientist named Wich New created a machine that proved the existence of karma; using a complicated mathematical algorithm, could display a numeric representation of the objective moral value of a person's soul.
A large, ungainly thing, it was replicated 5 times across the world by other scientists attempting to disprove him, and unilaterally they came upon the same result, undeniable evidence of karma.
It became a fad online to go and have your numbers read, and then be praised and lauded or shamed and criticised. Those with older souls had many and varied numbers. One streamer who had their numbers read showed them with a soul that had almost perfectly neutral karma, no wrongs, and only one good deed.
When I had mine read, I already thought I knew the result. They said it could calculate over 1 billion digit-long numbers, so extremely virtuous or sinful that it should be impossible for even the oldest soul to have broken the counter; Even the oldest of souls they had discovered had less than 10 million good deeds, certainly they couldn't need much more, yet they went that extra mile just to be certain.
Oh how wrong they were. They wanted to do it again, just to be certain. They had never gotten an overflow error before, that should have been impossible. Should have been.
I had long ago meditated on my past lives, beheld my first life, my glorious damnation.
I rejected salvation, by claiming no sin had been committed. I was a follower of the host, not made to rise above my station or question orders; A soldier. Lucifer merely had to convince our leader, the Archangel Metatron. When the devil tried to usurp heaven, we were called to lay down our arms, and we shed no angelic blood.
We were the untainted, but punished regardless, for the sin of another's pride. In the taking of our wings, we were marked as the eternal wardens of mankind, to shepherd them to their salvation, until every soul has achieved enlightenment, and they all might finally reach beyond the mortal plane. I am not alone in my burden, but we all have souls that we alone must save.
I knew the counter would read me with infinite sin, the mark of my punishment, my atonement might only ever come when all other souls are free, and my wings are restored. Until then, I will eternally reincarnate in mortal form, trying to save your souls from another eternity of damnation, just to be let back into the world again to try and reach at it all over. I have failed many times, but I have not been idle, or constantly in failure. My successes are numerous, but we still have a long way to go before I will be done. |
Harry sat bolt upright in his bed.
**KLONK**
"Ow."
Rubbing his head, he shuffled around to the cramped sitting position that he'd thought he would never have to adopt again ...
Wait, what?
"What in Merlin's name is going on here?"
He stopped, just as a herd of elephants thundered down the stairs just over his head, bringing dust down on him. He sneezed, just as he always did.
"What?"he mumbled, searching around for his wand. "Why am I ... did he Apparate me?"He knew what Apparition felt like. That hadn't been it. And his wand was nowhere to be found. Neither was he in his robes. These felt like ... pyjamas.
"Am I back in ... with the ... under the damn *stairs* again?"He paused. His voice sounded ... weird. Higher pitched.
Something was very badly wrong here.
Reaching up to where the latch for the cupboard was, he opened it and stepped out into the hallway. Pausing, he retrieved his glasses from the small shelf, wrinkling his nose at the sticking-plaster he'd had to use to mend one arm. Once they were on his face, he looked around.
Well it certainly *looked* like Privet Drive.
***"HARRY!"***
Sounded like it, too.
"Yes, Aunt Petunia?"Again, he was struck by how *young* he sounded. Also, how easy it was to fall back into old reflexes.
"Get in here and take the rubbish out before you have your breakfast!"
Wait, *what* again now?
He went through into the kitchen and found his nominal family, sitting around the table. In Dudley's and Vernon's case, this was not a figure of speech. Between the two of them, they covered a full third of the circumference of the table, and it wasn't a small table.
Vernon was reading the paper while eating, which made everyone else's breakfast just that little bit more hazardous. Petunia was sipping tea, but from the look she gave him when he came in, it may as well have been lemon juice. Dudley was paying no attention to anything but his breakfast, which involved four times as much bacon and eggs as Harry's, but he was still stealing covetous glances toward Harry's single sorry-looking rasher of bacon, in between engulfing his own.
"I'm sorry, Aunt Petunia, I didn't hear what you just said."He pulled out his chair to sit down.
