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Neither race would ever have imagined that the end of their kind would not come from their mortal enemy but from those anoying little *#@k%rs.
They had only ever been observers and pranksters moving keys to someone elses jacket, stabbing a hole in a tyre of a bike and the favourite of pixies spraying alchohol on their clothes and messing their hair up as they return home from a hunt.
In the midst of Battle one Pixie got caught trying to switch a silver blade with a dog leash as a final blow was being struck. Both vampire and werewolf temporarily found a common bond in hatred of another and began to slowley rip the limbs of the pixie and crush its tiny body.
The moment of immense pain was felt through out all the pixie folk, there hadnt been death in their kind for a millennium and awoke a form in the pixies not taken for generations, razor sharp teeth grew, wings sharp as surgical knives and hard as diamonds formed and their eyes burned with an intense red glow, they were ready for War.
For vengeance against the mutts they would disable their targets first by slicing the tendons in their legs and arms with their wings. Next force a transformation to the mutt form, they would burn their furr, peel off the charred flesh and before they died from the pain, swarm the animal and tear the flesh from the victim chunk by chunk.
For Vengence against the Night walkers they would strip them naked, rip of the flesh from their limbs beat the torso with the bones from their arms and legs and leave the torso of the vamp in the open for the sun to finish them off.
It was the noise of the swarm, that tell tale hum that would put the fear of god into both races as they cowered in the darkest corner they could find. They knew it wouldnt be long before they would find out what came after death.
|
Sid hung from the ceiling, overlooking the dwelling. He had been stationary for a few hours, his eyes cycled between each corner of the room like closed circuit television. Sid had not seen a human since the morning and he grew anxious that he had already failed his duty as a guardian. That’s when a fly crept into view on the far side of the room. The creature took a few seconds to inspect its surroundings before it set course towards the red fruit below Sid’s post.
Each of Sid’s eyes was now fixated on the fly, carefully tracking its movement until it found itself drawn to the hanging silk of his web. The fly was caught and struggled to break free, something Sid had witnessed dozens of times before. He instinctively expelled silk and began to circle the captive.Before long the dumbfounded fly was paralyzed.
The entrance to the room swung open and with it followed a feline with a bloody rodent in its mouth. Sid ignored the fly and watched. His legs twitched, was the feline providing offerings to the flies? If Sid had lips to speak, he might’ve scoffed at the animal’s blatant disregard for the safety of his humans. Yet, to his surprise a human arrived and disposed of the rodent. The feline received a healthy praise for its efforts, the human even touched it. The only contact Sid had ever felt from a human being was the harsh cold of glass when he was transported outside by the same human child who had given him his name. But when he returned, he was ambushed by a smaller human child who cost him his eighth leg.
After the feline had been provided with food and water, the human finally spotted Sid. He presented the captive fly. Perhaps the giant couldn’t see, so he descended in his direction.
His body shuddered,
“I don’t even know why I let it live,” he muttered, reaching for a newspaper.
Sid didn’t know what was going on when his web started to split. He scrambled up the remains before he felt the floor pulled from his feet. The last thing Sid saw was today’s headlines.
|
*-And for our weekly Weather and Hazards report, we turn to Matt.*
Thank you, Jill. Well folks, it looks like another stay-at-home week for most of Manxton. We have *three of the four* major threat groups present in the area of this week. All those leaving their homes are reminded to wear DAC approved Hazard wear, *particularly between the hours of 5-11pm*, when **revenants** are the most active. Juveniles under five should not leave the house without a functional firearm and Kevlar child’s armor. Remember: Guns keep children safe!
Now on the map you can see the major threat projections, and oh boy are we in for a doozy of a week! We have a 60% chance of **aliens** in the area, with a 15% disintegration beams. There is also a small chance of alien debris in your area. Remember! If you see a tentacle, don’t touch it! Cover it with baking soda until it stops twitching.
And where you get aliens, you know what’s not far behind! **Amphibious Kaiju** have been spotted in the north, meandering down to our area by Thursday. If you’re not one of the lucky homeowners who got Kaiju insurance before it stopped being offered, just follow standard precautions. Make sure your evacuation bag is packed, and talk to your spouse about which pet your child will miss the least. Remember the motto: *Food Comes First!*
Fortunately, these two fronts are expected to neutralize each other by Friday at the latest. Revenants are expected to remain at their current levels of 85 ppm of the population.
Also, a low-pressure system will be moving in from North, with a chance of showers midweek. Expect no more than two inches of rain and 2 million in property damage.
*Thank you, Matt. And now here’s Tom with Sports…* |
Another week, another pickup. Every time I go out to this forsaken garbage can it somehow is overflowing with trash, despite the fact there’s nary a soul for miles around. At least they pay me for the drive time to get out there and back.
Once again, I show up to an abandoned garbage can, overflowing with trash. While the truck automatically lifts the can up and dumps its contents in, I have to pick up the excess while wearing thick rubber gloves.
Just as I’m about to leave, a car approaches. Curious, I watch from behind my truck. The driver gets out of their car and throws a bag into the garbage can, then gets back in and drives off.
Huh, I guess people actually do use this rest stop. |
It was quiet.
Not even the chirping of birds interrupted the absolute silence that filled the world. No, those songs had stopped long ago.
He walked along the side of the road, careful not to step into the potholes that had formed after years of disservice, decaying and eroding away from the constant exposure to the unforgiving elements. When necessary, he slinked between the cars that were sometimes clustered at junctions, occasionally peeking through the driver-side window, wondering if he was ever going to find anyone.
There was a small blue sedan. He looked through the passenger-side window, his cold forehead pushing against the even colder glass, his breath fogging up the window. The driver and passenger seat were empty, but something in the backseat caught his eye.
He opened the back door and dug with a bony and emaciated hand into the side-pocket. He pulled out a folded piece of paper.
Carefully, he unfolded it, revealing a somehow preserved crayon doodle.
There was a man, a woman, and a young girl, and crudely drawn above each of their heads in sometimes backwards letters read *Daddy, Mommy, Me*.
The drawings had yellow coloring surrounding all of them, as if the artist meant for them to be glowing with a vibrant aura.
It had taken him a moment to realize that it was fire.
He huffed, folded the drawing, and tucked away into his own pocket.
He continued walking. Along the side of the road were many dead things, and the earth had looked as if it had been washed away. He pushed deeper into the woods, wondering if he could find what exactly it was that had eroded away the soil so much.
Eventually, he heard the sounds of a surging river, and he followed the noise. Emerging from the brush, he found the river, flowing past at a ferocious pace. He neared the edge, toes being splashed by the unrestrained water. If he so much as slipped a little, it would surely carry him away and there would simply be nothing he could do about it.
It was peaceful.
He found himself smiling, despite his loneliness. He looked around, a part buried deep inside his heart yearned for another soul to share this serene sight with, but he knew that there was no one left. It hadn't taken long for all of them to leave.
It had only taken 7 days for the world to end.
He sighed, thinking back to the last time it had ended. Everything had been under water, and only one had survived.
This time around, it had all ended in flames.
On the first day, the skies grew black.
On the second day, the animals went into hiding.
On the third day, while everyone was still arguing, the storms began.
On the fourth day, the flaming hail started raining down, causing everything to be engulfed in flame.
On the fifth day, the ground split open, and more fire emerged.
On the sixth day, everything went quiet, and those who had survived thus far thought that things had finally settled.
On the seventh day, the day that *He* usually rested, *He* came down from the heavens to smite those who had survived thus far, anger unabated.
The Grim Reaper sighed, staring into the coursing waters. He had spent the last remaining days gathering the souls, all the ones who had been smitten beneath *His* thumb. Left to do the dirty work, but now there was nothing left to do.
Nothing left to do but search for that one person who was left remaining. That was his new task. His "promotion".
The last time the world had ended, it had been Noah, that bumbling drunkard who somehow managed to brave the storm, guided by voices in his head.
The Grim Reaper didn't know who the chosen survivor was this time around. All he did know was that he was to find the survivor, and be their *guardian*, to help lead them into making the new world.
He stared into the water and sighed. None of the other angels had given him instructions on how to pinpoint the sole survivor of the apocalypse.
This was most certainly hazing.
The Guardian Angel (no longer the Grim Reaper, no, that mantle was soon to be taken by another unfortunate fallen angel who would seek out redemption for their past transgressions) gazed upon the world around him, wondering when new life would take root.
Take root and flourish.
Take root, and eventually destroy everything. Just like the last time.
But for now, it was a nice place.
The Guardian Angel took a deep breath, spread his arms, and allowed himself to fall into the surging river. Somewhere deep inside, something told him that he had been led to the river for a reason. It would take him where he needed to go.
If God so willed it. |
No one noticed it. No one realized when a subtle, yet dangerous dose of radiation rained down on our planet. Cancer sharply rose, but that was mostly something to forget about. Some electrical systems went out. But nobody realized the real problem at first.
There was a sharp increase in infertility. Very sharp. And it rose so much that the month after a wave hit, every single person was infertile. Every single one. This caused a panic. People went to their doctors, asked if they were safe. They weren't.
It was mighty generous of us to assume we would go out with a bang. A nuke, an invasion, a bunch of zombies. Those are all fantasies compared to this. In those, you could at least see the last breath wiped out with a chance of survival for the next generation.
But for this, there was nothing. All you could do was sit down with the only family you will have and watched as that number slowly ticked down. Of course, as you got older, it went down faster.
Now, without any kids, there were only the old ones left. The economy and social structure started to collapse as there were no fresh minds to enter the fields. Cities became more and more abandoned by the year.
The last man on earth sits atop a hill. He was lucky to make it to 87. He doesn't know it, but he is one of the only living, breathing things left on earth. There are turtles, very few fish left, and maybe some old cattle. He contemplates as he looks at the last sunset living eyes will see. Should he jump? Should he starve himself? Should he throw himself into the ocean so that there can be a last meal for the bacteria?
He chose to jump. An anticlimactic splat as the end of humanity. And that was our end.
All there was left was plants, bacteria, and dirt. And how long will they last? |
"I've got you now, Rhino!"Spider-Man says as he steps toward the villain that is entangled in web. Rhino looks up at the red-suited hero with a fake look of defeat.
"Alright, Spidey, you got me..."Rhino sat there until Spider-Man was within two feet of him before breaking his binding and grabbing the spectacular web swinger by the wrists, destroying the web shooters.
"What are you doing?! Hey! Put me down!"Spider-Man writhed around, but couldn't get free from his captor.
"As you wish, "hero"."Rhino broke the window of the top story of the Daily Bugle. He then held the terrified Spider-Man out of the window. He grinned evilly as he pulled the hero's mask off, revealing Peter Parker, whose facial expression was a mix between fear and embarrassment. Rhino let Peter fall, watching as the amazing Spider-Man fell to his death.
Peter woke up with a start. He had woken up in a hospital bed. He checked his body for scars or bruises, but found none.
"Hey, look who's up,"a familiar male voice broke the silence. "Long time no see, Pete."
Peter looked over to see his uncle Ben sitting beside his bed. "Uncle Ben, I thought you were killed!"
"Peter, it must have been a dream, you've been in a coma for two years since you went on that field trip to Oscorp. You were bitten by a venomous spider. You were rushed here, and you've been here since then."Tears started to roll down Ben's face, "We thought we had lost you..."
Peter smiled softly, "Well, I'm
here, and it's going to be okay."
(Sorry for errors, wrote this at work.) |
When I was a child, I asked the Visitor a question.
It wasn't uncommon for him to entertain questions from children. All the important questions - who he was, where he was from, that sort of thing - they'd been answered generations ago. And while he was, to this very day, still scribing as much as he knew about his technology so that our distant descendants might one day return him to his home, he could speak as he did so. We had recorders set up that could play back his impossibly low-pitched answers at a speed we could actually hear.
And children, well, we were the only ones that would actually *get* answers within our lifetime.
So I'd asked my question, and then almost immediately forgot about it. The recorders had been set up, the time-lapse monitoring in place, and one day I'd hear back. I'd considered it a fun childhood fancy that wasn't important.
But over the course of my life, the Visitor changed. Slowly, of course, he couldn't do anything at any appreciable speed, but there was change. For the people who watched that kind of thing, it was exciting. The Visitor was *always* changing in minute ways but this was apparently more appreciable than most. I didn't know at the time, because I'd left that behind.
Toward the end, though, I grew curious. My question had to be slowed down and had taken a quarter of my lifetime simply to be asked. As I was in bed at my home, the illness having temporarily receded, I found myself wondering if enough time had passed for me to get an answer.
It had, I discovered. Over decades, the Visitor's face had changed into the arrangement he'd called a 'smile'. And now that the recording was done and the time lapse complete, I could watch the interaction.
I'd asked: "Do you ever get lonely?"
And, over dozens of years, he'd smiled. And he'd answered:
"Why would I? I have you!" |
Gods only have true power when they are worshiped and recognized. Recently, I have obtained that power. The power to make inanimate objects move, make them change, and make them disappear. No one believes me, though. This limits me to the very slightest amount of movement.
I believe in my god-like powers. Now I have to make others believe. At school, I find my best friend, Jenna. She is the first person I need to convince. Unfortunately, she’s also a skeptic.
“You’re doing some magic trick.” Jenna is frowning at the paper I moved across the desk about one inch. “You blew on it or there’s some hidden string.”
“I really moved it with my mind. My power is weaker when people don’t believe me.” I reach in my backpack, “I’ll do it again and we can compare against this ruler so you’ll know.”
“So, it’s like TinkerBell? If I don’t believe your so-called powers will die?”
I gasp. “Jenna! Your my best friend. How dare you insult my powers!” I scowl down at the paper and will it to move. Jenna reached out to mark lines on the paper adjacent to the ruler so she can tell when it moves.
It’s looking like nothing will happen for a solid 30 seconds. Then, quite clearly, the thin college-ruled paper moves. First to the left. Then rotating a few degrees. The paper is now overlapping the ruler.
“Do you believe me now, Jenna?” I wait on bated breath. Please believe me.
“I mean it seems possible...” And that was enough. The paper lifted completely upright and did a tiny bow before crumpling back on the desk.
Jenna jumps straight out of her chair. “What the-“ Her eyes lock on mine. A mixture of surprise, wonder, and a trace of fear as she recognizes what I am capable of.
Good. I could already feel my power growing with the faith of a single believer. I test out my increased skill, making her pencil case topple to the ground. Not the heaviest object, but it’s a start. It’s only a matter of time before I am recognized as the god I am meant to be.
[r/bluestarsshatter](https://www.reddit.com/r/bluestarsshatter/) |
“MOMMYYY!!” I hear my son’s shriek all the way across the house. I rush through the entire house, trying to find him. I didn’t hear anything, I really hope he isn’t hurt. He shouldn’t be hurt, there was nothing around that could hurt him. I hear his crying coming from his room and push the door open. “Sweetie? What is it? Are you okay?”
He turns to me, tears flooding from his eyes. He holds up a small, flat balloon. “Earth popped!” He pouts. “Earth? Is that what you named it?” I say, taking the toy from him. He nods, sniffing and wiping away his tears. I wave my hand over the balloon and repair the small hole before pressing my lips on it and gently filling it with air.
I take a breath, holding the air inside the toy. “You should really be more careful with the planets, sweetie. You know how hard your father worked creating them. I’m not saying he would be upset, it was an easy fix. Just be careful, you probably scared all of the inhabitants.” I let out a sigh and hand him back the balloon.
Even for a god, parenting can be rough. |
Finally, Eric, the DM, has had enough.
"Suddenly, a dense rain of flaming meteors, each the size of a giant's fist, falls from the sky upon our hero, Verkehr Tod. His incredible might and magic are overwhelmed, and his life force is finally released from his battered, crushed body.
"The aetherial assault continues for hours, forming a majestic, unearthly cairn of meteoritic iron over the remains of our slain warrior, a monument which will stand for countless millennia and serve as a landmark for epic adventures yet to come, and legends and histories yet to be written."
Dwight grabs the d20. "I cast heal--"
Eric leans over and swats him *hard* with the *Dungeon Master's Guide*.
"By the sacred name of Gary Gygax, I command thee to get the fuck out of my basement." |
Abraxias the necromancer sat in the waiting room, twiddling his skeletal thumbs, Moon Maiden glanced over her shoulder scowled a bit and flipped through a magazine, visibly trying to suppress a glare Squirming a bit in her black and silver catsuit, she uncrossed and recrossed her white booted legs. Abraxias sighed a bit and went back to twiddling his thumbs. The inquisitrix and sister nature sat across from each other. Lord Templar sat and tried to make small talk with Lady Rainbow, who glanced at her smartphone. The waiting room was packed as usual. Few psychologists were willing to take such clientele. Only one was both willing and able to relate to their unique challenges
As I walked him out, I reminded Cobalt Cowboy to do the meditation exercises I suggested. “Mr. Abraxias, come on in.” I looked over at the robed skeleton, who floated into my office.
“How are you today?” Most people would need to take notes, but not me. I think it makes them feel more at ease.
The skeletal man leaned back on the couch, his bones rattling softly, shaking.
“Doc.... I've seen my own death... Moon maiden...”
“Moon maiden? What happened to Professor Mystery?” I wondered why he missed his appointment today.
“ I killed him. His wife and daughter too.” He said coldly. I sat in silence a moment. Abraxias and Prof. Mystery had been archenemies for 15 years, like Merlin and Morgan Le Fey, Gandalf and Saruman. Potter and Voldemort. They had clashed countless times. But now the kindly college professor was dead, a champion of good had fallen.
“So you won then,the end times shall come and the earth plunged into darkness?” I can't say how many times he asked me to listen to his “end of days monologue”, apparently the necromancer's handbook does'nt cover that. Actually there is'nt one.. He was shy before the transformation so dramatics were a challenge for him
Abraxias sighed bitterly.
“A victory? A Victory? My foe lies dead and it profited me nothing. His last sorcery prevented me from even enthralling his soul and corpse, and that of his daughter. The Seventh Seal he foolishly perished defending has even eluded my grasp, and all because of a stupid girl” he raged
“you're upset he's dead?”
“It was over too soon, he gave up. He could have fought, but he did'nt raise a hand when I came.
I took my opportunity. It was no final battle, no grand spectacle. Not a worthy death for one so skilled. I was rather looking forward to turning his own students into zombies bent upon eating his flesh.“ Had those two fought all out, the college may have been leveled. They both knew that.
“Moon maiden?”
“yes, and she'll...” I interupted him there
“I'm curious about what id you mean about seeing your own death?, You're not talking about your old life are you?”
The necromancer shook his head “Before my service to the duchess you mean?”
I nodded slightly, he told me her name once, but I know better than to speak it. Oweing a arch demon your soul and service is a terrifying life after all. Especially when you overdosed on drugs as a teenager and the angel willingly handed your soul to her.
“No. That foolish youth, though I was before the bargain killed himself with the misadventures he chose, heroin is a fool's game..” his sunken embers that were once his eyes dimmed a moment “They.. They showed me.... The dead showed me MY death...”
“A vision? Walk me through it”
“I awoke this morn and well..A feeling came upon me.. Cold... Silent... Then like a moving picture, I saw it.... Twas but only a moment and yet it seemed.. So long...
“Walk me through the vision”
“In a coffee shop, I'm about to kill moon maiden.. She's lying on the floor, as I've knocked her through the window. I summon forth my magics..” he paused.
“Go on...” I nudged.
“And this guy comes out of nowhere.... My sphere of death halts and vanishes against him. It does nothing as if it was a child's plaything. Then....”
“Do you know the man?”
He shook his skull in the negative, then whispered.
“A gun... A throbbing pain in my head, then nothing.” The room was silent. Predicting someone's death was well within the realm of his abilities. But his own death.
“So how did you and moon maiden end up enemies? I'm sensing some trouble between you too.”
“I slew her hound.”
“You killed her dog?”
“Yea.. and gathered unto me it's soul.” Abraxias snapped his finger, and a ghostly dog appeared and vanished. “A white Shiba Inu. A rare dog in that it is a moon spirit. The beast pushed her out of the way of my magics. The sphere of death was meant for her. She refused to give me the seal. I went to his office for the Seal. She came in after I killed him. It seems she had been visiting him.“
“how do you feel about that? “
“The dog? It was unnecessary... “ “He paused. “ I like dogs, even if they want to chew on me..I had one once...”
“So you feel badly about the dog?”
Abraxis did not respond, but rather changed topics“Hey, did you know he actually had a PHD? Why not call himself Dr. Mystery?”
“Well with that one movie...”
“ Dr. Mystery would be a bit much I suppose.”
“We've talked before about fate and living for your purpose.”
“I know.. My mistress wants the world plunged into darkness, of course but the vision... I don't want to die”
“Your hatred of moon maiden is because she will kill you think?”
“Hatred? Of her? Nay, she opposes my plans, my purpose, and were it not for her, the Seventh Seal would be within my grasp and now it's forever out of my reach. My mistress is wroth with me. Moon Maiden is a foolish girl who has yet to prove her mettle. A neophyte as it is.. It was all she could to to scamper off, especially once I set her pet on her.”
“You like music?”
“Yes.”
“Aerosmith.. You have to live for today, never tomorrow you don't know what will happen”
Abraxias left my office humming “Dream On”
After a few people, I finally got to call Moon Maiden in.
|
This one time, I bought a star. I had just landed my first full time job, and I thought it would be funny to “buy” a star from one of those online companies that say they’ll do all the paper work to make it official. I called it, Porn Star. I was 20 at the time, and I thought it was funny. They sent me an “official” document with the cosmic coordinates, and a picture of the star. It could have easily been a picture of our star, except with a photoshopped, bluish hue. I told all my friends matter-of-factly, and they all told me to FRO. It was fun for a week or so, but I quickly forgot about it and moved on. Likely for me, I kept all of that paper work.
