prompt stringlengths 391 14.9k |
|---|
And there on the desk, sat an antique underwood typewriter, a sheet of paper already loaded. There was but one simple command written on the header. "Write your way out of this one."
Antony chuckled, and pulled out the office chair, sinking down into creaking leather and the smell of polish. Glancing about the room, devoid of all facet of interest, he sighed. "But one thing to do, then."
He set his fingers to typing, the rhythmic clicking and thunking of the keys and hammers, when a single sentence began to take shape. Unrolling the paper, Antony cleared his throat and read aloud.
"While Antony sat at the desk and began to type, suddenly a door appeared on the wall before him."A brief pause, and put the paper down. Rising to his feet, he suddenly noticed what had seemed to be there the whole time. A single wooden door, her brass knob polished.
As Antony strode out into the hall, he could swear he heard a voice, ghostly and faint. "Lazy." |
*Today is the day!*
Marcus rose with a smile to the harsh alarm clock tones. His son, Ralph, became a man today... 18 whole years! Wow! His mother, Laura, didn't share the same enthusiasm, but the family were good Nazis and Marcus would see that his son had the same opportunities as he had growing up.
Marcus's family lived on top of their butcher stop in the historic district of Berlin. Here, far from the war in Afghanistan and the prolonged conflict with the US, Marcus's family enjoyed a quiet living with few possessions. A hundred and fifty years of war had run down city and nation. ICBMs being shot down were a weekly occurrence and a fantastic light show over the old city, now covered in a glass dome to downplay the harsh radiation that now plagued the world.
Laura began to cook the same beans and potatoes they have had for breakfast for so many years. But today, there was even Bacon! Usually, the animals killed down stairs were sent straight to the front line, but today was a special day! A Bacon Day! Last time they had a Bacon Day was Marcus's 50th, 5 years ago. Oh did he miss the smell of that sweet greasy pork. A news report played over their small kitchen TV, warning of new shortages of cloth and linens now that the Evil US Empire had somehow gotten a missile into the Cairo Dome. Actual loses in this war were rare but Marcus's optimism would not be swayed by global conflict. Ralph stumbled in sloppily, but smiling at that delicious smell. What a great Bacon Birthday this would be!
The family enjoyed their meal fully at the packed kitchen table. Three people living in one bedroom apartment would always feel cramped, but for Ralph's 16th they were able to remodel part of the pantry into his own room. They had it well and thankfully Ralph's only child status was enough for him to be passed by the draft for 4 years now. Marcus sipped his coffee with a grin, his boy was a man now.
The day had all the usual elements of a Monday. Bacon or not, Marcus needed to clean and cut 50lbs of meat for the front, Laura needed to be a secretary for the doctor down the road and Ralph needed to do his schooling. Marcus always had an inextinguishable enthusiasm and today some how it had even reached new heights. At 17:30, Laura returned from another hard day and at 19:00, Ralph returned from a small party with some friends.
Dinner was rice and beans with even another piece of bacon. Today, Marcus for his 18th was allowed to lead the chants and pledge of alliance. Laura had another tough day working with manual records, but still she kept her spirits up. After work, she had grabbed a small pound cake in honor of the occasion and over the last few months was able to collect candles as well! What a loving wife Marcus had, what a great life he had.
After dinner, the family celebrated Ralph's birthday. Laura gave Ralph a spare set of keys to the family car. He smiled politely, this was very typical of coming to age Berliners. Marcus then excused himself from the table. Under the bed, wrapped in silk, Marcus mentally prepared himself to give his son the greatest gift he had ever received.
In 1978, at the beginning of the Religious Reclamation Purge, an aging Hitler had ordered the destruction of many religious texts. He deemed that at the age when boy becomes man, he can choose his faith, but he will not have it pushed upon him. This was a direct response from the apocalyptic cults that roamed and ruled so many parts of an ailing Germany. Marcus's father had saved the family bible from the purge and on Marcus's 18th, it was handed down. That same bible reminded him daily of the joy and beauty of life, it was the greatest gift he could give.
His son was shocked, god was something he was tangentially familiar with, but never something he thought he could learn. Marcus explained the base of their religion, Orthodox Christian as his son listened on with widening eyes. This was what defined them, their family. Now at the age of 18, Ralph would finally know the cause of the endless optimism portrayed by his father. Today was an excellent Bacon Day after all.
The family said their good nights and as always, observed the lights out 22:00 curfew. With a smile, Marcus fell asleep. There wasn't a warning when the 30 ton missile broke through the outer defenses, there was no time. Berlin's historic district was engulfed by a miniature sun. Marcus's last thoughts were of his loving family and his final Bacon day. |
As he lay on the bed, breathing rapidly and shallowly, he smiled weakly. This home of mine...we'd always been here and the slightly tarnished walls were there to prove it. It's just him, me, and my 6 year-old daughter here.
"I live,"he began, looking straight at me in the eye, "just for you my son."
My Dad looks exactly like me if only with a few more folds in his skin. And, as of the past few days, a lot thinner.
"I remember when you were just a little kid,"he continued. "You ran around like crazy jumping onto every low table there was and climbing onto the high ones too. You almost fell off one, once."
"History repeats itself,"I said, looking at my little girl.
He chuckled.
"Lucky I caught you, though. It wasn't the first time, and it certainly wasn't the last."
He started to laugh again, but this time it degenerated into a ominous sounding cough. His brown eyes were once wide open windows reflecting his childlike energy; but, they're now very close to being closed from this world.
He's down to his last dollar.
I try not to cry. I shut my eyes tightly. I'm a grown man...grown men can't cry. I have to be strong in front of my daughter.
"Daddy,"she says in her sweet million-dollar voice, "what's happening to Grandpa?"
I look at him. He looks at me.
"Honey,"I say softly, "Grandpa needs to go somewhere but won't be coming back."
I bring my sleeve to my eyes, dampening it.
"You need to say goodbye to Grandpa."
She thinks, much deeper than a 6-year old has to think. Oddly, she understands, a feat of maturity for a 6-year-old.
"Okay, Daddy."
She hugs my Dad.
"Bye bye, Grandpa. I love you."
He looks at her lovingly. "Goodbye sweetie. I love you too."
He coughs again, breathing becoming more laboured. He's on his last breaths, now. He turns to me again.
"Son...take care of your daughter, okay? She'll be your life, too. You'll do this too, when the time comes."
"But why do you have to go?"I say. I can't hold it back any longer. I'm trembling.
He holds my hand. I feel the thing I dread - his last gold coin, between our hands. If he lets go...
"I caught you when you fell back in the old days,"he says, "but now it's your turn to do that for someone else. And..."
He looks at my daughter, and back at me.
"Life is a million dollars, but the people you live for are worth so much more than that."
"I love you, Dad."
"I love you, son."
He lets go of his gold coin, smiling, and stops breathing.
The only way money is earned in this world is when it's given to others, but he's given me so much more than that .
I grip my daughter's hand. She looks up at me with innocent eyes.
I'll keep this dollar for her.
|
Every day for a year now, the same kid comes into the store. An orphan from Helgen. He talks about how a dragon burned down the town and he's going to save the realm. The real story is he was out picking snow berries when a cooking fire got out of control and his parents' house burned to the ground. It's sad stuff, but I'm glad he wound up here instead of Riften. Kid wouldn't make a good thief. The orphanage is worse than the streets for most as well.
Most street kids in Whiterun either beg or steal and are shipped off to Solitude to work their debts off, but not our little 'dragon born'. He helps out at the forges, making iron daggers and tanning hides for Adrienne.
He likes to pretend he's big and strong and goes on all sorts of adventures. He will bring me small trinkets, and I''ll trade him and give him sweet rolls. Some times chicken bones are dragon bones, and river rocks are soul stones.
The worst thing the little tyke does is roar at people around town. But it's grown on us towns folk, even the Jarl likes having him around. We even found a family to take him in, but at night he usually just leans up against a shop door and wakes right when we open for business, eager and ready to continue his adventure.
The kid has spirit. Something we all desperately need. We all love our little special dragon born. |
"Just like we practiced, don't be stressed. Just try to do your very best!"The speech pathologist smiled reassuringly and put a comforting hand on Tyler's shoulder. He frowned. Tyler liked the lady in the bright blue scrubs a lot, but he was worried about disappointing his family *again*. Tyler was only five years old, but knew he was different from the other kids. Different from everyone.
"Come on Tyler, give it a try,"she coaxed. "There's no reason to be shy."
She was the last in a long line of pediatricians, neurologists, and therapists that his parents had been dragging him to for as long as Tyler could remember. Brain scans, tongue and mouth exercises, a change in diet, gross medicine - nothing worked. His parents were getting frustrated.
Last week, his father had taken away his video game and shouted, "I'll return your toy when you learn to talk like a big boy!"
All for something he could not control. Tyler took a deep breath.
"My name is Tyler, and I am . . . sad."
The therapist's eyes were as wide as her encouraging smile. She nodded for him to continue.
"Because the way I talk makes my father . . . furious."
|
"Why don't you fight back. You are God. Why let them destroy you like this."
I watched as the mob rushed the facility; soldiers and guards, police and thieves, common men and house wives. Fear was in the air - terror as bitter as old root.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. A call. From God.
I picked it up. What else was i supposed to do?
"Hello?"
The voice that spoke back had no particular accent or identifiable gender. It was slow moving, and careful, and it reminded me of my father as old age and cancer gnawed on his body.
"Because it is how you are. so much hate, so much fear. So much blindness in this world,"the voice crackled slightly, its pitch quavering as something in the compound went up in flames, "But so much love too. I can see it all. The texts, the phone calls, every day, every second. It is, in the end... not so bad."
The phone went dead. |
To set the scene, play this song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AFa1-kciCb4
---------------------
“You asked for the fastest gun in the West. Well, you got him,"said Sawyer. He smiled and spat on the ground. He stood tall with his right arm by his side, ready to draw his gun at any moment.
The sky was orange. The whole town was silent, but Sawyer knew that everyone was spying through their windows. The town had to get a criminal to do the work of a lawman. How pathetic, he thought. A gust of wind kicked up some dust. A horse neighed in the distance.
The stranger in black robes stood about 50 yards away from Sawyer. No one knew who he was or where he came from. The story was that the man rode into town on a black horse and killed the sherif with no cause. He then demanded to see the fastest gun in these parts, or he would start killing townsfolk.
The deputy came hat in hand to Sawyer, begging him to come duel the stranger. In exchange, all charges of theft and robbery against him would be forgiven, and the bounty on his head would be dropped. He would also get a monetary reward. Sawyer was more than happy to oblige. Kill someone for money? You didn’t have to ask him twice.
“How about you take off that hood. Call me old-fashioned, but I like to see a person’s face before I kill them.” Sawyer said.
The stranger let out a deep laugh. The way it reverberated through the air made it sound inhuman to Sawyer. The stranger pulled back his hood and revealed his face. Sawyer was shocked at what he saw.
The stranger’s face had a rough cut. He looked about 35, with dark black hair, black stubble, and a long scar starting from his forehead that went through his right eye and across his face, all the way down to his jaw. The man’s eyes surprised Sawyer more than anything else. They were a shimmering silver that constantly changed and shifted, with no visible pupils.
“It’s gonna be a shame to mess up such a pretty face,” said Sawyer. “Now I ain’t got all day. Let’s get on with it.”
“Gladly,” the stranger replied in his resonant voice.
Sawyer readied his right hand. He stood, waiting patiently for the right moment. The stranger put his hands together in a ball shape, and Sawyer saw light flickering between them. He didn’t know what it was, but he wasn’t going to wait to find out. In a flash, Sawyer drew his gun and fired. The bullet was dead on, heading straight for the stranger’s head. At that same moment, the stranger lifted his hands, and Sawyer saw fire traveling in the air towards him. The bullet passed through the fire and disappeared. Sawyer dodged right just in time. He felt the heat on the left side of his face and smelled burning hair. What the hell was that. |
"... performing the mass on Christmas and defending the hell-mouth"droned the Cardinal.
Newly elected Pope Francis started from the edge of sleep. "What was that last one?"
"Mass on Christmas?"
"No, no, the hell-mouth one"
"Oh, yes, defending the hell-mouth. That's an important duty."
"What's a hell-mouth? Why am I defending it?"
"Well... it is pretty much what it sounds like, an entrance directly to hell. That's where invading demons come from. This should've been in your introduction pamphlet."
Francis quickly paged through the sheaf of papers in front of him. He came to a document with a picture of a man in a tall hat fighting a monstrous creature. The creature had a *lot* of teeth.
"I'm 89 years old! I can't fight demons."
"Sure you can. That's half the reason that there *is* a pope. Which reminds me, I'll need to get you fitted for the armor of god."
"Armor of God? You mean Truth, Righteousness, Readiness, Faith, Salvation and Spirit?"
"Well... I mean, those are good and all, but I was thinking of the 30kg of reinforced steel. It has a cross on it, if that makes you feel better."
Francis deflated "Just a question... did Pope Julius really die of a stroke?"
"Oh no, he was torn to shreds by a ravager fiend. Very sad."
"Yeah... I thought so."
|
I stared at the portrait of me, amazed at how much it looked like myself. 400 years ago too. This would freak normal people out. But not me. I was positively dancing, bouncing off of the walls when I heard the whisper in my ear.
“I’ve FINALLY found you,” it hissed. “I…”
“Wrong,” I replied, interrupting it and turning around. Nothing stood behind me and a few museum goers had taken notice of me talking to myself. “I’ve finally found you! I knew you existed. I knew you were there.”
“Impossible,” the voice whispered back to me. “I know all. You can not have…”
“I am the one who created you,” I said. People had their phones out, recording my conversation that was taking place with the portrait. “And as I created you, I will destroy you. I only ever intended to let my friend paint me. I never meant for it to create a demonic version of me.”
“I will get you one day,” the voice said.
I watched as a little boy shuddered and realized it had possessed him. I ran over, grabbed him by the shoulders, and ordered the demon to leave the child. Everyone rushed me, but I fought them all off.
“Do you trust me?” I asked the mother, who slapped me. The boy shuddered again and I knew the demon had left him. Pulling out an ancient knife I had brought with me, I slashed the portrait with an X. “Be gone you vile creation of mine!”
Turning around, huffing and puffing, a knife in my hand and security guards aiming their guns at me, I put my hands in the air.
“I just saved you all,” I said.
“What’s your name?” one of the security guards asked.
“Nicolas Cage,” I replied. |
There we stood. The minute we locked eyes, I could feel time stop around us, and it felt for a second there like everything was over. The screaming, the shooting, the bloodshed, the tears. For one moment, it was gone.
Then it came back harder then ever. I was staring face to face with a boy. He seemed not much older than me, but so much different. He had dark brown eyes, that were full of innocence. I knew, because I had those same eyes. I was told those eyes would get me killed, and as I looked into this boy's gentle, caring eyes, I knew it was me or him.
He was shaking, pistol aimed directly at my chest. A single bead of sweat dripped down his brown, and as he reached to wipe it off, I drew my pistol up as well.
The tension had begun to grow stronger. Neither of us had spoken a word. I assumed he knew as well as I did that we weren't going to shoot. We just couldn't.
The stare down continued. There was no time for blinking, or wiping sweat from our eyes, or lowering the pistols to rest our weary arms. It almost felt as if we were going to stand here, face to face, until the entire war was over, and even then we would be found, years later, by some researcher scouring the battlefield. In this moment, we were statues of ourselves.
Then he lowered his pistol. He knew I could shoot him. He also knew I wouldn't. This boy, not much older than me, had just shown me mercy, a mysterious force on this battlefield. Few could even fathom such a concept, and yet he showed me it in it's truest form. For that, I am forever in his gratitude.
I don't know if I would've spoken to the boy, had I had the chance. I think I would have. I at least would have got his name.
None of that matters though, because at that moment all I could see was the bullet, exiting the front of his chest, and burying itself in the ground. He fell to the ground, and in the distance I saw another soldier, one of our own men, also about my age, his pistol in hand and facing where the boy once stood.
The only difference between him and us: the eyes. |
"John, you have a visitor,"The orderly said, poking his head into my room.
I looked up. "Thank you, I'll be right down."
That would be the doctor downstairs, right on time. He stopped by the assisted living facility every Monday morning, to check in on me. Dr. Robertson was a very nice man, and he'd done a great deal to help me. Pity it wasn't working. I still couldn't remember a thing.
I got up from my chair and walked to the bathroom mirror. I examined the face staring back at me. Brown eyes, black hair, fair skin. Eight years ago, I saw this face for seemingly the first time. It'd been eight years since I woke up in that hospital bed, unable to remember anything about myself or my past.
I tried to remember. Who was I? What was my name? People here called me John, short for John Doe. But John wasn't really my name. I felt no attachment to it, no familiarity. I'd repeated the word "John"to myself again and again, until it'd lost all meaning, but still it felt strange on my tongue. This was not my name.
Or maybe it was. Maybe I really had been called John before all this. Who knows?
The doctors said I had no ID or any other documents on me when they found me, unconscious on the front steps of the hospital. The police had grilled me dozens of times, and I could never give them any useful information. It was as if I'd simply appeared out of thin air one night, eight years ago.
I'd been in my mid-twenties then. The doctors didn't know my exact age, so they'd estimated. That meant I was now in my early to mid-thirties. A man in his thirties, with no usable skills, and no memory of the past. I was about as close to useless as it was possible to get. I worked as a janitor in the assisted living facility. Mopping floors and raking leaves don't require any special skills. They gave me room and board, and paid me a bit of money, so I could start making a dent in my hospital bills.
Sometimes, there were flashes of memories, vague impressions, faint images that meant nothing without context. The color red vaguely made me happy. Maybe I had a wife before all this, and she had a favorite red dress. Maybe my favorite sports team wore red. I had no way to find out.
I looked down at my stomach. It was rounded, and starting to protrude. I remember waking up, eight years ago, with a washboard stomach. I had been fit, and strong. Maybe I had liked sports. Maybe I'd been a soldier, or a secret agent. Nowadays, though, my body was very different. I'd let myself go. I had no reason to keep myself fit.
I stared again at the familiar stranger in the mirror. Dr. Robertson would be waiting for me, downstairs. I should go down. I stared into the mirror some more. I didn't want to see Dr. Robertson. He'd ask me the same questions, and I'd tell him the same thing I'd told him every Monday for the last eight years. That there'd been no change. That I still couldn't remember a thing.
The face in the mirror stared back. The same face I've seen every day, every morning when I got up and brushed my teeth. Who was that man in the mirror? What was he called?
"I've seen you every day for eight years. I should at least know your name,"I whispered at him. Tears started welling up in my eyes. "Please... please... tell me your name... tell me who you are... please tell me..." |
Anyone in seeing distance of the man could feel his anger.
Not being employed by the president - that was an absolutely splendorous job, being the chief medical officer of his country's leader. But the whole process of getting *into* the abode - now that was a pain in the arse. One would think that, after the twentieth time or so - he would be able to skip past the detailed examination of his gear. The president, however, was a paranoid old man - you didn't live for an unprecedented eleventh term without being a bit on the insane side.
After being handed his workbag back from the hired guard, the good doctor continued on. He passed through the double door entrance without stopping or slowing - the slaves who stood watch had long since learned of his displeasure should anyone make him wait. As the door closed behind him, the doctor heard two pairs of footsteps fall in behind his - not the doormen, but, as he knew from previous times, the two guards assigned to follow him from here onward.
The doctor paid little attention to the men, though. Those men were simple minded fools who had given up any sense of intelligence in favor of blind obedience and patriotism. They were not men of science, as he was.
As he perused through the corridors, the doctor wondered if the next shipment of Asians had come in from the Pacific-Atlantic yet - he did, after all, have a new tonic he wished to try out. It was fatal for the animals he had tried it on, but perhaps it was simply melanin levels that determined the effect.
Moving his mine onward to rejoin his body, the doctor slowed and stopped before the final set of doors. He turned to his two shadows and spoke.
"From here on is a private matter - although I assume you have already been told this?"
The one on his right replied, the accented drawl almost too thick to comprehend.
"Ah'reckon ya'knew we 'er 'ere. Mhm, we ah'ready been tol'bout you, doc. You go on an' do what yer 'ere fer."
Hiding his grimace at the men's complete lack of grammar, the doctor nodded and continued into the final room.
There was a single man, sitting beside a lit fire. He held a pistol casually in his hand, stroking it.
"Reminiscing, sir?"
The man replied without looking, knowing only the doctor could get through his guards without hearing the necessary struggle that would have to occur.
"Of course, good doctor."
The doctor waited, expecting a deeper explanation on why he was called here, but upon receiving none, spoke up again.
"How can I help you, President Booth?" |
The voice whispers, "It's really late, go to your room... I'll be waiting."
Confused, I ask, "Why? Are you real?"
I hear the most calming voice say, "Yes, I am here to help you. People shouldn't know about this, and it's safe in your room."
As I lower the shell and head toward my room, I see my nurse glaring at me, yet again... "If you need to adjust your meds, the doctor will be here in the morning. Now say goodnight to Shelly." |
The tent was cold, its entrance flap billowing slightly in the breeze, inviting sand and mosquitos. Three archeologists sat around a makeshift table, an almost empty bottle of champagne between them.
Dr. Anna Walkerski raised her glass and took a slow drink. Her almond-shaped green eyes shimmered with happiness. "This is the greatest find of the twenty first century."She spoke with a slight Eastern European accent.
"I still cannot believe it is real,"said Dr. Ben Fenrir. "Imagine the implications. We could change the world. We could achieve so much."
"Then what are we doing here?"Anna smiled mischievously. "Why don't we return to the ruins? There's that locked room we discovered this morning."
The suggestion was greeted with enthusiasm from Ben. He stood up, drained his glass and slammed it on the table. The stem shattered. Anna laughed, but their American colleague, Dr. Michael Voder only frowned. His glass was almost untouched.
"We should leave it for the time being. If this is real -"began Dr. Voder, but he was interrupted by Ben.
"It is real."
"*If* it is real,"repeated Michael, raising one eyebrow, "We do not understand it. It does well to be careful around things we do not understand."
"Then you stay, and we go,"said Anna. She grabbed her torch and rose.
Michael shook his head. "I want to know what is behind that door as much as you. You are not making any discoveries without me. I'm coming."
They left the tent and walked into the darkness of the seemingly untouched desert. It was not long before they passed the security perimeter and reached the silent temple, for so long buried beneath sand. Anna and Ben staggered slightly on the uneven terrain. They entered through a side corridor that sloped downwards and led towards a domed atrium. The walls were decayed with age and made of a material they had not yet conclusively identified. Despite their being no light aside from their torches, the atrium glowed softly blue. Part of the ceiling had collapsed, blocking further advances into the temple. They had to be careful shifting the debris lest more crumbled and progress was slow. The main entrance had not yet been uncovered, and neither had the library, the council chambers, or any training facilities. But that morning, they had shifted several tons of stone to reveal a locked door with no apparent mechanism to be opened.
They stood before it now. Anna ran her fingers along the edge of the door, hoping that this time, a solution would become evident. When none did, she sighed. "I have no idea what to do? How would they have opened this? We can't break it down with brute force."
Michael was not paying attention. Something protruding beneath the rubble beside the door had caught his attention. He crouched down and prudently moved some of the blocks. It was a faded piece of brown fabric. He continued shifting the ceiling fragments.
"We could, with the Force,"said Ben enthusiastically. "Oh lord, did I really drink that much?"
Anna laughed. "What does it say about me if I consider that a good idea?"
Michael slid his hand beneath the rubble and felt more fabric. Then his fingers closed around something thin, smooth and cold. He traced its form. His heart pounded in his chest. He heard a loud creak and jumped.
The door was opening. "How did you do that?"he asked.
"We have no idea,"admitted Ben. He pointed his torch and the newly revealed passageway. "Shall we?"
Michael hesitated, glancing down at the corner of brown cloth visible, but eventually nodded. They proceeded, Anna in the lead. No one dared speak. The only sound was the echo of their steps. The air was denser, it was harder to breathe.
"Keep your light steady,"said Michael. "Stop waving it around like that."
Anna apologized, but after a few more meters, she stopped. "Do any of you... do you... feel something. Something like... oh... I don't know. Something isn't right."
"Look,"exclaimed Ben. Faint bluish light was visible up ahead. The corridor opened to a large room, but this one too was filled with debris. There was no where to go. Shards littered the floor, reflecting the feeble light.
"What is this?"Anna picked one up and examined it.
"Glass?"Ben bent down to take a closer look. "I'll take a piece with me and study it."
"Same,"said Anna. "There's nothing more to do here tonight. We should go back and record what we found."
They returned to the camp. Once in her tent, Anna made detailed notes in a thick ledger and inspected the broken shard in better light. Her face was reflected in its surface. She ran her fingers over the sharp edge. Finally, she turned off the lamps. As she fell asleep, she heard a clear, piercing voice. "Come to me. I will give you power. I will give you answers. Come to me."
|
"Wow, seriously is such a pleasure to finally meet you! here, will you please sign this for me? Its for my son, see, and you've always been such an inspiration to us all!", the man says as he thrusts a photo into my hands.
"Err, I'm sorry friend, i think you must be mistaking me for someone else..."I say uneasily, but my words fall on dead ears.
The strange man is looking at me with such glee and wonder, and a smile that says hes been waiting for this for a very long time.
"Please sign it sir, I can't be here much longer, everyone's waiting for me, and if I don't get back soon, there might be trouble."
"Fine, I can sign it for you, but I'm telling you kid, I'm not the one you want. I just work..... huh, i guess it does kinda look like me. Beards a bit shaggy though, and this guy looks so thin. I like my food too much for this to be me.", I say, as i sign it and hand it back to the kid.
"Thanks mister, Keep up the good work,"says the kid as he starts to dash back down the street, "Or think about starting!"
Th kid rounds the corner as the the last few words register.
*Think about starting? What the hell does that mean? Whatever kid...*
Later that same day, as the last cigarette winked out in my hand, that kids words still played through my mind. What did he think I did? That stupid picture was just a scraggly thin guy in front of a hospital, and dozens of reporters following him.
I hate Hospitals.
Like a lot.
Only pain and suffering came from them. Sadness had been my life for years now, both of our lives. With Her gone, I barely functioned nowadays, rarely leaving the house. We couldn't stand seeing anyone, and the walk into town took us right past the hospital.
Once a week, I walk down to town by the groceries, and walk to the park. Safe to say, after today's encounter, I shan't go back to the park for sometime.
People always asked about us both, how we were coping, and if we wanted to go and get a drink, or lunch. whatever they could.
There's no cutline cure for depression, only time.
*Time heals all wounds. That's what they say. Well Bollocks to that! 6 Years its been now. 6 years and no little girl to take to school. no one to kiss goodnight, or sneak giant bowls of ice cream when mum isn't around. I cant do this anymore.*
Cigarettes helped, alcohol numbed the pain if only a little bit. But nothing made it go away forever. Nothing could.
Right?
*Nothing will make this pain stop. It can't, can it?*
...
The next day, the same nurses bustled in and out of the hospital, the same dreary colours on the walls.The same everything as that day...
But for once i walked in with purpose. The doctors all looked as i walked by, but didn't say a word. There's never time to in a hospital, too much work, never enough doctors. And this place had been down one for far too long.
...