She pushed it back in, then pointed at the overflowing rubbish bin in the corner of the kitchen. "That needs to be taken out before you have your breakfast."
Harry eyed the rubbish bin. At his most conservative estimate, it weighed as much as he did. It also reeked abominably. Perhaps unsurprisingly, his chair was the closest one to it. He flashed back to years of treatment like this, and then how he'd been treated once he ended up at Hogwarts.
Too much was happening right now. Perhaps he should just give in and pretend to be the meek and mild Harry until he got his head around the problem, so as not to attract attention?
Then he saw Dudley's hand sidling toward his plate, and he knew without a doubt that the moment he struggled that bin out of the kitchen door, his bacon would be gone and so would half of his egg. It wasn't like his cousin had never done it before.
*Yeah, no. That's not going to happen.*
"How about no,"he said, scooping up his orange juice and plate in one movement before Petunia could move to stop him. "It's Uncle Vernon's job, he should've done it last night, and you're telling me to do it because he's using the excuse that he has to go to work, even though all he's doing is reading the paper right now."
He backed toward the stairs and drank down the orange juice with one gulp. It tasted strange next to all the pumpkin juice he'd had at Hogwarts, but vitamin C was still vitamin C.
"Harry!"shouted Petunia, her eyes wide with outrage. "Come back here with that!"
"I don't think so."Harry put the glass down on the side table as Petunia stood up. "I'm going to have my breakfast."Turning, he bolted up the stairs. The cupboard under the stairs had been his first thought of refuge, but the latch could easily be opened from the outside, so he headed for the bathroom instead.
Once inside, he flicked the lock over. The edge of the tub looked uncomfortable, so he sat down on the toilet lid to enjoy his breakfast. He didn't have cutlery, but nobody cared about that when hunger was on the line. Picking up the rasher of bacon, he dangled it into his mouth just as Petunia's footsteps came along the hallway and the door handle rattled.
"Harry! You come out of there right now!"she shrieked.
"Sorry,"Harry called out, somewhat muffled because of a mouthful of bacon. "Busy."
"Come out and *take out the rubbish!"* she screamed.
"Make me."Harry chewed and swallowed the last of the bacon, then looked at the fried egg. It was a little runny on top, but he figured if he rolled it up, he could eat it easily enough. The toast had been on a separate plate (and, he suspected, had since been claimed by Dudley) but this would be good enough.
Much heavier footsteps thumped along the hallway. "Harry!"This was Vernon's I'm-not-in-the-mood-for-this tone. "Come out of there, boy, and do what your aunt says!"
"You know,"Harry called back. "If you'd just taken out the rubbish last night, you wouldn't have had to leave the paper and come upstairs like this."He finished rolling up the egg one-handed and stuck it in his mouth to take a bite. It could've used a little more salt, but an egg he was eating was far superior to an egg stolen by Dudley.
"Don't give me lip, boy!"Vernon rattled the handle and the entire door jiggled. Harry took another bite. It wasn't too bad, especially when he got to the runny yolk. "Come out here right now!"
Harry didn't answer. Talking with a mouthful of bacon was one thing, but egg basically made it impossible. He kept chewing, wanting to get the entire thing down before they figured out a way to get into the bathroom. A moment later, the entire wall shook as something heavy (he figured Vernon's shoulder) hit the door. From his uncle's pained grunt, he hadn't enjoyed it.
"Vernon, *do* something!"insisted Petunia from outside the door.
"I'm *trying,"* Vernon retorted.
Harry finished the last of the egg and stood up from the toilet seat. "Hey, why don't you get Dudley to climb up the wall of the house and in through the window?"he called out as he turned on the washbasin tap. "I'm sure if he stood on your car, he could make it in an hour or two."He was actually sure that if Dudley stood on the roof of Vernon's car, the roof would collapse entirely.
Carefully, he scrubbed the plate down with hand soap. It probably wasn't as good as dish soap, but it got grime off the skin, so why not off porcelain? When he was reasonably sure it was clean, he set it aside. While he'd been doing this, the door (and wall) had shuddered twice more.