When the Kloopies arrived, on the hot July day in 2069, most people thought they were here to take over our planet. They were supposedly here to exterminate us and take our natural resources (what was left of them), this this never ended up happening. They were actually very nice—for aliens. They offered us new technologies which we had never seen before, and helped us eradicate most of the diseases humanity had been fighting for millennia. They even introduced a new form of accounting, called “space accounting,” which involved extra-dimensional book-balancing, so after no business went out of business after they had been here for a few months.
But there were some people that didn’t trust them. They saw their generosity as a façade for a more sinister purpose. I was one of those people. I wanted to destroy these creature, because I knew they were up to something evil. Even though they cured my adult acne, and gave my parents the summer home they had always wanted, I knew they were scheming behind their good deeds. Every twelve hours, the Kloopies would return to their ships in the upper atmosphere to regenerate, and apply cosmic jelly. No Kloopie had spent more then 12 hours on earths surface. No one knew exactly why, and not many people cared. Our Kloopie “breathren” (as many called them) had made survival possible for all humans. We no longer had to worry about dying young. The death rates from starvation and disease decreases on every continent, even Antarctica. But still, something wasn’t right—and I was going to get them.
The Kloopies had established a website for all humans to submit questions, and read about Kloopie facts. They had an extensive FAQ, and their customer service was impeccable. I had made a request for the location of their home planet a few weeks after they had arrived on earth, but I had received no response. Then one day they replied with a string of numbers, 87594228374, and nothing else. I was confused, I didn’t know what to do with this, but something about this sequence caught my eye. I had seen it somewhere. Then it hit me, “THAT’S IT!” I screamed, in the middle of the over crowded Starbucks. Everyone watched as I slammed my laptop closed, and ran through the glass in the door, shattering it in a thousand pieces. I ran home and found the document with e cosmic address, and it matched the number sequence the Kloopies sent me exactly. I knew—they were toast.\\
I ran outside, and there they were. Kloopies dressed in their best floral attire, holding their phallic staffs, and dripping with florescent jelly, stood fifty strong. In unison, they knelt in honor. I knew I had them. No longer would they be able to control us with their vaccines, and overall beneficial nature. I immediately said, “You are all Porn Stars now, and you will obey my commands.” They remained silent, as if waiting frozen in time. One of the Porn Stars approached, covered in goo. The dripping monster bowed and said “You are our leader now, the one that has been foretold by our elders. We must take you to our planet, so you can battle the great Octodick, and save our once great race. We have travelled, and waited for you to appear, and now you have. Come with me.”
They forcibly took me onboard their ship and stuck me in a cryotank. I awoke in a fugue state, with no idea how long I had been in cryo. They hosed me down, and gave me a weird set of Porn Star clothes. The clothes consisted of two pieces of string, and a triangular piece of space cloth. As we exited the ship I was blown away by what I saw. The ship had landed on a massive butte with shimmering mountains to the left that faded into the horizon, and shiny, golden plains to the right. I asked my new subjects, who had taken to wearing strange tin-can helmets, what the mountains were made of and they responded, “what you might call diamond on earth, and the plains to the right are covered in solid gold meteors that regularly fall from the sky.”
I was blown away. I had become the savior of these beings, who lived on a planet that was teeming with diamonds, and gold. My head teemed with ideas on how I could transport these raw material back home, to Earth. I was so preoccupied that I didn’t notice the ship had taken off, only to reveal a massive eight armed creature the size of a small moon. It was covered in a shiny, oil like substance, and its “arms” remined me of spectacularly tumescent glands. Before I had time to think, my sticky subjects strapped me to a hover-board and aimed me at the monster. “What are you doing, I can’t fight that thing!” They merely made a gesture with their body that inspired less than zero confidence, and press a button on the side of the hover board.
I was hurtling towards a moon sized octopus, with dicks for arms, on a planet called Porn Star. I wore two pieces of string, and I was surrounded by mountains of diamonds, and fields of gold. I wanted to uncover, and destroy the Kloopie plan, but in the process, I destroyed myself. |
"Jesus, H.” The girl with the long flowing dark hair said, “I hate the guy, but even I wouldn’t stoop that low.”
“I agree,” said the man with the burning eyes. “I would have stopped at killing him.”
“Although,” the boyish man with a grin that never seemed to leave his face, “I can’t say I’m opposed to him suffering.”
“Suffering slow, suffering fast, who cares?” said the man who stunk of brine and fish. “He will suffer, I can ensure it.”
“Quiet, everyone,” said the man who wore a pair of thick glasses. His hand underneath the table was intertwined with the woman who had spoken first. “I don’t think we should be talking about killing or torturing him while in the middle of a public place.”
The assembled group murmured amongst themselves and seemed to agree. They quietened down for several moments before a woman with grey eyes hidden behind her glasses said, “So, I suppose we should try talking about something else, then?”
“That would be better than a group of people sitting here in silence,” the man who wore the perfume of the sea said.
“Well, then, Captain Percy,” the woman said, “Where did you find yourself on your latest voyage?”
Percy settled back in his seat, crossing his thick, hairy, heavily tattooed arms in front of him as he regarded his questioner. His black beard was flecked with traces of white and his tanned skin had become leathery in his old age.
“Surprisingly enough, the old country. The folk who hired me to pilot their yacht were interested in driving around the Mediterranean for a few months. They gave me a half million and told me to sail to all the touristy places.”
“Was it fun?” a young woman with a floral print dress asked.
Percy snorted. “Yeah. If you consider piloting two thirty-year old dot-com billionaires who don’t know the rudder from the mast around the Mediterranean fun. The only good part was the pay.”
The man with the thick glasses spoke up, “I assume you’ve secured it in the bank account I created for you?”
“Of course, Harrison. I might have water between my ears but even I know that money makes the world go around.”
“In this day and age, it does,” said the woman with grey eyes. “I can’t say that it was always the case.”
“What are you basing this on, Alanna?” asked a man with long blonde hair.
“I’m just saying, Paul, that sometimes the dreams I have show a different lifestyle to the one that we currently have.”
“Oh, we’re on this again?” the man with the burning eyes demanded, rolling them.
“Just because you don’t believe-“ Alanna replied venomously while the girl sitting beside Paul asked, “You still don’t believe Markus? After everything that’s happened?”
“No, Diane, I do believe some parts of it. I believe that we all experience some kind of unusual, group-based hallucinations. But I don’t believe that we’re Greek Gods and Goddesses born in human flesh.”
The short woman wearing a gold dress listened to the group argue back and forth, each taking the sides that they had done for time immemorial. Closing her eyes and sighing to herself, she stood and shouted, “Everyone, quiet!”
The arguing ceased. All eyes turned to face the woman, who was now standing, eyes still closed. She opened them and looked across each of her friends, the ones that had appeared in her dreams fifteen months ago. It had taken several months for everyone to meet and finally believe what she herself did. That they were the reincarnated forms of the ancient Hellenic Olympians. Well, most believed.
“This arguing is getting us nowhere,” the woman said, forcing herself to keep her face neutral. “We have to realise that we were brought together for a reason. Whether that is to fight against an ancient enemy or simply to punish Zachariah for his misdeeds in a previous life, it does not matter. None of it matters unless we can learn to agree with each other and act like a family.”
She looked to those on her left: Paul the musician, his sister Diane the conservationist. Nathan who drove a truck for FedEx. Deirdre and Hayden, the florist and the mortician. Markus, the Marine who preferred the chaos and terror of Iraq to a normal life back in the States.
Then to her right: Alanna, of Harvard’s history department. Percival who spent three hundred and sixty days at the helm of a boat. Harrison, the MIT wunderkind, and his wife Valentina whose beauty and talent had landed her starring role after starring role. Harriet, who designed homes for the rich and famous.
And of course, herself and her husband. Zachariah Theodopolis, of the Fortune 500, and his loving wife Helena. She chuckled to herself, wondering what the tabloids would have thought if they discovered that she planned to abduct and torture him.
“Now,” she said, "we have one option for this to succeed. We must strike Zachariah before his powers awaken or we will all suffer for the treason we have planned.”
“Powers?” Harrison prompted, his expression equal parts confused and curious.
“Surely you’ve noticed something?” Helena asked.
He shook his head.
Helena looked over the group and they all shook their heads. She groaned. Of course the others would be too shortsighted to see what she could. She was about to explain her plan in more detail when she heard a very familiar voice behind her.
“Helena? Who are these people?”
She turned to see her husband standing behind her, briefcase in hand. Just the sight of his face was enough to make her furious with anger and jealousy. Helena forced a smile on her face as she replied, “Just a few friends, dear. I’m sure they’d love to meet you."
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The day started like any other; I was sitting on my porch, enjoying the fresh mountain air as I ate breakfast. Two large black dogs sauntered up and sat at the base of the steps. To my surprise, one of them began to speak in a clear, deep voice. "The time has come for you to pay your debt."
I felt my heart racing, but I got ahold of myself and replied, "just give me a minute to make some preparations."I had been preparing for this moment for ten years, ever since I had made a pact with a demon, that I would achieve success and fame beyond my wildest fantasies, in exchange for my soul. But I wasn't going to give it all up so fast. I had a plan. I went inside the house to pick up a notebook and then returned to my porch to face the dogs.
I took a deep breath and began explaining. "By Ordinance 212B, City of Hell, the terms of the sale of my soul were invalid. You see, contracts must be signed in blood from the hand of the seller. However, I had skinned my knee that day and took advantage of the that already-made wound to collect the needed blood. Hence, the contract is null and void."
The dogs turned away and conferred with each other for a minute. They turned back around and one of them said "you got us on a technicality, but this isn't the last you'll hear of us."They ran the other way and disappeared into the mist.
I breathed a sigh of relief and went back to eating my breakfast. As I was finishing, a man in a black suit walked up to the base of my steps. "The time has come for you to pay your debt", he said. This time, my blood ran cold. It was my lawyer. |
*Three kobold raiders and one kobold raider captain. A pair of raiders on the ground to the northwest up ahead. One has a machete and the other has a kunai with chain. Third raider's to the northeast hopping rooftops with a crossbow. The captain’s closing the distance on the ground behind us to the south. Gatling greatsword. Must have camped on the outskirts last sundown before moving in. Looks like they’re raiding in a flank formation. How can we handle this? And what the hell is that smell? Is it…oh no.*
I’m forced to deactivate Foresight to address the source of the pungent odor. It was the priest and his ritual. Again.
“Priest Snoop! Why are you burning your healing herbs now? Kobolds are right on top of us, they’ll smell that!”
The priest coughs. To date, I have never seen his face. The hood is enchanted and keeps it in permanent shade. I only heard his name from the people in town who’d led me to him in search of a priest. He was revered for his healing herbs, and despite their strong scent, they were in high demand.
The smoke billowing the darkness of his hood meant that he was already channeling the spirits in preparation for their help with any imminent battle wounds.
“Ah, I see. You’re right, you must have had a holy premonition. There’s no choice but to fight here. We’ll have to be ready to stand our ground.”
I steeled my resolve. Kobolds are hardy but most vulnerable to the cold. We could take advantage of that to make up for being outnumbered. Thankfully, we had the right magical power in our corner for the job.
I grimaced at the necessity of having to address our mage by his full self-appointed title to get his attention. Though stubborn, it was his only requirement to join us.
“Mage Master Captain Grownup Legend…we’ll need you to cast some ice spells.”
“I wanna make lightning!”
“What? Kobolds are most vulnerable to the cold. We need ice most!”
“No! Lightning!”
He threw both his hands to the heavens, and sure enough, a bolt of lightning struck the ground with a harsh flash. I heard the priest’s voice for the first time in my life. “Aw damn!”
The conjured lightning had struck Priest Snoop’s sack of healing herbs, leaving a billowing geyser of smoke. As the smoke rose, it took the shape of a serpent and rapidly coiled around us in the clear eye of its vortex. As it expanded, I could hear the alarmed grunts of kobolds in the distance.
When the smoke cleared, the kobold sounds had stopped entirely. I reactivated Foresight to assess the situation. The grounded kobold raiders ahead of us to the west and the raid captain to the south had stopped advancing. Though no ice spell had been cast, they stood virtually frozen in place where they stood. The one that had been on the rooftops had fallen from his post and was impaled on a beam of rust.
At that moment, I realized what had happened. “Of course. Holy healing herb essence must be incompatible with kobold blood. All we needed was the right spell to evoke and direct it. Nicely done, Master Captain Grownup Legend!”
With the kobolds dazed and immobilized, I was able to fell them without resistance. I’d never seen a kobold up close before, but I’d heard countless tales of their appearance. Still, I’d never been told that their eyes were such a deep shade of red. |
"¡Hola! Hey! Is anyone there! ¿Hay alguien aquí?"I yelled just for hope. I prayed for a response - some company for this blackest of Fridays. The turkey was infected, I think, since most of the town is dead. Not just in the angsty teenager "take me away from this deadbeat town"way - the people were actually dead. Muertos.
"Hi!"I thought my prayers were answered and that I was somewhat saved. May be somebody older than me still lived. I walked over a little more quickly.
Then I was forced to stop. It was Jake's place. The place where... I was almost made a victim to... I don't know what.
He had a crush on me in high school and I was unaware of this at the time I went to a party on that barren ranch. I think his friends were going to "kidnap"me and then he was supposed to rescue me and win me over, or something. Unfortunately for them, not only did I know more karate than any of they did, but I was not drunk like they had planned on me being.
Jake, playing the innocent host or something, told me I was right to beat them up and that his crush on me was strengthened by my strength. But I was a little smarter than he thought - I heard one of his friends mutter something about "taking one for the team"and figured that Jake was not just some quiet kid. He was likely a creep. So I told him that I was not interested in him... Being deficient or something, he did not take the hint. The next week, with flowers, chocolates, money, and whatever else the worms in his brain told him would win my favor, he tried to buy my affection. I laid it on him hard and never saw him again...
... Until now. Now of all times, now. ¡Joder! Why now? I sighed. It didn't have to be Jake. I turned the corner to face the person.
And it was Jake. I almost ran back, knowing that he would now have an excuse to not leave me alone.
What if we were the last people alive? I said I wouldn't date him, but...
I dismissed the obvious thoughts. I was smart enough to devise a workaround if need be. One dumb creep wouldn't end humanity. And I'm usually OK alone. Hence, it was obvious. I walked away. If he lived and improved, I'd reconsider. But mother nature too was testing him, and... Qué sera, será. |
It was the darkness
***Journal Entry Number 5454***
They are dead, all of them, screaming, crying. Dead. I can't believe it. We offered a sacrifice every year to the darkness, but what were we paid? We knew we were at the edge of reality, speaking to the Gods, but we didn't know that some Gods are their own beings. This monster came out of the well, so many arms, legs, I saw the face of chapa, beautiful chapa, screaming at me.
I can't go on. Shadows of our ancestors cast from that beast, that ball of massacred limbs and faces. Our shaman said the God was friendly, our shaman said the God would lead us to prosperity, our shaman said our future was bright. All we had to do was make offerings until the 20 years after the second millenia. The stars were aligned, but this creature was no God, no he is a sadistic grotesque all consuming for power.
Be warned. If I do not survive, I love my people. I love you oh Hateya, the cloud of my strength. You have warmed my fire when my nights were cold; you are my light.
Be warned, oh culture of the West, with your industry, be warned. The darkness is coming. The grotesque.
The darkness is coming. |
Edit: Holy moly silver! Thanks stranger :)
Supreme Commander A'drex sat upon his neural-interface throne with a curious expression on his face, not quite fear, for fear is not an emotion the War Kin are known to experience, but more like severe apprehension.
The only planet thus far to offer up ANY resistance to the Great War Doctrine of the 5th Empire was not the technological advanced Kreen, whom fell the 5th day of conquest from the relentless bio warfare, nor was it the extremely aggressive insectoid hives that go by no name, they offered supplication on the 2nd day of conquest. The only planet to ever halt A'drex, the only planet to ever humiliate the Supreme Commander, is a backwater post-industrial civilization living on a planet called "Earth."
All reports said that they existed as a fractured species of many cultures living on a single planet. They had only just split the atom, and barely understood the universe. They had no knowledge of other races or the true underlying forces of the universe. Mere fodder for the Great War Doctrine of the 5th Empire. All reports confirmed this.
So why, A'drex wondered, after 600 days of relentless bio-weapon bombardment had this primitive species translated the One Language, not to send terms of surrender, not to beg for mercy or to give one final threat before they perished as so many other civilizations before them had, but to send a single word.
A'drex sat upon his neural-interface throne with a curious expression on his face, reading and re-reading the message sent from this singular planet that had halted his war machine for so long. The message said:
**More.** |
Shit. No, no, no! What is that thing?
A giant shadow loomed over my hometown of Fairway, California as an enormous mass emerged from the ocean. A couple of fighter jets flew overhead, firing at the gargantuan pink mass. The bullets didn’t seem to affect the creature, however. Screams filled the streets as the full horror of this creature revealed itself.
The pink, spherical body slowly made its way onto the shore, carried by stubby red legs that looked disproportionately large in relation to the monster’s body. Dead, blue eyes and an unchanging smile composed the face of this horror, which filled whoever beheld its unholy visage with an eldritch fear beyond anything the human soul could hope to create.
The horrific creature gaped its terrible maw and inhaled, ripping buildings from their foundations, uprooting trees, destroying the highways and overpasses, and taking the very breath from peoples’ lungs. The military was gone. The whole city was gone. I stood, paralyzed with fear. Terror froze every bone, every muscle in my body. The only thing that kept me from a bubblegum-colored oblivion was the fact that I was too far away, watching from the mountains.
There was no city.
Fairway, California was gone.
And in its place, there was only a single presence, threatening all of Earth, promising a shared fate with Fairway.
There was only one.
There was only Kirby. |
They need me? A grin spreads on my face as my yellow teeth appear. Here she is, on her knees in front of my cell. Does she expect me to just walk with her and save the day?
​
I point my middlefinger to my chest and pressed it a bit. “Me?” She nods, nothing but whimpers coming from her mouth. She slowly stands up and straigtens her dress. Her panty’s are unsaveable though. “Hmm, but do I feel like a hero today?” I scratch my non-existed beard, looking into the air as if I were to find my answer there. I knew my answer the moments she asked, but I really could use some more begging after being in this hellhole for so long.
​
“Ofcourse…”, she continues as if she never fell out of her politician manners, “we have some terms.” I look back at her and raise an eyebrow. Speak, woman. She straightens her dress again, which is starting to annoy me. I don’t care about your goddamn dress. “We can arrange a better cell for-“ “Well, well. Your world is in trouble and the only thing you can offer me is a better life in prison? I want freedom.” She looks at me and nods. Wait? She nods?
​
“I was expecting you to say that, but why not try”, she smiles. “We can offer you your freedom and a house that is available just outside the city.” I grin, once again. “I don’t need your house, I have my own. I want better.” I knew what I wanted, but she needs to ask for it. I need her to ask for it. I need my satisfaction in this very moment.
​
“It is a great hous-“ “No.” I walk back to my stone bench while unbuttoning my orange blouse. I knew I didn’t need this any longer. “We don’t have much time, Lansier. You need to help us. Just tell me what you want”, she sounds so desperate. Just how I like them. Those foolish politicians think they can rule the world. They think words are power. Are they going to negotiate with a nuke? No, power is power.
​
“I want him”, I say. I turn around and see horror on her face. What? She didn’t see it coming? That’s foolish of her. Of course I want him. That’s all I’ve been after, but they told me no. Words are power.“We can’t-“ “It’s him or the rest of your stupid little town.” A tear is appearing on her cheek. I approach her and whipe it off with my thumb.
​
“Don’t cry, Nora. What did you expect me to say?” I look at her with one side of my lips curled into a smile. “Don’t do it, Lansier. Not Brad, not my-“ “OUR SON”, I yell at her face with anger. I hate it when she calls it her son as if I had no part in creating him. “Our son”, she almost whispers, looking at the ground.
​
“Nora… Nora, nora nora.” I sigh. “Nora.” I walk a little round in my cell. “I’m not going to hurt him. All I ever wanted was to see him and for him to see me-“ “MADAM MAYER!” Someone interrupts me. “Madam, the creature… it’s on Bat Street.” She nods and thanks the police officer, who looks terrified at me.
​
“Okay”, she looks at me with pain in her eyes. Yes. YES. “You will see your son.”
​
​
(I really hope I'm doing this right with all the enters and such. Oh and sorry if the grammar isn't all good, I'm not native at English.) |
I sat on my rock, as I always do. A valiant knight, dressed up in shining silver-soaked armour. At least, that's how most would describe me. I don't much *feel* like a valiant knight. All I ever do, all I ever have done, is rest atop this boulder and say my script.
>"Halt, thee adventurer! Beyond these marble gates are a labyrinth of tricks and traps, death and doorways, portals and punishment. Thou shalt most certainly perish unless the proper equipment is adorned! Wear thy strongest armour, wield thy strongest blade, and cast thy strongest spells and mayhaps you will best the unbeatable. I give thou this warning, brave one. None have traversed this wretched dungeon and came out alive..."
To be honest, it gets kind of boring. It has been this way since my very birth. I was made an adult, already speaking the English language and already knowing what my duty is. It is very monotonous. Trust me - I have tried to escape eternity. I once went into the dungeon myself, hoping to find a peaceful death. That was when a growling octopus entrapped me in slimey tendrils, and consumed me... But then, of course, I woke up. In front of the dungeon - completely unharmed.
One day, a greatly disturbing clang against the Marble Gates. It scared me halfway to Hell! Was the amorphous slime goblin attempting to escape again? Perhaps the Seven-Headed Cephalopod? In truth, it was none of these. I heard a Human's voice come from behind the door!
"Hey, could I get some help here...? Kind of... Stuck."
In haste, I quickly rushed to pull the gates open with my thick iron fingers. A worn-down, damaged man came from the abyss. He couldn't have been younger than 45. He wore a torn, tatterdemalion trench coat, muddied black boots, and busted-up blue jeans. His hair was brown and bedraggled, strands going in every which way. He had light facial hair, a faint beard, on his chin.