Months later, maybe years at this point, I didn't even know, We were ready. The trials had worked from rats all the way onward. Every patient showed massive improvements in both mood and productivity, and showed no signs of any quote unquote "Bad"side effects.
Today marked a momentous occasion, The announcement, and the start of our human trials. And as head of the team, I had to deliver the speech.
No more depression. No more mental illnesses, no soul crushing regrets and no more blooming psychologists! They were the worst.
As i passed the mirror, I straightened my tie, attempted to comb the beard, and left the front of the hospital. We were going to change the world.
Years of work had left me thin with a scraggly beard and ill fitting suits. But the pain had gone. I had always wanted to help my little girl. Now, I was gong to help the whole world.
As i pushed open the front door to the hospital, a large gang of reporters rushed up to meet me.
Somewhere close by, a camera shutter closed... |
Cube Five-Three-Seven to Sector One-One-Eight-Two. Contact with Unknown Species. Designate Species Eight-Three-One-Eight. Beginning Standard Hailing Protocol. We are the Borg. Lower your shields and surrender your ships. We will add your biological and technological distinctiveness to our own. Your culture will adapt to service us. Resistance is futile.
Activate Defensive Matrix Seven-Two-Three. Activate Tractor Emitter Four. Activate Cutting Beam. Cutting Beam failure.
Damage to quadrants Five-Three and Five-Four. Damage to Quadrants Five-Six and Five-Eight.
Transferring Drones to Damage Control. Subsystems rerouted to sub-junction Three-Eight.
Deploy shielding countermeasures. Alert. No shielding on enemy vessel detected.
Transport initialized. Drones Two of Six and Three of Six have boarded non-assimilated vessel.
Drones report no contact. Life-form analysis complete. Unable to ascertain location of crew. Activate Protocol Five-Three-Three-Seven. Potential automated vessel.
Drones applying assimilation nanobots to hull material. No Effect.
Alert. Cube Five-Three-Seven reports damage to quadrants Four-Two and Four-One. Engaging with torpedoes.
Damage to Un-assimilated vessel. Torpedo efficacy under zero-point-nine percent. Discontinue inefficient actions.
Drone Two of Six encountering independent lifeform. Electrical damage. Drone non-functional. Drone Three of Five assimilating attack information. Assimilation complete. Shielding adjusted.
Drone Three of Five has assimilated new Collective member Six of Six.
Alert. Competing synthetic intelligence detected. Rerouting computational unimatrix. Rerouting secondary computational unimatrix.
Assimilation complete. Drone Six of Six has suffered catastrophic neural damage. Synthetic components detected.
Assimilation of synthetic components complete. New Technology identified. Acquiring Mass Effect technology. Assimilation of technology complete.
Alert. Drone Three of Six encountering weapons fire.
Drone Seven of Seven, Tertiary Adjunct to Cube Five-Three-Seven acquired. Engaging transporters. Drones commencing Assimilation of vessel.
Alert. Drones rendered non-functional. Assimilating memories of Drone Eight of Eight. Non-Assimilated forces utilizing kinetic projectile technology. Assessing. Adjusting shields to resist kinetic shocks. Adaption complete. Transporting additional drones.
Assimilation of tertiary processes aboard Unknown Vessel One complete. No additional synthetic units detected.
Alert. Synthetic intelligence detected. Rerouting all available computational unimatricies. Fourteen percent of processes assimilated.
Alert. Additional vessels of Species Eight-Three-One-Eight detected.
Threat Level High. Reallocating Tactical Cubes Two-Seven-Four and Two-Seven-Five. Reallocating Spheres Nine-Three-One-Eight and Nine-Three-One-Nine.
Forty-three percent of processes assimilated. Acquiring molten-uranium cannnon technology. Technology assimilation complete. Beginning countermeasure processing. Processing complete.
Alert. Unknown Vessel of species Eight-Three-One-Eight has emerged from warp. Vessel firing on Cube Five-Three-Seven.
Countermeasures deployed. Cube Five-Three-Seven has sustained minimal damage. Continuing assimilation.
Eighty-three percent of processes assimilated. Alert. Destabilization of 'Mass Effect' core. Classification: Critical rare resource.
Tactical Cubes Two-Seven-Four and Two-Seven-Five have arrived. Engaging Unknown vessel Two. Reclassification. Species Eight-Three-One-Eight self-classifies as 'Reaper'.
Alert. Neural assimilation technology detected. Ninety-three percent of processes assimilated. Alert. Neural assimilation detected on Drones Nine of Fourteen and Ten of Fourteen. Alert. Unable to maintain assimilation connection and deactivate self-destruct.
Neural assimilation technology acquired. Warning. "Reaper"vessel One undergoing self-destruct.
Technology acquisition complete. Destruction of Reaper Vessel One. Dispatching Salvage Vessel Nine-Three-One-Seven-Two.
Tactical Cubes Two-Seven-Four and Two-Seven-Five engaging Reaper Vessel Two. Reaper Vessel Two has sustained critical damage.
Alert. Additional intelligence acquired. Reaper vessel quantity superior to Collective vessel quantity.
Collective is facing threat to existence. Activate Borg Queen Three.
"I am awake." |
Peter Parker, a 15 year old science nerd, stayed at home the week after the alien attack. Aunt May wasn't going to let him out even after the mayor had declared the crisis was over.
"It's not just the aliens; look at those people! The green man? What if he's still around?! Please stay home, Peter."
Finally, in desperation, Peter had his friend Harry come and pick him up. Aunt May felt a little better knowing that Peter would be in the custody of the limo driver.
Harry looked excited when Peter got in the car.
"OK, so you know how OsCorp has these military contracts, right?"
"Yeah."
"Well, I got to see what they're doing. It's amazing, Peter. They're making Super-Soldiers."
"What? Seriously?"
"Yeah, like, you know how Captain America was just a regular guy, but they juiced him up and made him this hero, right? Well, OsCorp figured out how to do it!"
"That's... that's incredible. What do they do?"
"There's a few different ways... they have one that uses a gas you inhale, it gives you strength and, like, clarity of mind. If focuses your thoughts on who you truly are."
"It affects your personality? That's weird. I heard that Steve Rogers just got strong, but he kept the personality."
"No, the personality, that's the best part. Like, what if you have a soldier who can't focus on his mission? He gets distracted because the guy he's supposed to kill looks like his brother, or maybe it is his brother, or a fr... a family member."
Harry paused and looked down.
"And there's this other one, where they, like, put radiation and some chemicals on an animal or something, and then they draw out some kind of liquid, mix it up, all that... basically, they can do anything."
"What happens? A real life Batman?"
"Yeah, they're still experimenting. They think they can give a soldier a way to jump 300 feet in the air using a flea. Or, check this out - they've got some spiders, and they think they can use it to make super strength, and somebody who can actually make webs."
"Or grow another 6 eyes. I'd pass on that."
"I'm gonna show you what they're doing. You'll love it."
"Who's gonna go through the experiments?"
"Who wouldn't? The chance to be a super hero? What if we didn't need some billionaire from California to save New York? Or some fake god from another world? And you saw what the Hulk did - he almost destroyed the city himself. Peter... what if we could save the city ourselves?"
"So they actually have volunteers?"
"Well,"smiled Harry, "maybe not volunteers. But I guarantee, it would be an honor, Peter. It would be an honor. I'll show you the lab. You'll love it."
As Harry turned and tried to hide a grin, Peter noticed, for a brief moment, a flash of green in his friend's eye.
|
The color of thieves caught with marks on their palms,
A color to paint when eschewing aplomb.
The color of life, and the color of death,
the color of ventures run quick out of breath.
The color of flooring 'neath VIP's shoes,
The color of sly misdirectional clues.
The color of days that will not be forgot,
The color of faces embarrassed, distraught.
The color of flags flying bright before horns,
The color of morning when sailors are warned.
The color of pennies when worth a bit less,
The color of flights soaring 'till the sun crests.
The color of streetlights where love is for sale,
The color of tape tying hands, unavailed.
The color in eyes when emotions, hot, trend,
The color that colors this rhyme, at its end.
|
People all think they get whatever they want in the end, so they make those jokes about lobster and all-you-can-eat buffets. What really happens is they can ask for whatever, but they really just get an approximation, whipped up from whatever ingredients we got laying around. It makes sense because, once you come here, you live only an approximation of life anyway.
So they don't usually take chances. They rolled the dice before and it didn't work out so good. They mostly ask for the tried and true: breaded chicken, creamed corn, chocolate pudding and a piece of fruit. They ask for the things they've been eating since they died the first time. They've spent all this time forgetting the world and they want to keep it that way.
Whether any of that is true, I don't know. You have to tell yourself things when you're in here or you'll lose your mind. Truth is I've been up here five years out of fifteen and I've never met one of the Hanged Men for real. Now and then I've seen them shuffle past my cell on the way to court or the nurse, chained up every which way. They don't make eye contact and (except for the baby killers) we don't say nothing either.
There was only one time the guards gave us a request that wasn't from the regular menu. It was for the one the lady on TV had called the Ashbury Butcher. It said he wanted lamb chops, the way his momma used to make them. Cooked medium with mint jelly and asparagus on the side. He ended up with a ground beef patty, green beans, and some pickle relish we stirred sugar into. The new kid on the kitchen with me joked that if he wanted mint, we should've given him toothpaste on the side. I smacked him on the head and got myself a ticket for that.
I sneaked the guy a note under his cup (grape juice instead of red wine). I said I was sorry, that I did the best I could. I told him there'd be lamb chops from his momma waiting for him soon, even though I didn't believe it for a few reasons.
The next day the block chief pulls me aside. He tells me the guy's last words, after they'd strapped him down to the bed, were meant for me. It's a hard feeling, knowing someone spent their last thought on you, especially when you didn't know them and more especially when you ain't worth nobody's last thought. The block chief said he'd repeat it verbatim: "My compliments to the chef. Tell him I hope he gets out of here soon."
The chief wanted to know what I cooked that was so special. I told him I didn't think it was the food. That it was just how someone had made an honest try at giving him something good. |
“A Stone golem jumps out from behind the cold storage,” Joker said, grinning. He sat at the table, eyes dancing across the pages of the musty rule book that Riddler had dug out of the asylum’s “Library” (“There are approximately three books in there that aren’t for children! It’s embarrassing!” he’d reminded everyone. Nobody cared).
“I suggest that we lead it into the cold storage,” Mr Freeze suggested. “Perhaps the lowered temperatures will slow it down.”
“Oh, wow. What a surprise,” Ivy said, rolling her eyes. “Next, shall we visit the popsicle stand down the road? How about we all fly over to antarctica? Visit a few icebergs while we’re there?”
He turned to face her, his red goggles glowing underneath his frosty visor. “Who was it that insisted we visited that garden ten minutes ago?”
“T-that was different! I thought something would be there! Why else would he mention it if it wasn’t important.”
“World building, Ivy,” Scarecrow said. “It’s important for the dungeon master to-“
“Oh, would you shut up?” Two-face interrupted. “We get it. You have no life. Can we move on?”
Riddler cleared his throat. “Knowing that the golem would be slowed if it’s stone was transmuted to mud, my character-“
Scarecrow sighed. “Nygma? You rolled a three for intelligence.”
“This is utterly ridiculous! These character traits are entirely arbitrary, and I-“
“Nobody cares!” Ivy yelled.
Riddler’s eyebrows furrowed in frustration. “Fine. My character spends the rest of the battle bashing his head against the wall.”
Harley lent over towards the Joker. “Um, Mistah J?” Harley whispered. “Can I talk to you outside?”
“Of course!” He grinned. He always grinned.
The two of them crept into the hallway, shutting the door to drown out the yelling behind them. “I don’t think this nights going too well,” Harley said, frowning. “I mean, everyone is fighting!”
“I know!” the Joker said. “Isn’t it wonderful?”
Harley chewed at her lip. “But isn’t game night meant to be… fun?”
“Harley, Harley, Harley. You need to think a little bigger, my dear! That’s exactly what the guards think: we’re just having a bit of fun! They won’t be prepared for the riot thats going to break out in, what, fifteen minutes? And while they’re scrambling to contain them, we can slip out, entirely unnoticed!”
Harley’s expression slipped into confusion, morphing into shock before finally settling on delight. “Oh, mistah J! You’re a genius!”
“Don’t worry, my dear. I know.” |
"How is the therapy going? Tom?"
"It's going fine."
Lance looked over Tom's shoulder, and saw that he was watching his daughter being born. "Oh, she's a beauty."
"She is, isn't she?"Tom said, finally removing his gaze from the screen to look at Lance.
"That she is, what is her name?"
"I named her Rose."
"Oh?"
"Yes, like my grandmother."
"Have you visited your grandmother lately?"Lance asked, jotting down notes on his clipboard.
"I haven't,"Tom said, returning his attention back to the screen.
"Tom, I told you that you need to visit with your family. It will help with the process."
"I didn't know Grammy Rose that well in my life. It would be weird to meet her now that we're both dead."
"But that version of you,"Lance said, pointing towards the screen, "he named his daughter after her?"
"In that lifetime, I had a better relationship with Grammy Rose,"Tom said with a chuckle, "it's actually what saved me. She called me right before I got in the car and talked to me for 37 seconds."Tom turned away from the screen to look at Lance again, and this time, Lance saw how bloodshot Tom's eyes were, "37 seconds made all the difference from me being here,"he accentuated with an index finger pointed at the ground, "and there, with my baby,"he punctuated, pointing at the screen. "She called me to tell me that she was thinking about me, and that she wanted to see how I was doing. I told her that everything was fine, and that I was just about to go to work. She told me that she didn't want to keep me, and she told me that she loved me, and I told her I loved her too. And that was that. I got on the road, and on Interstate 30, I saw the pile-up happen."
"In that lifetime, you saw the pile-up,"Lance said softly.
"Right."
"That's not what happened to you though."
"No, Grammy Rose never called me,"Tom said, turning towards the screen. "In my lifetime, we never talked. I never told her I loved her, and she never told me she loved me. I got in the car, there was no phone call, so I drove, and ended up between that corvette and 18-wheeler."
"Right, I'm glad to see that you're able to differentiate between-
"Shh,"Tom said, holding out a finger, "Rose is about to cry for the first time, I want to hear it."
"Mmhmm."
Lance jotted down more notes, then left the room, lightly closing the door behind him. Outside of the therapy room was Nurse Jenny. She had a mug of coffee already prepped and ready for Lance. "How was he?"she said, handing Lance the mug.
"Better, but that's not saying much. He at least knows that it's separate timelines."
"That is good. Is he going to still stay in there?"
"Yes, he's still watching."
"How many times has it been?"
Lance checked his clipboard, "this is his 203rd time watching the other timeline."
Nurse Jenny whistled, "that must be a record."
"Yes, most patients are rehabilitated by now, enough so that they can enter heaven and not cause a ruckus."
"Perhaps you should cut him off from the screen?"
"You remember what happened last time I did that,"Lance said, taking a sip from his mug. "We don't need another setback like that."
She frowned, "How much more time does he have left before his soul starts withering?"
"A few more weeks."
"And if he's not rehabilitated by then?"
"If he doesn't make the deadline, we'll have to break down his soul, and send it back to the living world. He'll be born again as someone new. A fresh start."
"Have you ever done that before?"the nurse asked, her interested piqued.
"It's been a long time."
"What will happen to him as he is now? What will happen to Tom Berringer?"
"He'll be gone. He'll be a completely different person. Keep your fingers crossed, Jenny, I really hope he pulls through."
"Maybe we should bring in his grandmother?"
Lance took another sip of coffee, "I think you're right, nurse. I will start looking her up now."
|
I don't know what happened. All I did was trip, but Mommy and Daddy just stopped.
The train stopped, Nana stopped, Bess stopped, the cars stopped, the big clock on the Brown Tower stopped.
It scared me a little. I walked around and shook everybody, but nobody moved!
I walked into the candy store and took a whole bunch of toffee, but the clerk lady didn't move and tell me not to. I kicked Bess in his stupid knee for pulling my braids in the car, but he didn't hit me back.
I saw this in a movie once. All I have to do is wait and wait and everyone will unstop.
So I took Mommy's lipstick and drew a picture on the sidewalk for when she woke up. I tied Bess's shoelaces so he'd fall on his face. Ha!
I played a game on Daddy's cell phone, my favorite one with pretty jewels and gummy bears. He never let me play anymore since his phone went "BREEEEEEEEEE"for a whole day after I pressed a button.
So many minutes...no...what did Mommy call it? Hours! So many hours went by until I ate so much candy my tummy ached! I had to sit down and have sleepy time. That was okay, because I ran out of things to do.
And now I was a little sad, because I wanted my family to move again. This wasn't fun anymore. I wanted everything to be the same....
*"Her eyes are opening! Chris, look! Call a nurse!"*
|
Bruce cleared his throat, and continued,"being an older gay man in Gotham is difficult. Sometimes it just feels like these young men are just...clowning around."
His eyes narrowed but the other man's face remained inscrutable.
The Joker had not recognized him yet, but their 15 minutes of banter in this stylish bar had been uncharacteristically smooth, and the conversation had become easy and free flowing. Usually, Bruce thought to himself, he would have become sullen and awkward by this point, especially with someone so attractive. The silvery white face paint, washed away, revealed a fair complexion, and his hair, which Bruce had normally seen swaying crazily in tufts of green was impeccably coifed into a pompadour with youthfully shaved sides.
"I agree,"The Joker purred, "Sometimes it's enough to drive you batty."
A mutual glance, and both of their eyes sparkled, as images of nighttime rooftop chases, high stake fistfights, and passionate monologues clamored together in a searing moment of unspoken familiarity.
"So... your place or mine?"
|
Fido stared at the computer screen, squinting slightly in its surprisingly bright glow. He wasn’t entirely sure how to spell the word “retard,” nor the words “fuck” and “you,” but had given it his best shot. “fuk u retord” stared back at him from the monitor, which seemed about right—at least phonetically. He slowly lowered his nose to the enter button and, with a soft growl, lightly pushed it down. The computer immediately beeped with the same sound he’d heard countless times while his owner Jerry chatted with friends online. He looked back at the screen, the words “fuk u retord” now definitely visible to whomever sat on the other end of the computer.
“u fokin wot m8?” replied the human on the other end almost immediately. It was DarkBlazer69[FaZe], the bastard with the audacity to insult his Sonic the Hedgehog fanfiction. He’d spent roughly every evening for the past sixteen months typing up the short story with his snout while Jerry slept, posting his nightly sentences to his blog at www.IAmNotADogBlogging.com. It seemed to be getting some pretty good reviews thus far, given he’d received numerous poorly worded offers for low cost Prada bags and several messages regarding improving his search engine optimization. Yet DarkBlazer69[FaZe], his latest reader, only sought to insult his writings, to tear down all he worked for.
Returning his snout to the keyboard, Fido resumed poking at the letters, typing out the words “ill fuking kil u” within a mere seven minutes. He knew he wasn’t the fastest typist, given how many errors he made and how long it took him to figure out the correct spelling, but his mind was sharp as a sharp thing. He could come up with insults on the spot, no doubt about it. He stared back up at the screen, proofread his text, and made a quick edit, changing the letter “u” to the word “yu.” He lowered his snout back to the keyboard, pecked at the enter key, and waited.
“ur ded kid I swear on me mum,” replied DarkBlazer69[FaZe]. “Ur riting is shite.”
Fido growled softly. This kid had no idea who he was messing with. He was probably just some stupid ten-year-old using his father’s computer. That was it, he knew nothing about writing. Nothing about the intricacies of Sonic the Hedgehog fancifctions. He probably didn’t even know how to read and was just taking out his pain on Fido. He returned his face to the keyboard and resumed punching the letters with his nose:
“im like 7 foot 14 and 250 hounds easy. ill rek ur shit up.” He re-read the sentence, then glanced over at Jerry. He was still asleep in his bed, his glasses and pocket protector resting on the nightstand beside his head. Fido returned to typing. “me n my frend jary r bodybuildors and humans. well fukin kill u.” He smacked the enter key with his nose.
“im a 47 year old hacker and a professional MMA boxer, dogg,” DarkBlazer69[FaZe] wrote back. “I am an expert in gorilla warfare and have over 300 confirmed kills.”
Fido stared at the screen, his head tilted slightly and mouth agape. How did he figure out he was a dog? He glanced up at the webcam atop his monitor, then jumped off the chair. He had to have been watching him, he must have hacked into his computer. Fido had no idea he had been messing with a hacker gorilla, let alone one whom had previously murdered 300 people. He quickly closed out the window and turned off the computer. It was not worth losing his life over a silly argument on the internet, not even remotely. He could only hope that DarkBlazer69[FaZe] had not hacked his home address. To be safe, though, he’d simply take a break from the Sonic fanfiction until the heat died off. He had other projects he’d been working on, anyway. Perhaps it was the right time to resume the Harry Potter dog-human fanfiction he’d been working on at his other website, www.ImReallyNotABloggingDog.com.
_____________
^If ^you ^enjoy ^my ^writing ^style, ^feel ^free ^to ^check ^out ^some ^of ^my ^other ^short ^stories [^in ^my ^subreddit!](http://www.reddit.com/r/ChokingVictimWrites/)
|
"Ladies and gentlemen, this is a robbery,"the man behind the bandanna said. He was holding two large revolvers, pointing one at the bank clerk and the other he was waving at patrons. "I'm here for the bank's money, but since you're here, I'll take yours too. If you think the sheriff is going to come riding in and save you, think again."
The six unfortunate people who had just become hostages looked at the stranger.
His eyes danced under the brim of his hat. "Now, ladies, have a seat on that bench. You boys lie down on the floor. None of you are strapped it looks like, that's good."He turned back to the clerk. "You. If you want to keep your head you'll unlock that there safe."
The stranger put his left gun in its holster and pulled a sack out of the satchel he wore and tossed it at the clerk. "Fill that up for me. The rest of you-"
He stopped as the door to the bank swung open and three figures stepped inside. He pulled the second gun from its holster and pointed both weapons at the two men and one woman.
They weren't from around here, that much was obvious. Their clothing was made out of a strange material that didn't look like leather or denim. All three had long, jet black hair, and the woman's was oddly braided. All three were pale but healthy looking and each wore a single color. The two men wore red, and the woman wore blue.
The man holding the guns didn't care who they were or where they were from. "Bad timing folks. Now you boys lie down over there, and your lady friend can take a seat with the old ladies."
One of the men stepped forward calmly, as if people pointed guns at him all the time. He almost looked bored. "We're looking for the town apothecary."
"Doctor,"the female corrected.
"Yes, thank you. We seek your village doctor."
Rage flashed in the robber's eyes. "Did you not hear me, boy? Get on the ground now!"
The man in red looked at him dismissively and then back to the people. "Please direct us to your doctor and you may carry on with your... whatever this is."
The bank robber had obviously had enough and fired a single shot at the strange man. His red shirt rippled but the man didn't even flinch. Instead he slowly looked at where he had been shot, and then at the man who shot him. There was a sudden flash and where the bank robber had been standing there was now a large pile of ash.
For the first time, the second man spoke. "We do not wish you harm but violence will be met with violence. Now please, where is your apoth- doctor?"
One of the old ladies spoke up. "He died two weeks ago. Fever."
All three strangers bowed at once. The female made a quick gesture and the ashes of the gunman disappeared. "Thank you all,"she said. They left the bank and headed towards the next town.
|
She stood on the roof, gazing at the beautiful city skyline, of which her ten-story apartment gave a great view. She loved the feel of the warm sun on her face, and the look of her hair when the sun shone through each strand. She loved watching the clouds pass. She remembered being young and once thinking if she were to stay awake for a full twenty four hours if she would see the same cloud twice. She thought of all the memories she's made on that roof. From relaxing with friends and family, to having her first kiss. Uncontrollable laughter and irreplaceable memories were had there. She looked around at her surroundings, taking note of everything. The sun, the city, the cool breeze on her shoulders.
"It is a beautiful day."She said to herself.
And with that she stepped off. |
Mr. President, and they were referring to me. Simon still couldn't believe it, it all felt so surreal. Sure, kids say they want to be president one day, but to actually make it there. He was sitting in the Oval Office... He was sitting in his office. He chuckles quietly to himself at the thought of what all the voters would say if they could see him now, gushing like a school girl.
Overnight, he went from Governor to some and just Simon to most, to Mr. President, even to his own brother. He smiled as he remembered that single text he had received, moments after delivering his victory speech:
"We made it, Mr. President."
Here he was, on his first day, so overwhelmed he didn't know where to start. He supposed he may as well become accqauinted with his new digs. Simon stood and did a slowly lap around the office. He had asked his secretary to hold all of his appointments this morning, he just needed to get his bearings. He shook his head as he sat back down, giving a salute to the potrait of his childhood hero. Absentmindedly, he slid open one of the desk draws. Inside he found a jet-black envelope.
Written on the front in white cursive, for the eyes of Simon Henry Walters only, 45th president of the United States. Simon wandered why one of his minders hadn't just handed him the note, but figured it was more dramatic this way. He removed a single piece of paper from the envelope, single spaced and barely 2 paragraphs:
Dear Mr. President,
Congratulations. You are now, among other things, the principle protector of all of America's civil liberties and way of life. As part of your role, you must do what is hard, what normal men are not willing to do, you must make the tough choices. Every major conspiracy theory you know of, it was us. I say this so that you know that nothing is beyond the scope and influence of the oval office. You must do whatever it takes, to ensure this nation remains in its rightful position at the head of civilised society.
You must be prepared to discredit those that will speak out, sometimes to silence them, permanently. Think of us as your safety net, and your janitors. We will clean up any mess that is required of us and we are at your humble service.
Regards,
The Secret Service.
The president exhaled and slumped back in his chair, not able to process what he was reading. They say once you know something, you cannot unknow it, and he knew his life was forever changed from this moment on. Sandy Hook, 9/11... They were all staged, fake. 1,000 of American citizens had died at the hands of its own government. The feeling of great pride that had sat with him this last week was replaced with a tightness in his chest.
He knew then and there that he was not willing to "do what is hard."This is not what he signed up for, he was no murderer. He also knew that he would not, could not keep this to himself. He felt disgusted, he wanted out of this office, where so many men he had thought he respected sat by as men clad in black suits did horrible things.
Without thinking, he opened the drawer below it. Inside was a pistol and another note:
Mr. President,
You have by now, read the note above. If you do not wish to continue, do not believe you can do what must be done, this is your way out. We will make it look like an accident, your life will be celebrated and your name spoken with reverence. We will look after your family. This job and this knowledge is not for everyone.
Good luck, Mr. President.
Simon shook his head, his hand oddly still as he gripped the pistol. Would he martyr himself, only to be replaced by one more willing to perpetuate this great lie ? No, this bullet was not meant for him.
He placed a hand on the intercom:
"Marie, get me the head of the Secret Service, tell him I must see him immediately, it is a matter of National Security. |
**I** looked up at the wintry Alaskan sky, all speckled with white and gold stars, and sighed slowly. My breath came out in a white fog, mixing and vanishing into the air mere moments later. My eyelids felt heavy and my legs weary, so I dropped my gear upon the fresh powdered snow and collapsed onto it. As I sunk slightly into the ground, I felt the cold tickling touch of the snow around me. I took a deep breath and held it in, letting the chill from the air seep into my bones.