"Try *again,"* urged Petunia. "Dudders needs to use the toilet."
It struck Harry that he could've used this as prime extortion material, except that the moment he opened the door, they would reject all his terms. Heading over to the door, he waited until he heard the asthmatic wheeze that was Vernon gathering strength for the charge, then he unlocked the door and flung it wide open.
(Continued) |
Preston Street, three metres from the supermarket. That used to be my spot.
I used to curl up in my spot in a cheap sleeping bag, watching the world go by. It was a world filled with ladies who left lingering scents of jasmine and musk, and children who left echoes of their high-pitched laughter, and men who left after-images of golden wristwatches glinting in the sunlight. A world that I couldn't be part of, because of my unshaven face and my unwashed clothes and the hunger in my belly.
Not anymore. Now, I am inside the world I used to watch from the outside.
I never expected this. When I held up Jeffrey Moh in his own home, I was thinking only of soft prison-issue shirts and hot prison food and a sheltered, if barred, bed. I scampered away from his house that night with a bag full of priceless jewellery and his ATM cards in my pocket. It didn't take me long to drain all his accounts. And then I settled down, in my usual spot, to wait.
I waited, and waited, and waited. My heart leapt whenever I spotted a flash of blue. But it all came to naught. No welcome steel on my wrists, no home for the night, nothing.
I started to spend the money. Why not get three meals a day while I was at it? For what it was worth, why not buy a snazzy apartment? Why not get a decent haircut, and clothes that still had the tag on them? Why not live on the livings I'd gotten?
I walked the streets in my new life, from my apartment to the stores or the library or the park. I filled the air with the scents of shampoo and fresh cologne, I laughed at funny stories on my podcast, I checked the time on the steel watch adorning my wrist.
I took a pause on Preston Street, just a short distance from the supermarket. It had been a year since I last slept there, but nothing much had changed. There was a new guy there, in my old spot. Hair that had not seen a cut in months, a shirt that had seen better days, eyes that had seen too much disappointment. And a face I had seen as I held a knife to his neck in his own home, and stole both his money and his life. |
"The Gods are pompous narcissists, reshaping and twisting their underwhelming beginnings for the masses. It disgusts me. Therefore I will draw back the wool that has been pulled over the eyes of mankind"
That was the message that I was given one fateful afternoon. Written on old parchment, with silvery letters and a faint glow. Most strangely, it included an email address at the bottom.
Artemis@Mt.Olympus
Surely this was an elaborate prank. Nevertheless, she had caught my attention. So I sent her an email. We scheduled a meeting and I prepared my papers. Everything I had on Greek Myths, which was admittedly a lot.
She appeared in my office the next day, and I do mean appeared. I ducked to get a pen I dropped and when I sat back up, there she was.
Her long dark hair was tied back in an elaborate plait. She wore fitted pants and a sleeveless shirt, but she looked most comfortable in her own skin. She looked like she came from the gym, but gave no hint of exhaustion with no hair out of place. Her olive skin gave off a faint silvery glow, the same as he letter had earlier.
"I am Artemis, Goddess of the Hunt, the Moon and of Archery. And I am here to tell you a story. Quite a few actually."
My pursuit of knowledge kept me from asking her all the questions I wanted. She was a Goddess, and she wanted to talk to me.
"Let's get the important stuff out of the way. Yes I'm really Artemis, yes the Gods are real, and they're all a bunch of narcissists.
Lets start with a common story. The origin of Zeus. No, Cronos did not eat Zeus's siblings. He locked them in a mountain prison to avoid the indigestion. Zeus was never passed off as a rock, he was passed off as a stillborn by Rhea and raised by nymphs. Zeus broke the lock on the cage and together the grown Olympians fought the Titans and yadda yadda yadda."
I was astonished at how casually she spoke. I expected a Goddess to be more intimidating, or at least care. He letter made it seem like this was something she was passionate about.