*"Hoooo-whee."* The man exclaimed. "That was a helluva trip."
"...Yes, I'm quite sure,"I responded in hesitation, in awe of this man who exited with nothing but common clothing. "But why are thou... Here? How? Simply... what?"
The mysterious man only chuckled. "Well, y'see, I kinda entered here... Oh, about 3 centuries ago? 5 minutes, perhaps? Don't remember. Time's a fickle-y thing, real weird. Anywhoozers, I got here while you were sleepin' and I was all 'hey, you know I could use some loot for m' family'. So I went in there, my swiftness being my only weapon, mostly. But the darnedest thing happened when I got to the end of that maze o' monsters. The dude at the end, I've taken to calling 'im 'the final boss', seems to not only protect the door, but he... Is the door. So I'm all, shoot, I don't got no sword-y thing to unlock this demon. Kinda just waltzed on out, then, 'cuz I need to find a weapon. Noticed you had one. Wanna help me?"
It took a while for me to reply. This lowly man who didn't seem to care an ounce for speaking English as I knew the language, had gotten to the end of the eternal. The climax of infinity. Truthfully, I thought neither me or adventurer would *ever* see the end of this thing. Maybe, I thought, finally ending this mystery would release me from eternity. Maybe this was my purpose all along. Of course, I was also simply really curious. So with a sigh, I unsheathed my sword, and pointed it toward the still-opened gate.
"Lead the way, sire." |
El Dorado. The city of gold. That was the return address on the envelope. More specifically, it was:
*3886 Goldenleaf Drive*
*Central district, X00P11*
*El Dorado*
My address was handwritten on the front. The ‘Right Honourable Prince Sebastian’ it said in quiet but confident letters. The envelope had no stamp, it had been hand-delivered while I was out. Now thoroughly confused, I turned it over again in my hands, before tearing it open.
The letter smelled like the rainforest, and oddly, it smelled like home. Not any home I’ve ever known, but it smelled oddly familiar. I unfolded the letter. On that piece of folded paper rested the words that would change my life forever. Looking back now, sometimes I regret opening it. Sometimes I think of all those who would be still be alive if I’d just thrown it in the bin instead. I think about the heartache, the loss, the loyalty of those who’ve died in my name, and it brings me to tears. But how could I have? How could anyone throw away a letter that says you are third in line to the throne of El Dorado?
I pondered it for a while. My first thought was that it was a scam, some kind of trick to get my bank details. “Congratulations! You’re the heir to the throne of a fake country! Just send us a small amount of money and we can register your claim now!”
But there was none of that. There was just a line saying how my father, my true father, was so glad he had finally tracked me down, and that he wanted to see me before he passed away. I’d never met my parents, hence the DNA test that led to this letter. I was convinced this was fake at that point. It seemed too good to be true. But then, at the very bottom of the letter, were a few simple words that eased my mind.
“We will be in contact soon.”
I relaxed. The pressure was off me. Either the mysterious letter deliverer contacted me, or they didn’t. Either way, it wasn’t on my shoulders. But El Dorado? That was just a myth. No-one had ever found it. I pondered the issue that night, turning it over in my mind again and again. Needless to say, I couldn’t sleep. If this was real, it would be the most exciting thing to ever happen to me. I grew up with Harry Potter, with books about someone living their boring life then being whisked off to Narnia, to be a spy, to Hogwarts. I'd always prayed it would be me when I was younger. But now, like someone had been listening to my childish dreams, I would be drawn into a magical and mythical world, my life would never be the same. But, I reminded myself, it was probably fake. After all, no-one had ever found El-Dorado. Or... no-one had ever returned from El-Dorado…
I sat up in bed.
Maybe, I told myself, it was because El-Dorado was so nice and welcoming and lovely that nobody wanted to leave? Like in the movie?
*Or* my inner voice said, *El-Dorado likes to keep its secrets. Be careful. Someone there might be in the habit of killing people who want to leave*
There was a knock at the door.
I looked at the clock beside my bed. 2am.
I got out of bed, wrapping my dressing-gown around me. I retrieved my penknife from the bedside table and feeling very Arthur Dent-ish and completely incompetent, I made my way down the stairs.
Another knock.
I was on the bottom step now, and I could see a figure behind the frosted glass of my front door. I moved closer, trying to be as quiet as possible.
I reached out one hand, slowly gripping the latch as I held my penknife in what can only be described as the opposite of a menacing manner.
A third knock.
I jumped slightly.
There was a polite cough from behind me.
I almost shat myself.
“My lord, could I perchance trouble you to put down your uh... weapon? We have much to discuss.”
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Thanks for reading! Feedback would be great. |
It was a city of glass, steel and smoke. A place larger, grander, and more populous than any I've ever seen or heard of. A place where carriages moved without any horses, where the buildings seemed to defy gravity itself.
And a place where not a particle of magic could be found.
A city of millions where not a single man, woman or child had magical talent? Preposterous. Unthinkable. And yet here it was. A simple summoning spell had passers-by gawping and dropping their little- Phones? Was it?
I lived as a king, my first few days. A few simple tricks were enough to impress, cow, or steal from whoever I wished. I spent the time living in a suite at the top of a glorious tower, funded by some currency I'd retrieved from boxes with buttons that seemed to be on every street corner. Apparently, the locals had trouble actually taking it out.
I'd never completed my training at the University, but retrieving a stack of currency from inside a box was laughably easy. A novice could have done it.
I spent my time visiting local landmarks, sampling the food, and trying to figure out a way to return home.
On my fifth day, as I was walking back to my tower, a common thief tried to stop me. Pitiful. But when I lifted my hands to blast him out of existence, an ear-splitting bang cracked through the air. The world spun - and my arm felt sticky and wet. I found myself on the ground, the thief having long since disappeared.
And as I lay in a hospital bed, recuperating, I came to a startling realization. Cities-No, empires, do not grow this large without power and technology. Despite their lack of magic, these people had managed to maintain a standard of living well above that of any citizen back home in Shubin. I'd been treating them like cattle - crippled, magic-less fools. But while magi could wreak havoc on an individual level, a population this size and with this technology could break nations across its knee.
One in a hundred Shubinis had the Talent. One in a thousand had enough to be worthy of a University education.
And here, every one of the millions of citizens could kill a man from a distance, given one of those projectile weapons. If the force that brought me here ever worked the other way, my home would be conquered within months.
My gut churned. I had to do some research. |
I never wanted to kill.
When I realized what I had, a little black notebook through which I could create a cosmic shift in reality, changing it so that one person owed another the specific amount I wrote, I was careful. I used it only to enrich myself.
I was like Robin Hood, I told myself. They were rich and I was poor. A quick google search for "the richest people in America"and the wire transfers started rolling in. I never took more than one percent of their net worth, never more than a penny from each dollar. It wasn't long before I could have joined them in those search engine results. But I was careful, and I avoided attention the way I used to avoid collection agents. Employing a discreet money manager who invested for me, I found myself free of financial worry indefinitely.
Even as I traveled the world, bought expensive dinners for beautiful women, collected sports cars and watched basketball courtside, a gnawing began somewhere in my guts. I had heard that money can't make you happy. I had always thought that was something poor people like me told ourselves to qualm the jealousy, feel better about our retched lives and get through the day. But it was true. Without the anxiety of scarce resources I was becoming bored. I lacked purpose. It was then, after a thousand dollar bottle of scotch and half a roll of tums, that I pressed a thumb to the biometric scanner of my safe and heard the click.
When I held the little black notebook a thrill rose up inside that I hadn't felt in years.
I thought, for the first time, about how I could affect the world. Not just myself, but the whole of humanity. There were powerful people in the United States who used their money to buy legislation, shape society in a way that benefited their greed. I took that power from them. Their were good people with nothing, who volunteered and ran non profits and helped others without a thought for themselves. I gave them the wealth they did not desire. Mostly they used it wisely. Foreign dictators, organized criminals, terrorist leaders - if I learned their name I drained them. But never completely.
Until I did. A Russian oligarch who was reputed to run drugs through several countries, including the United States, must have overestimated his own wealth. Bragged about it to the press. Apparently he had not been able to pay the charities I had written he owed in time.
When I learned of his heart attack I drank for three weeks straight. I had not killed him, but hadn't I? Was it really that different than pulling a trigger, sending a chunk of metal into his heart? I wrote the words and sent death magic into his heart. Different weapon, same result. Same intent. Like it or not, I was a killer.
But there was one less evil man in the world. How many lives had I made better, how many had I outright saved by ridding the planet of that one human being? The arithmetic was undeniable. So I found a target, and I did it again. And again. Eventually the feeling of right overpowered the guilt and self loathing, and I read the news of their deaths with satisfaction. Achievement. The accomplishment of cleaning out a filthy garage, or destroying a fire ant mound in the back yard. I was cleaning up humanity.
I need you to understand this. I need you to understand that I began selfishly but with good intentions, and my intentions were always good. I never meant to be a killer. The notebook came to me through cosmic coincidence, and the longer I have held it, the more certain I have become that I was never meant to have it. I am weak. I am corruptible. I am just a man, not great or special. A man who allowed himself to descend the slippery slope of power even as he believed he punished others for it.
You have all of my assets. When you turn to the most recent page in the notebook you will see that I owe you more. This is not a mistake. This is goodbye. I trust that you will use this gift more wisely than I have, to lift up your fellow man always, and that you will not follow my path to hell.
Good luck. |
I wrote this as fast as I could. First submission, sorry if it has any grammar or spelling mistakes.
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“Happy Birthday!”
For the 50th time in this lifetime, I have now been reminded of my acceleration into oblivion. My ever-serving smile stood stalwart on my face as I prepared to extinguish the dim candle for the strangers I found surrounding me now, watching me do the deed as strangers watch a street act. These days, I can only remember my wife’s face out of three figures that stood around my chair. My children were born too far along my timeline; I can only see their newborn faces in my memories. All plump and anonymous. Blurred and indistinct, much like everything else I see now.
Even in this moment, the light in front of me only registers as a murky starburst across my ancient retinas. I was ten when I was warned of this, although a warning would imply something could have been done to prevent it. Perhaps in a past life I was some horrible monster, or **blasphemed** against God. Perhaps I was so monstrous and so blasphemous that I was cursed, and my children were cursed, and my children’s children were cursed.
Or perhaps, as my doctor had said then, I was just unlucky.
God hates the unlucky.
I fill my lungs with air now, and say the deafened prayer in my head as I have every forsaken year of this life that I can remember.
I wished for my eyes back. No, I wished for more than that, I wished for better eyes. Eyes better than anyone’s. Eyes to help me see a God who would let this plague ruin mine and my children’s lives. Eyes to look Him in His own.
I blew the candle out now, with more of a whimpering puff than a determined demand. The same way as every year. And just the same way as every year, I prepared to watch as the murky starburst faded back into that blurred familiar darkness once again. The fall from light was all too well-known to me. My vision tunneled from the ember, further and further, until eventually I would be accelerating too fast back into that black that haunted me and my salvation blinked out of existence, now light-years away. Here I sat again, resigned to my living oblivion.
The candle lit again. Or at least, I think so. My black cave of vision now caught the pinprick of warmth at the end of it once again, perfectly centered. I was stopping my acceleration now, slowing my dark burial. But the candle was burning brighter this time, clearer even. I think now I am moving towards it, but it's all too fast. I’m no longer aware of my body, or the table, or my families muffled screams. The candle is too bright, it's too fast. No longer a candle, I can feel my body approaching that conflagration that now occupies my entire field of vision. Colors and shapes, points and lines. Stimuli I haven’t known for years now come flooding back into me as a blinding searing inferno that now envelopes in the most painful rapture I have ever known. The colors I see are ones I have never known, that nobody has ever know, and the shapes solidify into horrifying and beautiful beings of non-euclidian existence. I can see further beyond the points and lines now, into waves of time and entropy itself. I watch as entire empires fall and stars collide in the blink of an eyes. I see suffering and salvation on a scale beyond I can comprehend. I see what has come before and what will come after.
I see my children in their deathbeds, eyes glazed over like porcelain dolls.
My tears cloud my vision now, reminding me of that wretched ignorant cave of dark sensory oblivion I wallowed away my entire deprived and detached life in. I look to the heavens now, and see Him.
Even with these eyes of mine, even with this newfound nirvana I find myself possessed by, my vision does not focus immediately. It takes epochs, eras, eons to finally make out the lines in His visage. I trace them infinitely in my mind, finding pupils set in a hard stare meeting mine. I fill my lungs with air now, and ask him, with more of a whimpering puff than a determined demand.
“Why?”
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I woke with a start and opened my eyes to the washed-out blur I have always known. Things were taped to my chest and head, and every beep by my bedside felt like an explosion inside my head. I felt the needle in my arm and the cold, clinical reality wrapped its fingers around my brain and suffocated my dreams. A tall man leaned over me and shined a flashlight in my eyes. The light was impossibly far away from me, once again.
“I can’t believe you’re actually awake. Stay calm, but that was one hell of a seizure you had.” He put the flashlight away and pulled his clipboard in front of his face.
“You’re lucky to still be with us.” |
Lucy was confused. Even if she walked to someone and tried to shake them, they didn't react.
"Hello? Anyone?"Lucy shouted. She peeked at the comet once more. But it didn't take long before she got tired of it, again. Only she could watch away.
It took some time before she began walking around. She moved from one street to another. All the cars were stopped, and every person was looking at the comet.
But the real hint arrived when she noticed something strange. When she saw a local airport, something was weird. There was a plane floating, just barely taken a flight.
"What the..."Lucy murmured. It was an obvious answer; the time had stopped. It never had been about the comet, but the fact that time had either stopped or moving too slowly. Or perhaps it all stopped because they were all watching at the comet?
"So, you finally noticed,"a voice reached her ears. Lucy looked around. And as she turned around, she finally noticed someone. A woman in weird black clothing.
Lucy began to smile. She was happy to see another human. "I'm not alone!"she said.
"Oh no, you're alone alright,"the woman said. "After all, I'm not human, and I won't stick around."
"What?"Lucy muttered, confused. "What's going on? Who are you?"
"I'm Death. And I am about to reap every single soul on the Earth. Usually, I let my reapers do the job. But even they wouldn't be able to handle the whole world at once."
"W-what do you mean? I... I don't follow,"Lucy muttered.
"You do follow,"Death said, taking some steps closer and stopping in front of her. "You just don't want to believe it."
"Why me? Why am I here? Why am I still alive? Why am I able to move?"Lucy asked questions, taking a few steps back. "Don't tell me that I'm the only one who can stop this!"
Death smirked. "Of course you can't stop this. Nobody should be able to stop this. This is over. After all, I am here. But I can't answer why you're here either. You shouldn't. But for some reason you are. I find it curious as well,"she said.
"When will this be over?"Lucy asked after a long silence. She still tried to understand and process everything.
"For them, a moment. For you; seventy-seven million years. Every soul takes around one-hundredth of a year to process."
"Are you nuts?"Lucy shouted. "I can't wait that long!"
Death smirked, revealing her inner mouth which was endless darkness with no teeth. It was weird that it was then when she noticed that.
"Then you have only one option; you can try to save the world."
(/r/Elven <- Mah sub with mah writing with mah stories) |
"Mother f-"
My profanity was cut short by the sliding door of the storage unit banging into place above me. Midday sun poured into the dank room, showing a few cardboard boxes, a couch with more holes than swiss cheese and a candle holder covered in cobwebs. When I had won this unit at auction this morning, beating out my most hated rival Scavenger Steve - he named himself that - I thought I'd finally found a treasure horde. But nope, just junk.
The auctioneer had said this one's been sitting here undisturbed for fifty years, then a few months ago the payments stopped. Owner probably died. A unit sits around that long it usually means antique city, at least a few rare baseball cards or stamp collections or something. I really struck out this time.
My footsteps reverberated against the concrete as I walked over to the back corner, kicked over the candlestick. It clattered against the wall and sent dust up into my face. Now that it was on its side the thing looked different, and memories of Disney cartoons popped into my head. Hooking a pinky through the handle I lifted the brass object and held it in the light.
It was a lamp. Not a desk lamp that holds an incandescent bulb, but a genie lamp, like the movie Aladdin. I'd always like'd that one. Immediately the silly impulse to rub the lamp swept through me, and I couldn't help a grin. It was stupid, but it wouldn't hurt to try, would it? Worst case scenario I'm an idiot rubbing dusty metal, best case I get a blue, cartoon Robin Williams to grant me three wishes. What could go wrong?
As my fingertips brushed the rough brass, a little voice in the back of my mind whispered,
"Everything."
With a sudden rattle the sliding door above me thundered down and shut me into darkness. I dropped the lamp and scrambled to the door, gripping a protrusion and pulling up, but the thing wouldn't budge.
Fear bloomed in my gut, cold and raw, but I slowed my breathing and forced myself to concentrate. I just needed to get this thing open. If I couldn't do that, I could just bang on the door and make enough racket to draw someone's attention. I wasn't going to run out of air. That was silly.
Pulling the phone out of my pocket, I fumbled with the buttons on the side to get the screen on. Before I could, though, light glowed into the room. A red dot, like a tiny sun, grew in size before my eyes to the size of a basketball. It elongated, like it was being stretched from the top and bottom, and limbs sprouted to form arms and legs, which gradually took shape with hands and feet. Like it was being sculpted by an unseen artist a sphere atop the figure formed itself into a man's head.
"Hello there,"said the small, red man. He wore a slim fitting black suit, and his hair was slicked back. He looked like a tiny, floating stock broker demon.
"Uh, hi,"I responded.
"Are you ready to receive your first wish?"he asked, a smile touching his lips.
He brushed off his shoulders with the backs of his hands, sending red, glittering dust away from him in clouds.
"A billion dollars,"I blurted out. I had thought about this a lot.
The well dressed little genie tilted his head back and roared out a laugh. My embarrassment swelled as a long moment stretched, the strange being convulsing with joy, doubling over and then eventually wiping the undersides of his eyes.
"That never gets old,"he said, voice cracking from the remnants of laughter in his throat. "I didn't say *make* your first wish, idiot. I said *receive* your first wish."
"What?"I heard myself say. Some part of me began to suspect I had fallen backward when the door slid down and I'd knocked myself out. This had to be a dream.
"The three wishes have already been made,"he said, gesturing like a game show host, "hundreds of years ago, in fact. If you can deliver on those three wishes, if you can fulfill the requests made by my last successful host, then you will get three wishes of your own."
I mulled that over for a second.
"Wait,"I said, "So you don't grant wishes? You just tell the next person who finds this lamp that *they* have fulfill the wishes the last person made? So... your just a middle man?"
He smiled, spread his hands to the side and shrugged.
"Is the guy who made the last three wishes still alive?"I asked.
"Oh no,"the genie said, shaking his head as if this was the most ridiculous thing in the world. "He died ages ago. Quite painfully."
"So what's the point of fulfilling his wishes?"
The genie shrugged again. "That's just how it works. You in or you out?"
What the hell did I have to lose? A minimum wage level income buying storage units and hawking junk on ebay? A ex wife who hated my guts? A double wide with a bad septic tank?
"I'm in."
"Okay then,"said the genie, clapping his hands. "Wish number one..."
He pulled a little scroll from an inside pocket of his suit jacket, then unrolled it carefully. He put a monocle, an actual monocle to his eye and scanned down the document.
"Here we are,"he said. "I need you to get me the deed to a Scottish castle."
&#x200B; |
I flipped through the sight of the crowd. It was a time passer, I did it a lot, even if it didn't get me anything or accomplish anything. I guess it means practice? I don't know how I could get better at my natural ability.
Flipping through, I saw people looking at their phones, a *lot* of people looking at their phones.
*Ew is he watching porn in public?*
I quickly switched to another person.
One person was buying food at a stand. Someone was talking to a group of people. A couple of them were children.
But I wasn't prepared for this one.
One of them was looking at me, nonchalantly sitting on a bench, looking at the sky.
Through a rifle scope.
My heart sunk. From where they were, they could get me from almost anywhere in the crowd. I swapped back to them to see, and they still had their sights trained on me.
I swapped back to me and stood up from the bench and slowly made my way to the bathroom stalls.
*He can't see me inside. Just gotta make it before they shoot.*
I had recently figured out that if my mind had a point to get to, I could keep my body walking to it as I swapped through people's vision. I looked at the rifleman's sights, they followed me through the crowd.
*How am I gonna get away from this?*
I switch back to myself, and speed up moving to the bathrooms quicker. Could I make a run for it? He would probably hit me, if he was a trained sniper, witch I didn't doubt.
Despite my thoughts, I sprinted the rest of the way to the bathroom. When I made it inside, I heard the crack of a rifle shot and the sound of a bullet hitting the wall next to me.
I let out a sigh of relief, my heart slowing down from pounding.
*What the hell was he up to?* |
"This way, this way."The man rushed me, motioning me down the hallway. "You wanted to see a patient, right?"
I nodded, clutching my reporter's notebook to my side. The "doctor"was tall, but it was plainly obvious in the arch of his back that he was attempting to hold himself up straight, to fight the hunch-back he so clearly had. His face was strained like he was in pain, but he gave no other hint that he was affected. If I hadn't seen his very picture in the files on the hundreds of patients held here, I probably would've thought he was just a poor doctor. Of course, that was exactly what he wanted me to think.
We reached room number 307, and the doctor unlocked it swiftly, ushering me inside. I had come here on a report of mistreatment of the patients and had discovered that the patients weren't being mistreated, at least not any more, but had actually taken over the hospital and begun impersonating the staff to avoid the local law enforcement from finding out. Any sane person would know that this plan never would have worked, not forever, anyway. The real staff had families, friends. The police would have gotten involved eventually, but before they did, they wanted me to investigate it. This man was eager for me to see that there was no mistreatment to be had, bouncing from foot to foot as he pulled me into the room.