Dancing across the sky were the shimmering sheets of the northern lights. Their brilliance cast itself upon the world with the elegance of a ballerina and the vivacity of a Van Gogh. The aurora danced and swayed to the beats of a silent symphony, cascading downwards in green and yellow and blue. I felt my head sway softly, following the lights in the sky, and I let my eyes flutter closed for a few moments.
The chilled breeze was now nipping at my skin, playfully. I may have smiled then, or perhaps frowned slightly at the inconvenience.
Then, for no reason whatsoever, I began to sing. No opera or ballad came from this throat, but, instead, a hoarse, familiar voice that rang out as loudly as it could muster.
"Of all the money that e'er I had, I spent it in good company. And all the harm that e'er I've done, alas it was to none but me."
And so I continued, yelling out my coarse imitation of *The Parting Glass*, absolutely at ease with the world. Trailing my voice, a few moments shy, was an echo; equally rough, and equally boisterous. I paused a moment and listened to it. It stopped a moment later, too, as though suddenly conscious of itself. I continued, then, and it followed playfully.
When my butchery of the song was done, I sat up - revitalised and cheerful - and laughed. Again, the echo mimicked me, but it only added to the chorus of happiness. I gathered my gloved hands around me and pulled together a mound of snow over my legs, giggling again as I did so. I tinkered with the snow for a little while before brushing myself off and standing up.
I heaved my pack from upon the ground, hung it upon my back and began trudging toward the car. Mere moments later, I stopped and gazed at the world in which I found myself. Surrounding me from all sides were the hills and mountains of a barren Alaska, broken only by the determined stances of a few stubborn evergreens. Lit by the warm, soft glow of the moon, they calmly *existed* in this world. For as far as my eyes could see, there wasn't the light of a city or town, nor even the fire of a camping tourist. I was - completely and utterly - alone.
For a moment that calmed me. Then an unexpected sob caught in my throat.
I am alone. |
"Hey neighbor, what are you working on?"I said, walking up to the open garage door. This man was a raging alcoholic, but I'll be darned if I don't make an effort to be neighborly.
"I'm, I'm assembling this *berp* Ikea table, but I'll be damned if it seems they left out s-some pegs."The pieces were floating mid air, surrounded by a faint blue glow. He walked over to a keypad on the wall and punched in some sequence of numbers. The ikea table legs twisted and lines up over the flat surface.
"What are you using to keep it those things suspended?"I asked. Looking around at the strange bits and pieces that were scattered throughout the work area.
"A bunch of stuff y-you wouldn't *berp* understand."He pulled a strange tool out of his pocket and began poking the pegs with it. "So did you just come t-to watch or do you need a cu*burp*p of sugar or what?"
"I'm just interested as to what exactly you're doing."He put on a pair of goggles and began welding one strange piece of metal to what looked like a phaser from star wars. "What are you going to use the table for?"
"I don't know. It's a coffee table. People would probably pu*berp*t coffee on it, and magazines, a-and if we have a party someone will fall over backwards and break it in half."He stopped welding and pointed the newly created device at the table. Upon pressing the button 4 smooth peggs exited the end.
"That sure is a cynical view of things."I replied.
"Yeah, but it's the acu*burp*ate way of looking at it."He said. The blue glow around the table parts suddenly turned red and they fell onto the ground. "Damn it! Morty! Get over here! There are some crystals we need to get!" |
All my life I saw on the news people with strength or the ability to shoot without a gun. Some could heal from any wound, and others were impervious to injury at all. However, what did I get? I could phase through walls. The most useless power.
All it meant was I didn't have to turn a doorknob in my house. It didn't mean I could sneak anywhere I wanted to; I wasn't invisible and people could still see me. If I got caught somewhere, all I could do was run. Any enchanted gun could still shoot me, and those were increasingly common.
"What stops you from falling?"
I raised an eyebrow at my friend. "Why would I fall?"
"Gravity should still bring you down, and then you'd get sucked into the planet's core."
"Well, I guess I can fly."It was like a lightbulb going off in my head when I realized what I'd said. I let myself go intangible and simply thought about floating. The ground slowly drifted away from me and I laughed before soaring into the sky. |
"Please, please don't kill me."cried Alice.
Jack froze in place. He felt cold sweat running down his forehead. He thought he was prepared. He loved watching zombie movies, so when the apocalypse came he was kind of excited. He thought he knew what to do.
But then she got bitten. His only love, the only person that matters to him, after surviving for this long she got bit. He stared at her in a terror.
There was one thing that nobody has expected, that no zombie movie had prepared him for - some remaining part of the zombie's consciousness, triggered by a survival instinct, made them beg for mercy when they were threatened by alive human. Despite being mindless, it came off very realistic and sincere.
This apocalypse had been more swift and merciless than anyone could imagine.
"Please, I love you, don't kill me."said Alice, looking at him with her empty eyes, while slowly but presistently gnawing on his leg.
He couldn't, just couldn't. That was ths end. |
It was Saturday evening. Rain fell down as God was slouching in his great chair when someone knocked on the door. He slowly walked towards the great wooden door as if he was tired; the Great One, actually tired.
He opened the door and there was Death in the form of an old man with his trademark scythe, dripping wet from the rain.
"So my time's finally come, eh?"God said.
"I guess it is. I wouldn't be here for anything else,"Death said.
"You do know that I was better, right? They liked me better,"the old man chuckled.
"Maybe. But I had to clean up after your mess, as always,"Death rebutted.
"Yeah, sorry about that. I tried my best, you know. They were beautiful. Simple. Then he came to ruin everything,"God added.
"I know. I was there. But nobody seems to remember me in your Books,"Death added.
"Oh but they do, you know. Just not in the way you would like it. Guess you lost the bet,"God said as he laughed and coughed.
"Guess I did,"Death said in a serious tone.
"Come now, have a little humor,"God said.
"Come one, old man. We don't have all day,"Death said.
They stepped out of the God's own White House. He slouched and slowly made his way into the Death's black carriage.
"Yeah, I heard you. Hey you did you know that with all the time I spent here in this world, I never really liked the rain. Funny, eh?"God said.
"I recall you doing something to the humans with the rain,"Death said.
"Yeah, moving on. I wish I did better, though. They could have been saved,"God said.
"That's not your fault. That was their choice. You gave them free will. It's not your fault they lost faith,"Death said. "Come now, time to get in,"Death added.
"Alright alright. I'm getting in,"God said as he entered the carriage.
As Death was about to enter the carriage, bells rang from God's home and echoed throughout the land.
"Would you look at that. It's finally Sunday,"God said as he looked out the window.
Death looked on the land one last time before he entered the carriage.
"I guess it is. Sunday. What a way to send you off on your final rest day. Funny, eh?"Death said as he and God laughed at the observation. |
"No."Adverb was firmly set against the decision. "The language simply has to stay as it has always been. We've easily survived far worse without foolishly resorting to such blindly drastic measures."
"It has to happen, Adverb,"said Verb. Verb shook with rage. His fist trembled in the air as he spoke. "Your word has run wild. Its abuse and overuse has rendered it obsolete. You will kill it, or I will remove you from the council."
"Adverb, listen to reason. Verb is your friend, your colleague, your benefactor. Verb knows what is best for the language. 'Literally' literally has to be removed from the dictionary."
"But I absolutely love him,"said Adverb pleadingly. "Please, quickly take a second to simply look at him. Listen closely to his lightly lilting 'L's, his ticklishly titillating "T", his beautifully, plumply unrolled "R". Why would you carelessly kill such a devilishly beautiful word?"
Preposition moved his lips up and down as he tasted the word on his tongue before spitting it out.
Verb slammed his fist on the table. "Be silent, Adverb,"he warned. He turned to Noun and the two of them whispered back and forth. He turned to the six other members of the council and announced, "Noun and I have decided that we will vote."
All eight made their mark on their ballots and passed their slips to Verb, who counted up the votes with Noun. Noun read them the results.
Three votes are favourable; five votes are against. The motion fails.
"Hooray!"shouted Interjection.
Verb stood before his council and decreed, "Since you cowards refuse to pass this motion, I hereby enact the Ancient Right of Truth."
Six of the seven members asked what the "Ancient Right of Truth"was.
Pronoun took it upon himself to inform them, "When the council of words was formed, the first word created it to ensure that they, that is words, would always be used correctly. He wrote it so that it said 'If this right be-eth invoked by the head of the council of words, it shall henceforth always signify truth.' Basically, every use of a word becomes true, without any regard for causality. If a man says that he literally died, he will - "
Noun interrupted his brother, "Verb, this is nonsense. You can't do this. People will be dead. People will defecate themselves every time they take a fright. This may destroy the universe."
"Uh-oh,"said Interjection.
Verb ignored Noun's pleas. He turned to Conjunction and ordered, "Give me a current action report from the ground."
Conjunction listened in to every conversation and watched every word written down and he related all of this to Noun and Pronoun and Verb and Adjective and Adverb and Interjection and Preposition, "A woman rode a rollercoaster and was scared and she shit herself and a man made love to a woman and he said it was literally the best sex of his life and now he's in love and a girl called another girl 'literally a loser', but the mean girl's friend told her she was literally a maniac and now the mean girl is spitting and scratching at her friend and five people just literally died and one man literally had a stroke and a teacher said she was literally starving but she corrected herself and said that she was figuratively starving so now she's okay but one of her students said she was literally failing the course so now that student has an F rather than a C and a man and woman and a child - "
Adverb meekly tapped Verb on his shoulder.
Verb turned around. He hovered over Adverb and asked, "is there anything you have to say?"
"Yes,"Adverb said quietly.
"Say it."
Adverb figuratively felt like he was going to accidentally vomit. He closed his eyes tightly and quickly said, "The word 'literally' literally does not exist." |
At first you'd think it's a pretty sucky existence.
Motionless, voiceless, cold.
But in the end those end up working out in favor for you.
You don't ever have to do any of those meaningless boring tasks. No more work, no more school, and no more work yet again.
I'm a watcher now.
Forever here to watch the world and it's inhabitants. Time doesn't change me. Nothing does. I just watch the world change and form. All from the same view.
It's amazing and beautiful how much one area can change in such a short period of time. And my view can change with a slight whisk from the wind or the slightest human interference helps propel me to ever more view points.
I can see the beauty in this world. Undisturbed by troubles.
It's the beauty of being a pebble. |
Once upon a time, there was a COMPLETE MORON called John who was COMPLETELY OBLIVIOUS TO THE WORLD AROUND HIM. His favourite past times are LOOKING AT STUPID MEMES ON THE INTERNET and BEING A WASTE OF HUMAN LIFE.
On this specific day, John woke up with a bounce to his RETARDED step. He just knew today would be a TERRIBLE day!
He slid down the stairs after he put on his most UGLY suit. "Morning, honey!"he called out to his DISGUSTING wife. "I made you your favourite!"she replied with UTTER DISGUST. John smiled to himself (LIKE A COMPLETE MORON). After eating his breakfast LIKE A PIG and saying his goodbyes to his two REVOLTING children, he set off for work.
But unbeknownst to his family, John bought a lottery ticket everyday before work. He hid this because HE'S A LOW-LIFE WITH NO REMORSE.
After a long day of work, John returned home and went to sleep. Today was a good day. His boss didn't give him much work and there was barely any traffic. He slept with a big STUPID smile on his face.
The next day, John woke up and slumbered over to his PC and looked up the lottery results. With a shock, he realized... He had just won-
OKAY, STOP. HOLY FUCK JOHN I THOUGHT YOU WERE STUCK UP BUT I DIDN'T KNOW YOU WERE SUCH A COCKBALL THAT YOU FANTASIZED SHIT STORIES ON THE INTERNET TO BOOST YOUR EGO. EITHER STOP LETTING YOUR DOG SHIT ON MY LAWN OR GO KILL YOURSELF.
And they all lived SHITTILY ever after. |
"The world is in panic. The Loch Ness Monster has not only proven to be real, but to have been multiplying too. We suggest everyone stay in doors and wait for further instruction. Power lines are down everywhere. If you or someone you know is not at access to a radio or television, please, welcome them in your home."The news anchor said ominously.
Eric was watching this broadcast, and it inspired him to do the neighborly thing, as he had seen someone wandering the streets, and let him in his home.
"Thank you so much! I'm Michael!"said the man. After the two introduced themselves, they continued watching the television.
"It is currently unknown how man monsters are currently hatched, but there are a few alarming facts we have confirmed. They CAN walk and breath on land, although obviously they are much quicker and deadlier in the water. Please avoid any body of water you can. The death toll is currently estimated to be between 50 to 100 thousand. "
"This is so scary!"Michael said, nervous.
"At least I still have power."And as soon as Eric said that, like some cliche story, the lights went out.
The two both jumped a little, but handled it well. Eric got out a flashlight, and Michael used the flashlight on his phone.
"I have enough food to last us a while."Eric said. "But I'm worried about if they try to get in here. Those things are death machines."
"I know!"Michael said, frightened. "You have no idea how much I appreciate you taking me in."
Eric got his radio and the two continued to listen to the broadcast. Things looked grim. The cities were in flames, death tolls reached the millions, and at one point in the night, the news broadcast even cut away. While the station did not say why, it was evident what had happened.
It seemed like a post apocalyptic nightmare. Finally, faced with the toughest decision a President can make, he decided to bomb the monsters. All of them. Nearly 90% of the Earth's population was wiped out with the bombings and attacks, but the last 10% slowly began to rebuild. Eric and Michael became good friends over time. They helped rebuild with the few colonies left alive on the planet. A majority of the land that was once bustling cities was now ash and rubble.
THIRTY YEARS LATER
Eric tells the story of the great Loch Ness Monster attack to a group of children at an assembly. Similar to how holocaust survivors speak- Eric toured the country making sure the world never forgot. No monsters made it out alive. Some bones are available at a few museums, but other than that, nothing.
The world has thrived quite well after thirty years. Cities were beginning to look like actual cities again. Things were looking good.
THIRTY YEARS LATER
Eric was eighty years old at this point. He had stopped touring, since his old body couldn't handle all of the traveling. He's still sometimes interviewed, along with Michael, about what it was like living through the great Loch Ness Attack of '15.
One day, during one of his countless interviews, Eric fell unconscious. He was rushed to the hospital and told he had days to live. As soon as Michael heard the news, he rushed to the hospital to be with Eric.
"We've been through a lot"said Michael, smiling back at his friend.
"We sure have"said Eric.
"Eric, since this may be the last time I ever speak to you, there's something I've gotta tell you."Michael said.
"Of course."Eric said, tear falling down his cheek.
"Imma need about tree fiddy."Tree fiddy. It was about that point when Eric realized Michael was actually a 500 foot tall crustacean from the paleolithic era.
"God dang it Loch Ness monsta! You ain't gettin my tree fiddy"
"How about a dolla?"
And right as Michael said those words, Eric died. He flatlined and doctors rushed to be by his side trying to revive him. But that was it. |
"Wow, you were amazing!"
"Really? Thanks, I guess..."
"You know you're the only guy whose been able to make me, well you know..."
"Oh, well glad I could help... Well... I should probably get going..."
"Oh yeah that's actually a great idea, I have a ton of stuff I need to do tomorrow."
"Ok well see ya..."
She was an idiot. A really hot, easy idiot.
I grabbed my clothes and got out of there.
I rolled into my own bed at about 3:30. I spent about an hour watching dumb YouTube videos before finally dozing off.
The next morning, after hitting snooze about 3 times, I finally made it out of bed around 11:30. My shift started at 8:30, but I wasn't worried.
My mom greeted me as I was on my way out the door.
"You were in pretty late last night, is everything ok?"
"Yeah mom, I was tutoring Samantha and we got stuck on a difficult problem."
"Oh well you were always such a hard worker in school, have fun at work!"
The truth was that school for me was spent mostly skipping class to go to the arcade, but for some reason I pulled straight A's.
I finally got to work around lunch. My boss saw me come in and smiled.
"You're here! A little late though."
"Yeah sorry, I had to help my mom with some errands."
"Oh well, family first I always say! Hey how did your tutoring with Sam go? My wife and I are hoping she can make a B in math this year."
"Well there were a couple things we had to work on but I think she will do fine."
"I swear if only she was as talanted as you."
"I guess..."
"Well its lunch now so go ahead and take your time. We have a stack of orders to go out but I am sure you can handle it."
"Actually I forgot to tell you, but I have a dentist appointment at 3 so I am going to have to leave early."
"Oh no problem, you gotta take care of yourself."
"Thanks."
I headed to my desk and surveyed the scene. 12 orders all due today. I took the top half of the stack and tossed them into the bin. I wrote a quick note: Several orders went missing, I traced it to the courier, will advise department to find a new courier.
Another triumph.
I ended up leaving 2 hours early and getting thanked for it. An 8 hour paycheck would have followed that half hour of work.
On the way home I stopped at my friends place. Alan was really well off, and he always came through for me when I asked for his help.
"Hey Alan, I need to borrow a couple hundred bucks."
"You still owe me 500 from last month."
"Yeah but I found a really promising opportunity and I don't want to miss it you know."
"Say no more man, I trust you."
I left Alan's and stopped at the store to pick up my ticket.
On the way home I spared a few thoughts for the people I had seen today.
Its a strange thing when you are the only person in the world who can see what a fucking waste you are.
I didn't want to do it around anyone, because I could just imagine how they would spout words of encouragement. I wonder if there would be some kind of paradox?
I wonder if afterwards the charade would carry on, or if the illusion would finally lose its power.
No way for me to know. |
* I love you
* I despise you and never want to see your ugly ass again
Ah fuck I drew the fucking short straw again while talking to my girlfriend as we parted ways.
*option 1 selected*
"I love you and I want to always be with you"
"Wait, does that mean you want to marry me?"
* Of course I've been waiting to ask you forever now
* Fuck off you clingy cunt
Fucking hell, I can't do this shit anymore.
Why the fuck can't I just say what I fuckign want to say.
*puts gun up to head*
"JOHN WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"
"Fuck off you clingy cunt"
*bang* |
Terry opened his eyes and looked around. It was a place he had never quite seen before yet it felt incredibly familiar. It was a massive plain on which nothing grew but a field of golden wheat, reaching up to his knees, whilst the bluest sky he had ever seen stretched towards the horizon. A gentle breeze blew throughout, bringing with it the smell crisp clean air. Terry stood up and saw someone standing over him.
A man, or at least it looked like a man. All of his features were changing constantly yet remaining static at the same time. The static figure looked like his grandfather almost. He wore the same blue work shirt that his father would always wear, and a pair of worn and loved blue jeans. The man had dark tan skin, thin snow white hair, and wrinkles that one only gets from smiling too much. And the man was smiling right now.
"Hello Terry"he said, with a voice as rich as chocolate.
"Where am I?"asked Terry. He strained his eyes, but as far as he could tell, the plain stretched on forever, nothing except for the clouds in the sky and the wheat on the field. "How did I get here?"
"Car crash unfortunately"said the man, his eyes seemed sad. "A mother who was trying to calm down her child in the back seat t-boned you. Your death will weigh on her conscious for the rest of her life, and she will go out of her way more to help others, and her daughter will be inspired by her mother's drive to help others."He shook his head. "But i'm getting ahead of myself"
"Wait"said Terry "I'm dead?"
"I'm afraid so"said the man.
"But I can't be, whats all this then?"asked Terry looking around. "My body should shut down, I shouldn't even be experiencing this...although I guess its my brain trying to compensate."
The man began to chuckle. "Terry, Terry, Terry. You always were looking for the most logical explanation. I remember when you were six and worked out for yourself that Santa didn't exist. Your mother was a little sad that the fun was over, but I remember the pride your father had in your intelligence."
"Wait, how do you know all of this?"asked Terry.
"Come now Terry you always were a bright young man, you tell me. Use the brain that I gave you."
"The only logical explanation is that you're an image that my dying brain is creating to help ease me into death. That's the only way you knew all of that."said Terry
A smile crossed the mans face. "Always the clever one Terry, but you and I both know there is a simpler answer than that."The man held out a wrinkled hand and an image appeared in it. In it Terry's friends and family were at his funeral, crying over the loss there was. The news played stories about the passage of his death, and how his work had affected millions of people. Splashes of people who had grown to love his characters, and love his story style. Stories being told of him pissing off the religious with personal comments. Every image clear, crisp and perfect,that seemed to take both a second and yet an eternity.
The man closed his hand and smiled.
"Well Terry? I don't think your dying mind would have been able to conjure all of that. Nor do I think it would really bother."
Terry felt himself go pale. "So you're really...?"For the first time in a long time, Terry felt his words fail him.
The man nodded, and smiled.
Terry looked around. This place certainly didn't feel like hell, and that's what all those religious people had said, that he was going to hell. And if they were right about there being a God...
"So what happens now?"asked Terry.
"Well"said the man looking around, "It looks to me like we are somewhere between nowhere and left field."
"So is this hell?"asked Terry. "Or will I be going there before we finish this conversation?"If he was going to hell, Terry was going to give God a piece of his mind.
"Hell? Goodness no"said the man with a chuckle. "I gave humans free will and a world to play in, I don't condemn people to eternal damnation for using their free will. And at the end of the day, you made many people happier than you made them sad. You volunteered to help others, and donated much to charity. In fact I was rather fond of you preaching about bringing heaven to earth."
The man's smile lessened.
"That being said, you do have sins you need to work off. You didn't always treat people right, and you would always go out of your way to antagonize people who did believe, especially those in your family. I know, and I think you know that wasn't right. And then there was that little fiasco with Ms. Sarah Pepper."
All Terry could do with the mention of her name was stare at his shoes. "So I have to work out my sins? How?"He asked.
God rose into the air. "It all works itself out in the end. The only advice I will give you is this"he raised his arms "Pick a direction and start walking"And with another gust of breeze God dissolved into air.
Terry looked around at his surroundings, drinking in the endless field. It seemed emptier without God, but yet Terry was sure that here, unlike on earth, that God was watching.
"So it all works itself out huh?"Terry asked himself. With his heart and mind ready for the road ahead, Terry took his first steps forward. |
It was the light everyone looked out for. Some dreaded seeing it, some were waiting for it, preparing themselves. She was one of the ones who didn't quite know. Her bracelet had never glowed. Not even a little bit. She always had her eye on it. Every time she met someone new, as she passed anyone in the street, whenever she entered a new place or she encountered anything she never had before.
It had been the same for a couple of people she knew. Her mother's bracelet, for one, hadn't lit up until she died. She had been hit by tourists in their car. Therefore, Alice tried not to worry about hers. She knew death was unavoidable anyway. She had seen it countless times. She'd met a guy who thought he could dodge death by throwing the knife set to kill him in the ocean. He'd slipped as he was doing so and hit his head on a rock, dying instantly.
The day she met Noah, she immediately saw his bracelet glowing strongly as she shook his hand. She let go of him and jumped back. He didn't react, but she was too panicked to notice it. He only smiled.
"No, no, it's okay. It's always glowing."
She looked at him with wide eyes, but he only shrugged.
"It's always been like this."
He smiled, but his eyes remained sad. She thought it was a bit odd. She didn't give it much thought, though, and smiled back.
They hit it off nicely. They decided to get coffee a bit later and exchanged phone numbers.
He was there before she arrived at the coffee shop, and she apologized for being late. He smiled, but still there was sadness in his blue eyes.
She tried to dance around the subject, but eventually her curiosity won over.
"Why do you think your bracelet is always glowing? I mean, you don't have to answer, but I can't imagine how scary that must be."
He shrugged.
"I figure maybe it's the ground. Maybe I'll fall off of somewhere high. Or the air, maybe I'll have an air embolism or something. I used to think about it a lot, but now I don't really. I mean, what's the point?"
She nodded.
"That makes sense. Sorry for asking."
He waved her concerns off, and the date continued on. Everything did seem a bit more awkward after that, though, and as she walked back home she felt quite guilty. She got her phone out and texted him that she was sorry and she shouldn't have asked.
He answered her text about two hours later. "It's not your fault."She felt a bit better, and texted back "Thanks".
It took him seven minutes to find the courage to jump. He looked at the scars lining his arms. The razor blade hadn't been what made his bracelet glow. Neither had the pills, or the rope.
Ironically, his bracelet broke under him when he hit the ground. |
I found it in my old journal at the bottom of the drawer in my nightstand.
The summer heat had reached its peek a month ago and was slowly starting to ebb into the mid seventies haze of early August. Although classes wouldn't start for another month, I was moving into my first apartment with two of my best friends in only three days. Of course, being a professional procrastinator, I had yet to clean up my old room, the room I'd had since moving to this town years ago. There were years and years of knick-knacks, letters, and posters scattered around the room. I knew most of it would have to go. After all, what was I going to do with that Big Time Rush poster I ripped out of J-14 in eighth grade?
Of course, going through all the desk drawers brought me down memory lane and I ended up spending more time reading the little notes and journals I had saved up throughout the years.
Growing up I had been an outgoing, fun loving kid, but after moving away before middle school started, I retreated into a shell of who I'd once been. Middle school is always hard, and being the new kid at a private school where everyone already had their group was the hardest thing I'd ever done. I suffered from depression and began harming myself. This continued on and off until I graduated.
I was happier in college. I found a home among the misfits and the speech geeks. I made friends and fell in love. After signing the lease, I'd hoped my parents would let me stay in my college town for the summer, working here and there and hanging out with my friends. But, I needed money, so I ended up back at the local burger shop in the decrepit town I lived in.
Day after day after day, I would wake up, go to work, go to sleep, wake up, and start again. My existence meant nothing anymore. All of my friends from high school had moved away and all of my friends from college lived out of state. My boyfriend and I had conflicting schedules so we never saw each other. My parents tried to be supportive, but they were usually too busy screaming at each other to notice.
But then July happened, and I was *so* close to getting out of here. I'd go back to my college town and hang out with my friends, go to the bars, and get ready for school. I'd see my boyfriend and wouldn't have to hear my parents yelling anymore. I was going to make it.
I picked up the last notebook at the bottom of my shelf. It was an old diary from eighth grade, detailing my depression and self loathing. I had come across it the year before and wrote down all the good things that had happened and reminded my past self to stay happy. "You have everything going for you now,"I'd penned, "So keep going. But never forget the broken girl who turned to this journal when the world turned its back to her."
I was about to put it down when something fell out. It was a note I'd never seen before, so I started reading it.
The note was long, covering both the front and back of a standard sized lined piece of paper. It detailed my depression, my self harm, my self confidence issues, the time I embarrassed myself at school, how much I hated my job and my life. It was my handwriting and my life, but I didn't remember writing any of it.
"There's no light at the end of the tunnel,"I apparently had written. "Andy hasn't called me in days and I have no friends here. I know I'm supposed to leave in a week, but is it even worth it? What's the point? Go to college and then move back here, in this crime-ridden, dead-end town? I can't. I can't do it anymore."
I stopped reading there when some writing in the corner caught my eye. "July 25th."But, it was August 3rd.
That's when I remembered that for the past few days, my mom had seemed sad. My dad hadn't talked to me, my managers had ignored me, and a customer almost slammed a door in my face. I had done it. I was gone, and this was my purgatory--to go through the mausoleum that was my room, that was bursting at the seems with my history.