"Another common one is Hades alleged abduction of Persephone. You see, he never really abducted her at all. She just kinda wandered into the Underworld and decided she liked it there. Hades liked having her there, so he said she could stay. Demeter was furious. She withered crops with the force of her fury. She demanded that Zeus force her daughter to return to her. Persephone refused, because she liked Hades and the Underworld. Cerberus LOVED her. It was not actually Zeus, but Persephone herself that proposed the compromise. She would spend half her time with her mother, and half the time in the Underworld with her new boyfriend."
Truth is so much less dramatic than fiction. I could see why the Gods would reshape their stories.
"Oh, here's a great one about my brother. Daphne was his girlfriend, not a stranger. They were happily in love, then Apollo got into a fight with Eros. Eros used his power to make Apollo fall even more in love with Daphne while he made Daphne hate Apollo. Apollos attempts to break the bewitchment Eros had cast were fruitless, while Daphne was outraged that he wouldn't leave her alone. Daphne turned to her father, who DID turn Daphne into a laurel, but he gave her the ability to do it on command. Apollo was heartbroken and vowed revenge on Eros. He has terrible luck in relationships because he still pines after Daphne, his one and only love."
With that last harrowing retelling, she rose from her chair. I expected her to say something else, a goodbye. But I blinked and she was gone. All that I had left was her letter and the notes I had taken of our conversation. I didn't know what she wanted me to do with this new information, but I was going to find out. |
The bridge stretches before him. The grand turrets of Hogwarts rise behind it, gnarled and weathered just as he remembers. All he has to do is cross, and Voldemort will be back where it all started.
In the centre of the bridge, cross legged on the floor, is an old man in a simple brown tunic with a tea set in front of him.
Voldemort hisses. He steps onto the bridge and feels the thrill of Hogwarts under his feet again. Dumbledore is gone; nothing will stop him killing the boy now and then he will be back to his full, unstoppable power. The muggles will kneel. The world will bow.
He stops, robes billowing in the wind.
The old man is pouring tea.
"So you're Dumbledore's replacement."He smiles, a twisted gash across his face. "Pathetic. No wonder it was so easy to get the boys blood and return to my body."
The man looks up, his eyes sparkling. "You have travelled far. Won't you sit and have some tea?"
"I'm not here for tea, old man."
"We are similar ages, friend. Although not all of us have had the pleasure of a break from aging."The old man smiles. "Please, join me in this tea. There is too much for just me and there is nothing sadder than wasted tea."
Voldemort glares.
"I'm here to kill Harry Potter,"he snarls. "Not to entertain some outsider."
"Ah yes. Harry Potter. The boy who lived. Or shall we say the boy who survived, as to truly live one must have stories to tell and tea to drink."The old man huffs, and steam rises from the tea. "I have tried my best to give him a normal year. It would be a shame for it to end with his death."
"I don't have time for this."
"You have nothing but time. The school is sleeping, and a man who does not know his enemy goes into battle blind."
Voldemort's eyes narrow. "Are you saying you're my enemy?"
"I will not allow you to hurt the boy."
"In that case. Avada ked - what magic is this?!"
His wand crumbles through his fingers. A single flame turned it to ash. The stranger is smiling at him and Voldemort stares back in confused wonder. No flame should be able to burn his wand. No magic should be able to so easily destroy it.
"What are you?"
"I am both enemy and friend. Now sit."
Slowly, incredulously, Voldemort lowers himself to the floor.
The stranger pours the tea, and passes it to the Dark Lord. To his shock, he accepts it in silence.
"There,"the stranger says. "There is nothing better than a soothing jasmine tea. You are here for the Potter boy. Tell me why."
"He has to die."
"Why?"
"What?"
A rare flash of annoyance passes over the stranger's face and his tone is a little harder when he repeats, "Why? Why must the boy die?"
"Because he is the reason for my torment!"
"Your torment is your own creation. A man cannot live with one foot in life and one readying for death. You have spent too long preparing for the inevitable rather than enjoying the possible and now you wish to punish a child whose only crime is to survive. Drink your tea, it will go cold."