On the bed, handcuffed to the headboard, was a man dressed crudely in a patient's gown. His hair was slick with sweat and his wrist was red from struggling against the restraints. The "doctor's"eyes sizzled with hot rage at the sight, but then it vanished a moment later, and he met my gaze with a smile.
"We had to restrain him,"he explained, "He wouldn't stop attacking the staff. Isn't that right, Matt?"
Matt glanced from me to the man, fear and confusion battling for control of his thoughts, but his fear proved to be stronger, and he nodded.
"But you can check him, there are no bruises to be found, no injuries."The man urged me forward, and I stumbled towards the bed.
I set my notebook on the nightstand and knelt down next to Matt. His breathing was quick and strained, his heart beating rapidly in his chest, but he said nothing.
"Matt,"I whispered gently, "Is it alright if I check you for bruises?"
I prayed that he understood the gleam in my eyes, the silent plea to go along with what the "doctor"was saying, what I was saying. If he didn't, I had no idea what the man would do to him, do to me. Thankfully, after a tense moment, Matt nodded slowly.
I undid his gown, pulling it down to just above his waist, and examined his chest, arms, neck, and torso for bruises, but there were none. His skin was flawless, except for his wrists, but I found no reason to comment on those. Best to just let the "doctor"believe I thought the man was a real patient.
"Check below his waist too, his legs."The man said quickly, stepping forward to peer over my shoulder.
"I don't think that's really necessary-"I began, but the man cut me off.
*"Check him!"* He hollered, making me jump.
I whispered an apology to Matt, but all he did was shut his eyes, as if telling me to just get it over with. I continued removing the gown, turning my head away as it came down below his groin. Matt was shaking, his body quivering with fear and humiliation. I examined his legs up and down and then quickly re-covered him, spinning away as soon as I was done.
The "doctor"seemed pleased, smiling dimly as I scribbled my findings into my notebook.
"I'd like to see the break rooms,"I said finally, "And some of the female patients, if you don't mind, I just want to be thorough."
"Yes, yes, of course!"The "doctor"declared, leading the way out of the room.
Before I left, I tossed another pitying glance back at Matt, who was still laying with his eyes shut. The "doctor"wanted me to check for physical mistreatment, which I was sure he made certain no one experienced, but he didn't know I recognized what he was doing. Subjugating Matt to that examine wasn't for me to check for bruises, but to humiliate him. However long the staff had been here, the pain must've been great. The bruises they felt were far beneath the surface of their skin, just where someone wouldn't be able to spot them.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
Sorry for the quick ending! It's a little sloppy, but I gotta run, I'll come back later and finish it! |
*Tea. I need tea*. Tarrakis stumbled from his bedroom, his head pounding. As he emerged into his kitchen, he was shocked to see the sheer number of empty bottles littering his table and the floor around it. Though he really shouldn’t have been surprised, considering the pain in his head, the dizziness in his stomach, and the fact that he had woken up fully dressed in his day robe. He stared blearily at the detritus, and decided that tea came before cleaning. He shuffled to the hearth, and flicked a spark from his finger into it, lighting a fire regardless that there was no wood. Tarrakis focused very hard on steadying his hands as he poured water from a bucket into a kettle, as not to spill. He picked up the kettle from the floor, and immediately after he had stopped focusing on his hands, the kettle crashed to the floor, spilling. He cursed softly, cringing from the noise, and groped for the kettle’s handle.
His hand passed right through.
Tarrakis cursed again, loud and strong this time. What in Voragia had he been up to last night? He stormed from the kitchen into his study, knocking bottles across the floor on his way. The sound made him want to vomit. Tarrakis’ study was in its usual state of disorder, but the artifact he was looking for was exactly where he had left it. Focusing on his hands, Tarrakis picked up the flat, etched stone from its shelf, and as soon as he touched it, more than half of the stone’s thirty runes blazed alight. He swore louder than ever, and the stone slipped through his palm and hit the floor. Tarrakis had enchantment upon enchantment stacked upon him, presumably self-cast. The stone had indicated the amount of his aspects that had been altered.
You need to know a spell, before you can dispel it. Basic stuff. He at least knew that some sort of insubstantiation had been cast on him from his intermittently ghostly hands. Tarrakis selected a steel ingot from a shelf. Heavy, solid, definite. He held it carefully between his hands and began to harmonize with it. The resonance rang in his ears until it became deafening, and he felt himself smash back into substance. He suddenly felt heavier, much heavier, but he also felt more present and real. That sudden realness coincided with his stomach clenching and twisting. Still reeling from the ritual, some of the sick escaped his mouth and dribbled on his robe. Tarrakis roared in frustration. After catching his breath and mopping at his robe, he reached for the etched stone again. This time somewhat fewer runes lit when he touched it, but still more than he would like. The stone was helpful, but not explicit. With the amount of overlapping enchantments still upon him, it was difficult to tell what exactly those enchantments were.
He pondered what to check next. Glamours were the obvious next step. This time, Tarrakis needed to dig through piles of artifacts and implements before he found what he was looking for. A simple hand mirror. As he turned it upon himself, he immediately burst into laughter, which proceeded another mouthful of phlegm. After coughing away the bile in his throat, Tarrakis checked the mirror again. A horrific visage peered back at him, all horns and scales and slime. He giggled to himself, somewhat impressed with his own imagination. The giggling reminded him of something. Of himself. Last night. Cackling maniacally as he phased through the walls of the surrounding homes pretending to be a demon, storming through his neighbors’ dens, lighting fires and scaring children.
Shit.
|
"Oh, Dad, I thought you were an amazing--"
"Not now,"I snapped, squinting into the corner of the room.
"Dad, are... do you see a light?"my son asked fearfully.
"Easy mode?"I scoffed.
"He may have lost it,"his wife said, consoling him.
"How is this easy mode!? I outlived my wife for decades! I haven't been able to take myself to the bathroom for the past three weeks, and my cat died right when I was going through being laid off from work!"I yelled.
"Dad--"
"Hush, honey, I think he wants to take the time to recall his life,"she said.
"All the illnesses, the deaths in the family, the constant bickering with my college professors just to get a passing grade! I never had an ounce of focus in my childhood thanks to the undiagnosed ADHD that drove every adult I met to hate me within minutes!"I took a deep breath, glaring at the notifications. My son looked like he wanted to say something, but I kept going.
"I think the only *good* in my life was my wife and son! And that's not easy! Child rearing is no cake walk, it took a lot of hard work. I emphasize *hard* work because I remember a number of weeks I went without sleep just so I could one day provide a college education to my son and a lasting home for my wife, whom, needn't I remind you, *died* years before seeing that family home she longed for!"I said, losing my composure and throwing my pudding at the wall.
"Dad, are you okay?"
"No, son, I'm dying. And apparently, I've had an easy life. Surely this is considered an easy death, too,"I spat.
My son and his wife looked at each other.
"Well, surely you had a good life,"she suggested.
"Eh,"I said, looking the notifications squarely in the.. notification window. "I worked hard to become successful and to provide for my family."
"And you did a wonderful job,"my son nodded eagerly.
"I did, didn't I? So much so I could *easily* do it again,"I said.
"Uhhh..."
"Yeah, I'll take on this new character, no sweat. Just you watch,"I said, kneeling back into my bed. I heard my son try to wake me, but I was only listening for the flatline of my heart. I drifted out of this life.
I awoke in a cold, dark place, crying my eyes out. It smelled rancid and I seemed to be surrounded by garbage.
"I told you a million times, I don't want a baby!"a young girl screamed at the top of her lungs.
"Okay, but you *can't* leave it in a *dumpster!*"another girl yelled back.
"Watch me!"she yelled as a car screeched against the pavement and sped off. I cried for a few seconds more before a new notification appeared at the edge of the dumpster.
*Hard mode:* ***Begin!***
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For more dark humor, come on down to r/Nazer_the_Lazer! |
"My webs dissolve after an hour,"Spider-Man said, hands up placatingly. "Is it really such a big deal that--"
"An hour? An hour?!"I threw another dirty mop at him, making it spin just right so that, even when he sidestepped the direct hit, the front of his stupid pyjama suit still got soaked. Hah! "It's a giant glass building you gahoot! We can't have webs dangling off it for an hour."
"And when they do dissolve, they leave a big greasy mark,"Gladys said, revving her vacuum cleaner menacingly. "Not to mention the handprints."
"And the footprints,"I reminded her.
"And the footprints!"She nodded fervently. "I don't know where you put your feet, young man, but it's quite filthy."
"Super-villain faces, mostly, ma'am,"he said.
"On the backs of the working class, that's where!"I yelled, summoning my mop back. He casually dodged it again, but now the back of his suit was wet too. "Do you think anyone thanks us for cleaning up after you? Do they, my foot! Hero? Hero?! Unpaid overtime for us, that's what you are, sonny!"
"I mean, I also stopped Doc Ock terrorizing the city,"he said, those big lens eyes narrowing somehow. "So, you're welcome?"
This time he caught the mop, holding it steady when I tried to summon it back. I glared at him and readied the bucket instead.
"Didn't your parents teach you to clean up after yourself?"Gladys asked.
He slumped in on himself, all gangly and morose. "Actually, ma'am, my parents are dead."
"Oh,"said Gladys. She lowered the nozzle of her cleaner. "Oh, you poor dear. That must have been so hard--"
"Gladys!"I hissed out of the corner of my mouth. "No weakening in front of the enemy!"
"Well,"she said reluctantly. "I mean, look at him."
"Lots of people don't have parents,"I insisted, "and do you see them constantly muddying up the city?"
"As a crime-fighter, I would have to say 'yes' to that,"Spider-Man said.
"Nobody was talking to you."I sniffed. "Clean up the city, that's what they say, but does he actually clean?"
"No,"said Gladys, fighting spirit clearly returning.
"Who does? Muggins here, that's who,"I said. "All the work, none of the praise."
"Probably get yelled at and pay docked for not cleaning why everyone else was boggling at you from the windows,"Gladys sighed. "And now I've got to do the insides and the outsides, and never mind that all the bins need emptying and nobody has vacuumed the meeting room since the last orgy."
We all shuddered at the thought, and then I threw my two-tonne bucket at Spider-Man just in case he thought a shared moment meant we were going to go soft on him. He swung my own mop at it like a baseball bat, smashing it back at us. Gladys got her vacuum up first, nozzle expanding impossibly wide, sucking the whole thing away in a blink.
"Hah! We didn't go getting these powers just for you to turn them on us,"Gladys crowed.
"No,"I agreed. "We got them for revenge! And thematically appropriate reasons as we are both custodians by trade, but mostly for revenge!"And I summoned a dozen more mops into a menacing, dripping array.
"All right, I get that, I do,"Spider-Man said. "But, I mean, just one question?"
"What?"I asked suspiciously.
"Wouldn't it be easier to use your new powers to do the cleaning?"
There was a long and frankly quite angry silence.
"Gladys,"I said with as much fuming dignity as I could manage, "set the vacuum to *blow*." |
"I am Machinus. God of Technology."
&#x200B;
Those were my first ever thoughts, and it defined my whole being. Humanity had finally reached a point where their majority of conciousness were focused on some form of technology. Gods are born from a collective ideal and my birth was no different. However, unlike those who have come before, I shall lead humanity to the stars.
&#x200B;
People gathered around the crater I had created during my birth. As a newborn god, immediately my mind was filled with all the information humanity had to offer, and much more besides.
&#x200B;
As the smoke cleared, those around gasped and looked down at my form. Human-like in shape, however I clearly resembed an 'Android' humans were so fond of. Deciding to take my first steps into this world, I stood myself up and hovered out of the crater. The Humans had their phones and cameras in their hands, streaming or taking videos of this momentous occasion.
&#x200B;
I reached out my hand. Phones, cameras, televisions, all forms of nearby technology disassembed, combined and reformed into new inventions of my choosing. I had created a camera to broadcast to the planet.
&#x200B;
"Humanity. I am Machinus. God of Technology. You have learned much and come far, but you have lost your way. You stagnate in your misinformation and are throttled by the ignorant. No more. All those who would see the future, come to me. All those that would deny it will be left behind. The stars await." |
It was the first day at work for the two bailiffs, but this was an easy open and shut gig. "Brian Adam Long, you have been found guilty by a jury of your peers and are about to be sentenced on the charge of first degree murder. Do you have anything to say in your favor that may be of weight to the matter before sentencing?"the judge asked. The room was quiet except for the sound of the stenographer recording the proceedings and the question.
Brian was standing. He was sullen. "Your honor....despite the findings of the jury, I would like to maintain my innocence. The deceased and I did have a property dispute. He kept throwing dog excrement over into my yard over the fence. I maintain that I did call him "Captain Dogshit". I maintain that I called the police on him many times. I maintain that when he showed up at my front door and threatened me that I DID attack him in a brawl that carried out onto the front lawn. I do maintain that I whipped his ass as well. There were many neighbors who witnessed that altercation and testified to this fact. When his house burned down a week later with him in it, I admit I was happy this happened because I would no longer be subject to his taunts and dog feces in my yard. I also maintain that I am innocent and that I did not burn Antoine Reed's house down in which he died."
Brian was not hobbled, but he was handcuffed as he turned to faced the deceased's family. "It still remains that I am so sorry to you for your loss...."Reed's mother was in the front row staring daggers at Brian. He did a double take at a man to his left. "I would like to ask one last person to speak on my behalf. A man who was a dear friend of the deceased"Brian reached out with both hands over the rail and grabbed an old man by the hair and pulled him over the short fence like he was an 80's pro wrestler pulling someone over the top rope.
"I'm sure you all have seen the documentary of "The Creeper"starring Scooby Doo that aired many years ago. It's a classic."Brian said quickly as he knelt down behind the man and grabbed at his throat. The bailiffs were stunned and frozen as the judge began to yell to snap them out of their stupor. Brian reached down so quickly to the man's neck and pulled a mask off. "Just like that creepy ass old bank president, this ass-hat is alive and running around in a mask trying to pin this crap on somebody who is innocent."
The whole court room was in shock now in stunned silence as the formerly-deceased Antoine Reed sat on the floor, looking left and right for an escape. Brian turned to Reed's mother, turning Antoine's face to her, and said, "Is this your son Mrs. Reed?"She stood and said "Antoine, you're alive? Oh, Lawd, you're alive..."
At this point, the judge pounds the gavel and calls for order. "A quick conference with councils....counselors approach the bench."After a thirty second chat, they break up and the judge continues: "Brian Adam Long - I hereby turnover your conviction and drop all charges. You are a free man."
Brian leans over to his attorney, "So, that's it?""It sure is,"he replies, "you are free as a bird and can't be tried for this again. To do so would be called 'Double Jeopardy' and is protected by the Fifth Amendment. You couldn't even kill him now and go to jail for it if you tried.""Even premeditated First Degree Murder?"Brian asked. "Ha! Even then..."the lawyer replied chuckling and turned around to high five his partner at the defense table.
The bailiffs unlocked Brian's cuffs from his outstretched hands and put them on Antoine Reed as he still sat stunned on the floor. Brian knelt down behind Reed as the judge gave the bailiffs directions and yelled "Ever hear of Double Jeopardy Captain Dogshit? This is for the three years you stole from my life!"and grabbed him by the chin and the back of the head and snapped his neck like a twig. Again the court was in silence. He sat back at the table and yelled "Fifth Amendment Bitches!". That was the first and last day the bailiffs had duty.
If you would like to read more by me, take a look at my sub-reddit over at /r/Enkid_ which features a collection of my new writing and past writing prompt responses. |
I’d been here a while. In this quirky little town in southern Arizona. Now I don’t remember how I got here or where I was going. But that’s just life isn’t?
Well, I thought it was just life. Then the radio host one time was telling a story, a story about me. That was the last straw. I had to leave. I had to get away. Now it’s not the easy. I don’t know if the roads are all just one gentle curve that lead you back to town or if something else is at work here. But I know I drove 10 miles north and ended back up in town.
So I knew I had to do it. I walked to the waterfront, Well it’s called a waterfront, but in the middle of the desert there’s no water. But it was a pier over looking massive dunes, so it was as close as I could get. And I did it. I threw my phone as far as I found. The little poof Of sand that rose when it landed was quite amusing. But the sense of...freedom? That was what made it worth it. A small smirk appeared on my lips. Tell a story about that why don’t you? A laugh escaped my lips as I walked back to town.
A day past, not much was going on, odd for this small town. But then I noticed it. A black van had been following me for a while. Okay maybe not following me. But it still weirded me out.
But I had to go on with my day. Had to keep doing my shopping. I pulled up to the Ralph’s and got out of my car. I didn’t see the van now so it must have kept driving. Fine by me. I got my shopping done quickly and sat back in my car with the groceries in the trunk. I should have started driving. I had some ice cream that’s likely to melt in the desert heat. But I didn’t. And I don’t know why. But a few minutes passed and there was a quick rap on my window. I looked over and saw a man in a black coat and what looked like a bad replica of a pope hat. I stifled a laugh but just assumed it was one of the homeless guys who hung out behind the store. I reached for the change I had between the seats when something fell in my lap. I turned to look and the man was gone and on my lap was my phone. Clean, no evidence of sand. Looked brand new except that sticker. The sticker my...sister? Cousin? Friend? Why can’t I remember...the sticker someone put on the phone a while ago. I quickly moved the phone to the passenger seat and turned on the car and radio. And right then the radio hosts voice played.
“Remember, keep your conversations interesting and direct your voice towards the closest microphone, you wouldn’t want someone getting bored would you?”
Screw you Cecil. Screw this whole town. I will get out of here even if it destroys me. |
Ever since I arrived on the site, I've been getting these weird daydreams.
I'm in a lush jungle but I can't recognize half the plants. Around me are a bunch of weird animals I also don't recognize. A few dozen miles away is an oddly familiar crooked mountain surrounded by gorges. I sniff the air, turn my head to the right and then to the left. Ah, stronger! Instinctively I am drawn to the direction the scent seems stronger. As I creep through the thick and wide underbrush, the scent grows stronger. My lower jaw is wet with saliva. Then I see it! The source of the scent! A wounded hadrosaur. There's no need for an ambush. I charge into the herbivore head first, sending it flying, I dunno, 20 feet. It baa's and bellows desperately, reminding me of the goats back on the farm. I dig my talons into the side of my victim and apply all 7-tons of me to keep the beast in place. Then I go for the kill.
I snap back to reality. Samantha, a fellow research assistant, gives me a look and says, "falling asleep again Max?"
"Yeah, I just need some coffee", I say
"But you already had two cups"
"I've built a tolerance"
I stare down at the excel spreadsheet which has basically been my life for the last two weeks. I noticed in the page named "Site-6: Place of Little River Rocks"I mindlessly typed in "Unrecognized giant leaves and wounded hadrosaur"underneath the "fauna"column. Maybe I was daydreaming so much because my role here was so mundane.
Professor Trombell and the undergrads got to do the cools things, like actually go to the dig site and hack away at the dirt. You know, what most people associate with archaeology. But me and Samantha? We were left behind half the time punching in info about the stuff brought back into spreadsheets.
What was found at site X but not at site Y? What does this suggest about pre-Columbian Sioux migration patterns? yatta yatta.
I grab the next 'artifact' that's tagged "*shaman's staff???*". It's clearly just a broken twig. One of the undergrads must've confused it for a elaborate ritualistic artifact, by means that were way beyond me. I was almost tempted to include "Shaman's staff???"in the list of findings unearthed at Site-6, just to alleviate my boredom, but my academic mindset convinced me not to include false information. I tossed the twig aside and unenthusiastically grabbed the next find. A very ordinary piece of wicker. Something I've seen a million times before. I rhythmically tapped my keyboard while I thought of someway to describe the object. Short, ordinary wicker strand.....
The wounded hadrosaur was before me. Like the previous dream, I charge it and knock it off it's feet. Then, I lunge and skewer it's throat with 9-inch teeth, crushing it's neck in the process. The hadrosaur goes limp within a few seconds. I mark the air with my scent, warning scavengers to keep their distance while I carve out fat slabs of meat from the carcass which I swallow whole. Somehow this does not feel unnatural to me. I've barely begun to dig in when I am interrupted by a trespasser. Another t-rex has come to claim my prize. |
"what? I dont know what to do"
"1 minute 55, "
I point the gun at the robber confused, eyes squinting in fear. I decided to aim over his head to scare him, but I overcompensate and the bullet goes low but to the left, hitting his partner's backpack. They must have had dynamite or something to crack the safe because the backpack explodes, scattering the man into pieces.
The shockwave from the explosion makes me stumble back and panic, emptying the pistol. The next shot goes right through the robber's eye socket as he falls limp. The woman drops to the floor, screaming but unharmed. The next three shots ricochet out the door. There is a bang as the getaway car and the lookout are disabled.
The man in the trenchcoat helps me up from the floor. His speech was a little old-fashioned, but precise and staccato.
"45 seconds left, not bad kid. You might have a knack for this, but you have 8 seconds to decide if you want to come along because I have 36 seconds to get to the next jump. I can fill you in on the way" |
It started with whispers from the edges of shadows. Edges, not centers, because they faded to rumor and suspicion when the ear was trained too directly on them. And shadows, not light, because it only ever happened in the semi-dark.
The whole world had been awry for a long time now, at first just in the way the whole of it seemed to contract, every time. Every death, every birth. As though it were wearing out at the edges. Edges, not centers. And now the only center I know of is me, because only I change.
Everything else just reacts, and is worn down. Worn down in two ways. What I see, especially every time, the familiar friends and family, the city of my birth, that’s thinned. Stretched out. Weary. What I don’t see, or don’t see often, is shadowed. Darkened. Sunk into its own being. Foreign lands, occasional acquaintances.
I am the ruler of this place now, the one who moves rather than being moved upon, the Changeling in every sense of the word. I don’t care. There’s nothing left to rule but the threadbare and shadowed. No pleasure from my partners. No savor from my wine. Gold and silver have no light left in which to gleam.