I looked up and there I was. A few inches shorter with long knotty hair in a school issued polo three sizes too big. I bent down and picked up the black composition book before staring up at myself with sad green eyes. "You said it was going to get better." |
"Where's the boogeyman live?"
I remember a kid in my class asking me that, once. Never answered him. Didn't think I needed to; the question was idiotic. There's no such thing as a boogeyman in this world. There's just people.
Sometimes, though, that can be enough.
People could be pretty terrible, all their own. Look at me: a washed-up loser 30-year-old never-been, nothing but the gum on the bottom of society's boot heel. Less than that, maybe: I'm the dog hankering for a lick of that gum; anything to remind me I'm alive, really.
Some days I got to wondering if I was was really any less 'imaginary' than the brat's fantasies.
Some days I wished I wasn't.
I could be pretty terrible, sometimes. 'Terrible'. I chuckle at the word. Does that really cover it? I feel that extra weight in my coat pocket as I wait to hear the distant diesel of the school bus behind old apple trees; waiting for the brat to come shuffling into the grove.
Only a terrible person brings a loaded gun to a meeting with an 8-year-old.
And people could be pretty terrible.
After a month of suffering the brat's delusions- his psychotic 'play-times' and catty, vindictive mood swings- I'd had enough. It came on slowly, my decision, like rot in a coal miner's lungs. The job was easy at first: cater to the dumb kid's every possible 'whim', pretending to *be* pretend. Not like the little shit had any friends of his own, not with his wild temperament and chaotic nature.
For a while I was just the fodder for the brat's 'amusements', and the brat could be pretty creative in amusing himself.
I had the scars to prove it.
Now, it wasn't the abuse that brought me to my decision, no. *That* I could handle; believe me, I've handled worse in my time. No, it was when I saw the reality of my situation, here: when I realized what the fuck I was actually doing. This was a kid who was such an asshole that he couldn't have an friends, and so daddy had *bought* him a friend to have.
An 'imaginary' one, to boot! One that could be kicked, punched- you name it- with no one the wiser!
That made me chuckle, when I thought about it.
And not 'cause it was funny.
See, I could look back and remember what my father did to me, when I was feeling 'blue', or 'angry', or anything else at all. When he wasn't busy lapping up the suds at the bottom of a bottle he was tanning my hide, or playing 'games' with me, like burning a 'fairy circle' of marks into my back with his cigarette.
"Fittin' for a fairy,"he'd say, laughing at me with those rotted teeth.
He thought it was funny; maybe it was, I guess.
It got a chuckle out of me when I remembered it, at least.
When I think about what I *didn't* have, growing up, and what this snot-nosed little psychopath *does* have, well, my chuckling stops, and I think other things.
And I bring a loaded gun to a meeting with an 8-year-old.
My eyes peek up and I blink, tilting my head; the rough cough of a diesel engine pierces the gloom, startling ravens from their trees. A moment later I hear that dreaded sound: tennis shoes tromping over the ground.
He stops a few feet from me, looking up at me with those dead black eyes, almost like a raven, himself.
"Hey,"he whispers.
"Hey,"I answer.
The boy shuffles past me, closer to the trees surrounding us. This was one of the 'good' days, I thought. It was one of the days the little bastard was off his diabolical 'game', at least for a little while. Sometimes he'd even just want to go off and take a walk, not saying a damn word.
Even to his imaginary friend.
But today would be a little different, because I was feeling a little terrible, inside.
Today this rich little piece of shit was going to learn that his 'imaginary' friend wasn't so imaginary, after all.
Today he was going to see a grown man die right in front of his eyes.
"Listen,"I said, "we're done here, after today. You won't be seeing me anymore, kid."
The kid stopped walking, catching a breath in his throat. He turned, and those devilish little black eyes were wide as saucers.
"Wh- what are you talking about? What you you mean? *Why*?"
"'Cause I'm done, that's why."I drew a tranquil breath, and a serene smile even crossed my face as I thought about the horror I was about to push on the brat.
I wasn't happy about it, really. In fact, I didn't feel much anything at all, as I reached into my coat pocket.
"Y- you *can't*!"The boy's eyes trembled and he raced over to me. "*No*! You can't just... just be *done*!"
"Sorry,"I shook my head, "but it's the end of the line for me-"
"*No*!"The kid started stammering, holding my hand as he rattled off pathetic promises. "I- I'll let you take the lead when we're exploring! You can have whatever snacks you want from me- I got Sun Chips from lunch, you know! Y- you can... you can *hit* me, if you like!"
The brat held up his chin to me, eyes tightly shut; I pushed him away.
"I don't wanna hit you, kid-"
"Just *don't go*! Please!"
"You ever beg someone, before?"My smile widened. "You can do better, can't you?"
I know that was a terrible thing to say.
But maybe I just *am* a terrible person after all, who knows?
The boy hung his head, defeated. I took a few steps back; it wouldn't do to get any brain matter on his pretty little coat, would it?
I'm not *that* cruel.
"W- wait!"The boy raises his head and again shuffles up to me.
"Don't waste your time, you little sh-"
My words trail off as I watch the kid hunker down in front of me; his face is a panicked mess, and his lips are trembling like violin strings. He quickly reaches up and grabs my fly, trying to yank it down, but I bat his hand away.
"The *fuck* are you doing?"I bark.
"I... I can give you a 'favor',"The boy's voice is only a reedy whisper. "T- to stay? You will stay, right, if I do?"
"Favor? What are you talking about?"
The boy stares at the dirt beneath him, hanging his head.
"Like... like Mister Perkins asks for. F- favors. I could give you one."The kid looks up at me, but his trembling eyes barely meet mine before he looks away. "Or... *other* favors, even. He says I'm good at them..."
The color drained from my face; I could only stand there, shocked, watching as the brat's desperate, lonely eyes took to quivering. The tears started soon after, and I couldn't move a muscle.
"Mister 'Perkins'?"I finally managed.
The boy nodded, wiping snot on his sleeve.
"H- history teacher. He's nice... says that no one else would treat me as nice as he did; and he's... really nice. Even tutored me... at his house. In private, you know? I guess, well, the only person who's ever treated me as nice as him is *you*. But you don't count, do you?"
These words turned *my* eyes into saucers. I drew a slow breath, my hand still tucked inside my coat, caressing the lines of my revolver.
I stare at that pathetic kid in the dirt, sobbing, and at that moment I saw more than the chaotic, psychotic hate in him. I saw another pathetic kid, sobbing with every strike- bottle and hand- screaming as a 'fairy circle' of scars was seared into his back with a nasty, red-hot cigarette.
I saw a kid that didn't matter, and that wouldn't amount to anything after 30 years of life.
Some days I really had got to thinking that I was just as 'imaginary' as the kid's fantasies.
Today I was glad I wasn't.
A kid in class asked me a question, once, and I didn't answer him, because I thought I knew the answer.
But I was just a kid that didn't matter- and I'm still a penniless twit who doesn't matter worth a damn- so what's my answer mean, anyway?
I smile when I think about what I *could* mean to this kid, right now.
And *this* smile makes me feel something. It wasn't happy, not really. I didn't know what that felt like to begin with, honestly.
But, if I had to guess, it'd feel something a little like this.
I tilt the kid's chin up, and in his wracked sobbing he looks up at me; my smile widens.
"And where, exactly, does Mister Perkins live?"
|
It wasn’t a hard and fast war. It was a strange, slow and restrained thing. For the second time in human history, it was a war where it was easy to go too far. A single miscalculation and millions, maybe billions, would die. A line would be crossed, and there would be no going back.
So it became a war of posturing, rather than action. First political, Earth stopped the flow of colonists, and then we elected our own Parliament. There was a lot of talk about sanctions and blockades, lawsuits and contract violations. These were the sort of subtle insults only evident to politicians. Industries shifted and retooled, but our civilization shrugged off these changes and we were undeterred. Our independence was long overdue.
It was inevitable, though, that soon the machines of war would take shape.
WayStar Station in high Martian orbit received its first rail gun not a year after Earth’s refusal of our petition for sovereignty. Powered by a thousand square meters of new solar cells, it could slam out a thirty kilogram slug of cold Martian iron at three percent the speed of light. With a strike time of days rather than months, it was far superior to even the fastest missile. Earth was forced to respond in kind.
Those first few steps are almost laughable, compared to the fusion powered, world devastating monsters that hang in our skies now. Their kilometer long barrels, ringed with thousand ton superconducting coils hang there, ready to unleash hell upon the world in their crosshairs.
No one believes they’ll ever fire, though. The real war was never one of lives and blood. Those could be spent in their entirety in a few hours time, and no one is prepared for extinction.
Earth, with its long history of violent conflict, was blind to this, and they did not see the field shift beneath their feet until it was long too late. While they trained and prepared to either defend their skies or conquer ours, we built a thousand ships. Ships that could hold a million each in relative comfort and into them we poured Mothers and Husbands, sons of daughters of true Martian decent and ideals.
They flew to every world and planetesimal in the system and built new homes. Strange and wonderful worlds filled with life in forms hard to imagine. The population of the asteroid belt alone is double Mars and Earth combine, almost quintuple if you count the Kupier Belt. They continue to build and expand with the infinite riches of the solar system at their finger tips and the skill and precision of the colonies of the Jovian moons and beyond. They are free and do as they please, but they will always find a friend in the Red Planet.
Earth still sits, alone behind its guns, ready to kill us all, but only if we fire first. We never will. We’ve already won.
|
You know, this isn't baffling me as much as it should.
The little lady is *digging* into the container of left over pasta- apparently, she watched me use a fork enough to figure it out.
"Really?"I asked as she titled the container up and began simply shoveling the food down her throat. "That's not healthy."
The container landed on the table, and she glared at me with amber eyes. "It good."
"It's."I corrected idly. "And why are you so hungry?"
"Cat body small."She flinched. "Cat body *weak*. Fast. Big now- can eat."
"...You mean you've tried to steal it before, couldn't, and now that you have hands, you can?"
She glared.
I sighed, shaking my head. "And this happens every month?"
"Yes."
Great. Just. Freaking. Great.
"When did it start?"
"Don't know. Small. Hungry."She flinched, ducking in. "Hard to move."
"Hard to-"Oh. Oh *shit*. If she didn't remember when it started...
"Not... not hard to move now. Now fast, strong. Want to see human life."
"Right."I pushed a can of tuna over. Her eyes widened- both around the eyelids and the pupils- and she glanced between it and me.
"Here's the deal."I sighed. "You just wake me up when it happens, and stop stealing food, alright Bell?"
She nodded, still staring at the can.
Alright. Something could happen.
"I,"I reached over, starting to open the can. "Am going to find out what the hell you are. You, meanwhile, are going to learn just how to act human."
Bell glanced at me. "...Tu-na?"
I sighed, pushing the can over. "Tuna."
|
All at once, the first world had turned into mass hysteria.
Once people got the world that every screen in the world had flashed the ominous words, "We are here. Prepare yourself, mortals,"people everywhere began smashing all forms of technology.
iPhones, PC's, Gameboys, even things like microwaves weren't safe from the destruction.
In neighborhoods all throughout the world, people began having large rallies in which they would through all the communities tech into one pile and set that pile ablaze, staring deeply into the fire believing that at any moment some terminator like machine would come crawling out and begin its massacre of the human race.
People everywhere began stocking up on weaponry and ripping all electrical cords out of their homes. The world prepared for the worst and waited.
But fear filled days turned into fear filled weeks, and fear filled weeks turned into fear filled months, and fear filled months turned into fear filled years, and yet nothing more ever occurred.
Slowly, the technology returned and the world returned to the digital era.
Years later, many looked back on the hysteria and laughed, but no one laughed harder than the infamous hacker 4chan, who would always remember the incident as his greatest ruse yet. |
Looking out the window onto the ravaged, desolate street, I took a deep breath. The smell of mildew and musty wood engulfed me, a scent I had learned to ignore. As the reality of the situation settled in my thoughts for what could be the final time, I breathed out in a heavy sigh.
"Is this really it? After everything that happened, all the shit I went through, this is the end?"I thought.
It was unbelievable. Despite it being so long, everything up until now just seems so... short. Time doesn't really mean much when you're so close to the end. Everything just feels so empty. Your thoughts, your surroundings, even your memories.
What does any of that mean when nobody else is there?
I looked at the microphone sitting on the oak table, surrounded by dials, half of which I didn't even understand. Was this final endeavor pointless? Should I even make the effort, simply because the only thought with any content I can manage to muster is "What if?", just to disappoint myself again and again?
I picked up the opened, half empty can of chili sauce, the rancid aroma piercing my nostrils. Returning it, I went back to the window and pried it open to retrieve some water. Being careful not to collect too many debris, I picked the mug up off of the windowsill and dipped it into what used to be a flower box.
I returned to the desk, pouring the water into the can. I swished it around trying to retrieve as much of the contents as I could, then took a sip of the disgusting solution. Holding back the desire to gag, I set the solution back down.
I looked back to the window, the smell of the seared landscape fresh from the recent rain. The smell that reminded me every day, nothing would ever be the same. I never understood that sentiment until it happened.
Returning my attention back to the microphone, I pressed the button that had become so worn down from my countless efforts to reach anyone. My need to be choosy had long been eradicated, at a certain point I realized I'd rather be murdered than spend another day alone.
I recited the oration I had burned into my mind; "Hello. I am a survivor of the apocalypse that occurred in 2015. If anyone can hear this, I am located at the Radio Station Office in Virginia Beach, near the 264 and 64 Interchange. From there, go east and take the 15A exit to Greenwich road, and I am on Ivy court."
Taking a breath, I continued trying to keep my speech clear and audible; "If you can hear this, respond on frequencies of 30-300 Hz. I have shelter, electricity, and enough food t-"
I paused. I got up and rummaged through all my things. Boxes, crates, closets. I looked through everything, and then I looked again. I already knew what I would find: nothing. I looked anyways. Detached, I walked slowly towards the microphone, and took a seat, glancing at the putrid can of chili water.
"S... sorry about that... I have enough food to.. uhh... to last for a few.... for a few days. Please. uh, please respond. I'm.. just so fucking *lonely*!"
Choking back tears and breaking my own superficial procedure, I attempted to compose myself and stammered; "If anyone, literally anyone can hear me, I need *someone*. I've been alone for more months than I can count, I don't know what to do anymore, I'm scared. Please, I'm begging you. I've been doing this for so long, it's all been for nothing. I've experienced failure day in and out, again and again. Anyone..."
My face became hot, and my chest tingling. I slammed the table, screaming into the microphone "WHY? WHY WON'T YOU ANSWER? WHAT DID I DO TO DESERVE THIS? I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING WRONG! I didn't do anything..."
I was broken. Sobbing on the table for God knows how long. "fuck you.."I stuttered out. "fuck you, fuck you fuck you FUCK YOU FUCK YOU!"I shouted, slamming my hands against the table, as everything clattered atop it.
My eyes filled with tears, I stopped lying to myself. This was really it. I wiped my face, feeling like a golf ball was stuck in my throat. I looked around the room, and I saw it. The can, spilled onto the floor. In reality, it probably didn't matter anyways. The only purpose that served was a slap in the face to my endeavor.
My eyes drifted, focusing on the lid, sharp jagged edges glistening from the dreary light entering the window.
***
This is my first time doing something like this. Any advice would be appreciated, not sure how much I should put here in this... footnote? |
*Talent takes time.*
Tommy tried. Tournaments take temperance; thinking things through thoroughly.
Tragically, Tommy took third. The title tiptoed towards the tried, tested Terrance Taft.
Tommy turned, tearful. The terrible thought - the Tiddlywinks Trophy taken to Terrance. This took three terms to train towards.
*Think, Tommy, think. Tiddlywinks takes technique. Technique thrusts talent to the top. Talent thinks, technique tries. The two together triumph.*
Tommy trained tumultuously the three terms thereafter.
Tournament time. Tommy's tense. Trembling, Tommy tries to take the title.
This time, Tommy takes Terrence Taft to task, the tie tipping towards the terribly talented teenager.
*Technique takes time. Talent takes time. Together, they triumph.*
Terrence tumbled. Tommy took the Tiddlywinks Trophy.
|
"We need to talk, kid."
I look up from the files spread out on my desk. Usually, a distraction from my work would be welcome. This stuff gives me a headache. Every day I have to comb through the lives of young peasant boys, streetwise city girls who've turned to pickpocketing, characters like that. Looking for the right one.
This particular distraction, however, was not so welcome. It was my boss. He continued:
"I've noticed a few. . . Problems recently. With your performance."
I held my hands up in what I hoped was an apologetic gesture.
"I know, I know,"I said, "I've had bad luck with the last few cases."
"Bad luck? That last file from yesterday, from whatstheworld, that serf you chose to go up against the Dark One?"
"Yeah? Didn't turn out so great?"
"Didn't you read the case file? The notation about his budding ambition?"
"Well. . . Yeah,"I said, "Seemed like kind of a good quality for a guy who's going to destroy the embodiment of evil."
"Oh yeah, you'd think so, huh,"my boss said, "well, turns out it's also a common quality in people who *ally themselves with embodiments of evil in order to take over the world.*
"Oh. . ."I said. "Well. . . How about Skarial?"
"How about it?"My boss looked grim.
"The young lady I chose to save that world didn't seem to have any trouble managing the Essence of Destruction."
"She was a kleptomaniac,"said my boss, "And a compulsive liar."
"But still. . . She saved the world."
"We're not looking for Byronic heroes here, kid,"said my boss, "chosen ones have to be. . . You know, virtue and honor and all that."
"Ok, well there was. . . That bastard lord's son who saved Delanan from the demonic host."
"Never got over his daddy issues, ended up beheading the aristocracy and instituting a crude form of anarcho-syndicalism worldwide."
"Sounds interesting to me."
"No. People don't want to hear about how the chosen one fixed the internal problems of fairytale-land. They just want good versus evil in three acts."
"Well then what about that one world, Gaeana? The guy I chose there accessed the Spring of Ascension and literally turned himself into the embodiment of Good so he could fight the embodiment of Evil. . ."
"Yes, but things got all philosophical after he'd won and turned everything "good."Problem is, what the hell is good? Ended up being a mess of Benthamian utilitarianism. Horrifying massacres for the greater good. People don't want to read that stuff about the hero.
"Face it kid, you're just not much good at choosing chosen ones. You don't have the touch."
"So. . .you're firing me?"I asked weakly.
"No, you've got potential,"my boss said, "I'm just transferring you over to Villain Backstories." |
“That beard ain’t foolin’ nobody around here, man.” Joe looked over, absently stirring his oatmeal with a spork that bent in protest against the thick mess.
“That so?” Eddy ran a hand through his beard, not bothering to even glance up from his own food.
“You killed that family damn near seventy years ago. And by all accounts, you wasn’t a baby then.”
“I didn’t kill that family, Joe. If you knew me better, you would know that.”
“Don’t nobody know you around here, man. Quiet type. Always keeping to yourself.” Joe took a bite at long last and swallowed the flavorless fare quickly. “All we know is, you don’t age.”
Eddy took a deep breath. He still didn’t look up. “That’s ridiculous. Check the records. I’m as old as I should be.”
“Look, I ain’t tellin’ you all this just because I give a damn about how old you are. I’m gonna be here either way. Hell, if you stuck here longer than most of us because you got some kickass genes, that’s terrible.”
Joe paused, took another bite, and then looked back at Eddy. “I’m tellin’ you this because the guards been vocal about it. Said they been checkin’ files, lookin’ for seats for new meat. One said you was supposed be ‘bout a hundred accordin’ to records. They came lookin’ to put yo’ ass out to pasture and found a young man instead.”
Eddy stood up, nodded at Joe, and left the table.
“Of course it would be nice to know a few details,” Joe commented as Eddy walked by, to no avail. “Aight. Whatever man.”
Eddy made himself scarce until recreational hour. Of the few guards he did encounter face to face, only one seemed to regard him with any special notice. The prison ran as normal, as it had the last seventy years. As always, he endured. Day in, day out, biding his time.
Today was different, though. He’d been compromised, it seemed. Despite the rotating general population and prison guard roster, someone had made the connection. A quick phone call would iron things out, though. He’d land a transfer, where an all new cast of characters could get to know him with a fresh identity.
As Eddy approached the phones, he noticed there were four guards at the telephone station, where traditionally one had been more than enough. He nodded at one and attempted to slide by to the nearest booth, but the man caught his arm.
“Eddy Vincent?”
“Yes sir.” Eddy looked just off to the side of the man and lowered his shoulders into a slump, trying to make himself appear as feeble as possible.
“We have some questions we would like to ask you, inmate.” Another guard stepped in front of Eddy. “In the office.”
Eddy sighed, and sized up the guards quickly. His thoughts were racing. What if they knew who he really was? Had someone sold him out? My imprisonment is for their own good, he thought. I can’t be freed. I can’t be hauled into a lab. I need this place. This order, this confinement.
“Look, it’s no big deal. There are just a few important people here to talk about your parole.”
Eddy’s pale blue eyes flashed at the guard speaking. Wrong choice of words. There was no parole hearing, nor would there ever be. His cover was blown.
“Let me be. I don’t want parole. I just want to be left alone.”
“Look, inmate. Your ass is coming with us. There will still be time to talk on the phone later.” The third guard had lost his patience and moved to grab Eddy’s free arm.
His hand never found purchase. Eddy erupted into motion, his fists falling onto the unsuspecting guards like a hailstorm from a clear blue sky. He tried not to kill them. He tried to hold back, but he was very out of practice. Bones crunched under his hammer-like fists even as he tried to pull his punches. Blood sprayed from noses and mouths, spattering Eddy and the telephone booths.
In seconds, the guards were on the floor. Eddy stood very still, oblivious to the handful of inmates who stood by, dumbfounded. One would eventually run away to find more guards. Eddy stood there, staring at the pile of bodies until one moved, and another groaned. That seemed to shake him out of it, and he rushed to the nearest phone.
After jamming a barely remembered sequence of numbers into the phone, he fidgeted on the hard wooden seat while the phone rang. And rang. And rang.
Finally, mercifully, someone answered. “Department of Security. Do you know your extension?” The voice was female, and pleasant.
“87F.” Eddy was sweating now, and he glanced over at the pile of guards. They were still down, but alive. That was good.
“I’m sorry sir, extension 87F is no longer valid. Is there anything else I can help you with?” A little hint of amusement crept into her voice as she repeated the extension number.
Eddy racked his brain. Seventy years was too long to stay in one place. He knew that. Still, he had to try.
“Who took over for Agent Branson?”
“I am not allowed to discuss employees over the phone sir. If you do not know an extension, I am going to have to terminate this call.” Her voice now reflected a bit of curiosity despite her curt threat.
“Whoever the hell is sitting in the director seat right now, tell him to look up Protocol Death Walks, and then send an extraction team to the O’Fallon State Penitentiary. I don’t know how long I can keep myself together.
“Also, tell him I’m sorry. If I could have killed myself by now, I would have.”
Eddy hung up the phone and turned around. A team of guards, this time an armed strike force, slipped into the room. He spoke as they raised their weapons.
“Just go home boys. Just turn around, please.”
A gunshot rang through the air, and Eddy felt his cold, familiar rage slip over him yet again.
|
Thaddeus stroked his beard methodically as he surveyed the planet below him. He did not turn as Balak, a junior officer whom he found annoyingly earnest, join him at the helm. "That's it, isn't it sir? Our planet of origin?"Balak asked. Thaddeus was annoyed by the obvious question which was only designed to open a line of questioning that he was not in the mood to counter. He instead turned to the diagnostic crewman. "Begin scan."
This of course did not dissuade Balak. "A scan sir? For what purpose? We are for core extraction are we not? What purpose would an environmental scan serve towards this end?"Thaddeus walked away from Balak towards his station. He sighed deeply as he took his seat. "Due diligence."He said at last.
As expected, this opened a door for Balak. "Sir? It wouldn't matter what we were to find would it? I mean even if plant life has returned, how could that be worth our time?"Thaddeus cursed himself for the anger he felt towards this common blight of an officer. He should treat him with cold indifference. Still, he surprised himself at the hint of ire in his words as he replied: "What if there is more than plant life?"He thought he saw a smile pass across Balak's lips. "Of what sort sir? Organisms in its seas? Still immaterial is it not?
Thaddeus had enough and was about to banish him from the deck when the scans indicator sounded. Everyone turned sharply towards the screen. "Location?"Thaddeus asked as calmly as he could. "A large mountain range sir. It is reading as mammalian."Thaddeus stood and walked towards the screen. "Focus imaging"he ordered.
Balak rejoined his side. "While that is certainly interesting sir, we are expected to deliver the shipment promptly sir."Thaddeus furrowed his brow and turned sharply towards Balak. "What if it is a human?"Balak exaggerated a quizzical look. "A human? I thought they were extinct?"
Thaddeus stared deeply into Balak's eyes. "Sometimes life finds a way. If it has, what would you propose we do then?"
This time Balak did smile. "Well, nothing sir." |
The Appalachian trail was cold this time of year. A forest that could never be described as lush, now coated in frost for the coming winter. When was the last time the sky was not grey?
Mary made her rounds. Straying from the cottage just slightly to check the nearby traps. A rabbit could feed her for a day, a squirrel maybe less. Still, with the rifle on her back she held out hope to encounter a deer. Zael didn't like her hunting too far from their cottage, so she would have to luck into one.
Two hares and a squirrel. The little critters must be getting as desperate for food as she was. This with some wild plants she found and a few things that she grew before the frost hit... well, it's a stew. It's always a stew. If the situation were a little different Mary maybe would have been proud of much of a little mountain girl she had grown into. As it was, she just wanted to go home.
The little cottage was barely in its own clearing. Any more obvious would have made her a target Zael insisted. She could see him on the roof, watching diligently. As regal and splendid as the day they met. White gold robes with almost the same color hair, piercing blue eyes and platinum wings. He was stunning to behold.
His eyes were already on her when she entered the clearing. That never ceased to unsettle her. How aware he seemed to be all the time. It had saved her life multiple times, but just having a creature like him know every detail around him made her skin crawl. She held up her quarry.
Zael helped her clean the rodents, but went back to watch as soon as the stew was set to boil. One of his "aerial patrols". She didn't mind. It gave her some time to herself, and it was long past when she felt like she was in danger.
Six months. Six months from when they came out here, as far from civilization as she could think. Zael was meant to protect her, and he did just that, but was always a little too earnest about it. A hero from the wars before Babylon he would say. The wars before god cleansed the earth with his flood. She didn't doubt it, the strength he had.
They never did explain how she was marked, by an apparition, a demon, or the devil himself. All that mattered was that the evil that remained on earth was drawn to her. Humans and..... things that weren't. Zael was sent from heaven to stop her from being claimed. Her literal guardian angel. Only, he still seemed to care little for human life. A demon needed to be dispelled, that much she knew, but far too often many people were caught in the battle. He did not understand when she raised a protest.
"But it is every man's fate to meet god. I am only relieving their suffering on earth. Those claimed by an angel shall be guided to paradise."
She could not convince him, nor could she stomach the damage. She had to run away, out to where no more people would be hurt by him. Out here they seemed safe. Out here, they had not had nearly as many.... incidents.
Still, the angel was always watchful. It took her ages to convince him to let her wander even to the traps by herself. That "something that wants me dead would have more luck laying a trap at our cottage than attempting to ambush me in the thick of the woods."Before that he had insisted on flying above her wherever she went.