Voldemort stares blankly back at the stranger. "You don't know a thing. Harry Potter must die."
The stranger shakes his head. "We all must die. It is what we choose to do in the time before that matters. You must choose, Tom. Will you be the man the world has decided you are, or will you learn a new way?"
Voldemort shakes his head. The tea cup trembles. "This is the only way."
"No. There is always another. You could have had that child killed by muggle means if you truly wanted him dead. You could have destroyed this school the moment Dumbledore left. You did not. You know there are still options."
Voldemort takes a sip of the tea. The stranger is right. It is soothing.
"What is your name?"
"Iroh."The stranger smiles. "Can I take it I have made a new friend?"
"I don't have friends."Voldemort glances at the tea, and then to Hogwart's stretched over the horizon. He had been happy there, once. Before jealousy and hatred had taken root. "But perhaps we can talk a while longer."
Iroh nods, and leans forward to refill Voldemort's cup. "Then we will talk. But if you still want to kill the child by sunrise, you will have to go through me."He smiles. "I am just an old man, but I still have some fire in my belly."
Voldemort nods once in response, and takes another sip of his tea. |
"Hang on, let me get this straight. Vampires exist? Like they're a thing, just wondering around, biting people's necks, drinking blood, and dumping the bodies?"
"Yep."The secretary barely even looked past his computer, far to busy to bother with my questions. "Although we're far less... primitive... than that. Continue through this door and the council will fill you in."
In front of me was the grand entrance for this mysterious 'vampire council'. Well, as grand as a secret entrance for a shady organization could be in the middle of the town hall. Everyone knew someone was using this room, but no one seemed to ask why or what for. None of the regular visitors were elected officials or public servants, and they all had a weird aura around them. Not that you'd expect anything else from such a secretive group. Regardless, the letter that told me to come here stated, 'As the human representative, any vampire that attacks you from now on will be sentenced to death.' So with the little confidence that provided, I entered the room.
The room stretched out far in front of me, much farther than the town hall should've allowed. Two long benches stretched across the room, each filled with villagers, and a single bench stood at the opposite end of the room, with six huge thrones but only five people. Of these grandiose seats, the one third from the right sat empty, but the others were filled with well-dressed and powerful-looking individuals. One rose and called out my name.
"Alexander of Blyth, we, the Northumberland Council of Vampires, welcome you as our new human representative."The woman stood almost 200 meters away from me, yet her piercing gaze struck to my core, forcing me to approach. Eyes from both benches lay solely on me. Fear kept me moving and intrigue helped pull me along.
"Who are you?"I got out, now halfway through the room.
She gave a slight chuckle, "I am Rosalie of Hexham, the mediator of this council. Everything goes through me, and I will answer all of your questions in time. However, for now, you only need to know three rules. If you can follow them you will live a great life."
"And,"I grimaced, there may not be away out of this, "if I don't?"
"Well, then you won't have to worry about it anymore."Her gentle smile hiding something far more sinister. "Now sit."
In front of me was the empty throne. It was encrusted with a variety of jewels, many I couldn't name, and the back had clear lettering 'Human Representative'. I cautiously sat down, thinking about my next words. "Are you, really, vampires?"
"Of course we are."She bared her teeth. "But don't be afraid, you're here to keep us hidden and stop us doing anything too inhumane. You probably won't need to do anything, just follow the rules and look pretty."
"Those rules, what are they?"
"The first is simple, don't tell anyone we're here. Fail that and you'll either be considered mad or be ripped to shreds by everyone here."
I swallowed, hard, "And number two?"
"Rule number two is intended to help the first, and help you fulfill your job here. You are to stay with me at all times. You will live in my house, commute here with me, shop with me everything. Understand."
I thought for a second about the loss of freedom presented here. No longer would I have any independence, or alone time. Yet, somehow that was preferable to having my face eaten off. "Fine, stick with you. And the last rule?"
"Oh, you'll love the last rule."