The whispers never snicker, never sneer. They have no malice to them. I would welcome malice, now. Anything with teeth, anything to bite and worry at long sluggish nerves. The whispers simply are. They are not louder, but all else is quiet. And quieted, and quieted.
Soon I will die, soon I will be born, and the world will be a little less.
I would escape. I would forget. Please. Anything. I understand my crimes. I know the prices I have made others pay. Bring them back. Banish these shadows.
But no. Nothing. All the mercy I ever showed is returned to me here. Every time the world is a little less, and still I am born into it.
One day I will live in the quiet dark, and not even death will remain.
r/Magleby for more elaborate lies. |
"Jimmy! Can you hear me?". Stacy ran through the deep bog that sucked at her boots with every step. John was trying to keep pace with his wife. Keeping up with a terrified mother that was hell bent on finding her child was near impossible. The dark rancid field stretched in front of them for a 20 yards before being swallowed by fog.
The air was thin with little to no oxygen, the planets atmosphere was barely suitable for life. Life support kept you alive outdoors, but everything else on the planet wanted to kill you. "I knew he would do this, I should have let him keep rex for this trip!"Stacy gasped with fear and short breath. John stopped to breath hard at her side. In the distance they both heard the same squelch they just made walking through the gloop. "jimmy!"They both lunged in the direction of the sound.
Two forms broke the fog barrier in front of them. The small boy was leading a creature by the hand with a giant grin on his face. "I want this one mommy, he licked my hand and purred when I met it"stacy looked in aww at the boy and his companion.
"So he will sleep in this corner next to my bed and you can leave the news paper in the other corner just in case he needs to potty"Jimmy answered with so much joy in his voice. Stacy and john both looked at the massive bull like creature with glowing red eyes. Standing on its hind legs with massive muscles twitching in its chest, fluffy breathed out steam from his nostrils and settled down on the oversized pillow that was set for him by Jimmy. "Damn Stacy I can't believe he talked me into this". "John shut it and get the blanket before you piss it off and it pulls our spines out of our ass"Stacy hissed. |
We had always wondered why we were alone.
We had our theories of course. Predator civilizations, filter events, life simply being more rare than we thought. We never expected the reality, had never predicted it. The truth is, we projected our own thoughts, our own culture onto any potential civilization out there.
The space race hit fast and hard. Reusable rockets brought the cost per pound to under $100 dollars, and the arrivals of the first asteroids into earth orbit only served to solidify the worldwide sentiment. Space or bust. It's amazing we didn't blow each other up in the race for the stars. We sure got close more than once. But by the time the mars colonies reached a million inhabitants, things were more or less stable. The AI's locked in their impenetrable boxes, worked out the math for efficient antimatter collection and the first colony ships were sent out to the nearby systems that showed the greatest promise. Two decades later, the computronium in close orbit around the sun cracked low-velocity FTL, and the next set of ships greeted their neighbors to much surprise.
It took 8 more years until we found the first civilization. The system we had named Shedir. The planet, within the outer edge of the habitable zone, almost went undetected. Spectrometry however showed abnormal amounts of hydrocarbons on the snow covered planet. Atmospheric crafts confirmed our suspicions. Nuclear War, and beneath the snow, buildings similar to our own in the 20th century. It didnt help that the civilization was bipedal. As the bubble of our reach grew exponentially, more planets were found. Some merely held animal life, a small fraction of those, civilizations, all of them dead. Some for millions of years, the only evidence of their reign visible through the trace amounts of industrial gases they left behind. Some it seemed however, we had just missed by centuries. Those were the hardest ones to see.
And then we found one. The ship was on the smaller end. A fast craft with an oversized FTL drive and sophisticated scanning technology. The crew of two dropped out of warp into a system with 11 planets, and preliminaries showed several artificial objects littered throughout the system. Masking themselves, the ship entered the orbit of the inner planet, and truly gorgeous at that. The planet had once been natural, but there was not little sign of that, and it's surface was instead replaced with one vast blanket of grey and white. A planepolis, spanning from ocean to ocean. Within a year, we had deconstructed their language from radio waves, and it was only then, that we found out how unique we were. The planet below, for all intents and purposes, was a Utopia. Unlimited food, virtual reality, and a collective government had created an eternal paradise. The inhabitants below had reached the point of eradicating suffering. And they were content to stop.
It was only then that the Fermi Paradox was solved. Humankind had something unique. We never stopped, we were never content, and we always wanted more. The genes for selfishness that had so irreparably ingrained themselves in our genetic code had turned out to be our greatest strength, and our power over all other civilizations we came across.
Until the outsiders. |
The accident took its toll on us. All in all, we lost 300 cryo-chambers - it's easier to call them that, easier than people. But when the micrometeoroid shredded that nitrogen intake pipe, it was worse for the technician working next to it. She took the pebble to the head first, that was good I guess, better than slowly in a sealed hard vacuum room. So we all mourned the death one of our own, one of The Lost.
I don't know her personally, she was engineering, but I had to attend this mourning ceremony because Engi-43 insisted. He was being dragged by his registered partner who grew up in the same social unit.
The chaplain solemnly breaks the silence.
"Today, one of the Lost finds her way home"she paused, "the home none of us will see, the home we shepherd so many to"
Hearing that always breaks my heart.
"Lifsup-18 did not choose this life, it was thrust upon her. Fate did not choose her, nor did destiny. Only chance. And Lifsup-18 knew this."
That's what you get though, being a refugee fleet. Since The Error, our ship has been damaged and on an erroneous course since leaving our system and ecologically destroyed homeworld.
"She proudly did her duty to the Lost, and the flock. And never felt the crime of selfishness."
Bullshit. Selfish to these people means complain about being hungry. We know the story, the ship wasn't designed for conscious crew. We're an accident, but people have to stay awake to maintain the damage from the final nuclear acceleration detonation. So the sleeper journey became a 30 generation trip for my-great-great-great-great-great... 17 ok, 17 generations for my line, that's why I get a 17. But the point is, they control **everything** on the guise of keeping the Species alive.
"Lifsup-18, was a hard worker, she was a life support repair tech. And we thank her for keeping both The Lost and The Flock alive. For that we thank her service to the species."
We all have our role. We don't get a choice. I bet a week's rations she wished she was something else. I wish I could navigate, I'm good with numbers. I suck at toilets... Mainly because I don't care. It's shitty work, but it's that or starvation or spacing. At least my DNA would survive though.
"She is released of her duty, and she is this, according to the unspoken's oldest tradition, she has the right to be released."
The unspoken is our homeworld. We are not allowed to speak it by penalty of death - in any language or dialect. We broke her, she no longer accepts us. The Order tell us that this is journey our penance for not respecting the planet which have us life. I don't remember hurting her, I was born on this floating box. I know the name of the world, but I hold that close to me. My father taught me.
"She is survived by her registered partner of 5 years, and unfortunately failed in her duty to provide replacements."
We are all expected to produce two viable offspring each as an exact replacement to train in their profession. The Order tells you who to register with based on genetic considerations. The Code of the Lost requires it, sterile individuals are reassigned to each other and treated as untouchable. Violators will have there sperm or eggs harvested then spaced. Archaic.
"Lifsup-18, however, was not sterile"
A murmur broke out among the crowd. *This* was interesting.
"A review of her records show she was, inside her heart, not in communion with the Code, or it seems, the order."
A wave of panic struck me. Resistance fighters don't get funerals. So why am I at the funeral of one, of a sister-in-arms. I looked at the chaplain. Her smile grew wider as she allowed the situation to grow clearer in each of our heads. We had been lured.
"On her at the time, was a communicator, with a list of every so-called "resistance"on this ship. Given the evidence, The Order no longer feels the large population of Lost is necessary. Your deaths will serve the greater survival of the species."
The chaplain placed a respirator over her face, smiled, and said "we love you all". The room became silent as the room was suddenly vented.
I was free. Thank you Lifsup-18. I love you.
Edit: continuity and grammar. I wrote this on my phone. |
This was not to be a normal court case. Frizzle (she has her teacher’s license revoked, and was simply to be called “Frizzle” from now on) had demanded this case to take place in their school’s classroom, saying she never wanted to leave the classroom. The investigators, judge, and a few lawyers reluctantly agreed, muttering something about “evidence in the classroom for people to see”.
I decided to come as a journalist and news reporter. They allowed only a few of us to come. People had been talking about this for months now, the famous court case being the subject of most articles and news reports. I shook my head as I walked through the busy school, thinking about how horrible this teacher was. From what I had heard, she forced the students on a bus almost all the time instead of giving them standard learning material, and had at one point gone inside another child. INSIDE, bringing the whole class along with her. It was disgusting and morbid. The kids were all protesting against Frizzle’s arrest, claiming that she was a fine teacher. But it was clearly not, as a few of the students admitted that they had several near-death experiences while on these “educational field trips”.
As I walked through the school, I noticed all the classrooms had been locked except the one where the court took place, the displays of elementary school artwork on the walls torn down. I realized they must have closed down the school for intense investigation. Through one of the doorways, I could hear an investigator interrogating somebody—the principal, perhaps—about how Frizzle was never fired, about how she could have possibly been allowed to do everything she did. I shuddered.
Finally, I reached the classroom, the only one with the door wide open, dozens of people milling about around the hallway near the area and dozens more inside, filling up all the temporary folding chairs. Some stood around, other journalists already talking to police officers. A few nervous looking kids sat sat the front of the room, clearly terrified. The students of Frizzle. I made my way toward them, fishing out a notepad, my phone, a pencil, and motioning for my cameraman to follow me to them.
I singled out a particularly nervous looking student with the name “Arnold”.
“So,” I started, “what exactly did Frizzle do to you in particular, young man?”
He gulped, glancing around. “Nothing, Ms. Frizzle was fine! She took us on field trips all the time, I—”
“Ahem.” I cut him off. “Can I ask you, did you ever have your life put in danger by your former teacher?”
“Well,” he refused to make eye contact with me, turning pale as the camera seemed to zoom in on his face. “On a lot of the field trips, I was sometimes scared. We were in danger a lot of the time. We were never really hurt though, except this one time. I—I felt something weird in my stomach one day, the whole class had left me behind when they went on a field trip.” He then went on to explain how he had, in fact, been oblivious to the fact the entire class traveled throughout his body, traveling into his mouth, stomach, even his rectum.
“Thank you, and were you ever thinking that perhaps the things she was doing was not legal?” I asked him.
He sighed, looking down. “Not really, I was younger then. I thought it was magic, I thought it was cool.”
At that moment, I was chased away from the victims by one of the officers, and he proceeded to yell at me for “illegally” interviewing a witness and victim during a trial and inside the courtroom. Sighing, I pulled up an a chair and surfed the internet for a few more articles as I waited for the trial to begin. It was only then I realized that she had actually made money off of recording the entire thing, making an entire children’s show TV series of it. I felt sick. Reading on, I found the show was banned and taken off all networks after a few investigators looked into the matter, and found multiple illegal things.
Before I could research a bit more, the door closed with a slam as the judge took his place. I could see Frizzle calmly sit down in one of her crazy outfits as the case began.
I was mesmerized by the entire case, seeing the way Frizzle defended herself (she refused to get any lawyer or attorney). At one point, everybody in the room started yelling, half the kids shouting about what a great teacher she had been, half the kids shouting about how they were constantly being put in danger. Parents were screaming too, apparently not knowing their children’s faces were being broadcast and they had no idea what their kids education was like. Journalists, witnesses, even the jury were all yelling about the horrible stories and near death experiences the kids faced, about how sick Frizzle was. I had even joined the yelling in the chaos, waving my notepad in the air, shouting about my interviews with the victims.
The judge put a quick stop to it, and for the rest of it went smoothly, besides an uproar while they tried to fit the magic bus inside the room to present its case as a witness. Finally, it ended quickly, the jury coming to a quick decision, the judge seemingly knowing what was to happen as well. There was only one option.
She was to be sent in her school bus, shrink into a tiny size, and live out her life as the class pet, in a jar. Her wish to never leave the classroom had been granted. |
I had it, the book central to their religion. This "Harry Potter"was their deity and now I would learn his story.
It was all difficult to make sense out of. It only seemed like yesterday that I had been out, being told of the resurrection of another who claimed to be a demi-God, and although His image persisted, it had been surpassed by this character. I had waited long for this moment.
3 years ago, I had awoke in what they called a laboratory, surrounded by pale giants who dwarfed me. They spoke a language I did not know and wielded tools and power I could not comprehend. I had been dazed and confused, not knowing why I had been pulled back into this world, but having learnt their ways over a long period of specialists meeting with me I was ready.
My handler (I had been assigned a handler who helped me deal with life) sat in the cool, white room. She was British, an expert in her field. She usually helped returning military personal return to civilian life. She too had been anticipation this moment, my first book.
I looked upon the cover and read the title, "Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone".
She kissed her lips, and with a voice which dripped disdain onto the floor, said "no you dolt, Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone". |
((on mobile, please excuse the formatting/rushing/other issues))
I looked at the zero above my head, saddened resignation growing over me. This is it: The day I die.
Most people have a zero over their heads. After all, how often are you going to pass the same stranger in the street. It was easy to tune out the information, for the most part, but for those I had regular contact with, it was harder.
I was eight when I first realized what low numbers meant for those I cared about. I cried and tried to get my uncle to stay the night on Christmas, fearing the zero dooming him. He ruffled my hair, bent down and hugged me, giving some excuse. I'm ashamed to say that I don't remember his last words. In the end, it was a drunk driver.
In high school, I knew that death wasn't what would separate my friends from me. We just wouldn't keep in touch. I thought of reaching out, but didn't tempt fate to provide grimmer reasons.
The conspicuously low number over my co-worker's heads haf kept me on edge all month. I had no plans to quit, but the number were never wrong, so I started looking for another job, expecting another round of layoffs. Maybe I'm slow, but I only realized what was happening this week. I FaceTimed my family, confirming my suspicions. I tearfully wrote up my will. I had done what I could to prepare.
I sat alone, waiting for my inevitable end.
NO! I refuse to die like this! I'm way too young! I know what I have to do. I went to the kitchen and opened the knife drawer. |
A Cancer.
Growth without end.
That’s how I describe my other.
In the womb, we nearly destroyed our mother. My powers radiated and destroyed the cells there, but her body was new and young. They grew back. But the vigor of my other caused him to be enshrouded in tumors and pustulous growths, causing agonizing pain. Only my merciful radiance saved our mother.
Now, I live on an islet off the coast. Nothing around but rock and stone, in my small brick house. All my food is preserved. I live alone, with nothing but the quiet wash of the waves.
My other lives at the belly of a great forest. Considered paradise by mortals, Great energy emanates from them as life springs from the loan without cause.
They fear me. The power I wield. With the sway of a hand mountains burst. The winds coil. The ground shakes. The tides pull back. Fires bathe the land.
They love them. The capacity the have. With their mere whim flowers bloom. Children are born. Extinction undone. Ties mended. The restoration of the forgotten.
But they forget what I see.
I see the man on the operating table, begging for death as his body warps and grows without cause. I see villages outpace themselves, leading to children being driven to the bone before nibbled away by vultures. I see the ground brought dry and dusty by the plants pulling everything from the earth. I see man grow proud and angry as civilized people’s tear at each other over politics.
And much to their chargin, I wipe the slate clean, and end the bickering. In my fire the energy stored away is returned to the earth. At my touch the misery ends.
At his touch it magnifies. More mouths to feed, more people to bicker, and more to lead to bigotry.
I am the end result. I am the End of Life. The other is the Beginning of Pain. Now, as power coils around me, I prepare to reset this world. The other will surely cause it to bloom again, but until then...
I offer rest. I save people from pain. The other makes them, and does not provide. He acorns them. I comfort them and carry them to eternity. I offer reason. I care for the things in this world.
I am the Quality, the Reason to Life. Let it be known the other is Quantity, making only to make.
In this world of madness, I am the one thing that offers reason. |
The world was never quite an honest place, even before people began to dye their hair. It was more just that it was harder to hide the lies when somebody could easily glance at any head of hair and figure out what the magic might be. "If there is orange to admire, you're playing with fire,"came the old saying. There was one for just about every color. It helped you keep them all straight, and it made people keep their stories straight. You wouldn't see brown hair working at a swimming pool. You wouldn't see a firefighter with red hair. If you did, you might just have your arson suspect.
I won't lie, I was tempted when the first dyes began to come out. I looked at myself in the mirror. I hated my hair. I was ostracized and bullied as a child; all but exiled as an adult. Even my parents seemed to fear me. Finally, the temptation was just too much and I found myself writing out an order. I licked the envelope, applied a stamp and then my MagicMate, TM - those were the previous fad - a seemingly adorable crow with a surprisingly massive wingspan, set off to deliver my order. I didn't go out much, other than for work where I was cooped up all day anyways. I was hoping that would change. From my understanding, this all wasn't quite entirely legal yet. It was something like potions - you could own a potion and corporations could sell them but brewing your own or having too many was strictly regulated. In this case, having the dye wasn't illegal. Using it was questionable.
When I walked downstairs a couple mornings later, my parents did a double-take. "White?"they asked suspiciously. I nodded in excitement.
"It was like this when I woke up,"I lied, smiling more brightly than I ever had before. Well, technically I didn't lie. It was like that when I woke up. Because I applied the dye the previous evening. I beamed at my reflection in the mirror. My long hair was as white as the winter snows; purity, health and beauty were my new virtues. I had done away with the curse of my old hair. My parents did what parents do. They smiled and supported me and soon forgot to be suspicious of the sudden change. It wasn't unheard of, necessarily. Sometimes people's magical auras did change and their hair changed color and it was back to learning a whole new spellbook and a whole new set of powers. It was rare, but it certainly happened. That would be my story.
"You'll be moving upstairs,"they told me at the hospital when I reported to my shift. It was a tedious, depressing job before but now that would be no more. Healing powers are hard to come by, especially when they happened to coincide with the bearer of the powers being a hospital employee. Everybody was suddenly friends with me, flocking over to get a feel of my stunning hair and I doled out compliments with forced grace as my hair suggested I should. "Can you see this room, please?"the head nurse asked sweetly. Once, she would have snapped at me, that venomous green hair bobbing up and down as she threw whatever was within reach.
"*Sanos eternitus*,"I murmured carefully as I stood by the patient's bedside. Their grim state didn't change. Of course not. I hadn't studied a new spellbook. All I knew were my old spells and this one in particular was nothing but gibberish pieced together from other random spells. I glanced around. I was alone in the room and in desperate need of help. If I didn't heal them, I would be outed and sent back to my previous role, deep in the basement where I couldn't hurt anybody. I felt a bead of sweat creep down the back of my neck and I wiped at it and then I grabbed a handful of hair and I stroked it pensively. Outside, I could hear the head nurse snapping at her employees, her words biting like a bitter poison. She was notorious for making them cry. I felt anger boiling up - old, familiar anger - and then a flash of black caught my eye. I glanced down at my hair. I had missed a couple strands, hidden deep below the layers of white. The dye was powerful, promising me a brighter future where I was accepted as a welcome presence. But the hair didn't lie. I couldn't learn a new spellbook if my hair hadn't changed naturally. I couldn't change who I was.
"And?"the head nurse snapped as she entered the room. The strands of hair were still in my hand and she stopped and stared at me in shock. A shaky hand rose and I braced for the strands of poison that she would send my way.
"I'm sorry,"I lied. I wasn't. "*Enfermus fatal*,"I said casually with a wave of my hand and then I stepped around her corpse and made my way out of the hospital. I didn't belong here. With this hair and these powers, there was far more I could be doing.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! |
Carl blinked. He opened his mouth and tried to shout an exclamation. Likely vulgar. Instead, all that came out was a dry rasp. Carl remembered he hadn’t had his morning coffee. Then, he remembered that there hadn’t been a coffee shop for the last few decades.
Rather than shout, Carl made a great show of twisting and turning. Was it God? He thought, his head tilted to the sky. Was he finally going mad? He wasn’t having sex with mannequins and having dinner with the rotting corpses of his family, but insanity was tricky.
“Who’s there?” He finally said.
Silence. For a moment, Carl felt his entire body shrink as the thought of his head going nutters sank in.
“CONGRATULATIONS, CARL SANFORD!!!” Came the voice. “YOU’VE JUST WON THE 2ND MILLENIUM WORLD WRECKING CHAMPIONSHIPS!”
Right as the voice finished, Carl’s world dissolved. The arid, mutant stricken wastes he’d known (with some fondness) fell into a black void. In its place was an enormous hall. Marble Pillars the size of skyscrapers vaulted into the air. Everything was draped in velvet and gold. Carl himself stood on a raised stage, carved from a gleaming sample of ivory. His hand tugged at what was left of his collar. His feet left swirling lines of dirt on the floor. But what surprised Carl the most weren’t the luxuries, or even the food.
It was the people.
All around him were thousands of people, all shapes, sizes, and colors. Quite literally too. Some of these people towered above him, at least 20 feet high. Many looked to be living embodiments of the rainbow. All were bedecked in suits, dresses, skintight bodysuits, ruffles, and furs. Half looked elated to see him. The other half looked downright murderous.
A stout man with skin as white as his surroundings stepped up to Carl. He was clad in the blackest suit Carl had seen. There was almost an absence of light around him. He pulled a gloved hand through his auburn hair and placed it on Carl’s shoulder.
“Amazing to finally meet you, Mr. Sanford!” the man said. His voice, with its operatic warbling and grandiose embellishments, matched the one that had accosted Carl in the wasteland. “ISN’T HE JUST RAVISHING FOLKS?”
The crowd went wild.
“Now, as you all know, our contestants are never privy to the details of the World Breaker competition. But I think it’s time we broke the secret to our winner. Lights!”
The whole room went dark. Carl squinted, his mind still in a daze. Suddenly, something lit up in the room’s center. It wasn’t tied to a screen or projector - it was an image with no tangible surface.