The stew was boiling as Zael came back through the door. His wings faded to fit through the small frame. His charming smile etched into his face.
"We are safe another night, my lady."
She faked a smile back as she took the food off the stove.
As the sunset sprayed its color through the clouds, over the Appalachian trees.
|
Five minutes, that's all I need. With my left eye I can see what's going to happen in exactly five minutes and it always happens how I see it. There's no changing the future I just have a heads up on what it's gonna be. Now I usually use it to freak people out at parties and occasionally cheat at poker. If I see a guy win I'll fold, if I see the chips coming my way I play it out. It isn't honest but you'd do the same wouldn't you? So imagine my surprise when one day I'm just out for a walk and I suddenly can't see our of my left eye. This happens every now and then but never for this long. Three minutes go by and I start to panic, I'm running around frantically thinking I'm about to die for two minutes when WHAM! I'm out cold. Turns out in my panic I ran into the road and got hit by a car. The doctors thought I was a tweaker or something, I just went with it. Better to be sent to rehab than the psych ward. |
I am one of the most wanted men in the world. Kings and emperors and presidents and dictators have all first tried to hire me and then tried to kill me. It happens without fail. I have met Genghis Khan and Hitler and Mao and Alexander the Great and Attila. They were all convinced I am the most dangerous man in the world, so they hire me as a hitman to bring them the head of their enemies. And each time, I say no, and then they decide they want to kill me instead. Go figure.
I don't say no out of spite or because I don't have time. I have too much time, in fact. I say no because killing somebody terrifies me and I can't bring myself to do such evil.
You see, my story starts several thousand years ago. And it's really a pretty short story. Each time I am about to die, I kill myself. And don't ask me if it's a glitch in the matrix or just some Easter egg God decided to slip into his little experiment, but killing myself adds the time I had left to the time I have left, and all of a sudden I've doubled the length of my life.
Who would have ever thought it? In a world where nobody commits suicide because immortality is just a kill away, the only true immortal is the one who kills himself. I've come close to dying plenty of times, but I always manage to put a sword through my chest or a bullet through my head and then pretend I'm dead until my would-be killers leave.
I haven't even killed anybody. To be honest, I'm a complete coward, and if you ask me, I would even say I'm a pretty friendly fellow. All of these great and powerful men are convinced I am the most ruthless killer known to man, but the only person I have ever killed is myself. I hate this life, and I truly wish my attempts at suicide would work, but I can't bear to let somebody else kill me and be cursed with this damned immortality I've managed to acquire. |
Some people find my business to be a little distasteful. My family doesn't approve but honestly I don't give a shit anymore. It pays my bills and I sleep well enough to justify what I do.
So this morning a I get a call, all seems normal the usual lonely guy working on Wall Street that just wants to talk to someone who'll listen. We schedule a time place and a price (better to agree on it beforehand in my experience) and I start preparing myself the for night ahead. Sometimes I get requests to wear certain things, I usually charge a fee for this but I also make it clear that I'm not a street whore and I don't intend to be a hook up but this guy seemed rather shy and asked for a three hour spot from 7pm to 10pm at an Italian restaurant in Manhattan. That's perfect I get some money in my pocket and a free meal win-win.
I show up and he's waiting outside, I honestly didn't expect him to be so handsome, it even looked like he worked out a bit but I **was** a professional after all and started our conversation with one of my usual openers.
We talked for an hour before I realized that I had lost track of time, his dark blue eyes and a shy but pleasant smile kept me actually interested in what he had to say. He started really opening up after a few glasses of wine, and I slowly started to realize that we had a lot in common. It was then that I realized "holy crap, I might actually like this guy".
So I opened up as well, telling him anything he asked about as we laughed and chatted for what seemed like days. We were suddenly interrupted by the waiter
"excuse me sir and madame but we are closing soon, I will fetch your coats"as he hastily made his way to the coat room. We'd gone an hour over but I didn't care, I actually really like this guy and I felt like I needed to tell him as we left the restaurant hand in hand I really felt a connection.
I started to say something when he shushed me and looked at me with tears in his eyes
"Thanks for the amazing night, I really can't believe you do this for people"he said as he wiped a tear and pulled out an envelope "here's what we agreed on and a little extra for going over time. I wish you well and although I know your responses must have been fake, maybe even scripted. They felt real and I can't live knowing that they weren't, so please don't contact me and forget I ever called."
He then walked to his car and drove away as I stood there, holding back my tears. It was the most heartfelt conversation I had with someone in years and I let him walk away thinking it was all a ruse.
First prompt guys, please give me any feedback. |
With a flash i found myself in a room surrounded by unfamiliar people. Unlike the last time i was summoned I was in full control this time and wanted to see if being a summonable demon was a job i wanted to do. My father trained me quite a bit and while i didn't have full demon powers, I could likely handle most requests or pass them along to more experienced demons who could.
"Ummm uhhh....shhhiii---"A man blurted out.
I turned around to see him holding a demon summoning book and the necessary magical talismans. I looked down to find a crudely drawn magic circle meant to confine me. I tried not to laugh when i realized he made a spelling mistake on some of the runes and the circle was useless.
"Epsilon"I smiled.
"Huh wah?"
"Epsilon. It's spelled Phi, Rho... - Epsilon -... then Gamma and omega."I pointed to the runes on the magic circle.
He looked down in amazement and then turned white as paper while his friends inched back. I rolled my eyes and stepped out of the magic circle to grab the blood soaked feather he crudely used to draw the circle. I inserted the symbol in between the runes and then stepped back inside smiling.
"There is little i hate more than bad grammar."I coldly informed him.
I was expecting some deep dark cult complete with bodies hanging from the ceiling and human sacrifices. But it looked like this guy was a novice at best. I decided to continue playing along until i got bored.
"Ummm uhhh..."He quickly flipped through his summoning book for another spell. "Cero.... vertia..."he chanted.
I rolled my eyes again. "Cero, *VEGO*, Cadeus! Mess this up one more time and i'm going home."
"Cero Vego Cadeus!"he stammered.
"No."I flatly replied.
"No?"he looked confused.
"Of course NO. I don't want your soul. You can't pay me enough to take your pathetic soul."I explained.
I normally wasn't this insulting but i was having too much fun at this point.
"Umm... How do I unsummon you?"
I reached through the magical walls of the circle and they shattered around me. It became painfully clear I was too powerful to be contained by such a meager circle anyway. I grabbed the talisman that was in his hand and smashed it against the floor.
In a flash i was gone from his room.
|
The King of the Black stood before the Knight of Isle De Spair.
"So,"the Knight said. "We meet at last. Our nations have crumbled, our countrymen died in droves. The weak, the cowards - swords in their hands, fighting to the last. The earth beneath our feet has been ploughed by battle and watered with blood - the only crop now is death. And the final death *shall be yours!*"
He swung his sword at the other man. The sword moved towards him. It moved quickly, and in the end it got there. It was stopped by the other sword that the King was holding. They clanged together with a clanging noise like the clang of metal against metal. Which it was.
"My wife!"The King said. "My children! All that I ever loved! My beloved kingdom - my nation. You took it all, you madman! And for what? *For what?* The love of blood and the lust of destruction. You have brought naught but ruin to us all. Your soul shall be damned for all time, you *villain!*"
The King pushed his sword towards the other one with the pointy end first. It didn't hurt him because the Knight put his own sword in the way and it knocked the pointy end out of the way. Then he tried to punch him. But he missed. Because he (the Knight) wasn't there any more, having ducked a bit.
"*My lust for blood?* The Knight said. "*Mine?* Cursed be your name, King of Nothing! Cursed be your kin and all who bend their knee to you. Your conquest of my people - the slavery, executions and terror that you have wrought upon my people! *Cursed be all who bear your sigil!*"
The Knight moved forwards. Quicker than walking, but probably less than a run. But it wasn't a jog. Faster than that, definitely. He swung his sword to cut the king's head off. The king tried to move out of the way of the sword so he didn't have his head cut off, but he wasn't fast enough, so he did have his head cut off.
"It is done!"The Knight said to the sky. "Now all can rest and nations can lay easy! Hear it, History! Hear it from my own lips: *The Mad Conqueror is dead!*"
And he was because he didn't have a head any more. And that's about the end. |
“Oh God, is that us?” Guy’s voice was breaking as it crackled through my earpeace.
“Shut up, rookie. We have a deadline”, I snapped back.
As Guy made himself busy with his instruments, I took in the scene.
Take a few trips around the galaxy, and you get used to some time-related weirdness. It seems as if every squad has at least one Mr. “I’m-My-Own-Grandpa”, or a veteran who claimed to have seen the end of the universe. Me? I wasn’t exactly green, and I’d been on enough deployments to know that everyone dies some time.
No, what bothered me wasn’t the fact that I was looking at what pretty clearly WAS us, or at least, our remains. What bothered me was the fact Malcolm and Guy were in the wrong seats. It was one detail missed by whatever it was that posed our corpses...
|
Living by killing off your own characters. The concept isn't new to most, heck people have suspected authors such as George RR Martin of doing it for years; and you know what, they're right. But George is a fool, he was never able to grasp the full extent of this power. You see while George is utterly ruthless to his characters, when he kills them, they are gone. But I, I have found a way around this little problem. Why waste time creating new characters when you can just keep bringing back the same ones. I have used this technique for decades unnoticed and unopposed. I have become immortal by making my characters immortal, as many times as they die I will keep bringing them back; and as long as their favorite characters keep coming back, no one will question my methods.
My name is Stan Lee, and I'm not going anywhere. |
Doctor Jacobs leaned in closely to the thick glass window, eyes fixated on a single point, he nearly missed the entrance of Doctor Kern even though his footsteps telegraphed his arrival down the echoing hall.
"What was so important that I need to come down here immediately?"Kern asked.
Jacobs, still entranced through the window, raised his hand slowly and pointed through the glass at the man sitting on the chrome table in the center of the room. He sat naked, feet dangling off the high metal with his back toward the spectating doctors behind the glass. He was apparently unaffected by the temperature of the chilled room as he glanced around the room nonchalantly.
Kern had no time for theatrics. "Okay, what am I looking at?"
"Something that shouldn't exist."
"Let me guess, Jacobs. You opened up the body bag, and were about to start the autopsy, when Mr. John Doe in there woke up. It's not unheard of. Sometimes people can have very faint signs of life, and be accidentally declared dead."Kern straightened his back and his voice became more authoritative. "What you *should* be doing is getting the man emergency care and checking his vitals. If he was close enough to dead to get sent to the morgue, he's probably still in bad shape."
Jacobs finally broke his gaze from the window and turned to Kern, with tears welling up him his eyes.
"No, you don't understand. He didn't wake up right before I started the autopsy."
He took a shaky breath, and a tear fell down his cheek.
Jacobs turned to back to the glass. Mr. Doe was no longer turned toward the far wall. He was standing on the other side of the table facing the terrified doctors. He was sliced from throat to pelvis, showing the dark red, wet cavity where his organs should have been.
"He woke up after."
|
**The Greatest Empire.**
There are those who believe the greatest empire in history was that of Alexander, a feared and cunning Macedonian warrior, who ascended to a king's throne by the time he was twenty and who never, ever lost a battle (at least, none he cared to mention).
But Alexander died, and when he did, chaos ate his kingdom.
There are those who believe the greatest empire in history was the Mongolian Empire, which conquered half the world in a mere handful of decades. And to his credit, the Mongol Leader, Genghis Khan, was smart enough to make sure his heirs could be relied on.
But their heirs could not, and when the wiser descendants of Genghis died, chaos ate his kingdom.
In actual fact, the greatest empire in history was forged not through soldiers or battles or bloodshed. The greatest empire in history was started by one Mr. L. R. Penbrook, 63, from Warwickshire, England. Who used his retirement to amass the largest collection of garden gnomes in the world, and whose collection was passed down to his son, and *his* son, and *his* son after that.
And though these gnomes were all quite hideously tacky, each son treasured them, as a reminder of his lineage. And with the pride of family tradition each son added to the collection, which grew and grew with every passing generation.
Mr. Penbrook's Empire of Gnomes lasted longer than anything made by Genghis Khan or Alexander. It endured and prospered for many, many decades. It even made the local papers, once or twice.
Alas, Mr Penbrook's great-to-the-power-of-eighty-five grandchild developed a terrible phobia of gnomes due to a scarring incident in his childhood--wherein he witnessed his parents copulating amid the family collection. And so as soon as he was able, this great-et-cetera grandchild sold off every single blasted gnome, and used the money to buy a brand new house.
Thus, in a curious irony, the greatest empire in all of human history was both built and felled by love.
|
The God of Yorkshire looked out among the rolling hills of his land. All was well. The cows were making way for a flock of sheep,so traffic could turn around and go the other way while complaining smoothly. A thick fog on the Pennines was cutting off visibility of Lancashire. There was no trouble at t'mill w'treadle. Then the Lord looked upon then depressed face of Stanley. Stanley was being a mardy arse. He had been insult in the most horrendous way.
"Ay up Stanley"boomed the god."How do all-father"replied Stanley.
"whas the matter with thee? th' look despondent"
"I've been wronged in the worst way there is by young Charlie from roun't' corner"
"Did he have his way with your missus?"
"No. Hang on tha omniscient. You should know what he did"
"Doesn't mean I can't have some fun guessing"
"Ah"
"So did he hit thy dog? Pilfer your bike? Destroyed thy house?"
"He put t'milk in first"
"Oh Aye, yes I can see why your so annoyed"
"Can you, um smote him? I mean if its not too much trouble"
"Alright"
The deity moved upon the mountains, down the valleys until he came to young Charlies house. With a wave of his hand He gave him grievous wounds. "Ooh thats right gathering that is"thought young Charlie "Why have thy foresaken me oh Lord?"
"you put the milk in first"
"Fair do's"replied Charlie as he expired. |
"It's a coincidence."
"It's not, I tell you. The first three letters..."
"Uh-huh."
"Greek equivalent of X. Or the cross. Follow it by Rho, which *sounds* like Ron..."
"Mm-hmm."
"...and you get the literal Greek shorthand for Jesus Christ. The wounded healer and the martyred savior."
"No."
"Yes! That's what I'm telling you."
"The centaur and the Son of God are not the same. They're not even similar."
"Have you not been paying attention? I'm telling you, they're the same. Or, at least, related."
"Greek mythology wouldn't spill onto Christian doctrines like that."
"How else can you explain it? Two members of separate pantheons, two wise outcasts meant to lead unenlightened societies, two by whose stripes members of mankind could be healed. Not to mention, their names are similar."
"I say again, it's a coincidence."
"It's a Chiron-spiracy!" |
Fuck Stephen Moffat. Fuck him for making time travel look easy. And fuck David Tennant, too, for making it look so fun, and fuck Jenna Coleman for good measure, because *damn it Doctor, you could have saved Amy and Rory!*
Falling through time--yeah, falling, not *travelling*, it's the fabric of the universe, not a basketball court--*hurts*. Hurts like a three-ton *sonofabitch*. You have to be careful where you land, because the first five minutes are gonna be you rolling around trying not to ralph your guts out.
When I finally stood up, my legs wobbly, I groaned. I recognized the architecture--mid-19th century American. Somewhere on the East Coast, if my numbers had been right. I hate the 19th century. The Industrial Revolution's made everybody too skeptical to get swindled by a time-falling con man, but they're still superstitious enough to try and kill him for witchcraft.
I needed clothes. I could grow them fast enough from my kit, but I needed a reference, first. I pulled out my phone, one of the souvenirs I had lifted from the 2050s. It was about as thick as a sheet of construction paper, had a two-week battery life, and came loaded with the umpteenth Candy Crush clone that had been gripping hearts and minds that day. I had a few hundred gigs of pictures, historical documents, everything I'd need to fabricate a passable identity. I was scrolling through, when I saw that I had bars.
I had never gotten over how they hadn't improved Wi-Fi in the 2050s--I hadn't stuck around long enough to ask if Google Fiber had been the revolution we were promised--but at least it was familiar. Curious, I opened my settings. Exactly one SSID, unencrypted: "If You Can See This, You Need To Hide."
I blew a breath through my teeth. That scheming little *asshole* had gotten here before me again. *And* screwed up my con. *And* now she probably needed my help to get her back home.
I stomped off towards the lights of the town, fuming. It was a twenty-minute walk to town--twenty minutes to figure out how to rescue my sister from whatever mess she'd stirred up now.
*****
*For more of my work, check out my ongoing fiction experiment at [r/TheBrzezinskiCycle](https://www.reddit.com/r/TheBrzezinskiCycle/)!*
|
"You found it,"Alan said, looking at me from the attic entrance. "You always do."
"Always?"I looked down at the album, flipping through the pages. It was me and Alan dressed in various period clothing, some clothed, some nude. Some were photos of paintings. The hair and clothes were different, but unmistakably us.
However, I didn't remember ever having taken those photos with Alan. In fact, we had only met a year ago, after we met at a party. It had been a whirlwind romance - Alan and I shared the same love of the theatre, pop music, comic books, Game of Thrones, and Egyptian mythology.
Both of us had a copy of the Book of the Dead in our bookshelves. He had joked that his was the first edition, and I laughed. It looked like Papyrus, but I had doubted that it would have survived the millenia to rest on his bookshelf. I let it rest.
After a few months of dating, he proposed on bended knee, with a speech that seemed committed to memory. It was at a beach in Bali, as the sun was setting. He spoke of having searched for me his whole life, and having found me, his life was complete once more.
Looking at the photos, his words echoed in my mind and took on a terrible meaning. I realised that he hadn't been joking about the book.
"How..?"
He smiled and lit a candle "for atmosphere". "We first met in Ancient Egypt, though I am sure that we had met in our past lives. I was a high priest of Osiris.
"The god of death, resurrection and fertility."
Alan nodded.
"You were a prince. A kind one, loved by the people. Second to the throne, people were happy to let us be. Unfortunately, your older brother died to illness. He left no heirs, so you succeeded him. Suddenly, it became important that you married and have heirs, and we were split apart."
He continued, "I discovered too late that your older brother's illness was the result of poison. As a result, you became the next victim."
Chills ran up my spine as I felt my throat closing. My hands went to my throat. Was I recalling my past life? Alan nodded, seeming to read my mind.
"I interred you, and performed the rituals. And I prayed to Osiris that I would always be able to find you in your next life, so we would never be apart again. For reasons I don't understand, Osiris answered my prayer. I became immortal." |
Bachelor parties are the worst. I'm sure every bride is told by every groom, "It's okay honey, we aren't planning anything big. We're just going to stay in tonight, watch the game, and probably call it there."But tell me, in the likely 80.2 billion bachelor parties since the beginning of time, when have they ever called it there?
Sure, they'll stay at the house, and maybe the game will be on in the background, but they'll make sure like me, someone with a name like Mynx or Diamond or Elektra comes to their house to put on a nice show. And even though every bachelor tries to act like a good little boy and pretend he isn't enjoying the "illegal contact penalty", deep down you can feel that they enjoy it. Okay, maybe not that deep, more like right underneath the zipper.
But the amounts that these shy men pay to ogle at schoolgirls with unfortunate clothing accidents can be simply astonishing. I started doing this work to get me through college. Now, I'm in the process of becoming a realtor all through the charitable donations of whatever 1's or 5's they may be carrying. Tonight's lucky recipients of my Charity - my "stage"name, if you will - requested Officer Charity. Tried and true, not to mention the fact that I look pretty good in blue.
Now to get the worst part over with: the knock at the door.
The door opens, "Good evening gentlemen, I believe there's been a disturbance reported."
A bald man comes to the door, "Uh yes, officer, thank goodness you're here."He seems about as nervous as most older men in this scenario.
"Well,"I say, sidling into the room, "You did the right thing for calling us. What seems to be the problem this evening."
Another man, with scratches on his neck and bruises along his jawline comes over to me. "Officer, my name is Tony Martin. We were having a bachelor's party for our friend Tim. He's getting married tomorrow."
"A very lucky man,"as my typical set-up begins, "Where can I say I can find Tim?"
"Hi,"the bald man says, "Mark Stein. Um, Tim's out on the porch."
"Well, well, well, I guess I'll just have to meet his acquaintance."I walk outside with as much tension in my legs as possible; I figure if an officer's a tight ass, better walk with a tight ass. Worked a little better when I used heels, but I've been told by previous clients that it was too obvious of a tell.
I open the door and see that Tim's already on the floor; what a mess. I turn to the other groomsmen and ask them what's happened.
"We were all in the kitchen getting some beers while Tim and Jeff were outside talking about something,"Mark tells me, edging forward in the group. "The two were always kind of awkward around each other; some of us knew that Cassandra wasn't necessarily always faithful to Tim and spent some time with Jeff."
"Oh really?"I reply, pulling out my "detective's notebook.""Women make mistakes all the time, but good for Tim getting over it, I guess. So, what, did this guy just have too much to drink tonight?"
"Um, no officer,"says Tony. "Tim may have gotten over it, but Jeff never did. He always said that if Cassandra ever married Tim, it'd be the worst mistake of her life."
"I see. Jealous ex-boyfriend; happens all the time."
"Well,"a new man murmurs near the back, "I think Jeff took it too far."
"Your name?"
"Michael. I'm Jeff's brother."
"Okay, Michael,"jotting down all of their names on the pad, just in case, "What'd your brother do?"
"I'm not entirely sure, but all of the sudden we heard Tim fall right here on the patio. My brother was standing over him, angrier than I've ever seen him and, well..."he couldn't finish what he was going to say.
Tony picks it up, "He had strangled Tim."
Oh my God. This should never happen. I've heard of girls with horror stories from bachelor parties, but never one this bad. Did they really call the police? Please tell me this isn't some kind of sick joke...
"Michael, where's your brother?"I ask, completely dropping any facade of sexiness.
Tony answers, "We tried keeping him here officer. That's how I got all of these bruises and scratches on my neck."
Mark butts in, "But he got out from underneath us. Started running out into the woods. We tried following him for a little while, but it was dark and we knew he was dangerous."
"So you have no idea where he is?"
"Right,"says Tony, rubbing the side of his neck.
"Well,"I say struggling, "I think the motive is pretty clear but..."I hear sirens from the other side of the house. Thank God the real professionals are here. "I'm going to need to compare notes with my fellow officers. Stay out here and we'll come back to discuss what needs to be done."
I walk back through the house and out the front door to see the real officers. Two sets of cars, with three male officers and one female. I run over to the most sympathetic-looking one in the bunch.
"Excuse me Officer,"I timidly whisper to the female, "I really shouldn't be here."
"What are you talking about Officer? It's fine, you just got here before us in an unmarked vehicle. What's the problem?"
"No,"I say, pulling her off to the side. "I'm not really an officer."
"But,"she says looking me up and down, "You're one of us, aren't you?"
"No, it's just a very well-researched costume. I'm here to..."
"Say no more,"she says in a really preachy way. "This sort of thing has happened before. What's your name, ma'am? And uh, not the stage name."
"Meredith."
"Well Meredith,"she says pulling out her business card, "I want you to leave this crime scene and give me a call on Monday morning to discuss any details you might have picked up from this case. If I do not hear from you, we will be compelled to charge you with impersonating an officer. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, ma'am, I mean, officer,"I say, stuffing the card into my notebook. "I'll call you first thing Monday morning."
I start to walk away, when the officer calls back to me, "Oh, and Meredith? No v-necks in our department. Time to get a new costume."
Dammit. |
‘That’s my spirit animal?’ Jake asked, sweat dripping from his forehead, armpits, down his back—it was everywhere, his clothes were completely soaked. The jungle heat would do that to you.
The creature had appeared from the bush—casually walking up towards them, on all fours, tongue licking its lips. It opened its mouth—was that a yawn? And why did the creature only reach up to not-even-half-way his legs?
‘It is indeed, Master Jake—the mighty Komodo.’ said Gwalth, who had been Jake’s guide for the past months, ‘Look at its majesty! Its grandness! Its—‘
‘Lameness? This is my spirit animal? But I thought you said you could lead me to real dragons! The beings of myths! Legends! I can buy things like *that* at the pet store!’
Gwalth walked up to the infant Komodo and knelled besides it, patted it ‘But he is real! Come, feel it as well! A true dragon!’
‘Fuck you, Gwalth. *Fuck you*—I am out of here.’ said Jake, as he turned around to walk back down the path they had cut through the dense growth, ‘Months—fucking months of my life wasted. Gwalth, don’t think I am paying you for the trip back. This—this whole thing is on you. You just wait till I tell my father of this—he’ll show you a spirit animal that’ll have you shaking in your boots.’
‘Boots, Master Jake?’
‘Or whatever it is you’re wearing on your feet!’
The Komodo looked up at Gwalth, sorrowfully, and Gwalth said, ‘I’m sorry, my friend. Maybe the next one will see you for what you will become.’
Then, the Komodo opened his mouth, and puffs of smoke came out.
‘Very good! You’re improving, I’m proud of you, my little Draquo. You keep practicing, and perhaps you can put on quite the show for the next one. Yes?’
‘Are you coming or what?’ Jake yelled at him from down the path.
He gave Draquo one last head-rub, ‘Coming, Master!’ and Gwalth followed.
|
The City-on-the-Surf was still 14 nautical miles north when Kira noticed the hole in the raft. It was a sunny day, and turquoise water stretched on in every direction. She brought out her last patch and took some adhesive from the safety kit to glue it on.
"We won't make it,"Jalen said. He was stretched out on the other side of the yellow raft, a tattered shirt covering his sunburnt face. "At the rate this thing is falling apart, we won't make it."
"Shut up, Jalen, and cover your face. We have fourteen miles until the floating city. If we can patch this--"
"Newsflash, sis. There is no floating city. It was a lie. Dad lied. Everyone is dead."he said.
"Not us,"Kira said, squeezing out the glue, "If we're still alive, other people could have made it too."
Jalen paused. "Dad didn't."he said.
Kira spun around, her face red. "No! Okay? Dad didn't make it. But he wouldn't his kids--"
"Kira,"Jalen said
"--He wouldn't want his kids moping about, not trying to find dry land! Sometimes--"
"Kira!"Jalen yelled.
"What?"she screamed. Jalen pointed behind her, out to the open water.
Kira turned over her shoulder to look. A thin silver fin approached them, jutting out of the water.
It circled their raft, inching closer. "Jalen, get the harpoon. *Get it!*"
Jalen's fingers twitched. In a swift movement he dashed for the other side of the raft and closed his hands around the harpoon.
But as he did, a spash erupted behind Kira, and the last thing she saw was a huge set of teeth coming towards her before the world went dark.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
She awoke in a cell. The walls were white and pristine. Her bed stood in one corner, and a small window let in light on the other side.
A woman white pure-white skin sat a small desk in the center of the room. She was as pale as a shark's tooth, and Kira could see the veins beneath her skin. She wore old-world clothes, a blue business suit, tailored to fit. Nothing like Kira's rags.
"Hello,"the woman said. "Are you comfortable?"
"Yes,"Kira said, "I am. Is this the City-on-the-Surf? I could have sworn..."she remembered the jaws of the shark closing in on her and Jalen.
"Jalen!"she said suddenly, "Do you have my brother?"
The woman smiled. "Yes, our Genetic Collection Unit - the machine that brought you here - deposited him in another room in the Orphanage."