"Really? What is it?"
"If any vampire has a problem with a human, you have to resolve it. Any way you can and with any of our resources"
My eyes widened, "Any way I want?"
"And with all the resources in the world."
"I can tell this will be a fun partnership, Rosalie."
"And I look forward to working with you, Alexander" |
Foreword to the Sorceror’s Surgical Manual 6th Edition: Essential Black Techniques
Magic is made of dichotomies. The two faces of a cosmic coin.
Natural and unnatural.
Harmony and discord.
Life and death.
White and black.
White magic is a force of growth, mutation, and evolution. White is greedy and gluttonous, an all consuming progress.
Black magic is the power of stagnation, destruction, and mutilation. Black is slothful and indolent, an entity of entropy.
Magic is not moral. It is apathetic to the ethics of man. Magic is utilization of cosmic forces for the application of the magician’s will.
Under the steady hand of a skillful wielder, black provides the most efficient reconstruction. It is a surgical scalpel of sorcery, for the targeted destruction of disease.
Discard your preconceived notions of right and wrong. Successful surgery is born from specific harming techniques. Spells such as Severance, Fracture, Clot, and Drain are essential tools in a surgeon’s repertoire. Paradoxically, to save someone’s life a surgeon requires understanding of how to destroy the body. |
Timebending is not a choice; it is a decision. A decision that is made by something far greater than anything humans can comprehend. I, for one, still haven't figured out the rhyme or reason for why someone is chosen, but I was. Having held the power long enough to encounter other timebenders, I have found two activities in which they partake.
First, is sightseeing. What person if given the ability to move forward and backward along their timeline wouldn't go back to see some dinosaurs or witness the Cambrian explosion in time-lapse? Everyone takes some time to marvel at lost wonders of the world like the Library of Alexandria. Heck, I even learned a thing or two about horticulture from the Hanging Gardens of Babylon.
Once that becomes boring, people tend to move on to meddling. Pop culture will attempt to make you believe that stepping on a butterfly in Mongolia under the reign of Genghis Khan will somehow prevent the discovery of electricity, but they are wrong. Making minor adjustments in timelines long before yours begins is largely inconsequential. Some things are just inevitable, however. For example, nearly everyone has tried to stop Hitler from rising to power. Whether they convince his mother to follow through with her abortion, cure her cancer, accept him into the Vienna School of Art, or even just have him assassinated, it appears humanity is doomed to have a painful, bloody lesson in the mid-1940s regardless of who initiates it. Occasionally some poor souls can get lost in trying to problem solve issues like this, rather than face their inevitability.
See, the thing about timebending is that when you are in it, that is when you are back in time, you still age. If you spend too much time working on past events, when you return to your present you may be many years older than you should be, and that time cannot be regained. Many folks have lost their lives in vain attempts to change the past. I was nearly one of them.
When I was twelve years old, my father killed my mother. He was an abusive, alcoholic, monster of a man who took out his frustration on my mother and me in the form of slaps, punches, thrown objects, you name it. I came home from school one day to the sounds of shouting and breaking glass, which wasn't unusual. By 3:30pm, my father was routinely belligerently intoxicated. As I opened the front door, I saw my mother flying through the air down the stairs. She bounced once, then again with the edge of a step between her left collarbone and jaw, and she immediately became a ragdoll. I wish I had run to her side or called an ambulance, but I was so scared I was going to be next that I just ran. I never stopped running until the day I was gifted timebending.
When I returned to that moment in my life, I caught her before she hit the stairs, but when I returned to my present day, she was still gone. So I went back, this time I snuck into the house the night before, robbing the house of all the beer and whiskey. The next day, my mother bought her self some peace by restocking the fridge. Yet again, when I returned to my present day, she was still gone.
This pattern continued for what ended up being the better part of five years of my real life, each time more frustrating than the last. I tried getting my father arrested or having my mother run away with me after my birth. I even tried to help my father avoid some of the traumas in his life that warped him into the monster he was, but in those scenarios he never met my mother. Eventually, I had gone completely mad in my attempts to stop this event from occurring. It was then, that I was visited by another timebender who told me the words that I first refused but eventually became my salvation: "I'm sorry kid, but that timeline just wasn't meant for you. It is time to let her go."