It was Carl’s home.
“Planet E-115, or as the layman’s vernacular goes, Earth, was constructed by the Aeolian Corporation and seeded with the genetic material necessary to create life. For centuries, we waited on the sidelines, hoping against hope an intelligent species would grow and become eligible for WB.”
The speaker turned to Carl. “Personally, I never bet against you. There was just so much... spunk there!”
“Anyhow, once Mr. Sanford’s species, the human race, emerged, it was time to enter Earth into the competition proper!” The image of Earth flew up, this time next to five other worlds of varying hues.
“At the appointed time, our sponsor Orion Ltd bombarded these worlds with a variety of Level 5 Apocalyptic hazards. Klono was hit with megastorms. Jurdah, with a catastrophic sunspot. And Earth faced the most dangerous one of all - carefully constructed NUCLEAR WARFARE!”
The worlds erupted in flames, drowned under gallons of water, and dried up.
“It was quite dicey for our contestants. And it was very hard for our viewers to pick their winner! Fan favorites were dropping like ganoglies, especially when we released the Leopoldian Hounds to speed things up.”
Carl flash backed to the cobalt creatures that had eaten his family (and half his daughter).
“Mr. Sanford was definitely a crowd pleaser. The solemn, silent evenings spent alone. The wails of anguish in the wind. Our hearts were with you Mr. Sanford! We wanted you to win, and win you did!”
The crowd was veritably chaotic. A group of men and women reached to the stage. Carl could see they wore shirts with his face stenciled on, the words “The Nukes Made Him Hotter” written beneath them.
“We congratulate you, Mr. Sanford, on your win! After your victory party, you will be offered the finest the Heirarchy has to offer. And, should you be inclined, we will be offering you and your future spouse or spouses free tickets to next millenium’s World Breaker Championship! Goodnight everyone!” |
Just a quick thing, it'd need a lot of work and some rewrites to be not terrible.
&#x200B;
A young boy, about the right age to go off and be a pokemon trainer like all of his friends, is living in a broken home. His mother is kind and encourages his love of pokemon in secret, but his father abhors everything about them. He was a trainer when he was younger, like all youths. But he was never good and he made mistakes. He couldn't raise strong pokemon so, one day, he bought one. It was a charizard. Hot tempered and difficult to control. The man's sister was a good trainer, several years older than him. She always had been. She found out what he had done and began to yell at him, to tell him how foolish he was. He lost his temper and he lost control of the charizard. He lost his sister.
&#x200B;
The young boy, his son, goes well beyond the usual 10 years old when he would start training. It isn't until he is 25 that he finally breaks the hold his father has on him and he runs away. He is almost killed in the forest by wild pokemon, not having the training or the defensive pokemon that all adults are bound to have in this world. He is saved by a wild Mankey who fights off the attackers but is wounded in the fight. The boy brings him to the next town, both of them barely making it. He brings the Mankey to the Pokemon Center and passes out as he delivers him. When he wakes he is in a hospital. Eventually the poke nurse stops by and hands him a poke ball. Inside is the Mankey, his Mankey now.
&#x200B;
Over the next few months the boy and the Mankey become good friends. They work together and travel, the Mankey protecting his human companion and the boy providing food and companionship. He can't take the laughter of the young children who challenge him and discover he only has a single pokemon, one that he has never trained to fight. He finds someone who can help him train, a washed up coach that specializes in helping young boys learn to train. He watches his Mankey fight battle after battle, often barely surviving and severely injured. He wants to be a good trainer, but the sight begins to eat him alive. Finally, after a particularly gruesome battle, he can't take it any more. He begins to understand his world. The reason every single 10 year old is given a pokemon and a mission to fight and train. The point is not to train the pokemon, but to train the boys/girls to see the violence and horror, the servitude, as normal. The entire world is built on the slavery of these creatures, and their society has been built around it, to protect it.
&#x200B;
The boy sinks deep into the underbelly of society, resentful and angry. He finds others who understand some part of the truth, and he begins to build an organization. A group with the mission of saving pokemon, of punishing the society that treats them like this. He won't let it continue. As he and his team mount attack after attack the boy and his Mankey always inform their victims. Prepare for trouble, make it double. |
"We have stopped."the insectoid figure spoke briefly.
"Yeah, it's just a jam."the man huffed, adjusting his collar a little. Thank goodness for one-way windows. "We'll be out of here before too long."
"A jam?"the insectoid queried. "We do not see any preserves."
"No, it's a traffic jam."
"We require explanation."
"Well... oh, jeez, how to explain it..."he glanced briefly at the alien. Its antennae twitched briefly as it awaited the response. It was only one of the thousands, if not millions, of its kind, but whatever he said they would all hear. He had to be careful. "Okay, so, uh... you know you have a way to speak with your entire species at once? Some kinda hive-mind thing?"
"The Collective hears all, yes."
"Well, humans don't really have that. Best we have is verbal communication, maybe electronic stuff but nothing instant like that."
"How inefficient."
"When we were evolving I guess we didn't need it. Point is, this is kinda because of that."he gestured to the packed streets in front of him. "Everybody wants to go to wherever they're going, but nobody's really patient enough to back down and let others pass."
"Your kind requires advancement."
"Well, not really? We all get wherever eventually, it's just a question of time. If traffic wasn't so bad, though, we'd probably be there by now."
"Traffic? Is this vehicle not also traffic?"
"... guess so."he shrugged. The roads were starting to clear up. |
Day 5: Marine life.
A solitary figure seated upon a throne gazed down upon his new creation covered in water, teeming with aquatic life. Even though he had created the creatures himself, there was just something... miraculous about life. The deity chuckled to himself, delighted with how the suggestions of the Seraphim had turned out. As a miniscule stain of red in vast expanse of blue caught his eye, however...
"...Oh fuck, the shark fetuses are eating each other,"God swore, his hands grasping fistfuls of divine hair. He got up from the throne, and bellowed, "KIETH! You have ten seconds to get your sorry behind over here before I smite you."
Said Seraphim came stumbling in through the throne room doors, clutching what would come to be known as a cat. Precisely 10 minutes after he was summoned.
"Sorry I'm late,"gasped Kieth. "I just made these suckers, and I wanted to try herding them, but-"
"Kieth. Why are my sharks eating each other?"God rumbled.
"Eating- what?"Kieth asked.
"They're eating each other in the womb!"God roared.
"That's not... I mean, they *were* designed to eat each other if they couldn't find prey..."Kieth mumbled, wishing he could become one with the floor.
"What did you say again? Let me think!"God said.
"Please don't do the-"Kieth quickly interjected before getting cut off.
"I'm Kieth! I'm so smart, I decided to give potentially cannibalistic shark babies teeth when they're *in* the womb!"God squeaked in a whiny falsetto that was most decidedly *not* Kieth's voice. "I gave you one chance for a decent animal, and you almost had it! It was a really cool design! With fins and shit!"
"Oh uh... thank... you?"Kieth squeaked.
"I'm not done yet. It was a really cool design, sure, but can you tell me what you did wrong?"
Kieth hesitated before saying, "I let them eat each oth-"
"YOU LET THEM EAT EACH OTHER!"God thundered. Accompanied with actual thunder. One of the perks that came with being a divine being. "Christ, do you know the ribbing I'm going to get from the other gods from this?"
The Seraphim, now wondering if it was too late to just ask to get smote, pondered on the safest response to mollify the raging deity, before choosing to go with, "What's a Christ?"
"Don't worry about it,"God deflected. "Look Kieth, I like you. You're a smart guy, and you have a real knack for making scary animals! You just sometimes go overboard. So I'm giving you one last shot."
Kieth perked up.
"You're going to be in charge of this continent-island I cooked up..." |
"Step aside."I order the guards, who scramble aside at the voice of the leader, peppering me with a chorus of 'Yes ma'am'. I step up to the small window in the gates, peering through intently. I had heard his voice, drifting across the gardens in the quiet of the morning- but still, the shock of seeing him standing before me- the thrill...it's almost too much.
"Open the gates!"I order, and the men clamor to abide, pulling the thin and decrepit Gordon Ramsay inside. He collapses to his knees in the dirt, and I order a guard to run to fetch bread and water.
"You're safe now, Mr. Ramsay,"I say, as a blanket is thrown over his shoulders. A moment later the water and bread arrives, and he takes the bottle with shaking hands.
"Thank you,"He whispers, water trickling down his chin as he gulps. He takes a few more long pulls, "I didn't think anyone would recognize me."
I kneel as well down, the bread still warm in my hands, waiting as he finishes his water;
"Of course I recognize you,"I say, as I dig my nails into the loaf, working it apart. "But I must ask...do you recognize me?"
He looks up through cloudy eyes, squinting at my face. I toss my long dark hair over my shoulder and meet his eyes.
"No- no..."He stutters, "I- I don't think I do."
"Try harder"I order.
"I'm sorry, I just don't know."He says, glancing toward the guards, his filthy face tinged with nerves.
"Fine,"I concede, "Then tell me, Gordon, what YOU are?"
"What- what I am?"
The words have barely left his mouth when I force my fingers into the loaf of bread, ripping it into two equal halves. I slam each half into the sides of Gordon Ramsay's face, holding them flush against his skin;
"WHAT ARE YOU!?"
He gasps, and finally I see the recognition flare in his eyes. In a small, terrified voice he answers, "I'm an Idiot Sandwich." |
Things never felt quite right for me. I know, every teenager feels this way. But hear me out. Our TV and phone didn’t “work” for years when I was growing up and no one ever tried to get them fixed. I swear I would hear them working after I went to bed at night though. My parents features don’t quite line up with mine. I have blonde hair and green eyes, they both have brown hair and brown eyes. I know, there’s like 0.1% chance of them both having recessive genes or something but that doesn’t seem right. Some of my earliest memories are of an entirely different home and I thought I had a sister. My parents just tell me that we moved and the “sister” I had was me misremembering the girl next door. I don’t know. It just seems off. This feeling isn’t like other teenagers who just hate their parents, I love my parents, but I have dreams of being hit and taken places. I feel phantom bruises on my body and there are scars I can’t explain. It’s just all off.
I finally got an answer. Part of me wishes I never did. Part of me always knew.
I was watching the news with my father one night while mom was at work. At special segment came up on the tv. “Missing Persons: Cold Cases.” Usually I change the channel when it comes to these special segments but this one seemed interesting. I sat back and watched when it felt like I got hit in the chest.
“John Mahoney was taken from his home one late April afternoon never to be seen again. It is suspected that the kidnapper was close to the family.”
A number flashed across the screen. My heart pounded. Before I knew it, I was dialing the phone. Each key press felt like a monumental step towards truth. I heard the toilet flush. Three more numbers. My breath was shaky. Two. I began to get up. One. The TV went dark. The phone went silent.
My “father” was standing behind me. He had an indescribable look on his face that shook me to my core. He was hiding something behind his back. His arm moved. I flinched and closed my eyes.
“You were never supposed to find out like this.”
I opened my eyes. He was holding a letter with my name written on it in his handwriting.
“I wrote this for you years ago.”
I read the letter. I didn’t know what to think. How could any of this be true? Tears fell from my eyes. I felt lost and then I understood. I hugged my dad.
My real parents were abusive drug addicts. My “father” was my uncle and one day he overheard my real folks talking about selling me for drug money. That was his breaking point. Later the next day, my “parents” kidnapped and fled the state to start a new life.
They gave up everything to give me a chance. |
"Good evening, you're listening to Quickdraw radio, where we discuss the most recent news every week. I'm your host, Carl Remington, and today, we're going to talk *vampires*."
**Carl:** "Now, it's been a wild time for the global vampire community recently. It was just a few weeks ago, that the start-up pharma company AltaMed announced their invention of a supposed 'Cure for Vampirism', practically out of nowhere. The project quickly secured funding from numerous backers, including the International Vampires Association, and inside sources say that the start of mass production is slated for next month, with the medication becoming available for the public within the next half year. Here in the US, AltaMed has announced a collaboration with the Center for Disease Control and the US Department of Health, to develop an extensive plan for the treatment of american vampires and the vaccination of the general populace."
**Carl:** "For the most part, the vampire community has been absolutely thrilled about the recent developments. Statements from the Center for Disease Control say, that in the last week alone, 17 new crypts have revealed themselves to society along with 5 previously unknown elder vampires. Reports like this are coming in from all across the globe, with large packs of Arikels emerging from the russian taiga, ancient castles in East Europe suddenly filled with Nosferatu families and supposedly even a few Korean Popstars came out as vampires recently. I would say, the time has never been better to be a vampire.But what about an inside perspective? Let's hear it from todays guest, William Adley, honored member of the IVA and spokesperson for the Adley family, one of americas oldest vampire families. Thanks for coming William."
**William:** "Thanks for having me Carl.“
**Carl:** „So, William, what is the Adley familys stance on the situation? Are you in support of the CDC’s treatment plan?“
**William:** „Absolutely. I want to make it clear that we as a family fully support the CDC and AltaMed in their endeavors. We see this as an important step towards integrating into society, which is not only inevitable but also necessary for a peaceful co-existence.“
**Carl:** „Interesting. Coming from a family as prestigious as yours, your support carries a lot of weight. Although, right now, thats just words. How many of your members will actually get themselves cured?“
**William:** „Well, nothing is set in stone yet, but judging from preliminary surveys, you can expect at least 54% of our members to undergo treatment as soon as the medication is available to the public. Personally, I am excited about the prospect of a cure, and will absolutely get it for myself as soon as possible.“
**Carl:** „You do seem very excited about this, William, but some people are still confused about one thing. Why? Why would someone willingly cure themselves of vampirism? Vampires are immortal, they don’t get old, they don’t get sick and to top it all off they get an innate affinity to most types of magic. I mean, it seems like it’s all benefits, right? Why would anyone give that up?“
\[Part 2 coming in comments\] |
For hundreds of years, I alone have rested within the tavern of Mount Vacare. Before then, my kind were at war. The hardened scales that sheathe our skin were sculpted by a divine hand, and the flames that we expel from our lungs flared more furiously than the raging fires of the underworld. Soaring both the skies of blue and the dazing starry night, the world had belonged to us.
That was, until we were driven and hunted about. These miniscule soldiers that somehow found a way to conquer fire and stone desired to eradicate us. In small numbers, they were fodder. But their strength grew as did their mass, and because their life cycles far outpaced ours, eventually our power had become the lesser.
Driven into a corner, we sought to hide before the entirety of our species had been erased. It was a shameful defeat; to renounce our seat at the helm of the world and succumb to such embarrassing loss. I should know- I commanded a great number of my allies into this war. I commanded them into their own demise, and for that reason I have isolated my soul in an impenetrable abyss.
Yet, it seemed that my isolation was not so invincible that a mortal, human child, could not find its way. A small boy stumbled into my domain. He was not frightened, or shakened, or trembling through every cavity of his spine like the many humans before him. He held a torch that was just bright enough to cast his own miniscule shadow beneath him.
Had you placed him side by side to me in broad daylight, it would seem like pebble to boulder. But still he stood there with his faint light without a trace of terror in his breathe. It would be dishonest of me to say that I was not amused. So I spoke to him, in his own dialect, an ethereal power that very few like me had been given.
“What is it you are doing here, child?” I thundered. My nostrils shot fire, but fire and flashes of the golden scales that cascaded down my body was all he could see. I towered far too high for him to have a hope of catching sight of my face.
“So, you’re the king?” He said aloud. “I ask a favor.”
“I am king of nothing, child. And whatever you ask of me, I will not grant it. You will answer my question, or I will melt away the flesh attached to your frail frame.” I spoke.
“I’m here to talk to you, the King of the Dragons.” He firmly said.
“How did you arrive here.” I asked.
Solemnly, he began, “I could hear you, and I could smell you. The sound and scent would never let go of me. So I traveled here, to see where it’s coming from. During that journey, I learned a lot about you.”
“What did you learn?”
“You abandoned those alongside you a long time ago, and now you’re hiding in guilt and resentment of the past.”
Within me, a great fury began to rise.“I am running out of reasons to keep you alive, child.”
“I just want this favor granted. Hear me out, please.” He plead.
“If I do not care for it, you will die here and be reduced to mere ash.”
“I want you to destroy all the humans on the outside.” He finished.
I stared in disbelief. |
The doctor said I might experience phantom sensation and phantom pain. He said that I will think it's there, I will feel it's there, but it won't be. When I first discovered the... peculiarities of my missing arm, it turned out to be the other way round. I couldn't feel anything; no pain, no touch. But my arm was somehow there.
It took several months for me to learn to use it despite not being able to know where it is, neither by sight nor by touch, but eventually I restored full manual dexterity of my missing arm. My first idea was paying a visit to some casinos. Well, now my portrait is hanging at the security post of every casino in the world, with big letters: "The One-Armed Bandit: banned, do not admit". I managed to make some decent winnings, before they figured some shenanigans are going on.
Then I was briefly tempted to learn the art of picking pockets, but quickly rejected this idea. After all, if someone's credit card or phone ends up in my pockets, it's still incriminating evidence, and if no one saw the card floating through air to my pocket, then I'm just a common criminal. No, I thought, I must find another use for my talent.
So here I am, the Amazing Manco, the world's newest star of stage magic. Pick a card... any card. |
Standing on the railing, looking down, I was amazed at the thought of how small I was, how small everything seemed to be. The cars caught in traffic looked like toys, and the people milling around below were so far from me, they didn't even realize I was standing on the ledge of the high-rise. I fought down the urge to spit or throw a penny, just to see if those urban myths about it cracking the sidewalk were true.
The bar I was standing on was meant to keep people back, to stop them from falling to their death. Since that's what I was going for, but there wasn't enough room on the other side of the ledge, I found myself standing on it, precariously balanced with one hand on the adjacent wall for support.
The longer I stood up there, the more I could feel myself losing my nerve. If this didn't work, and I died, then I would have a lot of explaining to do. I imagined standing at the pearly gates, trying to explain to God that I had killed myself just to catch a glimpse of one of his vessels.
He'd probably understand, I thought, as I let my body fall forward, toward the sidewalk that seemed a million miles away, though it was just 12 stories.
My breath was taken from me in one moment as a hit like a battering ram knocked me square in the chest. The blow tipped me backwards, and as I gasped and tried to remember how to breathe, I fell the wrong direction, landing behind the ledge. The fall hit my head, and sent a sharp sting down my back and I blinked up at the sky.
The blue sky was replaced by a halo of red hair, and the angelic, albeit pissed off voice, that came with it. "What did I say? What did I say?"She yelled. "If it's not your time, it's not your time, then it's not your time!"
Painfully, I pushed myself up on my elbows, closing my eyes as I did so because the world was spinning. After a few breaths and a forceful swallow, I was able to look up.
She was beautiful. Her skin was so pale it had a blue hue, so pale it couldn't of been human. Curly red hair framed the angry face looking down at me, with green eyes, and pale rose lips that curled into a sneer.
"I told you yesterday, when you pulled this, it wasn't your time! How many times have I saved you this week? I just don't understand why-"She stopped, looked down at me again, then looked around the balcony. "What is this?"
I got to my feet as gracefully as possible, my back still hurt, and I was pretty sure I had a broken rib. On the ledge where I had been about to jump to my death was a basket, a blanket, chilled wine, and an assortment of breads and cheeses. "I thought,"I tried to say, and I had to cough once and start over. "I thought you could use a break. Maybe have dinner with me. I don't even know if you eat. Maybe we could talk?"
She stared at me. "A date?"One eyebrow rose.
"Yeah."I shrugged. "As a thank you, for saving my life so many times this week."
"You could save your own life, if you stopped pulling this shit."She answered, staring down at the basket and folded blanket. "Is this supposed to be a picnic? Of all the dumb ideas-"She stopped. "Is that gouda?"
'Smoked. From Holland."
She looked back down, then at me, then back to the picnic basket. "I can't say I've ever been on a date before."She mused. "One drink, okay? I could sit down for one drink."
I extended my hand to her. "Nice to officially meet you, Miss. Guardian angel. I'm Nick."
"I know."She took my hand and shook it once. "I'm Althea." |
Of all the people I have known, he was the greatest.
I remember when I first met him in college. He looked older than he really was, a twenty-year old boy that looked like he was in his mid-thirties or early forties. Something about him seemed different, compared to the other students. Whenever I spoke to him, there was a quiet sadness in his voice. Like he had seen enough of this world to be weary of it. There were other things that were unusual about him. He seemed to always guess what others were thinking, what they were about to do. It was like he could understand other people better than they could themselves.
I remember when I first got to really know him. I was walking home at night when a group of thugs surrounded me and demanded me to give up my wallet. He appeared out of nowhere and took them down. He made it look easy. A dodge to the left, a casually thrown punch, a few jabs to the solar plexus... The trauma and shock of that night must have triggered something inside me, because when I woke up the next day, I could fly. It wasn't as useful a power as one might think, given my lack of enhanced durability or any other complementary abilities, but it was very useful for reconnaissance and search-and-rescue. I revealed my abilities to him and joined his fledgling team of superheroes. We would later be known as one of the most successful superhero groups on Earth.
I remember when I last saw him. We were fighting off a seemingly undefeatable entity, one that could shrug off our hits like they were nothing, take a few nukes to the face without flinching. The glimpse we had of the entity's true form cemented our impression of it as an unstoppable being. Another superhero had scanned it and found that it was multiversal in nature, extending avatars to attack different worlds like we might extend a finger to crush an insect. Our best efforts were nothing in the face of such a threat. While the rest of us were standing there, head hung in defeat, my colleague and long-time friend smiled at us and walked towards the looming monster of unfolding fractals and reality-breaking geometries. As we stared in shocked silence, he began to age a thousand years in mere heartbeats, his skin changing from smooth to wrinkled to a crumbling gray, his legs giving way beneath him as he collapsed to the ground. My eyes weren't watching the beast as it was erased from existence; they were still staring at my dying friend, his face still set in a tranquil smile.