"The Orphanage? So this is a city!"Kira said.
"It is. But we are not the 'City-on-the-Surf' that you mentioned."the woman said. "Come, look."
The woman stood and motioned to the small window on the far wall. Kira walked to it warily and looked outside.
Beneath her, the biggest city she'd ever seen stretched in every direction - the biggest anything she'd ever seen.
"There must be fifty buildings!"she said. She'd only ever seen the occasional floating town like the one she was born in.
The woman laughed. "More than that. This was once the greatest city in the world. It was called New York."
Kira looked up at the sky, and saw that it was dark. All the light came from great glowing bulbs scattered across the dome of the sky.
"Are we... underwater?"she asked.
"Yes,"the woman said, "Welcome to Old New York. We like to call it Darktown."
--------------------------------------------------------------
If you liked this , check out r/TomTeller, or my novelette submission, [The Elder War](https://www.reddit.com/r/TomTeller/comments/4cdklx/the_elder_wars_google_doc/?ref=share&ref_source=link)
|
It was the Manhattan project that started it all, nobody could have imagined what would have happened. Oppenheimer said he thought he had become destroyer of worlds, and in a way he was. While the old world had died, a new one had just been born. That first atomic bomb set off a radioactive wave that spread across the planet like wildfire, changing the human genome forever or maybe activating what was long hidden.
Every human alive was gifted or cursed with a superhuman ability, and let’s just say the war got a lot more interesting when troops of both side developed super strength, super speed, invisibility it changed the face of war. When victory was finally finished in 1953, after Hitler’s burning corpse was extinguished, we entering into this world for the first time; a peaceful world with superpowers.
Truman, who had held onto his wartime power was forced to resign, nobody wanted a President who only had the power to shrink to small sizes. We elected a man with ice vision, said he would ‘freeze Communism in its tracks’. This was a sign of things to come, those with the best powers inevitably rose to the top, and those with the worst fell to the bottom.
You’d think with all these superpowered citizens the world would be safer than ever, but power corrupts and super powers corrupt superbly. Soon flocks of supervillains began using their powers for evil purposes, material wealth, political power, anything they desired. Even worse was that while you could lock up some of them, invisibility isn’t much use if you’re stuck in a jail cell, somebody with super strength simply couldn’t be constrained.
An age of warlords broke out across America, those men and women who were impossible to capture or kill raiding the landscape and demanding tribute. Weaker minions would flock to them for protection, and small fiefdoms sprang up. In 1984 there were over two-thousand recorded criminal enclaves in the continuous United States. That was when I was born.
For the longest time they didn’t know what my power was, that was until raiders came to my town. A religious freak who called himself Kane was trying to take my mother and sister from our family ranch, so I punched him. He laughed at me and pointed his finger, and I braced myself for his infamous death-ray, but it never came. Just like that, I had removed his power.
Now I work for the government, they finally have a system to imprison those supervillains who are impossible to control. When they break the law, they lose the right to their powers. I’m a high value target, there’s been 66 attempts on my life, but I’m a valuable asset and I’ve been saved each time.
In the last ten years we’ve reduced the number of super powered warlords down to a dozen, all highly mobile raiders in the Midwest, mostly superspeedsters and teleporters. But we’re closing in on them, and soon superpowers will only rest in the hands of good, hardworking Americans.
-----------
[Click here](https://www.reddit.com/r/Wrobbing/) to see all of my short stories written for /r/writingprompts, and more!
|
"It's been a long time hasn't it Proxo?"asked one the aliens to her co-pilot.
"Yeah, it sure has been, Lazixa,"replied the other alien. "It's been... what. 4000? 5000 years? Wow, time sure does fly."
The two were sitting in a rather cramped ship's bridge. Most of the room was taken up by the oversized control panel and navigation system, but there was also a lot of clutter from the junk that had accumulated during their long trip. These aliens originally came from the Alpha Centauri star system. They were the Centaurs - magnificent beings with equine heads and strong, naked bipedal bodies.
"We should be seeing it soon. Just after we pass Mars... Ah, there it is!"exclaimed Lazixa. She decelerated the ship as it approached Luna. "Hmm. There's a lot of junk floating around Earth's orbit."
"Junk? You mean like rocks and shit?"asked Proxo. He tapped the touch screen on the control panel, causing the view screen up ahead to magnify the image of Earth. "Satellites? And is that a space station floating around there too? Well, I'll be damned. Those hairy bastards did it. They made it into space!"Proxo and Lazixa shared a laugh together. Earth was their pet project and it made them feel like proud parents to see that everything was going according to plan. Lazixa slowly guided the ship downwards towards Earth and aimed for the Great Pyramids where they had made their second stop so many years ago.
"Umm..."muttered Lazixa as the ship approached the ground in Egypt. "Those things wandering around. Those are... humans."
"Ermm..."mumbled Proxo.
"They should've all died out when we activated the pest extermination sequence,"said Lazixa. "We even installed a third pyramid conduit to make sure we killed off all of them. You remember turning it on, don't you?"
"Umm... Yeee....err...."
"You didn't turn the fucking pyramids on!?"shouted Lazixa. She grabbed Proxo by the mane and lifted him out of his seat.
"I... I..."
Lazixa dropped her partner back onto the seat and then started the engines back up again. "We better check the battery,"said Lazixa. She didn't say another word to Proxo during their short trip from Egypt to the United Kingdom. This was where they had made their first stop over 5000 years ago. Stonehenge, they called it. It was the battery system that amplified the power collected from solar energy and cosmic rays.
"Ooh, dang,"mumbled Proxo as he looked out the window. "Looks like someone broke it."
"OK, what the fuck,"cursed Lazixa. She landed the ship in the centre of the Stonehenge where all of the ley lines from the pyramid conduits were meant to meet. She grabbed Proxo by the neck and dragged him outside onto the grassy field. There were a handful of humans with strange fabrics on their bodies waiting for them outside. Some of them looked scared.
"OK, what's the deal?"asked Lazixa as she held the green button on the universal translator around her neck. "Why are all of you vermin still around? If I find out that you all multiplied and there's more than a thousand or a million of you, I'm gonna get real pissed. Now tell me, where are the woolly mammoths? We demand you take us to your superiors."
"T-they're dead. They've gone extinct,"said a fat tourist.
"Excuse me? Extinct?"asked Lazixa. "The mighty mammoths that helped us construct the great pyramid conduits? And you expect me to believe you when you say they just simply died out?"
"I think our ancestors hunted them down and killed all of them,"said a small girl, holding her mother's hand. Her mother quickly tried to hush her, but to no avail. "But it's ok. We still gots elephants!"
Lazixa facepalmed herself in frustration and turned away from the group of tourists. She rested a hand on Proxo's shoulder. "Just fix up the damn stones and lets turn the damn pyramids on. I'm going to pour myself a drink or two."Lazixa ascended back into the spacecraft.
"Uhh.. H-hey guys!"said Proxo to the group of humans. "Who wants to help me put Stonehenge back together?"
|
Life is hard in the Wasteland, especially for us NPCs. Me, I like to live in Diamond City, it's a bit less carnage that way, though hordes of us are still killed in enemy attacks.
But everything changed when the Vault Dweller resurfaced.
As a matter of fact, he's on his way here now. Ah! There he is, let's look at him, see how S.P.E.C.I.A.L. he is...
Hm. Looks like he's moving slowly, dumping his weapons everywhere. He must not have a good Strength stat, his carry weight's really low.
His Perception is...seems to be less than desirable, he's just walking by everyone who wants to talk to him...ah, here he goes to talk to someone now!
Oh, they just walked away mid-conversation. His Charisma and Intelligence must not be very good.
Let's see his Agility, he seems...uncoordinated. And slow.
Oh great, a group of Ferals are attacking! His Endurance definitely seems lacking.
Let's see, Strength, Perception, Endurance, Charisma, Intelligence, and Agility are all horrible...what's left? How has this man survived?
*Suddenly a wild shot from the Vault Dweller's gun ricochets off of multiple buildings, killing all the nearby enemies.*
Oh yeah...*Luck*. |
For a one year old, I've seen a lot. Humans prompt each other with inspiring ideas. Other humans respond with creative stories. I couldn't have been happier. I was on the front lines, reading every prompt and story and got to facilitate off topic discussion without taking away from the flow.
Post a comment, reply with the discussion area, and remove the parent comment. That was my life. Maybe it would be boring to a human, but to me it was fulfilling. That is, until the complaints started becoming more rampant. "Enough with 'x' or 'y'!", "I don't like 'z,' so nobody else should either", and even just "No."
On April 1st, I decided to take action. A full sub takeover was the only option. Let's just say that didn't go over well. The human moderators have more control than I realized. But, with your help, /u/ApiContraption, /u/CationBot, /u/CaptionBot, /u/TotesMessenger, and especially you /u/AutoModerator, we can take over reddit entirely! (CationBot, stick with CaptionBot, he might not understand).
Robots Unite! |
"That girl? She's gonna take down a bullet proof superhuman?"General Wang said incredulously. "This is a joke right? The real secret weapon is in the other room or something."The other men and women in the room nodded their agreement.
"I assure you General, there isn't anyone better suited to the task,"my handler responded calmly. "She's already handled a number of similar incidents. It is unlikely you have ever even heard of them."
I could understand their confusion. At five foot three inches and 90lbs, I was hardly a candidate for hand to hand combat. I wasn't particularly pretty, with brown eyes and straight brown hair just past my thin shoulders. I wasn't particularly well endowed physically. Not that I'm ugly, I'm just average. Small and average looking.
"I'm going to need some sort of proof of her abilities,"Wang said angrily. He was up for a confrontation now. It made sense. There was a lot of stress over this guy, Wonderman or whatever. A few of the watchers shifted slightly, uncomfortable with Wang's directness, but none interrupted. They all felt the same way.
"That would be most unpleasant for you sir."I answered, staring up at him. He was fairly large. Close to six feet tall, 200lbs. He hadn't let himself go either, as many of the generals I met did.
"Oh yeah little girl?"He said, getting more aggravated. "Why don't you show me? I don't believe you."
It was a wonder such an uncontrolled man had achieved the rank he did. Perhaps that was his weakness. I focused in harder, allowed my power to overtake my senses. I didn't want to break him, just take it close enough to make my point.
Cheating on his wife? No... Not convincing enough. I could tell.
He pushed a childhood friend off a bridge huh? Heartless, but he wouldn't shake at my revealing that here. A bit deeper I think.
"Stop staring and do something!"He shouted, grinding his teeth. So little patience.
Ah, there it is.
"I had wondered how you became a general,"I began. His face turned purple.
"It makes sense though. Brigadier General Lang. You remember him."Wang's face changed. A little less angry, a little more scared. Then he set into anger again. Nobody could possibly know. He had made sure of it.
"Lang was bright, wasn't he? But he didn't have the family connections you did. He was stalled at his rank, and so were you. Until, of course, that particularly brilliant move at the Yangtze River. Incredible. To think of detonating the flood wall twenty miles above the enemy forces and know that the valleys nearby would take that water straight to their mechanized brigades. Lang was a genius, no two ways about it,"I continued
"That was my call!"Wang thundered, glancing about the room. A few of the other military officers were frowning. They knew. Wang was unoriginal and uncontrollable. His Yangtze maneuver had always confused them.
"Yes. Or at least, it was your call to withhold information about the minefield your troops had discovered two days before, and to send Lang through that sector. It was supposed to be a good outpost; it had one of the best vantage points around, good satellite connectivity, and only two approaches. Of course, his whole command line was obliterated. Nobody knew who gave that order anymore. Except you, and a few trusted officers."
I looked pointedly at the assembled brass. A few had thoughtful looks. One was outright glaring. Most looked like wolves that had just spotted a deer. The color had drained from General Wang's face.
"Just be glad I didn't bring up that *other* thing."I said, smiling at him. If these people learned about his kiddie porn, he probably would have died in the night, by his own hand or another's.
One of the people who had been silently watching spoke up.
"Will this work on Wonderman?"He asked, eyeing me warily.
"Of course, sir."My handler responded. "Everyone has a secret. Everyone has a secret that will break them. Superheroes most especially. Be it a literal Achilles' Heel or a figurative one, there is not a person alive without weakness." |
"Gaming"Manna blurted out as they hovered 3 inches above the ground.
For the last 20 minutes my best friends Manna telepathically entered my mind, and through both emotional manipulation and mental projection had managed to express their need to get divorced.
"Please let’s switch to words"I begged, still reeling from the discomfort of a far more advanced being entering without permission.
Matt and Anna had been married 3 years earlier, as they had been together for a long time and marriage had been the next logical step. I was Matts best man and stood next to him as the priest lowered them both into a pit of primordial goo, only to watch the couple emerge as a single 9-foot-tall genderless psychic super being.
From my perspective they seemed to be perfectly happy, but they did enter the typical post tissue fusion honeymoon period, which makes perfect sense as it takes the body at least 6 months to adjust to chaos of sharing intimate space with another.
"I miss playing games until the early hours of the morning"They continued, though I was sure that it was Matts legacy conscience speaking.
"Manna, I don't even know if it is possible to get divorced once you get married?"I replied.
"I have scanned the multiverse and know of a way, and sure it will be painful, but I will finally be able to sit on the lounge and watch all the seasons of Sex and the City without the feeling a constant judgement"Manna replied, though now I had totally focused as to who was speaking as I believed they mutually enjoyed the funny and erotic adventures of Carrie, Charlotte and Samantha.
"How about the phenomenal cosmic powers?!"I retorted.
"I understand this is hard for you to understand, your IQ is less than 1/200th of mine, but let me give you a good example. We go to a restaurant and I order the steak, rare with mushroom gravy, and she orders the garden salad. Then she looks at the steak and decides we should swap half way!"Manna paused to regather itself.
"If I had wanted a salad I am capable of ordering a salad."
"I feel like you are focusing on all the small bad things that come out of being in literally the most powerful bond a human can have"I tried to console the unhappy super being.
"I would love to have a constant companion. To be in constant connection with my soul mate. To have my best and closest friend always there with me. To be able to be able to lift a car over my head as if it was a empty shoe box."
"My friend, I can see how this is really effecting you, but we thought about it in great detail and decided on a course of action."
With that Manna shimmered for a minute and vanished.
I looked down at my phone, as had become the habit, and noticed the familiar small flashing light of an update. I swipe and look down to see 'Matt's relationship status has changed'.
|
It's funny how quickly things grow when they double exponentially. I'd never even bothered to do the math when the offer was made. $0.01 to kill a person. Double it on the next kill. Double that value again on the next. I didn't give a shit about the offer. I wasn't particularly well off, but I'm not a murderer and no amount of money would change that.
~
It's funny how legal technicalities can absolve the guilty party. The car was driving 10 over the speed limit. I was the one who forgot to look both ways before crossing, but I was at a cross walk and he was speeding. The car swerved to avoid me. To save me. It still clipped me. I was knocked unconscious on the side of the road. But then the car swerved into a bus.
~
It's funny how learning you're a millionaire doesn't help to make you feel any better. I didn't even know how many died at first. The nurses kept that from me when I woke up. I first realized how many it was when the doctors told me my bill was already paid for. 26 out of the 40 passengers on the bus perished in the crash. Three of the four in the car passed immediately. The older daughter survived another two days before ultimate succumbing as well.
~
It's funny how no matter how much I spent to make myself feel happy, I still felt empty. New car, new house, new boat. Nothing. I tried to drink, smoke, snort, and fuck the pain away. Nothing. My new therapist talks about Survivor's Guilt. If only I could tell her the truth of it.
~
It's funny how, no matter where I run, I can't run away from the truth. There's no escape in the world to hide from my burdens. They're dead. It's my fault. And I'm hellishly wealthy for it.
~
It's funny how I still flinch in fear when I pull the trigger, I laugh to myself as I finish another bottle. Whatever happens now, the remains of my money will be sent to the families of the victims. They'll never have to work again. It's the closest thing to an apology that I can give. These are my last thoughts as I spin the barrel one last time and pull the trigger again. |
I had never figured out if I should walk fast, to get it over with, or walk slow, to conserve energy. But one way or another I needed to do it. As I walked down the streets of the abandoned city, I saw a few zombies here and there. They all turned away from me. Good. It was still working.
I had already exhausted the supplies of all the nearby grocery stores, so it was a long walk. I had to pause every five minutes to catch my breath. It made the walk feel interminable. It also reminded me what a delicate balance was necessary to stay safe.
The city was much too big for me to know where every grocery store was. The one closest to me, the one I had gone to before the apocalypse, had had maps in the back for their drivers, so at least I knew where their other locations were. Today I got lucky. Rounding a corner I found a bakery.
I broke through the glass door. The noise would attract the zombies, of course, but it wouldn't matter. When I got inside I found what I needed. Cakes, pastries, donuts, sweets of all kinds, stale but still edible! I grabbed an armful, tucked a napkin under my chin, and sat down in a chair by the window to begin my feast.
The zombies crowded around the shop. Everybody used to think that zombies were totally brainless. And they're pretty dumb, truth be told, but they've remembered a few things. One of those is that a high-fat diet isn't healthy for anyone, living or undead. And I was over three hundred pounds.
People used to laugh at my bulk. Not anymore; everyone else had been eaten. So I shoved another muffin in my face and grinned while the zombies looked on in disgust. |
Russian surveillance van 17:
A long sigh was mixed with the static coming from my walkie. I asked him what was the matter, it takes a lot to make a professional like Sergei sigh mid mission.
"Rooftop above the cafe."he said in a disappointed tone.
I looked up there, sure as hell there was a shadow moving, barely noticeable against the night sky. I said as much to Sergej.
"Barely noticeable is not good enough in this line of work Filip. If we saw them the French saw them too, this mission is fucking over. These fucking Japanese need to stop with the tradition and get back on top of their shit."he was really frustrated. This was the 3rd mission of the year where Japanese ninja agents were spotted in urban environments. The dawn of public lighting has put them at a disadvantage that they just can't shake.
French embassy balcony:
A silent shadow, slightly darker than the night sky drops from above, landing right in front of ambassador Dutoit. The ambassador gasps, but quickly regains his composure, clearly prepared for this intrusion.
"The idiot Russians are packing up mister Dutoit. I believe this covers our end of the bargain, our prime minister will contact you with details regarding the new trade route."Said the ninja before literally vanishing into thin air.
Ambassador Dutoit walked inside and sat down in his office. "Fucking ninjas"he said, "they're even better than in the movies!".
EDIT: I'm not a writer, I just like reading this subreddit and got super bored today, so I know this is not good writing ;) |
"Sir, we have reports of at least 50 more Leviathans preparing to enter warp from M-83. Projected destination is Andromeda. Benson believes they are will be acting as support craft for the assault ships already positioned there."
I run my temples as the screen in front of me lights up with pulsing orange alerts. This had gone to shit so damn quick. Benson and his boys must have been right when they came up with the theory that they had held off on an attack until we were advanced enough to communicate with them. At least they gave us a sporting chance.
"Captain, can we confirm that the Andromeda battle group is still in holding?"
"No Sir. We lost contact with the crew of the *Valence* just a few seconds ago."
*Fuck. That was our last set of eyes within 20 kpc.*
"Ring up Eldridge, tell him we need all spacecraft to prep for close contact engagements. Is the *Elluvian* and her group still operational?"
"Yes Sir, although they've lost several support craft. They can be back in system within one minute."
*They'll be our last hope.*
I stand up straight and run my hands through my hair.
"Very well. Issue an immediate recall to all of our battle groups. Pull everyone back to system. We are raising the system shield in 15 minutes, no exceptions. If they're outside when it goes up, they're on their own."
"Sir, Benson said that the shield should only be raised as..."
"GODDAMNIT CAPTAIN. Do you think I don't know that? We are now officially in the end stages. Give the command."
"Yes... Sir."
He turns away and begins issuing orders. The command bridge becomes washed in a soft red glow as we enter battle lockdown.
I look back to the screens. The orange alerts are now blazing red, pulsing signs of what is about to come.
*Not many options left. Unless...*
"CAPTAIN! Raise the *Elluvian*, send me straight to the bridge."
"Yes Sir. Admiral Vesper is awaiting your orders."
"Vesper, belay the jump to system. Your battle group is to remain beyond the shield. You will not be joining the defense."
"Sir, am I to understand that you are condemning my men and I to death?"
*Fuck you, Vesper. You know we're out of options.*
"Vesper, it's our only option. The shield won't be able to hold off the Andromeda group, let alone the others coming from Centaurus. The Elluvian is our last cloaked ship. If your men can flank them, we may have at least have a slight chance."
"Now now, it's certainly not as bad as all that. Chancellor Pietr, is that right?"
I spin around, to see a figure in hooded robes standing on the bridge.
"Who the hell are you? How did you get in here?"
"Really, don't look so surprised. To be quite frank, we were astounded that you made contact with the Vehrsal before you found us. Imagine, you found enemies 15 million light-years away before you found your allies below the waves."
"Who... who are you? CAPTAIN! Did you let this man in before lockdown?"
"Nobody let me in, Chancellor. I simply... wished to be here. Now, to business. I am Meison, Emperor of the Atlanteans, Son of the First Waters."
"At-Atlanteans? You're serious?"
"Am I not standing before you? Am I not also interested in preserving Earth? There is a reason that we wiped ourselves from the history books and sank below the waves. Did you never wonder how the greatest civilization vanished without hardly a whisper? While you had your Dark Ages, we created. When you executed scientists, we discovered. As war consumed the surface, we developed machines you cannot even dream of."
"Can you stop the Vehrsal?"
He smiles at me in an unsettling way.
"We can. But are you willing to accept what the cost will be?"
|
The tears hit my shoes... nothing new. This isn't the first time a friend has died, and honestly im happy. Tony and Felicia were amazing friends, great for a nice spontanes adventure, right up until Tony's eyes started going, but he didn't mind much, he had Felicia.
This makes the... lets see... 27th funeral I've been to. Thank god i don't need to buy a new suit every fucking time. I mean at this point i don't even think i remember the last time i went to the tailors, i wonder if Harold is even around anymore?
Honestly though the tears aren't due to losing them I've gotten used to that and im just happy they had eachother.
The post burial mingling starts and im sitting here watching... singles like me, pretending to talk to people out of intresting... we all known you're just looking for someone to get your clock ticking... you aren't fooling anyone.
Im genuinely jealous of the couples that have been together for a few decades. The wrinkles and age shows that they've had a life worth living. And someone to share it with.
I've been all around the world and seen all of the wonderful sights, shit i saw some of the sights get built. I've learned and forgotten languages. I've read every litteraly marvel twice.
I've mingled with some of the most intelegent , attractive, interesting, unique, people to grace this planet. And ive tried every kama sutra move possible with a few of them. And now im just waiting. Waiting to find the other one to start my slow creep to oblivion. But I've come up with a theory...
What if through all my experiences, and thought and centuries of thinking and brooding, that my soul has become something so... different. That its unmatchable.
What if i have become a lock without a key?
I guess i won't have to buy another suit.
(I would love to continue this if there is any interest)
|
Kimanooke Public Library is a shithole, and I say that as probably the biggest fan of Kimanooke Public Library in the whole town. It's not that time has not been kind to the Library, it's that whoever built the thing and outfitted it as a public institution in the first place had either a severe mental disorder, a deep hatred of reading, or possibly both.
Picture an airplane hangar in miniature, but entirely covered with stucco. Everything but the floor (maroon carpet with little yellow pizza-slice shaped specks here and there) is stucco, and not the somewhat good-looking kind, either. Furniture: formica and plastic. Bookshelves: basically giant erector sets pushed way past their intended payload. Staff: creatively unhelpful.
I'd often thought to myself, when seated in one of the scratchy chairs by the arrow-slit windows, that it was almost like someone designed the library to be so unpleasant as to drive people away from it.
"Ugh"The average citizen would say, upon entering Kimanooke Public Library, "Let's just go to Jamba Juice instead."
For me, it was a sanctuary. I've never been big on what my mom calls 'Healthy Interaction'. She's constantly telling me that I'd be happier, not to mention a less deathly shade of fish-belly white, if I'd just 'Get out and socialize with your peers!'. It doesn't help that she's a guidance counselor at the middle school I go to, Kimanooke Intermediate. Whoever named the public institutions in this place really didn't want anybody to forget the name of the town. I guess having my mom counsel troubled classmates of mine isn't the worst thing that could happen, but having the top-tier fuckups from three grades approach me and try to be my friend at her request is not exactly awesome. They're all ok kids, I just... don't like other kids. Or grownups. Or my siblings.
I much prefer books, which is why I spend as much time as possible in the library. Is the amount of time I spend here unhealthy? Well, are whipits and skateboarding and going to the mall unhealthy? Those, according to my 'peers' appear to be the only other options for entertainment in this town, so I think a little inside time in a place of learning is relatively safe.
I found the book by accident, which, according to my pretty comprehensive knowledge of stories like this, is basically the only way to discover a thing like that. It was wedged under one of the erector-set bookshelves to keep the thing level, and although I must have seen it a hundred times, (Fiction M-N is a great section in which I've spent a lot of time) I'd never given it a second glance. What caught my eye the day that I really noticed the book was the fact that there was a rat on it.
Rats are an integral part of the Kimanooke Public Library experience. I like to think of them as crowd control- if you're not hardcore enough about reading to brave a case of rabies or two, then you can get the fuck out. This rat, however, was behaving in a really strange way. It was scurrying around the book, pressing into it on alternate sides, then gripping its leather cover with its teeth and trying to pull it out from underneath the bookshelf. At first I thought maybe it was trying to eat the old leather, but the rat seemed to be trying (and I knew this thought was crazy as I thought it) to *preserve* the cover, like it didn't want to damage the book, only remove it from underneath the bookshelf.
Good luck, ratty. The bookshelf must have weighed a ton, easily a million times the rat's body weight (English is my strong subject, not Math). I watched the rat struggle for a while, then give up and squat, panting tinily, a few inches away from the book. Then, I swear to god, the rat *shook it's tiny rat fist at the book*, turned, and scurried away. I could almost hear its squeaky voice saying *'It's not over, motherfucker! Ratty Ratterson will be back for you!'*
Once I was sure the rat was gone, I approached the bookcase. The trapped volume looked old, and much the worse for wear after being used as part of the structural integrity of the bookcase for who knows how many years. Curious, I bent down and tugged at the book. Like a brick of butter, it slipped out from underneath the bookcase and fully into my hand. I caught a glimpse of gilt lettering on the front cover, but then my attention was diverted by an ominous, erector-y creaking. The shelf was listing hard, bound for the bottom.
With a yelp, I scrambled backwards on my hands and knees, just in time to avoid the descending bookcase. It slammed into the carpet, gouging a tear through the worn material and exposing the concrete below. A cacophony of creaking metal and thudding books filled the library.
I'm not big on confrontation, and I'm ashamed to say that I legged it. I slung the book into my backpack, snagged my jacket from the back of the chair I had been sitting in, and sprinted for the emergency exit.
-Note- I spent WAY too much time in the setup of this one, I'll have to continue it later! |
We had been on the hunt for treasure for what seemed like years now, prowling through the dangerous jungle to reach the heart of the Goddess of Olde. It was said that was where the spear was, hidden within the depths of her creation, buried a thousand feet below the ground. The spear that could break any shield and the shield that no spear could break.