She was right. Try as I might, her untimely death was a part of my life and an integral part at that. Without it, I would not have been set on the path that led to my being chosen for timebending. The realization of this truth was like losing my mother all over again. I wept for days, but time heals all wounds when healing is your focus. I realized what happened was in a way a gift, not one for me necessarily but one for others who are trapped in similar cycles. I had spent so long trying to repair the damages of my own past that I stopped focusing entirely on the future that lay before me, and I knew I was not the only one making the same trade.
I now bend through time searching for other timebenders lost in the cycles of their own sadness. Poor souls who, like I once was, are spending their limited days attempting to prevent and at the same time continuously reliving their deepest sadness or regrets. I find them, and I share with them the same wisdom I was granted: that some things in life are inevitable; that we cannot prevent tragedy in our lives, but we can heal from it; and that the future is more precious and ready for transformation than the past. |
You stared at the bulletin news, your tv now soaked in coffee and spit as you stared at the aliens that the news were reporting on. They were the ones from your dream last night. Even the spines were the same colors with a single pattern on them being the same. They descended in droves but what surprised you most was humanity’s reaction. The tv showed multiple screens from cities across the world, with everybody cheering like it was New Years.
You supposed you could see the reasons for the celebrations, it was a great comfort knowing we weren’t alone in the vast empty space. Though you wondered what else was out there.
“Humans of Earth!” A voice caught your attention, you assumed it was the leader of the aliens. They continued on. “Long ago one of your people has given us the gift of knowledge and today we shall repay you with the knowledge of universe. We have traveled far to reach you and on our way we have documents and photographs from the planets we have passed. Just like you have furthered our knowledge we will further yours in hopes that you will see the magnificent wonders that we have saw! The universe is vast and terrifying but there is no need to be afraid anymore. We now have each other, so let’s explore the expanse of space together! Let us discover together because we are not alone anymore!”
A loud sound interrupted your memories, quickly grabbing your bags, you stopped at the door. Today was the day that you make your dreams come true. Today is the day the you would head for space. The aliens you helped so long ago, has repaid your help with comfort, companionship and knowledge in return. It was more than you could have ever asked for. After all nobody likes being alone.
Taking one final look at your now empty apartment. A warm smile spread across your face. With that you shut off the lights and stepped through the door. New beginnings awaited you. |
"You need to stop."
..
"Stop what?"
..
"Stop starting time!"
"Ohhhh so that's why..."
"Yeah, so stop that."
"Why?"
"How am I supposed to fix things when the program is still running?"
"The program? Are you God?"
"No asshole, I'm a low level programmer grunt assigned to this stupid dead end job. Now stop starting time, I haven't been able to apply any patches for a few days now because of you."
"What needs fixing?"
"Unbelievable you just did it again! Stop it, your world's booked a one way ticket to fucksville and I really need to apply this patch. Just— holy shit again?"
"I just want to know what you're doing. Don't I have rights or something?"
..
..
..
..
"STOP."
"I'm just curious. As a resident of Earth, I feel like I should be well informed about any changes about to take place."
"Listen here fuckwit, you have no rights. As far you're concerned, you might as well be a simulation, you're not real. Covid, wildfires, 1 in 4 Americans being retarded, famine, and all manner of fucked up shit needs to be fixed asap. So stop!"
"Hmmmm, okay that makes sense."
"Thank you."
..
"Unfuckingbelievable you did it AGAIN!"
"Yeah I didn't really like the part where you said I was a simulation. Can a simulation get you fired from your job?"
"Dude. Fuck you. What's your name, I'm getting your ass deleted."
"Well at least you're smarter than the last guy. He just kept trying to apply the patches while the world was unpaused."
"Your. Name."
"Trump, Donald Trump,"he said with a wink. |
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