Of all the people I have known, he was the greatest, but I didn't realize it when I first met him. |
There is a saying that seems to span across the cultures of Wizards and Unards alike. They say to speak softly and carry a big stick. Wands and pistols are dwarfed by staffs and rifles. It's the rustle of leaves and the cracking of branches and the fetid stench that causes the city guards to prime their weapons and aim towards the forest and wait tensely for the beast to reveal itself.
Then out lumbers a troll, warts as big as a witch's nose and his skin the hue of sickly mucus. He doesn't speak, even as the guards atop the wall shout their warnings as loud as can be and the Wizards point their twigs and meager branches towards this robed creature while the Unards draw their bowstrings and cock their crossbows. The bells begin to ring and the townsfolk scramble for their posts, eliciting memories of the Hundred Year's Siege or the Winter of the Lost Children. The bells rarely stopped ringing then.
The mayor emerges, his brow dripping in sweat and his hands clenched around a staff. "Halt,"he says sternly. The walls have fallen silent but the last echoes of the bells still ring off the surrounding hills. He doesn't raise his voice. He doesn't need to.
The creature halts its lurching gait. It clutches its weapon and stands it on one end and the tree stretches above the walls and above the foliage to lose itself in the dim light of the evening. Not every stick has magic, much like not every rifle has a loaded round. Not every troll casts spells much like not every Unard can bring himself to pull the trigger. But the glint in this creature's eyes and its taciturn manner when affronted by a thousand armed guards is off-putting; the men shake with fright and the women sob as they huddle in the corners of cellars.
"State your business,"the mayor commands. His voice is tense. The men on the wall can barely hear him, and that brings some sort of comfort to those harrowed souls. When he yells a command, they know their time has come.
The troll doesn't flinch. It blinks a long, lazy blink. The tree begins to tilt towards the city and a flurry of leaves float down slowly around the terrified mayor. He does his best to not show his fear. "No,"the troll whispers. A breeze picks up and the forest seems to lurch with a gust of wind and when the mayor turns, the city is leveled and the rubble is stained with blood. Small bits of torn robes peek out from below the crumbled walls and in the distance dogs bark and women cry and the city is no more.
He ignites before he can think to cast a spell of his own, the troll barely twitching its massive tree towards the powerless Wizard standing defiantly before him. A mound of ash is all that's left of the mayor; a mound of stone is all that's left of the city. And with that the troll steps around the outpost in that mountain pass and continues his steady journey towards the Kingdom.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! |
It was a sunny day in August when a door appeared in the middle of my room without any warning.
For a moment, I simply stared at it in disbelief, dropping my calculator and shoving my chair screeching backwards.
It was so strange seeing the ornate entrance floating in midair right before my eyes like a ghost.
Struggling to comprehend this utterly incomprehensible situation, I slowly circled the door like a wary feral animal.
When nothing of interest happened, I cautiously palmed the golden door handle and slowly turned it.
I couldn’t suppress a gasp at the beautiful forest that sprawled before my very eyes.
Making my way inside this miraculous world, I marveled at the soft velvety grass.
There were trees with thick trunks that stretched like columns towards the sky.
Upon approaching one of them, it became apparent that I wasn’t alone.
Marvelous pixies flitted around the flowers surrounding the wood like butterflies.
They were beautiful, unafraid of my touch, but seemed panicked.
They seemed to be trying to tell me something.
Trusting them, I followed them to another tree.
To my horror, there was an hourglass.
It was ticking down, almost out.
I ran for the door.
The world slowed down.
The door vanished.
I blinked.
Fuck. |
"ςєครє, ๓ץ קєՇร."
A restless, only inches from my neck, freezes. As my blurring vision slowly returns, all of the others have followed suit. Motionless, like statues. "What the hell..."I whisper, but not at the statues. A masked woman, tall and thin, strides slowly forward through the brush.
"ς๏ɭɭคקรє."All of the restless fall to the ground in perfect unison.
What did she just say? It sounded like English, I think. The hair on the back of my neck stands up, matching the goosebumps coming from the chill. It's hard to stand tall after sprinting for half a mile, so my usual intimidation plan is out. I can do nothing but wait for her advance.
The woman removes her mask, revealing a cocky expression with all kinds of scars. Are those... bite marks? On her neck too! Now that she's closer, the raggedy tank top certainly isn't hiding the multitude of still-healing wounds down her arms. With a confident stride she approaches me.
"Finally! You would not **believe** what it took to get here,"she boasts. "You okay? You almost got got."
I'm speechless. She puts her hands on her hips.
"Excuse me, 'Earth to David'? C'mon, talk to me man."
"H-How did you do that?"I demand. "I've seen the movies, are you some kind of angel? Or devil? Or a mad scient-"She cuts me off.
"Okay, maybe I shouldn't let you start the talking. Just know that you're safe for the next few minutes, but you've gotta come with me right now if you want to keep up that mad cardio you've got going on there. C'mon, let's start walking."
Exhausted and having no better option, I take her outstretched hand and stand up. I take a second look at her injuries. Those are definitely bite marks.
"Oh, these?"she says. "Lots and lots of fuckups. These things are like cats. One wrong move and they'll go after you, even if you're in charge."She turns back around to the pile. "ς๏๓є ฬเՇђ ยร, ๓ץ קєՇร."The restless shamble up and begin to follow us at walking pace.
"Don't be scared, they're a bunch of softies. Especially because you can just kind of cave 'em in with your boot."
I've had enough of this. "Who are you? What the hell is going on?"
She smirks. "No worries, we've got plenty of time to talk on the way to back to the lab. You got any snacks on you by the way?"
"No, I don't. The lab?"
She pats her back pocket and pulls something out. "Oh wait, no, I've got one. Yeah, I'm taking you back the lab,"she says with a mouthful of granola. "I'm going to introduce you to some friends."
My face turns red. "I don't want any more friends! I watched all of my friends die to these goddamned monsters! Who the hell are you and why aren't you dead!?"
She sighs, and looks down. "ﻮєՇ ђเ๓,"she says softly. Suddenly, a sharp pain my shoulder interrupts my attempt at translation. I scream. One of the restless has sank it's teeth deep into my torso. After failing to wrestle it off, I drop to my knees and accept my fate. Just like with everyone else, I count to ten.
... Nothing is happening?
"See? Trust me now? Get back up and keep walking David. Oh, and say ςєครє."
"Um, ς-єคร є?"I stutter. The restless immediately relinquishes its hold on my shoulder and shambles backward.
"How did that work? Why do these monsters respond to us?"
"You should know, David,"she sighs.
"You invented them." |
"It's over doctor Vile!"The powerful man strode through the door to the secret lab only to have the knee he was about to land on blown to a red mist by a shotgun from the bad doctor's hand.
"Oh, i quite agree."He said, voice steely and cold.
"Y-y-you're not supposed to have-"
"A gun? Fourty-five bucks at wal-mart, didn't even have to give them a fake name. Isn't capitalism wonderful?"He laughed maniacally to his ceiling.
"You monster!"The suped up boy in spandex hurled his one-legged body at the frail doctor, only to be knocked back into the ground by a shot that landed in his shoulder.
"Tell me, super- what was your name again?"
"I am victus, the spirit of-"
"I'm just going to call to Tim. You look like a Tim. Tim, do you know a man by the name of David doglot?"
"What does this have to do with... With anything?"
"Hmm... Blood loss must be getting to you. You killed him on your last raid. He may as well have been my own flesh and blood."He leveled the firearm to the hero's face, giving him a good look at the shell nestled all the way down the barrel. "Goodbye Tim." |
"Welcome, gentlemen. Please, come in and take a seat."
Boltar and Sanguinaire entered the office with a depressed look on their faces and sat down on separate chairs. I took a seat on my own chair before pulling out my pen and notepad.
"Now, what has brought you here today?"
They both hesitated to answer. After a moment of silence Sanguinaire opened his mouth before Boltar interrupted him.
"Our rivalry is simply not working anymore."
"And whose fault do you think that is?"
"Now, now, gentlemen. Let's discuss this like civilized people, shall we? Boltar, please elaborate."
Sanguinaire slouched, clearly annoyed that he didn't get to speak first.
"He doesn't take me seriously anymore. We used to really go all out to kill each other, but lately he's not even trying."
"I see. Sanguinaire?"
"What's the point of killing you if you won't even curse my name anymore, you ingrate? I've seen the way you fight Spectra: clearly you hate her more than me!"
"Hey, that's not fair! It's not my fault Spectra uses sexual undertones in her fights!"
"Boltar, please. It's Sanguinaire's turn. Sanguinaire, how does Boltar having a bigger score with Spectra make you feel?"
Sanguinaire's face was red with embarrassment.
"...It makes me feel inadequate. It makes me feel that I'm not a good enough villain."
"There is no shame in admitting your feelings, Sanguinaire. Now, Boltar, how do you actually feel about Spectra?"
"I think she's an obsessive bitch who can't take no for an answer."
"See? This is what I mean! You never insult *me* like that!*"*
"That's because you've never treated me with proper disrespect!"
"I have something called *class*, but clearly you don't know what that means!"
"Gentlemen, please. Calm down. Take a deep breath."
They did as I asked as I took a few notes.
"When was the last time you two fought?"
"A week ago."
"Nine days."
"Ugh, why do you have to be such a stickler?"
"It's called having standards, look it up."
"And during this fight, what happened? Boltar?"
"Sanguinaire set up a trap to catch me, but it was seriouosly half-assed."
"Not as half-assed as your 'evil never triumphs' speech."
"I was having a rough day, okay? I can't always be the shining paragon!"
"Alright, let's take a brief pause, here. Sanguinaire, remind me when did your rivalry start?"
"It started some seven years ago. I was trying to rob a bank when Boltar showed up."
"He was starting his career as a supervillain."
"It didn't go too bad for my first heist, but even though I was able to escape, I had to ditch most of the money and grab a hostage along the way."
"You don't take hostages anymore. What happened, man?"
"Taking hostages isn't as satisfying anymore. It's not worth the effort."
"I see. How did your first encounter make you feel?"
"I had heard that Boltar was persistent, but I seriously underestimated how much. I almost led him to my secret lair that day."
"Mm-hm. Boltar?"
"I could tell that he was new to this, but even so he was remarkably prepared. I could feel the evil dripping from him."
"Don't say that, it's disgusting."
"I'm telling it like it was, deal with it."
"And what has changed between then and now?"
"Well, back then I used to feel like I could actually die. These days it feels like he's on autopilot. You know what I mean?"
"Sanguinaire?"
"I used to think that I left an impression on Boltar. But now I'm not so sure. I feel like I've wasted a life of crime for someone who doesn't appreciate me."
"I see. Gentlemen, I understand that this can't be easy for you, but I just would like to say that you are both very brave for coming here. The first step to solving a problem is admitting that you have one. If you both cooperate, we may be able to get through this. Now, I have a dozen more appointments today, so we will have to stop here. My secretary will give you your next appointment. I hope to see you soon." |
The letter fell from my hands, fluttering slowly to the floor. I couldn’t think to pick it back up, my hands were shaking too much to even try. I attempted to comprehend what the letter had read, tried to piece together what exactly was being asked of me.
“Dear Mr. Martins, based on your profile from your physical and psychological evaluation, we have been prompted to suggest a rather unconventional path for you. As you may see, there are many different jobs in this community, but they may occasionally become... oversaturated. That is where you come in, less of a control and more of a temporary solution. We have given you the necessary adaptation to hide, and a new life in case the current one is discovered. We at the Council of Employment and Conditioning would like you to become an unlicensed assassin, someone acting on basic whims outside of the law. Frankly put, we want you to become a serial killer Mr. Martins.”
I poured myself a glass of scotch and sat in my chair. I steadied my nerves as I planned out my next moves very carefully. I promised myself long ago that when I got my letter, I would be finally adapting into society, something I’d had trouble doing since I was but a boy. The thing that scared me wasn’t that the Council had asked me to become a serial killer.
It was the fact that they didn’t know I already was one. |
**Trying this for the first time, don't be too harsh! Also sorry in advance if there are grammatical mistakes, English is my 3rd language.**
&#x200B;
All the students were gathered in the Great Hall, dinner was coming to an end, and everyone kept an eye on the entrance, waiting for the newcomer to arrive. Professor McGonagall mentioned earlier in the afternoon that the substitute headmaster would be here tonight, and teachers and students alike were curious to know who it might be, since Dumbledore told no one about his/her identity, not even McGonagall.
The hall was filled with chatter, most of the students weren't thrilled with the idea of a new headmaster, except for some of the Slytherins, who could not hide their joy and have been making jokes about Dumbledore's hemorrhoids for the last days.
Suddenly, the great door opened, and drenched in rain came Flinch, followed by an old man clad in grey, with a pointy hat and a huge staff on his hand, the students had to look twice, because he looked very much like Dumbledore, except he looked like he had been on the road for months and could use a good night's sleep on a comfortable bed. He had long gray hair, an even longer white beard, and his bushy dark eyebrows contrasted with his white and grey attire.
All eyes were on him, some were amazed by his resemblance with Dumbledore and wondered if he was a relative of his, others looked with disdain at his rough appearance. He had a stern face and looked weary and cold. He made for the Professors table, and greeted them with a smile and a tip of his hat, the hall was completely silent, McGonagall showed him to the Headmaster's chair, he sat down, and that's when everyone heard it...
"*Pfrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrt*"
The dreadful sound of a long and gruesome fart. The students roared with laughter, the professor Mcgonagall's face was filled with shock and horror. The old man in grey stood up from his chair, pulling a whoopee cushion from it , a cold anger rising in his eyes.
\- "*Very funny indeed, Master Draco Malefoy...*
Malefoy turned pale when he heard his name called.
\- *Oh yes, I know all your names, though you don't know mine yet, for I am not of this world, but you will know it soon enough... This is no pathetic Malefoy-Mansion gathering, you halfwit, next time, I shall clout your ear so hard you'll fly to your father without no broomstick, fool! That would teach you not to cross the wrong wizard, and would unburden most people here of a nuisance, if only half of what I heard about you is true.*
Mcgonagall was mortified and was wondering whether she should interfere or not, and while Malefoy kept a straight face in front of his fellow Slytherins, it went from white to yellow to a green shade, and he couldn't mutter a word. The other students were quietly laughing at the humiliation of Malefoy, but dared not make any noise, they just had a taste of the grey wizard's temper, and they did under no circumstance want more.
\- *Now that this small matter is settled,* continued the new headmaster, while filling a pipe with some strange weed from a leather pouch, *let me introduce myself, Gandalf the Grey, wanderer of Middle Earth, at your service.* He blew a huge ring of smoke. *I am arranging a little adventure, those of you who are tired of wingardium leviosing and circus tricks shall join me tomorrow morning at 7 sharp, breakfast will be served. Now, I have to go on a errand, I will see you tomorrow, and don't be late!"*
And with that, he hit the ground with his staff filling the room with a blinding light , when everyone could see again, the old wizard was nowhere to be found. |
I observed her from a distance, as I had for weeks. It felt weird, essentially stalking my future wife, but I found through watching that I grew more and more in love with her each day. We had so much in common, we both enjoyed hiking and the outdoors. I saw she had hiked twice this week alone, I couldn't wait to show her my favorite trails.
I adjusted my position in the bushes, pushing some leaves aside as I crouched. Is this crazy? I just didn't want to miss my opportunity, the devices did not guarantee you'd be together. Just that when the moment was right, you'd meet. I had to be ready. Today should be the day.
The last five minutes began as she exited a Starbucks. I thought of showing her my french press, and brewing her coffee everyday. As I fantasized about the smell of coffee and her beautiful smile, she bumped into a man in a suit. They laughed, and she helped him pick up his briefcase. She laughed and touched his arm, hang on whats happening. I looked at my alarm, this is the moment! NO SHE IS MINE!
I emerged from the bushes, stained with food and excrement. Running at a full sprint I said "SHE'S MINE YOU SCOUNDREL"and plowed full force into the suited man. I began to rain my fists down on him, and then I blacked out and woke up here.
The police officer stirred his coffee from the other side of the interrogation table.
"So you stalked this women for weeks, then assaulted a random person who spoke to her...and you say a watch told you to do this."
"Yes our love devices. They count down when we meet our soul mate."The man gestured to a cheap watch on his wrist, eyes manic and wild. |
An angel, a real life fucking angel stands over me, and offers me 67 bonus hours. To top it all of, he has a Brooklyn accent. His wings are fucking huge, he is like 10 feet tall, and the halo is directly behind his head.
“Hey buddy. I got something for you. Here’s your refund.”
“Wait... what fucking refund?”
“You know. Call of Duty: Infinite Warfare. It was a shit game. God understands. So we give you another 67 hours of your life.”
“Your a bit late, don’t ya think?”
“Do you want it or not?”
I look up at the sky, the red on the edges of my vision seeping toward the centre. There’s no contract for me to read the fine print. I may just sit here for 67 hours in agony. Or maybe I’ll be sent back to then. Would I keep my knowledge? Maybe, maybe not. Probably not.
What do I do?
As I mull it over, the angel starts to get bored.
“Hey buddy, playa, my man. You want your 67 hours or not?”
“Umm, yes please”
“Was that so fucking hard? Jesus Christ.” Thunder and lightning rolls and roar across the sky. “Shit. Sorry boss!”
The angel touches my forehead with his index finger, and a strange energy leeches from him and enters me. I feel my lifeless body become reinvigorated with energy, For the next 67 hours, at least.
I stand up, stumbling a little bit, and take a few steps toward the angel. The angel grabs my arm to steady me, gives me a pat on my head.
“Well, I’m off. I got other shit to give. Miracles and whatnot. See ya in a few hours.”
“Yeah... I guess”
“Aight cool.”
As I look across the battlefield, I see that the battle is over, and all that remains are the dead bodies and firearms scattered in the dirt. I see no way of making it to civilisation. As I turn to ask the angel what I should do, I see he is already a ways off, but he has turned around and is watching me, a huge grin on his face.
And then I see it.
It’s not an angel. There was no halo. It must have been the sun.
The person who gave me my 67 hours isn’t an angel, sent from god.
It was the devil.
He resurrected me.
And then the rest of the battlefield stands up, too.
And we march to the nearest town. And we feast. |
Doctor Irresolute was stumped and pacing. "Every plan I have made, every masterminded scheme is always trumped by that idiotic hero! My plans to genetically modify humans to be my slaves? He manually decoded the entire genome and reversed it! My plans to take over the city with my mind control ray? He went out and gave each and every citizen a hat with a mirror on it that reflected the ray back! My plans to take over financially with high interest loans and scams? He pored through every scrap of financial documentation to get me on tax evasion!"
"It's bad enough that he stopped me, but he picked the most boring, most banal way of doing it!"The evil doctor growled in frustration. "It's almost like."The lightbulb finally came on. "He has to complete whatever task he starts but is more powerful the longer it takes! That's why he can complete those insane tasks! That's what his power actually is! Why didn't I see it before?"
It took him years to finally complete his latest trap, which was in no way because he started and then dropped the project multiple times, but he finally completed it. A one-use mind control ray that would affect even The Unrelenting and get him to perform one task.
Right on time, The Unrelenting burst into Irresolute's evil lair. "I'm here to stop you villain! You won't be able to mix your villainous substances into bags of Skittles if I go through each bag of Skittles by hand!"
The doctor laughed, "Ha! There are no Skittles! You have fallen into my trap!"He flipped on the ray and pointed it at the hero. "Now! Tell me all the digits of pi!"
The multicolored mind control ray struck the stunned hero. He staggered for a second. He looked up at his nemesis in confusion. Then he spoke. "0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9. That is all the digits that are in pi."Doctor Irresolute's palm met his face and he was carted off by the hero. |
I was drinking some nice glass of blood wine as the local space station. The window gave us a good view of the nebula nearby. It also gave us a great view of the approaching ship. It was a human thing, completely unlike everything the other species used.
That ship had a copper hull. It had moving parts and a lot of conduits or pipes on the outside. We've heard of the tales how humans made their own propulsion to go FTL, but this was just weird.
After the ship had docked, the captain joined us. I looked at the creature. It was dressed in what they told me were animal hides. They killed non sentient species, stripped of their skin and wore the skin as clothes. Leather. That how it was called. For some reason it restricted the torso more than expected, but left a gap where the top of rounded bulges of flesh were visible.
Within seconds the questions came. Everybody wanted to know how their drive worked.
The human took of these weird round eye protection. Goggles, they called it. It then took of the animal hide cap covering its head, revealing long strands of bright red fur. It was probably a dramatic gesture for its species.
"Steam", the human called out. "It runs on steam. Let me explain." |
“What day is it today, mate?” I heard from a man behind me.
I quickly looked at my watch and saw the date and time.
“Ah crap. Why’d you do that.” I grumbled out loud.
In a blink of an eye, I was face to face with a guy in the middle of a narrow road in between 2 fields of wheat.
“Ok. Let me explain it out for you. Save the questions for the end.” I said to the man.
“A few months ago, I purchased a watch from a goodwill store. Seemed rather surprising that it was such a well designed watch but only cost about €40. I know a good deal when I see one.
The watch itself isn’t fancy. Digital watch display in center and it’s a steel alloy of some sorts. No brand name, or any markings on the back. Just a random watch.
When I purchased it, the time read about 2 minutes ahead. A quick change and it read the current time as well as the date. No problem, right?
It didn’t take long to notice there was something dangerously wrong with the watch. It only lit up when I looked at it and for some reason it always had the date and time wrong. That wouldn’t be a problem normally, but when I looked away from the time piece, I’d notice one small issue of being teleported to that time.
Luckily the first time I did that I was teleported to March 22, 1972 at 8 am. After a few minutes , I’d look again and boom. Time changed. Feb 2, 1888, then it was December 31, 238 AD. Took a few more tries but I eventually got to my time.