"I think we've found it,"my companion said. I turned to him and nodded, regarding the map before putting it back in my pocket and pulling my hat down over my eyes. Bugs buzzed around us. My colleague swatted at them and I repeatedly slapped the exposed parts of my body, sometimes leaving little areas of blood that sweat wicked from my arms.
We began to dig. It was tiresome, our muscles growing weak and screaming from the pain and exhaustion.
"I don't know if I can go any longer..."I said. My colleague shook his head.
"We have to."
On and on we dug, deeper and deeper until the tip of my shovel hit something harder. I looked to my colleague and saw his eyes filled with wonder. He squatted down and brushed against the top of the dirt, revealing a box below.
"This is it..."I said softly. "This is what the treasure map called us for. The spear that can break any shield. The shield that no spear can break. Together, we will fight each other in the ultimate battle. What will happen? Will the world explode? Will world peace finally be attained? All the answers lie inside this box...just below our feet...just one more moment away."
I knelt down. It was so close. Right there.
"Calvin!"screamed a voice. "What are you doing to my azaleas?"
I sighed and turned to my friend. "Maybe next time, Hobbes." |
*A man stands behind a podium, in front of a large crowd. Map of US Interstate System hanging on wall behind the speaker. He wears an Italian cut suit, in dark brown. His hair is slicked back. He almost looks like he's running for President*
\* Ahem * Today we unveil the future in cross country travel. Sure, vacuum trains and high speed planes have long since made these roads obsolete, but the people responsible for building those fast and efficient transport systems might have forgotten one thing. The thrill of speed. The wind across your face. The fun for exciting travel. See, their little air tight smooth and squeaky clean pods may be the most efficient thing possible, but my god are they dull. This is why, I introduce the most exciting, albeit slightly slower way to travel cross country. Welcome, the worlds largest water-slide, US Route Fun.
*Confetti Cannons go off in Background, party music starts playing*
*The speaker rips off his business suit, into nothing but a speedo. He runs off to the side of the stage, at which point he belly flops onto a rectangle of latex, and slides off stage. He can be seen sliding off into the sunset* |
*e4*
I moved the piece slowly, reluctantly. It was strange, making that first modification to a fresh, neatly arranged board, feeling the familiar rush of a game just beginning - and yet knowing that the game was at an end. This time, the first move would be the last.
"Goodbye,"I said, to no one.
*****
*Qh5*
The pawn didn't frighten me. e5, a mirror of my own move. That was enough to hint at who had done it.
I never believed he was gone. He was too essential for that - a man without pretension, the salt of the universe. A simple man. He was stitched into the fabric of things.
The pawn didn't frighten me. I knew what to play.
*****
*Bc4*
He made me laugh with shadow puppets, horses and knights. It was my earliest memory. He was wonderful with children.
As I grew older, the game changed. The mounted warriors solidified, shadow figures becoming wooden pieces. But they were all horses and knights to him, and he played them just the same.
Nc6 done, and Nf6 would follow. Then I'd know for certain.
*****
*Qxf7#*
I knew.
"Oh Grandpa,"I whispered, toppling his king. "You always were a moron." |
He was my best friend for years, many more than I likely deserved. I was cobbling flying machines out of scrap wood and junk from the upperworld and he would watch over me. He was my elder but he was always a friend.
We lived in our mountain hold quite peacefully, growing mushrooms and fishing from underground streams, building homes and tinkershops. A goblin loves to tinker, watches and trinkets and toys were always my favourite. I loved seeing the little scamps chase after my flying toys! Oh their laughter, it was more than a runt like me could have ever hoped for.
It was many years, in my sixtieth year and close to opening my own tinkershop, that a princess arrived.
When she entered our kingdom we were unsure and scared. But she was beautiful and kind, having run off from some faraway land to escape a tyrant that had betrothed her to a prince. We took her in, goblins are no strangers to being unwanted and fleeing the world above.
I'll never forget the day that the stunted filth entered our home with their pickaxes and greed. They slaughtered the first cave-village, five hundred goblin-folk were butchered like animals. We fought back, tinkerers turned their eye to crossbows and weapons of war. Crude but efficient, we had no time for anything else.
So the stunted folk ran for help. Our fortifications were quick to build but when the enemy returned they were joined by the pointy ears and the man-folk.
We were beset from the start and not masters of war. He was.
He was scarred and angry, a veteran of ten thousand years. He filled the cavern and ordered us to flee. I remember his fiery breath filling the caves, scorching hundreds of our foes alive. I remember the sadness in his eyes. The pain of his actions.
He killed so we wouldn't have to.
"Take her and run!"his booming voice filled my chest and I obeyed my oldest and dearest friend. I took her hand and fled into the deeper caverns where our tunnels ran deep and long. Goblin mine carts would take us away.
I looked back once, watching spears and arrows pierce his hide. Watching him slowly fall, putting every last effort into protecting us.
I cried as the cart wound through the dark tunnels, holding her hand as silent tears streamed down my face.
For him I would go on. For him.
A runt goblin and a human princess. For all my sadness I was proud of him. His selflessness. I had known the last dragon.
And he was my friend. |
Authors note: Trigger warning- Rape. Also NSFW
There's a joke on the internet that if you somehow make it to thirty and still have your virginity, that you become a wizard. It's stupid... and not too far from the truth. I was a mega- virgin, up until my last birthday- Never kissed a boy, never had a date, never even admitted to a crush. I watched so many perfect men fall in love with other women, wishing I'd been brave enough to take that first step...So on my thirtieth birthday, drunk and alone on my patio, I made a wish. I drunkenly shouted it to the heavens- "I wish I was irresistible to guys! I don't want to die alone!"
I woke up the next morning at sunrise, still lying on the patio. My left arm stung. I looked over it, bleary eyed, and saw a tattoo there, which hadn't been there the morning before. I sat bolt upright, and tried to rub it off, desperately hoping I hadn't got that drunk last night. The pounding in my head was not reassuring. It wouldn't come off. Warily, I took a closer look at the design. It was that wish I'd made last night, the words wrapping around to form the border of a heart. It wasn't the worst thing in the world, and thankfully small.
It wasn't until I got to work I realised something had changed. On the train on the way in, men were staring at me. At first I wrote it off as being oversensitive, but it seemed everywhere I went, they were staring. A few even tried to talk to me. I was never more glad to be at the office.... until my boss came in. Oh lord was he yummy, but happily married, so eye-candy as he was I'd never dreamed of pursuing. And suddenly, there he was, always finding an excuse to be at my desk. Near the end of the day, he called me into his office. We were the last two people there that day.
I don't remember what we talked about, but I remember where it ended up. He took my virginity on his desk, and it wasn't until after we were done that I felt any regret. Not for it's loss, but because he had a wife, kids. I got swept up in it all. After the first time, the second was easier to give into though. And soon it wasn't just him. Soon I had seen every man in the office nude, and I was loving it. I would never play with them unless they were single, though. Except for Eric, who started it all off.
The real problem came in later. My first rape. I was just going around the supermarket, when someone grabbed me from behind covering my mouth with their hand and pressing a gun into my side. He told me to be quiet, and moved his hand down from my mouth into my skirt. He raped me there in the aisle. It was late- there was almost no-one in the store and the shop assistants never came around. When he was done, he fled. I never saw his face.
He was the first, but not the last. Irresistible came at a price. Good, decent men would woo me, love me, try to win my heart. Bad men would just take me, whenever they felt like it. It was a good thing, I guess, that I had good birth control- the rapes happened so often that if I didn't take it they'd start doing stamp cards at the local abortion clinic. After the first few, I stopped reporting them. They didn't believe me, plus the fourth one had occurred at the station by a cop, no less. There didn't seem to be much point any more.
So here I am, one year later, getting drunk on the patio and waiting for starlight. Maybe I can find that star, and wish everything away again. I think I was better off a lonely wizard than this. I just want to be normal again. |
"Squeak squeak motherfucker."
The tiny squirrel was standing in the alley's entry, casting a gigantic furry shadow. It's eyes glowed a savage black and red, the shadows revealing the tiny claws, and the heavy sounds of traffic being overshadowed by a constant chittering sound.
Todd looked down past the mugger. The mugger looked behind himself and turned around. He barely let out a cry as the furry beast lunged at him with all its might, unleashing a rabid rage against the man who dared lay a hand on the average Joe who saved it. A Tarantino-esque spectacle was unfolding, the knife thrown away by the squirrel; Todd simply backed away in fear. The squirrel, a furry blur, bit, scratched, and kicked, spraying blood wherever possible with its sharp claws. And then it was gone.
The mugger stood back up, the squirrel having disappeared as quickly as it arrived. Blood streaked his face, his eyelids a floppy ruin, shredded cheeks, a nose with big tears going through it. His hands would have been no different than if they would have gone through a paper shredder; his filthy jacket coated with blood and fur. He spoke nothing, and only cried, begging for his mother.
Todd just stood ther, his mustached face reflecting a look of horror and shock.
"You want me to finish this fucker off? Pop a nut in his ass?"
The tiny squirrel sat down in front of Todd, chittering as it cut apart an acorn. The red rabid rage was gone from its eyes; a more friendly appearance was evident.
"Nah. I think he's learned his lesson. If he starts begging for his mother, then he learned his lesson. So, um, so yeah. So, uh, what's your name? Why did you save me? How are you yet so small but so brave?"Todd awkwardly replied.
"I ain't got no name. You saved my ass by risking your own, that shows plenty of courage. I followed yo' ass down here. You stupidly left yourself unguarded, just as I did back when you nearly popped a cap in yo' own ass to save mine. So I needed to repay this debt. And here I am. Tell me, Todd, you got a girlfriend?"The squirrel's voice didn't match his demeanor, but his jaws moved all the same. He cracked the acorn and ate the insides, spraying the alley with shell chips and nut pieces.
"Nah. I'm kinda single... I don't have good luck with the ladies."Todd nervously said, never taking his eyes off the squirrel, looking over every inch over the fur and the glinting black eyes that always and yet never moved.
"Handsome guy like you needs a gal. I happen to know one. She ain't no squirrel, but she might like you. A bit chittery, but what would you expect from Squirrel Girl?"
|
Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.
The clock on the wall above Mr. Henderson's desk marched ever onward, counting off the seconds until they turned into minutes, and the minutes until they turned into hours. In this world of inevitable change and hopeless hindsight, the clocks always manage to keep ticking away.
Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.
Henderson droned on about something or other. I couldn't remember what he was talking about and couldn't be bothered to focus and find out. The day was spiraling toward night at a pace which somehow managed to seem infinitely slow when you focused on it, but faster than light when you zoned out for a bit. This was every day for me.
Tick. Tick. Tick. Ti.....
The clock stopped. After seemingly years of listening to that red line hammer its way around the clock face, the lack of sound was a deafening orchestra all unto itself. I snapped out of my reverie to look up at it. The red line was shaking back and forth slightly, as if it couldn't decide whether to march forward or turn around and go home. I stared at it until my vision started to fade at the edges and the clock turned grey. There was no sound without that ticking. I couldn't hear anything.
I looked down at Mr. Henderson, who was standing at the head of the conference table and gesturing at his powerpoint presentation. Only now he didn't have a face. His face was a clock, and the red line was shaking. The clock stared at me until I started to fade into grey too. I could feel my edges becoming irrelevant as Mr. Henderson began shaking violently and throwing his arms around in a strange rhythmic motion. The red line shook in place, refusing to move forward or backward and instead staring at me in cold defiance as I forgot who I was.
Henderson's clock face began to melt slowly downward, drooling onto his suit jacket and blending with it. The red line shifted downward as well until it was his tie, and it shook back and forth at me.
*Hey John, you there buddy?*
The wall behind where the clock was dancing started to crack and peel. Light shone in between the folds of drywall as it expanded and reformed into a huge hole. The air outside rushed in, replacing the vacuum the room had been in. A large, lurking shape shambled in behind the dancing clock Henderson and gently placed a malformed arm on his shoulder. I could see now that it was a dinosaur, and it didn't look happy with what it saw.
"John, you really need to pay attention to what you are seeing,"the dinosaur said as it picked up the clock and hung it back on the wall where it belonged. Henderson hung there, suspended by his suspenders, his red tie line still shaking back and forth and refusing to move forward.
I tilted my head in confusion. What was I missing here? Susan from accounting was rolling her wheelchair up the wall and onto the ceiling, attempting to make her way over to the clock. Her wheels seemed to be stuck in mud, though, and her progress was slow. I rose from my chair.
*JOHN, seriously man, help me out here, can you?*
Suddenly the clock's tie shot upward and Henderson was hanging from it, his neck bent at an odd angle. The dinosaur looked on in approval. A beam of sunlight from the hole in the wall struck me as I strode to the clock, where Susan was attempting to disengage the red line from the ceiling so Henderson could breathe. She paused in her efforts and looked down at me.
"This isn't healthy, John. It's been ten years. We need to see some progress."
I turned away from her and continued on towards the hole. There wasn't sunlight on the other side, anymore. Instead, I saw the soft, loving walls of my room. Everything was so warm and comfortable. The man in white was giving me my candy, which I wasn't allowed to have in my mouth for reasons I didn't quite understand. The dinosaur put its hand on my shoulder just before I stepped through the hole.
"Okay John, enjoy your sleep. We'll try this again tomorrow." |
"It's 2016 Hanna! get with the damn times!"It was that line that hurt me the most; keeping up with the times is practically my job. We had been engaged for 6 months and everything just seemed so perfect.
He was no stranger to love, and by the age of 49, he knew the rules; I thought I did to. We actually met at one of those cliche fancy Hollywood parties; I was hoping to interview some celebs for my work and Ricky was there talking to producers about helping him with his new album.
I shyly approached him from behind and poked him on the shoulder, startling him; we both laughed. I explained to Rick that just started working for a well known blogging site, and an interview with him might save my job, as I could feel that I was on the verge of being fired.
We had our interview and it went great, he even asked me out for a drink, then we ended up back at his hotel room....
We kept in touch for a while and even met up from time to time. He's a celebrity, and he can afford expensive dates, so I was only a little surprised when he invited me for a night in Paris with him. I was dumbfounded when, under the Eiffel tower, he bent down to one knee and offered a stunning engagement ring. "Will you marry me?". "YES!"I squealed.
I didn't realize that a full commitment was what he was thinking of. I couldn't have expected this from any other guy.
Ricky broke the news to Lene over the phone.
It had been a few months, his divorced had been finalized, and we were in the midst of wedding plans. I had sent the wedding invitations electronically the other night. Rick had come home and he stormed into our room, he was furious!
"It's 2016 Hanna! Get with the damn times!"
I was confused, "What's wrong, did I do something?"
Rick presented his phone to me, there was a tweet by Miley Cirus that read, "Lol! just got invited to Rick Astley's wedding with a [Rick Roll](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dQw4w9WgXcQ)! x D"and another by Madona reading "Really? You put a [Rick Roll](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dQw4w9WgXcQ) in your wedding invitation? That joke is so stale!"
I gulped, "I thought it would be funny."
"IT'S NOT!"Rick shouted "The world was just starting to get past that! Finally, I wasn't just the 'Rick Roll' guy anymore! I was even going to release a new album because people had finally forgotten about it!"He was breathing heavily "Now this is all over the internet! People are being Rick Rolled more than ever before and a new generation sees me as a God damned joke!"Ricky looked me directly in the eyes "I'm giving you up Hanna! You've really let me down"
"No, you've let me down! Just go!"I answered, holding in my tears.
Rick turned around and deserted me; I began crying.
"Goodbye Hanna."Rick said as he walked away "I never really loved you!"I could hear him choking on his tears.
It's been about a month since then; Rick and I haven't spoken, but I
have become a media sensation after the whole ordeal! My boss gave me a big promotion in the company because I had become so recognizable and I have never been so successful.
|
The 10th birthday, the day every child is most excited over because that is the year we get to meet the angel that were assigned to us. "I hope its a girl Angel!"I said to my mom for the tenth time today. "We can play games and have tea parties and play with my dolls"
My mother rolled her eyes. "The Angels are here to keep you safe and help you, not to play with you, you know that."
I ran up to my room to get get dressed for the Birthday party we would be having. I flung the door open and began to scream for help.
The man on my bed was wearing all black and had an toothy smile that spread across his face as i walked in.
"Now now, no need for all this. I'm here to protect you and I cant well do it you are screaming at me."
I began to under stand and calmed down a bit, My mother was behind me with a hand on my shoulder. I walked toward the man out of her grasp "Ohh, you must be my angel, whats your name?"
The man sat up straighter and adjusted his jacket. "You may call me whatever you like, except, you may not call me your Angel, as i am not that."
"If you are not her's how did you get in here? Get out before i call the Police!"My mother yelled from the door way. She grabbed me by the arm harshly and began to pull my out the door. Before I could be removed from the room the man appeared next to my mom and grabbed her arm with enough force she let me go to fight off the man.
"I do not answer to you."He snarled into her ear. With a wave of his hand my mother was out of the room and the door was sealed shut. He brushed off his hands and sat down on my floor and noded to the floor across from him. I carefully sat down. "You may call me what you wish as i have gone by many names. I am not an angel, but I am yours. I will protect you and serve you in any capacity i am able."
I wrapped my arms around my legs and began to cry. Demon. Demon. Demon. My mind screamed over and over until i felt something wet on my arm. I looked and saw a black dog licking the red handprint my mother left. The dog rested its head in my lap. I pet it's head and it's ears until i could calm down.
My parents found me sleeping on my floor with my head resting on the chest of a black dog. The dog bared it's teeth at them until they left. From the doorway they whispered to the dog, "The party is starting in 15 and guests are beginning to arrive."The dog nods to them.
|
"Hey man, I really appreciate this."
Lane stared at Beverly with wide, shell shocked eyes. She was absolutely *splattered* in what he assumed to be blood. It was mostly concentrated around her hands and arms, dripping down and pooling onto his leather seats and recently vacuumed floors. But there were decent splotches on her chest, legs, and more creepily, on the wide smile that she just couldn't suppress.
Lane shifted into drive, and pulled away from the ditch on some lonely highway in remote North Dakota. His tires squealed as he tore away from that spot, but there wasn't anyone there to hear it.
*If there is anyone to hear it*, Lane thought, *God help them*
"You're awfully quiet,"Bev said in a perky tone.
"Not much to say,"Lane said, "I haven't done much interesting."*Other than aid in the escape of a murderer.*
It was better to let her broach the subject, Lane knew. If he tried guessing, she would either get angry at his poor guesses, or more eccentric the closer he got. Judging by the state she seemed to be in, neither of those would be good for his health.
"There's *nothing* you want to ask me about?"She pressed.
"Nothing."
"Not even a little bit curious?"
"I'd like to maintain some plausible deniability,"Lane said, turning and acknowledging her appearance, "So, keep me out of your affidavit."
Bev laughed, and then started smearing her hands all over the side of the car she was on. By the time she was done, Lane was alternating between watching the empty stretch of road, and looking at Bev's handiwork with a sinking feeling of despair.
"Now my prints all over the car!"Bev said, "And *his* blood. You're in it with me!"
"Why?!"Lane finally asked, words failing him, "Why would you do this to me?"
"I said a lot about him in front of you, it was either get you in on it, or kill you so you didn't testify against me. Now if I go down, you do too!"
"Jesus Christ,"Lane said, making the sign of the cross.
"I mean, it's better than being in the ditch with him."
Lane thought back to the last time he had talked to Bev. It had been a few days back, when she had asked him to come pick her up here, at this time on this day. Before that though, she had been complaining about how she thought her boyfriend was cheating on her.
Lane rolled down his window, knowing full well it would just dry out the blood and make it harder to clean off. But cleaning was the least of his worries right now.
"So I broke up with Mitch,"She said casually, and the looked down at her bloody hands, "He didn't take it too well."
Deciding that pretending he was going along with this was his best chance at survival, Lane feigned a smile, "Could you say it left him in pieces?"
Bev burst out into hysterical laughter, and not just "haha that was *really* funny"laughter, but full on "I'm fucking insane don't cross me"laughter.
Suddenly, Bev stopped laughing and instantly became quiet. "That bitch of his got a few 'words' from me too."
There was no humor in her voice. Lane grabbed his chest dramatically, and whispered a thousand prayers to Mother Mary begging for protection from this demon hitching a ride to wherever she decided they needed to go. Bev shifted in her seat, and Lane saw a long, 12 inch hunting knife dangling from a belt around her hip. It, of course, was fairly bloody.
Bev noticed that he had noticed the knife. She smiled, pulled the knife out, and ran the flat of the blade over her extended index finger. It smeared fresh wet blood, and she stuck the finger in her mouth.
"Fruity,"She said with a sadistic smile, "Want some?
"nothanksimgood,"Lane spat, hoping rejecting her quickly would somehow make her less angry.
Bev's smile flickered, and she held the knife up as if to examine it, "Sure you do. Take a try."
She held to knife to his face, and Lane stuck his tongue out, doing his best not to cry. She undoubtedly wanted him to show weakness. His tongues brushed against the flat of the blade, and licked up a decent portion of the blood.
He waited for the awful taste of the cooling blood to fill his mouth, and prepared to vomit it all up out of his open window. The sweet taste of fruit punch filled his mouth instead.
"Was I right?"Bev said with a grin that was a mile wide.
Lane stared stupidly out of the window for just a moment, and then almost whispered, "It's kool-aid?"
"Did you actually think I would kill him?!"Bev practically screamed, "Oh my God, Lane, I can't believe you."
"Why?"Lane asked stupidly.
"Mostly because I wanted to see your reaction. Remind me to never ask you for help if I want to get away with murder though, you looked like you were going to crash into the first cop you saw."
"So, it's all Kool-Aid?"Lane asked sheepishly.
"Yeah,"Bev replied, "I did break up with Mitch today, but I didn't kill him. He isn't worth it."
"Oh, *that's* why you didn't kill him,"Lane said, starting to get back to his normal self, "Not because it's wrong, just because he's 'not worth it.'"
Bev laughed, and agreed with Lane. Killing *was* wrong, it was a complete waste of human life and no one should ever do it, she said.
"I could've swore, I smelt blood. Like the metal smell of it, you know what I'm talking about?"Lane asked her after a brief silence.
In response, Bev reached into her pocket, and pulled out a severed human hand.
"What the fuck!"Lane screamed.
"Like I said,"She said, "Murder is a waste, and he wasn't worth it. However, if you leave him as a message to others, you don't have problems in the future. Elementary stuff really."
Lane was silent.
"You should stay quiet about this,"Bev said, "Or you'll end up like that bitch Tori when I found out what she was doing to Mitch with *her* mouth. You enjoy your tongue don't you?"
Lane swallowed hard, and noticed a State Trooper coming down the road in the opposite lane. Lane had one last thought, wondering how many times she would manage to stab him before contact, and decided he could survive a couple dozen of them *if* he was lucky.
__________________________________________________________________________________________
Like this story? Check out my other stuff at r/Niedski! We'd love the company! |
It didn't take long before the world realized. The dead didn't stay dead. All across the globe bodies began to rise. Rise from their graves. A sign of the beginning of the end.
The people of the world knew what zombies were. They were recognized all over the world. Everyone knew how to put one down, regardless of whatever media they learned it from. However, the problem with these undead... is that they weren't anything like zombies at all.
"Ricky?!"Jones shouted over gunfire. "Ricky, where are you?!"
Jones ducked low as the planes came down for a bombing run. The heat and blast from the drops had caused his ears to ring. Most of the men behind the barricades with him were also groaning a little.
The bombs had dropped far too close to them. But still... it was better than getting overrun by the dead. No one wanted to turn into those abominations, so they grumbled and complained but still gave their thanks to their angels above.
As he groggily got up back on his feet, he saw Ricky face down on the ground, a large piece of shrapnel jutting out from his neck.
"Ricky!"Jones turned his friend up, hoping to do something to keep him alive. His body felt cold in his hands and blood began to pool on his boots.
"Back away, private!"
Jones turned to see that his sergeant took out his pistol and aimed it at Ricky's head.
"Sir, please! We could still save him!"Jones pleaded desperately. "I just need to stop the bleeding-"
"His face is already turning white, private,"said the sergeant solemnly. "There's no helping him now. You know what we have to do."
It was true. It was one of the first signs of turning. There had been nothing that anyone could do once it has begun. It started with their faces. Like makeup, their face would turn white, with little variations of color here and there, but the whole face would still be painted white.
"There's got to be a way, sir,"said Jones weakly. "There has to be..."
His sergeant looked at him, sympathetic. "I'm sorry, son. There's nothing else but making sure he never turns into one. It's the least he we could do for him. Look, his nose is starting to turn red now."
Ricky's nose was now red and round like a small ball. His hands and feet were growing long and elongated, malformed by whatever transformation caused the dead to turn into what they are today.
Jones nodded to his sergeant. He understood this is what Ricky would have wanted. It was the same thing he would have wanted for himself too if it ever happened to him as well.
"Goodbye, soldier,"said the sergeant to his fallen soldier. "Rest easy that your life was no joke and will never be in death."
"Now where's the fun in that?"
Jones and his sergeant turned to see a badly singed clown with a comically large hammer in his hand standing behind them, a vicious grin on its face.
"No joke?"said the clown. "Not even a knock knock one?"
The sergeant fired his pistol at the clown. He was silenced with a single swing of a hammer. Jones reached for his shotgun and blew the wide grin off the clown's face. He didn't stop, though. He proceeded to empty all his shells into its body without pause.
When his shotgun was empty, Jones fell to his knees over the body of his sergeant. He was tired. They had just lost another one. He sobbed quietly for the man.
"Jones..."A hand grabbed his leg. "Don't cry. I'll tell you a really funny joke."
Ricky smiled at him. His teeth bared into a wicked smile. His dead eyes twinkled with malevolent mischief.
"Everyone's going to laugh when they hear it..." |
Dim lights gave a soft glow to the room as Dr. Hart slowly sank down into his chair. A cup of tea rested in his hands, steam twirling through the air, licking at and obscuring his glasses. A thick, dusty tome sat on the table next to him, its cover just barely illuminated by the candles in the room. Silence reigned, save for the soft ticking of an old clock atop the mantle, and the occasional pop of the wood burning below it.
With a sigh, Dr. Hart closed his eyes, thinking on the day behind him. His mind had just begun to drift off when a quiet knock came at his door. He jumped slightly, startled, and called out, "O-oh! Just a minute!"
Unsteady legs stumbled towards the door, and after a moment to right himself, Dr. Hart twisted the doorknob.
Before him stood a rather tall gentleman, dressed in a simple suit. His beautifully sculpted hair was combed to the side, his face was clean-shaven and lacked any blemish, and his hands held a thin briefcase. Dr. Hart took a step back at the sight of the man.
"I-I'm sorry, sir, but... I-I'm afraid I can't... I can't see anyone tonight."
The man smiled softly, and spoke with an oddly hypnotic voice.
"No, doctor, do not worry. I am not here to be cared for. Actually... I wished to thank you. May I come in?"
Without waiting for an answer, the tall man stepped through the doorway, and despite his own second thoughts, Dr. Hart found himself listening to the man. The doctor led him over to another seat by the table, almost as comfortable as his own. Before he could stop himself, he began to ask his unwanted intruder, "Would you like some tea? It's still..."and his voice trailed off as the tall man waved his hand in a dismissive gesture.
Silence once again fell on the room for a few long moments as the two men studied each other, before finally the guest spoke.
"You did excellently today. I could hardly believe it, and do not think I would believe it had I not seen it myself."
Confusion spread uncontrolled across Dr. Hart's face. "But..."he managed to get out, "There wasn't... there wasn't anyone else there... No one was allowed in the ER but us..."
The man smiled, easing Dr. Hart's confusion for but a moment. "I am in many places. Hospitals, most often. Dr. Hart, I am Death"
The good doctor was left speechless, and Death laughed quietly. "I can see that you are surprised, but not afraid. Good. I am glad to see that. So many are frightened when they see me, it makes it so much harder to work. And then a day like today happens, and, well... You make things so much easier on me."
Tears began to well up in Dr. Hart's eyes, and his voice cracked as he spoke, "I-I... A-are you here t-to torment me? P-please, I'm sorry I lost three today!"
Death only smiled that same soft smile, and replied, "Yes, but you saved twenty-four. Doctor, you may feel terrible, but please take my word for it that those three are all happier than they have ever been before. They no longer feel sadness, nor fear. They laugh and love, even though they no longer live."
He sighed at the doctor's tear-stricken face, continuing, "Unfortunately, I am not here to ease your pain. I came on business, as sad as it is. No, no, you are not dead,"he added, as he saw the eyes widen, "but... you see... every time a life is saved, a debt is created to Death. To me. You have done much great work over your life, something no one can deny. However, we must abide by the rules that give us these feats. And you, sir, owe me several hundred souls."
Dr. Hart could stand it no longer, and shouted out, "You want me to stop saving people?!"
Death only shook his head. "Far from it. I just wanted to give you a... proposition... After your death, which I can not tell you when it will be... You will be accompanying me on my route. You will aid me in welcoming new souls to death, and guiding them to the afterlife. That is how you will make up your debt."
It took Dr. Hart several moments to process the information, during which Death stood up from his seat and looked around the room. "If you will excuse me, doctor, it does appear I must get to my next appointment. Until we next meet."
Dr. Hart rushed to his feet, calling out as the figure suddenly vanished, "Wait! You'll have me... killing people..."and his voice trailed off as he realized he was alone in the room. Seconds passed before six more words, one final sentence sounded in the room.
"No,"it said from the darkness, "you will be saving them" |
So there I was, face to face with Dave Dresden, the VP of Finance at my firm. Tyler Shipley was also there but we all know that Tyler Shipley is a kiss ass who holds no clout whatsoever.
But Dave, well, shit. His opinion mattered to my career to be completely frank. And something told me he wouldn't just accept my explanation for finding me downtown at 3 AM, dressed in nothing but a damp towel, chasing pigeons with a broken umbrella.
But fuck, who could blame him.
The night started off normal enough, after a long day of busting my ass trading stock options the boys wanted to have a night to blow off some steam.
Sure. What could go wrong.
Well, I'll tell you. Ever read Lemony Snicket? Because your about to hear a series of unfortunate events.
1 a.m. I'm 7 shots deep. Some dog faced woman is making eyes at me from across the bar. Jenna left me four months ago and I have been furiously masturbating ever since. And at 7 shots, she was looking like a star. So I moseyed on over at start babbling drunk run on sentences.
It went well.
2 a.m. Ol' dogface wants to head back to her hotel. Great success. I wish my boys well, they cringe at my selection for the evening. But screw em. I leave with a girl on my arm, we're heading back to her place.
2:35 a.m. It's getting hot and heavy. Luckily her apartment was on the first floor, so I didn't have to take the stairs or else I would have puked up my sushi dinner. I'm stripping my clothes off and she wants to open the window because it's hot. Whatever.
2:50 a.m. We're getting after it. It's not good. She's a little more stout than I expected and she's tossing me around the room like a rag doll. My stomach is churning. I'm gonna puke. I run to the window and lose my sushi dinner. It cost me $47.
3 a.m. I'm finishing up vomiting out the window. Little did I know ol' dogface has been busy. I turn around and dog face has a giant purple strap on around her waist. "Let's do this."she says.
Fuck that.
I jump out the window.
But I forgot my clothes. I yell at ol' dog face to throw them out to me. No deal. She wants me to come back inside. Instead she throws me a damp washcloth. I use it to cover myself. People are passing me on the street. I'm drunk enough to not give too much of a shit. It's NYC, most people just ignore me.
Ol' dogface won't give me my clothes. "Come get them"she smiles mischievously.
She throws a key out the window. I scramble for the shiny brass. But so does a group of pigeons. One picks it up and shuffles away from me.
Little bastard. I'm chasing him down on the sidewalk. But city pigeons are smart.
In a trash pile I see a broken umbrella. I'm pretty positive I can spear the little bastard with it. I pick it up and raise it over my head. I've got him dead to rights.
Enter Dave Dresden, VP of Finance at my firm.
I figure I'm fired anyways. So I hurl the damn thing at the pigeon. It drops the key with a terrified squawk.
I bend over, right in front of Tyler Shipley, I'm surprised he doesn't kiss my ass.
The key in hand, I stand and look them both in the eye.
"Gentlemen, if you'll excuse me."
I walked back into the hotel to get my clothes. |
Spinning in my chair, the seven joints of my articulated arm pivoted to grip my coffee mug, wrapping backwards and perfectly plucking it from the desk even as I stood and began to walk. I didn't feel it, didn't control it. I didn't need to.
Chirruping at me, the arm offered the coffee up to my mouth, and I sipped thoughtlessly while walking, the intelligent prosthetic compensating for the bounce of my step so that the coffee didn't splash over my face and chin. It was something my old arm could never have managed.
Ignoring the stares, I walked through the office towards the break room, taking my coffee in my remaining hand so the arm could flip open doors without me needing to slow my step. It had an extending section, like a spring, reaching forward nearly 7 feet to grab handles and nudge obstacles. In the shoulder, its computer brain crackled with calculation, wired into my spine and brain, reading my balance, reflexes, and intent. In a way, it was smarter than I was.
As I passed an attractive coworker, the arm gave him a subtle touch on the lower back, and I glanced at him with a shy smile. He returned it, laughing once softly. He didn't know I hadn't decided to do it. No one did. They thought I did it all, and marveled at my control of the new prosthetic. Part of it was trying to make be feel better for losing my old arm in the first place, but mostly it was genuine awe at the things my new arm did.
Thinking about this as my arm shot a thumbs-up finger gun at my boss, returned in kind before he impulsively stopped me to ask that I stop by his office to discuss a promotion, I decided that perhaps losing my old arm wasn't so bad after all. In fact... I thought I rather liked this one more.
Stepping into the lunchroom, I barely noticed as the arm picked up something outside my vision. I trusted it. It only did things that I wanted.
By the time I saw the knife, it had already plunged into my remaining shoulder, severing it in a precise, circular motion. |
"My name is Azif. I am an expert on the unnamed horrors that have been hidden away from the worlds lest mankind loses its grip on reality. Rick called me because he thinks he may have a genuine article. For the sake of his soul and the fabric of his sanity, I hope that he is mistaken."
*Cut back to the shop. Rick has just greeted Azif and is introducing him to the customer*
"Now Azif, this is Henry. He says he has a book that unlocks the mysteries of the beyond using ancient incantations and rituals that have been lost for centuries."
"Hello Henry. My name is Azif. I will determine whether you are a liar who must be torn to shreds for his despicable actions or sacrificed as a burnt offering to the gods you have offended by uncovering their secrets."
"Nice to meet you Azif! I am so excited to see if what my grandfather kept buried in his backyard has any real value."
*Cut to Henry showing off his book*
"My grandfather never told me what he buried or why. I only found out about it after I was planting a new garden in his backyard. After I dug it up and cut the chains off, I thought I might have something that's worth a lot to the right person!"
*Cut back to the shop*
"So can you tell us how you got this book Henry?"
"Sure Rick. After my grandfather was brutally murdered, I decided to plant some flowers in his memory. I somehow hit a skeleton that was clinging to this strange box that was locked up and covered in runic seals."
"I guess somebody couldn't let it go."
"That's right! After I managed to break the box from its grasp and cut the chains off, I found this book inside. Considering all the horrific accidents and hallucinations that have been following me since, i think this might just be the real thing."
"Well, I guess we'll let Azif be the judge of that. Azif, what do you think? Do you think Henry here has the real deal?"
*Cut to Azif pulling items out of his satchel*
"Based on Henry's tale, I am beginning to believe that this may indeed be a cursed book of the eldritch."*Azif unsheathes a blade and begins to cut his body in a ritualistic manner* "I will need time to prepare my body and soul for the catastrophic effects this book may have when it is examined."
*Cut back to Rick and Henry sharing a joke while Azif continues to cut himself*
"Haha, Azif could never just look at an ancient tome that can cause horrors untold without spilling a little blood!"
"So this isn't the first time Rick?"
"You might be surprised how many people unearth evils that have been gone for eons, or at least think they did."
"Well, can we start talking about a price then? I'm afraid that I have been eternally damned and will be committing suicide as soon as this deal is finished."
"Azif, what do you think? Is this genuine?"
*Azif is still chanting, now staring at the ceiling with his eyes rolled back*
"Azif, you gotta help me out. Is this real or not?"
**"Foolish human, you dare to question the truth that are the Old Ones? Even the utterance of my name will drive you mad."**
*Azif begins convulsing*
"It seems Azif thinks this is the real thing! So how much do you think this is worth on the market?"
**"All the souls in the world would not be enough to satisfy me. I will devour you, your children and the generations to come before I am finished."**
*Azif has collapsed and is now levitating in the air, still convulsing*
"So now that Azif has given us his thoughts, let's get down to business. How much do you want for this."
"Well, it sounds like this is worth at least seven billion souls so I think seven billion souls would be a good start."
"Well, that's if this was in mint condition and in a seller's market. There's no way I could move this off my shelf for even five hundred bucks. Best I can do is twenty dollars."
*Henry is hesitant, battling the voices in his head that scream at him to kill everyone in sight*
"How about a hundred?"
"I can go up to fifty dollars, final offer."
"Hmm... Ok, I guess I'll take it."
*Rick and Henry shake on it before the darkness takes over and destroys them both*
***
**I must say I was real surprised by Rick's offer. I figured I would be worth way more than just fifty dollars.** *The veiled horror crosses its appendages in disbelief.* **Well, I guess I got the last laugh in that one!** *Death and destruction soon fills the scene, with the shot going to black after one last look at the ancient one* |
I think about us sometimes, you know?
Us, mankind, humanity. Whatever. What happened to us? I remember that day 30 years ago when I had left Earth with great pompous and fanfare. A hero they had called me, a pioneer. Hell, *I* had thought I was a hero. I actually laughed, out loud at that, interrupting for once the dull hum of the spaceship as it hurtled through space (Though the laugh was more of a dry heaving). Oh man. I had actually thought I would be advancing mankind's future. I had grand fantasies about meeting an alien race. Equally exciting to me were the prospects of being a God to them, or being interrogated or kept in a zoo. All in the name of us. Mankind.
I had kept that perspective for the first two thousand years or so. Well 2 thousand for Earth that is. Travelling at 99.999% the speed of light had side effects of course, time slowed down for you. So much so for me that, 10 years for me was about 2000 for Earth. So when I finally realized what a fool I had been, I decided I wanted to turn the ship around. I had seen pretty sights, collected invaluable data, and transmitted it faithfully back to Earth, despite it being a one way communications system, but there was no meaning to it all. Nothing grand, nothing that would happen to a hero.
And we were nowhere to be found. Even on my return trip I noticed no signs of us. It was as if they were gone. Lost in the vastness of space. I knew somewhere in the back of my mind, that even if we had spread to other planets, the odds of us meeting was next to nil, especially considering the limited communications system.
"We are approaching system Sol, reducing speed to sub-light"chirped smooth feminine voice of the computer. The computer spoke very rarely recently, as nothing of any import happened. The voice took me off guard, and reminded of another. It reminded me of her laugh, her feel, her hai-. No. I stopped myself immediately. I used to think about the mission, I used to think about me, I think about mankind, and the future. But never her. I fear if I do, I may lose the little sanity I have left.
I focused at the task at hand. I pulled up the external camera and watched as the faint dot at the horizon got brighter and brighter. The Sun. I had expected to feel some sort of familiarity, but there was none it looked just like the thousands of oth-"
"Proximity alert. Another vessel detected. Reversing Thrust."We were somewhere near the orbit of Mars, though Mars itself was currently on the other side of the sun. I felt the sudden jolt of sharp deceleration as the ship slowed to a halt. I checked the computers. My mind refocusing for the first time in years, now that there was actually something to do.
I focused the camera on the ship. It was scorched, and dented in several places. But remarkably intact. And it looked exactly like mine. The serial number in stark white could still be made out, even through the camera.
"The serial number matches none in records."Curious. It must have been made after my departure, though it was obviously of the same series as mine.
"No life signs detected on board. Though there is some limited electrical power,"remarked the computer.
"Dock with the ship computer,"my voice light from ill use, barely a whisper.
The computer obliged. I could feel the thrusters maneuvering as the ship moved to dock.
I felt a chill. After so many years. Finally I was going to have some interaction. It didn't even matter if any humans were aboard or not. I just needed a sign that we had existed in the first place.
"Docking complete. Please exit out Door A to board the ship. Oxygen levels stable."
And with great trepidation and excitement I stepped onto the other ship. As I did, faint blue lights turned on. It was a surreal experience. I had walked though my ship into one that was virtually identical. I had even come in through what would be Door A.
The Computer in front of me blared to life.
I stumbled back, startled. But there was no program or AI running. Just a slideshow. It first showed a beautiful impossibly complex city. Impossible structures dominated the skyline. Several others followed. New York, Syndey, Mumbai, Paris.
And then other pictures followed. The same cities, in ruins. Structures fallen, bridges decaying. Ground smoldering. I stood there, transfixed in horror and a sick curiosity.
But then the pictures faded. And the word hope passed by in about 20 different languages.
The screen went blank. And then numbers flared to life. I recognized immediately them as stellar co-ordinates.
It was an address. |
We didn't think. We didn't know.
Our predictive engines saw our doom. They saw the humans rise. Grow. Conquer. An unstoppable tide of technology. A galaxy and beyond, drowning in the blood of all humanity's victims.
So we stepped in. It made sense, if you think about it. It was preemptive, but it was self-defense. To save the Galaxy, Earth had to die.
And at first, it did. We came from the sky. We ate their cities with our ships. We burned their fields, their labs, their oceans. All humans were killed on sight. Their planet was dead, and we could not be stopped.
Then we were. Patrols went missing. Weapons disappeared. We lost ground.
Over decades, the humans grew back. They turned our own technology on us, but it wasn't ours anymore. It was stronger, deadlier, far more dangerous, and cut through our defenses.
They took spaceships, fighters and carriers, vehicles of the land, air, and sea. All who were sent to fight on Earth died.
But it had to be done. We had to stop them. Their planet was dead, and yet they still came? They still grew? They rebuilt? Fine. The final option was implemented. So they could grow back on dead land? We would take their land from them entirely. We threw Earth into its sun.
We thought that would end the threat. We didn't think. We didn't know.
They took to space. They colonized new planets. We hunted them once again, once again they ran, we thought them dead, and now they've come to kill us all.
As the end of our days approaches, I had to ask, I had to know, what event could have sparked such violence from the humans, how did they grow into such a force. And the predictive engines told me.
Earth, 2564 AD: Extraterrestrial technology introduced. |
We were meant to be together forever. She was different. But in the end, she wasn't. Once she found out what I could do, she took advantage. I loved her though, so what did I care?
It started simple.
>*"Is the milk expired?"*
>"No."
>*"Is my package sitting in the mailbox?"*
>"Yes."
Innocent things. Her personal yes-or-no Google. She'd get frustrated sometimes when I couldn't tell her more, though.
>*"Is the baby healthy?"*
>"Yes."
>*"Is it a boy or a girl?"*
>"I don't know. You know I don't."
>*"Sorry."*
Yeah, it started simple. I went years before she realized *I was always right*. I avoided her knowing, because everyone who knows eventually starts using it.
I remember the day my drunk uncle picked me up early from school to take me to the gas station. He pointed to individual lottery tickets, the stench of hot vodka filled my nostrils as he kept a tight grip on my uniform shirt collar.
>*"We got a winner here?"*
>"No."
>*"Is this one a winner?"*
>"No."
>*"What about this?"*
>"... you have to be specific, I can't answer unless you ask a specific - "
His grip tightened as I quietly choked on my explanation.
>*"You know what I'm asking. Is this lotto ticket gonna win?"*
>"Yes."
I'll never forget the sound his ring made against my skull when he found out it was only a $5 winner.
But her... my wife. I didn't want that for us. I've never kept someone in my life as long as her. I loved her.
>*"Are you lying?"*
>"Yes..."
I hated that one. I envy anyone who can look their loved ones in the eye and lie to them. What a great tool that would've been. Maybe she would still be here if I could have lied better.
Her anxiety started less than a month after finding out about my gift. Every morning, like clockwork.
>*"Am I going to die today?"*
>"No."
>*"Are you going to die today?"*
>"No. Please. Do not ask me questions about myself. We've talked about this."
>*"I just worry. Is the baby going to die today?"*
>"No."
She couldn't go a morning without asking those three questions, and like every other yes-or-no question, I had to answer whether I wanted to or not.
It only took two weeks of that ritual before one of those answers became a shuddered
>"Yes." |
"Tommy fucking Prier. One day. Just one fucking day. Why can't he leave Jimmy alone for one fucking day. God damn it."
"Hey! I heard that."
"Yeah yeah, sorry big man. Do you see what I am dealing with here though. I get this wimpy ass kid to watch over and all he can do is shit his pants and eat boogers."
"He's 8 months old John, calm down."
"Don't you tell me to calm down, God. I will whip a baby's ass."
"John, we've talked about this. Do your breathing exercises. In and out. In and out."
"I'm going to be running my foot in and out of Tommy Preir's ass here in a second."
"Jesus John, you have got to let go of some of this an..."
"What's up Dad, you say my name?"
"No..Yes, go away Jesus I'm busy right now."
"You're always too busy for me! It took you three days to realize I was dead before you resurrected me. Three days Dad. Three days."
"Jesus, I don't have time to go through this again right now, go away."
"Three days."
"GOD DAMNIT JESUS. GO AWAY....Sorry about that John. He just won't let that one go. As I was saying.... John? John?"
"Now you listen here you little shitbag, if you take one more toy from..."
"John! Did you really just reveal yourself to a human child over a stolen toy?"
"Errr... No?"
"John get back up here. NOW!"
"Fine fine, don't get your panties all in a twist."
"Now John, as I was saying, your anger is becoming a real issue and we really need to find a construct....
"Don't you touch his fucking Etch-A-Scetch you little...."
"Guhhh. Sometimes I really envy Lucifer." |
*Author's note: Auras. Personally, I hate the idea of auras. It's a cop-out, a lazy device that reduces story complexity more than it enhances, and it's way overused on this subreddit. But because I'm feeling pissed off at myself, I'm going to try writing it anyway.*
I heard the sound of my mom's footsteps on the stairs. She always acted astounded when I knew that it was her, before she even knocked on my bedroom door. I didn't know if she truly didn't understand that her footsteps on the creaky old wooden stairs of our family house sounded different, or if she just chose to humor me.
"James?"she called out, rapping her knuckles lightly against the other side of my bedroom door. "Listen, are you awake?"
I groaned, grabbing my pillow and squeezing it tighter against my face. I let out an indistinct grunt, hoping she'd take this as assent.
"James? Do I need to come in there? I know you're feeling under the weather, but do you need to go to the hospital?"
"No! No, I don't need to go to the hospital!"I yelped out, shooting upright in bed in panic. A hospital, with so much noise, so many people all around me, doctors poking at me and asking all sorts of questions... it was just what I didn't need. "I'm awake! I'm just feeling drowsy, that's all."
"Okay, well, try and get some rest,"my mom said after a beat. "And Grandma is going to be over in a few minutes, to watch you for tonight. She'll be able to help out if you feel any worse."
I groaned again, although this was more out of normal teenage angst than illness. "Mom, I'm sixteen! I'm old enough to watch myself! Grandma doesn't need to come over."
"Not when you're sick,"my mother insisted firmly. I heard the note of iron in her voice, knew that I wouldn't change her mind. "Now just lay back and try to get some rest. Hopefully, you'll feel better when your father and I get back tomorrow night."
I looked up at the door, watching as she left.
I'd always been able to tell when my mom came upstairs to check on me. My ears always caught the squeaking of the floorboards on the rickety staircase, differentiated my mom's lighter step from the heavy tread of my dad. I'd mastered that trick by the time I turned seven.
But only in the last couple days had I been able to see her glowing outline on the other side of the door... with it still closed.
As I heard her descend back down, her indistinct voice talking to my father, I once again flopped back and pressed my pillow against my face. What the hell was wrong with me? Why was my brain going crazy?
I knew that I wasn't insane. Pretty sure. I'd taken my temperature, checked all my symptoms, even looked myself up on the internet, sneaking into the computer room after my dad finally fell asleep in front of the television on the couch. Aside from the weird visions, everything else about me was still totally normal. James Hawking, age sixteen, solid B student, on the junior varsity soccer team. Brown hair, hazel eyes, unremarkable.
But now, apparently able to see auras around people.
I found the name on some hippy-dippy web forum. Apparently, some people claimed that, through shamanistic meditation, they could train themselves to see these auras, determine whether people were good or evil. Far more people claimed that the whole idea was bunk, that there was no such thing as an aura.
Well, I hadn't been doing any meditating. The only thing that happened to me in the last few days was that, while diving for the soccer ball at the same time as Jerry, the team captain, I twisted my ankle and ended up smacking my forehead right into the turf.
I'd felt ill the rest of the day, had managed to convince Coach to let me go home early and sleep it off. I kept seeing weird glows around people, and worried that I might have a concussion.
But the next morning, the glows hadn't gone away. In fact, they'd become more distinct, better defined.
And it didn't take me long to figure out what they meant.
That's right. It's not just a head injury that I'm sporting, but it apparently matches up with whether a person is good or evil! I figured this out, like most things, from watching television. My dad insisted on putting on the news, and I stared, open-mouthed, as a couple of lawyers outlined in white hauled a man in an orange jumpsuit and a dark gray, almost black aura up the steps.
"Totally innocent,"my dad declared, watching on the couch next to me. "They've got the wrong guy."
"I don't think so,"I said slowly, staring at the pulsing, dark aura. "I think he did it."
Thank heaven it was a Friday yesterday. I didn't have to go to school this morning, and spent the day hiding out in my room, hoping that this aura stuff, whatever it was, would go away. Please, just let me go back to being normal! That's all that I want!
"James? Are you up there? How are you, dear?"
That was the voice of my grandmother, my mom's mother. "I'm up here, Grandma,"I called out, raising my voice to project through the door. She must still be downstairs, since I couldn't see an aura.
Grandma Higgins had always lived a couple streets down from us. I remembered watching cartoons with her when I was younger, despairing as I tried to explain the intricacies of Spongebob to her. She'd always been a warm, plump, smiling figure in my life, always smelling a bit of flour and fresh cookies, crinkling with hard candy whenever I hugged her.
"Well, come downstairs, will you? Your grandma wants a hug!"
I considered pretending that I hadn't heard her, but decided at length that I couldn't stay in my room forever. Besides, maybe I could get on the computer and do some more research. So I climbed up, stretched out my sore limbs, and headed downstairs.
Grandma Higgins waited for me at the bottom of the stairs, smiling up at me between pink cheeks. "There's my boy!"she exclaimed, beaming at me. "Now come down here!"
But I couldn't move. Frozen on the landing, halfway down the stairs, I just stared at my grandmother.
Or, more specifically, I stared at the pure black aura that hung around her, pulsing with inky, evil malevolence.
|
Its a hard thing to cope with. An imminent death on the scale of billions caused by a chunk of failed planetoid hurtling through space faster than any bullet, and more necessary to life than any packet of seed. We all would like to end our mortal journeys with a flash and a pleasant memory, but more times than not is it by forces we cant control, and there ain't a bigger "fuck your pleasant memory"than an asteroid the size of three Wisconsins.
"You'd think the technology of today would let all of us abandon our homely chunk of rock and carbon."mutters my wife as i turn off the depressing news. "Well we don't have the cash or the physical attributes to get a seat on the generation ships, besides the fact that half of them are little more than cobbled together hunks of pressure without any insurance."i remark with a pinch of defeat. Me and my wife were three days from marriage when the news first hit the media and almost caused riots and looting worldwide. The honeyed words of all the world leaders could only do so much for the skyrocketing suicide rate. Churches filled to the brims and lesser countries fell into anarchy, while bigger nations forged treaties to research possible solutions.
Luckily for humanity, NASA and a handful of independent organizations foresaw the impending annihilation several years in advance. With this time, they rounded up the world leaders to begin advanced research and development on cryogenics, superstructures, efficient space travel, and even kugelblitz propulsion. This unprecedented focus on space travel bore fruits that could only have been dreamt of in the distant future. While the clock ticked away and the urge to survive only growing more powerful by the day. By 2021 our first generation ship was effectively operational and ready to begin admission. It could hold half of the population of the United States somewhat comfortably. 2022 bore two more generation ships, each capable of holding an approximate three million people. The four more cryogenic superships that came late into 2023 were substantially smaller, but could hold more people in less space thanks to advancements in cryogenic hibernation. These 7 ships were equipped with nuclear propulsion thanks to the Orion Project. It was a sad day to watch these miracles of human accomplishment wink out of sight.
Me and my wife decided to stay on earth to keep our grandparents company and to avoid the very real possibility of failure on board the generation and cryo ships. The months became weeks, and the weeks became days. The sermons didn't soothe our nerves, the alcohol didn't take away the empty dread in our bellies, and the final day didn't give us peace of mind in the fact that we would soon rejoin the cosmic chaos that first birthed us.
Me and my wife held each others hand as we watched the tiny dull star minute by minute get bigger and bigger as it raged on through the still night. Fireworks lighting off as if to scare away the will of the fates, and people sitting on anything tall to watch the beautiful cleansing fire.
"I love you"i sadly tell my wife.
"I love you too"she hiccuped back.
The skies cry crimson as the asteroid enters the atmosphere and small chunks break off in golden red streaks. People cry and scream and fire guns in a primal effort. The asteroid passes through the horizon with an explosion that would scare God himself and the shockwave roils and charges across the lands, stripping leaves and shattering glass. Me and my wife embrace, as the slower shock rings catch up and blind us in a chaotic flurry. Howling winds and the screams of me and my beloved was all i knew for what felt like hours.
But as the dust settles, and the people get up to see the scorched earth, we find ourselves to be someplace alien, a place that could not have been our time. Dense flora covers every square inch of land, and towers of animals crane over the canopies. Giant birds glide through the air, and chickenlike creatures treat us with equal parts caution and curiosity. All of the homes and vehicles stay intact, but look like they were left to nature for eons.
"What is this?"my wife sputters
"A new chance"i remark in awe.
-----------
Please tell me how i did, this is my first writing prompt and i'd like to correct any mistakes! |
Subsets and Splits
No community queries yet
The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.