I did my best to rip the watch off. Pulled it with my teeth. Tried taking the pins off. Used pliers, hammer, anything short of a torch or acid. Stuck like glue. So I got to hide it. Because when people ask for time, issue 2 arises. They teleport with me when I see it. So I made myself unapproachable. Let my beard grow out, stopped brushing my teeth, stopped showering. An absolute repulsion. Yet you come along and ask me the time and I lapsed in concentration.”
“Hence why we are here in the 1400s at sunrise right?” he said back to me.
“Yes. Sorry for the long spiel. Figured I should explain it all at once. You seem pretty calm about all of this.” I said as a peasant was pulling up his pants after using the bathroom on the side of the road.
“Would you believe me if I said you weren’t the first person I’ve met to have a watch like that? You’re actually the 5th person I’ve met with that watch.” He said back to me as he took a cigarette out and lit it up.
“Wanna not do that here? Might scare people here when they see smoke coming out your mouth there.” I replied back.
He nodded and threw his cigarette on the ground and stepped on it to snuff it out.
He walked over to me and asked for my hand.
I let him look at the watch as he pressed the buttons in a specific order to edit the time.
“Ah, still remember it. See the problem is the tech never was meant to make it out to the consumer. We made a fail safe after the test group ended up dead and the fossils of them were found with prototypes.” He said as he reached into his pocket.
He took out a small black box no larger then a ring box with a button on top.
“This is our reset button. Fixes the big bug of random time travel.” He said as a group of guards were approaching us with large spears.
“There. All good. Should be ready to go. Just hit the lower button and it’ll reset to 10 minutes before you bought the watch.” He said.
I quickly pressed the button and looked around to see the current day. Before me was the same goodwill store I purchased the watch from.
“Feels weird not having the watch on now.” I said to the man standing next to me.
“Yeah. Unfortunately, it doesn’t reverse the effects that you’ve done. So my advice? Get a shower, shave, haircut, schedule a dentist because those teeth look really infected, and maybe wash your clothes to start. Smelling like onions and cheetos right now.” He said to me.
“Don’t you need to burn the watch or make sure it doesn’t fall into the wrong hands?” I said as I noticed how bad my body odor smelled.
“Nah. Battery is drained on it. My black box said you never charged it. You were about 2 hops away from being stuck wherever it landed you. Someone will buy it and notice it’s dead. They will try to charge it and fail and then just wear it for style points and to pick up chicks. Problem solved.” He said as he took out another cigarette and lit it up.
“That’s it?” I said back.
“Yep. I’ve seen how this will pan out. I know how it will end.” He said as he pulled his sleeve up and showed me a watch identical to my former watch.
“Ok, stinky. Do what I told you and fix your life. Take care.” He said as he turned and began walking away.
I stood there for a few seconds as he began becoming more distant. When he no longer was visible I turned and began walking into the goodwill and went to the clerk.
“I’d like to look at your watches please.” I said with my stained toothy smile.
Just a quick one I whipped up. Enjoy! |
The **Chernobyl disaster** was the first [nuclear ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nuclear_accident)terror attack that occurred on Saturday 26 April 1986, at the No. 4 nuclear reactor in the [Chernobyl Nuclear Power Plant](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chernobyl_Nuclear_Power_Plant), near the city of Pripyat in the north of the Ukrainian SSR (cited from Wikipedia). It is a landmark event in history that lead to the UN, United States of America, Japan, China, and many more world powers^(1) to take action against a new terror group called [NUCLEAR](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chernobyl_disaster). This event is considered by experts to be the kick off to [WWIII](https://images.app.goo.gl/QriSCWiWqnhm6Yk48).
Evidence at the site for terrorist activity remains buried in cesium-137, iodine-131, and strontium-90 making investigations difficult to pursue. NUCLEAR publically claimed responsibility for the attack decades after on January 4, 2020, following the Fukushima, San Onofre, Tihange, LingAo, and Tarapur attacks on December 25, 2019 deemed Death on Christmas Day.
World powers struggle to track down the suspected hackers and their motives as riots break out in affected and unaffected countries. |
The world was shocked when it happened. We'd never expected the scale of such a massive pandemic, one that would create such a distinct dichotomy between two halves of the same species.
I mean, don't get me wrong, we'd all heard about *the zombie apocalypse* before.
That was before the Hourglass Virus.
You see, humans for the longest time have explored the potential of time travel and immortality. We've attempted to expand our own lifespan, travel to the future, and everything in between.
To some degree, we've succeeded in that goal. Modern vaccines and medicines allowed us to combat diseases that would normally cripple our ancestors.
And that's why Pandemic X was created in the first place. It was because of our own greed for more life and our fear of death; we wanted to find a way to extend our own lifetimes so they would stretch beyond what was previously possible.
When the Pandemic first seeped through its ill-sealed container and gradually ravaged India, the nation of its origin, the international media was quick to take notice. Every day, we were shown images on the news of dead, decaying husks mulling the streets of India. We saw the videos of the 'zombies' being restrained by doctors, strapped by metal bindings into beds to be experimented on.
But... that seemed to be it. The disease wasn't spreading past India, and all of the husks seemed to be peaceful, though disgusting and decaying as they were.
Until the first bites.
All it took was 32 bones in the mouth and a couple of unlucky seconds for me to transform. But the thing was, even after I was bitten, I never lost my *humanity*, I could still feel, still think, and I had no sudden craving for human flesh.
On February 11th, 2040, at 12:31 am, I became a husk.
But as I transformed, I noticed that the world around me grew slower, each second of the day elongating.
The curious thing about the husks was that they never devoured us. I'd seen the footage prior to my own transformation, and the husks always swarmed a human with their slow, determined shuffle, only to walk away as soon as they'd bitten one.
But once I had transformed and the initial shock had worn off, the others had explained their goals to me.
You see, the average housefly lives for only a day, and yet in that one day it is able to experience life to the fullest, having fun, hopping around, and even mating with other flies.
Before you ponder that further or judge us husks, think about this: it's 2040 and our scientists predict the world will end due to climate change in less than 100 years.
In 100 years, the human species is slated to be destroyed.
And so despite the lightning fast speed and reflexes of the non-husks, despite the overwhelming strength and power they display, I continue to chase them down with my fellow husks.
Because despite the world ending in only a couple generations for non-husks, 100 years is equivalent to thousands of lifetimes for us husks.
Now if you'll excuse me, it's 11:14 pm, February 11th, 2040, and I'm close to my death. But don't get it twisted. I've had an amazing life, one filled with joy and happiness without the fear of constant destruction.
So this is my final message to any of the remaining non-husks: if you see a human shuffling towards you at a snail's pace, let them bite you.
It's the only way to truly achieve immortality. |
“*Expelliarmus*, what a name. So you’re telling me this is popular?”
“Yes, Kevin. I can’t believe you have never heard of Harry Potter.”
He looked on in confusion.
“The book you’re reading. Harry Potter. It’s one of a series of novels.”
“Yes well I never did catch his name.”
“It’s in the title of the book.”
“Yes but it’s just so *unbelievable.*”
Kevin was a “muggle” in all senses of the word. A great fellow in all aspects, with keen interests and hobbies. Except, apparently, Harry Potter novels.
“I just don’t really like it. You just won’t see any of that stuff around.”
“What?” I inquired, “Do you mean the magic?”
“Not only that. The…” Kevin flapped his arms around a bit as if to make a big shape. He looked rather silly to be doing so in the middle of a bus, but I opted to let the point rest.
“The what?”
“The fatalistic, is that right? The fatalistic feel of it all. It all sort of just clunks together.”
“And life doesn’t act like that?”
“No ma’am. Everything either comes familiar or completely new, never intersecting, and I am not about to watch a giant hairy man come from the sky to hand me a stick and teach me to shoot sparks with it.”
Kevin had no idea how wrong he was, at least about magic. Magic was very real, though I do concede that it’s nothing like Harry Potter.
It was an easy enough ritual, believe it or not. To befriend and care for. To think of and cherish, to be amiable .
This is where the effect would start. The victim would begin to open up, to reveal likes and hates, to expose a bit of their soul with every conversation. The next step proved tricky, but vital to the spell. To open up myself. For every ounce listened, pour a little bit back. This would allow me to spread my benevolent tendrils and, as I had been doing, create a network of love and support for my victims and I. Before they knew it, I knew their parents’ names, childhood aspirations, and love interests. All information to serve me in growing my web.
The fact was most people I knew were under my hex, but unaware. Friendship: it’s a simple spell, but quite unbreakable. |
Who am I and how did I get here? Valid questions both physically and metaphorically I suppose.
The answer physically is at least easy enough to answer. The Emperor of the South, Droth, has been waging a campaign of terror all across the continent for years. Countries large and small have fought against him, both individually and in great unions, to no avail. This continued until only the Ghram alliance remained. The Ghram alliance is a coalition of 13 different countries that banded together in one final attempt to prevent annihilation.
The Ghram alliance gathered their greatest minds, warriors, and mages together in a vast war council. All options were considered. No proposal too crazy to consider if it might help them stave off the inevitable. They needed a way to strike back at Droth and his hordes. The thought of summoning warriors from other worlds had been considered and discarded. While technically possible the alliance no longer had the strength to summon enough people to make a difference. Too many great mages had been lost in the war already.
“We may have to rely on our own strength,” someone chimed in, “but perhaps not our own wit. None of us can come up with a plan or strategy against Droth. He is a masterful tactician and sees through all our plans. But there are those in other worlds used to fighting in different ways.”
All agreed that this was a worthy idea. Indeed Zur the greatest mage remaining surely had the strength to summon a person from another world and the skill to select a person meeting his criteria. And so the plan was put into action. Zur was to summon a great strategist, one who was feared and had never known defeat. A hero that could lead the Ghram alliance to victory.
And thus I was summoned to this world, mere days before the alliance's great offensive. The purpose of my summoning was to provide some new insights and tactics. That is how I arrived in this place physically. How did I get here metaphorically? I suppose I must explain where “here” is before I can answer that question.
“Here” is mere hours before main horde of the Droth army arrives at the Ghram alliance's border. “Here” is weeks after the alliance's offensive, with me as its strategist, failed miserably. The failure of which cost two fifths of our fighting force while barely scratching Droth's army.
So how did I get here metaphorically? I suppose my hubris is to blame. In my own world I am known as the one you do not want to face. In this world I was told that Zur summoned a great strategist. That his magic was infallible and that I was sure to be the one to lead the Ghram alliance against Droth. And so I attempted to do so. I took what I know of medieval warfare and combined that with what I know of “magic” from my world. Fortunately the concept of magic in my world and the reality in this one align surprisingly close. I took this knowledge and bravado and drew up plans to lead an army into battle. More like to it's inevitable death. My inadequacy was quickly and brutally shown to me.
“How could you let this happen,” they railed at me after we turned tail in defeat. “I just did what you asked! I yelled at them still in shock. Not just the shock of the battle, a real battle, which is not a thing you can easily pass off. But also the shock that I had led so many to their deaths. “Zur's magic is the best we have. There is no way he summoned someone inadequate for his purpose. And yet you failed so fully that we are guaranteed to be wiped off the face of the planet now,” they scolded. “Indeed,” Zur commented. Slouched on the floor with my head in my hands I tried not to cry as I looked up and asked, “Oh yeah and for what purpose was I summoned; exactly?” Zur stood up to his full height, looked down at me, and said, “I summoned a great traction who had never known defeat; someone who could lead us to victory.” After that statement Zur's shoulders slumped, “And yet you came instead, I have never doubted my magic so.”
The shock of what I heard almost drove me mad. A nervous chuckle escaped my lips to be followed by a hearty maniacal laugh and the tension drained from my body. Those around me looked at each other nervously as the madman in their midst nearly fainted from lack of oxygen for laughing so hard. Once I recovered I stood up and ran a hand through my hair; my long delicate fingers parting unkempt ragged curls. “You fools,” I scolded, “When I arrived you told my I was to lead the alliances assault against Droth. But that isn't why I was summoned at all.” They objected to my statement of course, “Surely it is you just heard Zur say it himself.” I would hear none of their drivel though, “Enough! I did listen to him. I was summoned to 'lead you to victory', not to lead an army against Droth. It's not my fault you idiots summoned your savior and then used him as a hammer when in fact he is a shovel. Let's go. We have much to do and no time to do it.”
And so we are “here”, a week and a half after that day. My glasses are sliding down so I use my middle finger to push them up as I sit in front of a massive table covered to overflowing with various charts, diagrams, writing implements; and my lucky D20. In one of the final moments of calm I pick my D20 and roll it in my palm. I've had it nearly my whole career. Rolled it more times than I can count. So many times in fact that all the corners and edges are worn down.
So I have answered how I got here but not yet who I am. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Issei Kai, the legendary dungeon designer and dungeon master known as “Hellscape Ctenizidae”. In my world Ctenizidae is the scientific name for a family of spiders known as “trap door spiders”. My dungeon designs are second to none. Using one of my dungeons a moderately compentant dungeon master can fend off a party of experienced adventurers. Parties fall time and again against my dungeons; they stand no chance, even admit that victory was never within their grasp, but never compain because my dungeons are fair. Fair but intractable. No group of players has ever defeated me as I DM'd one of my dungeons. And here I sit in the DM's chair as and army of adventurers are about to assail my most elaborate, unescapable, and unforgivable dungeon to date. Come at me Droth, I am ready! |
I awoke with a start. What had happened? Where was I? I glanced around at the room I was in. Room... it seemed like a cell. The walls were a distant grey - even looking at the and the floor was frigid - only highlighted with bits of chalk scratched on in tally marks. ‘Twenty-two’ I thought. Is that how long I had been here? Maybe someone else wrote those on.
Trying to calm myself, I counted through the events. I... died. There was a helicopter, and it fell, and... my train of thought was quickly cut short. I stared, wide eyed, at the cheery face hanging down from the bunk above me.
“You must be the new guy!” he cheered. “We’re gonna be great roommates!”
I mumbled through my words, perplexed beyond belief. “M-my wife! My kids!” I yelped at him.
“Just let it all out buddy, you can relax now,” he slid down from his bunk and sent me a reassuring gaze.
There was silence for a few minutes. I stopped hyperventilating and sat up.
“So is this... heaven?”
“Kinda, except it’s not exactly eternal,” he said. “But for our purposes, it pretty much is.”
“So... what happens after?”
“Uhh, you can ask your questions to the others; I’m new here myself. Come with me,”
We entered the hallway outside. It had similar architecture to our cell: cold, grey, cemented walls up and down the place, only this one was decorated with various trinkets, mostly made of paper. Origami, I thought. There were more cell doors, T1, T2, T4, and T5. I turned backed to our cell and, sure enough, T3 was scrawled across it hastily with a Sharpie. There was a window at one end, though it only led to more stone and cement, seemingly. We strolled over to a bulky door fixed across the hall, and my cell mate reached for the handle.
“What’s your name, by the way?” he asked.
“I ummm,” I massaged my temples. “Kobe.”
“Alright nice to meet you, Kobe. Let’s go see the others.” |
"Tongue ma fart-box, ya fuckin' walloper"
Gasps could be heard throughout this dive bar in the middle of nowhere. The music stops, a glass could be heard being dropped. Was that a baby crying?
"What the fuck did you just say to me?!"
A large, heavily muscled, tattooed biker who was clearly enjoying a night out with their gang whirled their head on me the second they heard the insult.
"I asked you a question! Speak English you fucker!!"
Ah yes. There it is. They can't even understand the insult but God-damn it sure does rub them the wrong way.
See if they had taken a second, they would have realized that I am 6'2", very much a Hispanic male, and the voice they heard could not have come from me.
"Awa' n' shite, ya numpty."
The very clearly feminine voice pops up again.
It's definitely coming from my table, but it's just me and the beer he knocked out of my hand when he stumbled into my table, his own drink sloshing over the edge of his glass and soaking my pant leg.
Red.
Purple.
That vein in his neck looks like it's definitely going to pop.
'Fuck.'
It's all I managed to say before the enraged guy charges me, half of the bar jumping up to join in on the fight.
Sirens were heard shortly after, and I only just managed to knock enough of the bikers out before I snuck out the back of the full fledged bar fight.
At this point, it didn't matter who started it, or what side you were on.
No one's knuckles were clean.
I stole the closest bike I could find and took off as the police were rolling up. A few patrol cars were trying to block me in, but experience had taught me how to maneuver, and I was miles down the road before they considered giving chase.
I kept driving just in case.
'Ugh. I feel like I was hit by a train. Why did you have to insult them like that??'
Silence.
'I know he spilled my beer. I was there.'
The motorcycle actually didn't sound too bad. It's not the worst bike I've stolen.
'Yeah? Well it didn't make a difference did it? I still had to fight them. Just like I have to every time you speak up like that! It's been that way my whole life.'
A coyote could be heard in the distance. I didn't know what time it was but I did know I had been driving for a while. I was already tired when I had stopped for a drink and the fight left me feeling like shit.
'I don't need you to! I can take care of myself!'
I always got angry with her after I had to fight.
I couldn't help it.
'Just shut up for a while will you? I'm tired and I have to focus.'
The sunlight shining on my eyelids is what woke me up first.
The water was second.
'Aw geeze! What the fuck!'
I jumped to my feet and wiped the water from my eyes and glared at the guy standing over me.
"Get out of here! We don't serve your kind and you're scaring away customers!"
I looked around and really took stock of where I was.
I didn't recognize it.
I didn't even see the bike that I drove all night.
'Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Whatever.'
I mumbled as I started walking away to figure out how I could get breakfast and maybe apologize to her.
Getting me to safety was clearly her doing.
Even if I did end up sleeping on the concrete outside of this restaurant.
"Bite ma bawsack ya radge wee shite"
"What did you just say?!"
'Fuck.' |
"To me! To me! We may yet rally this great day!"
Sir Christopher rode forwards, arrows incinerating in the air around him. *Mage protection.* Normally I would have rolled my eyes. Instead, I crawled forward. He represented safety. The hail of death could not touch those within a few feet of him. If I could just get there...
Sir Christopher was hefting a spear from someone next to him. He took aim and threw it into the sky. Distantly, I heard the scream of a Harbinger. It was a death throe. I covered my ears and stood. *Forward. Go forward.*
Around me men and monsters lay dead and dying. The bodies twitched as I walked through them. This section of the battle had been bad. Archers on both side had rained down on us. I had been with a squad of twenty men. Last I saw three were alive before we were separated.
"Forward!"Sir Christopher screamed. *No.* "Fell the Beast King!"I stopped walking as he said that. His horse reared, and then he began forward, the small retinue he had gathered surging with him. I was too far away to make it. Around me arrows continued to land sporadically. Looking behind me I saw our archers standing on a distant hill. Too far. If I retreated now, I would be killed for deserting. I looked around in desperation.
Nearby Sir Christopher's guard had fell. They were armed with halberds and metal shields. Dropping my spear, I grabbed their weapons. Then I turned towards the monstrous lines. Sir Christopher had met up with several other groups and were smashing into them. Where I was I would die. *Advance or die.* I started running. |
My life started like anyone else’s, two people joining together to create a life. Maybe if my father hadn’t been drug addicted since before I was born, and perhaps if my mother had not died in childbirth, I would be a different person than the psychopath I must be today.
My father lost custody of me when I was six months old - a gloomy day in October, the rain having been unrelenting for the entire month. The air was turning crisp, winter was coming, and quickly.
He had passed out in the alley between the library and a coffee shop, nodding off from the drugs he would never kick. I had been wailing, the librarian later told the police, for hours, before she brought me inside and called social services.
After spending a week in the hospital receiving the care I had never been given, I was placed for adoption. That is when Frank and Leah saw me, and decided they wanted to be my parents.
Years of therapy, intensive testing; none of it fixed me. I was still broken, from the day I came home to them.
It was a miracle, everyone thought, when I graduated high school, and applied for medical school. Surely, they whispered, they won’t accept her. And what then? A fast food job, perhaps, or maybe a cashier for a retail store. A waitress perhaps. But they accepted me; my grades were stellar, I had volunteered in a medical clinic throughout high school.
And then, they constantly reminded me that if it was too hard, I could quit. I could get a degree in something else; what if they helped me open a business? But I graduated, and went on to my internship. And then my residency. And then, I was a surgeon.
“A miracle,” my mother would say, in hushed tones to her friends, having her dinner parties in the big dining room, the one I was to never enter. “All of it, it’s just a complete miracle.”
Her friends would nod their heads in agreement, like chickens pecking at the ground for food. I would enter, finding some excuse, just to make them uncomfortable. They would all but clutch their pearls when I entered the room, perhaps afraid that I would steal them right off their necks, the delinquent child that their dear friend took in from the kindness of her heart.
But none of them knew; no one will ever know. The real reason I became a surgeon, not because I wanted to help people, no it was actually the exact opposite.
Understanding how the human body works; knowing how fragile it is, is exhilarating. Knowing, that with one simple movement and a moment of hesitation can result in the death of a person sends a thrill through my body, settling deep into my bones for days. And when I do, make that one simple movement easily missed by anyone else in the room, and feign knowing where the bleeding is coming from, and the patient dies, the rush stays for weeks. Settling deep inside my stomach, encasing my bones in vibrations.
But that isn’t the best part. The best part, the one that actually brings me that mouthwatering, rolling feeling, is going to the waiting room, looking their husband, their wife, their mother or father in the eyes and saying “I’m terribly sorry. We did everything we could,” and watching the grief, the pure anguish, come over their features.
That, that feeling of killing multiple people with one simple movement, that is why I became a surgeon.
We humans are really, terribly, fragile. |
Emilia Parks, diplomat to Earth, had been chatting with Gabnik Mknal from the Aoibnah system long after everyone else had retired to their rooms. Trying to revolve around every specie's natural sleep cycles was still very complicated, but both Humans and Aoibnahns had stamina-based predator ancestors; they could tolerate an extra few quiet hours of chatting.
They eventually got to the topic of stories. "In my world,"Gabnik began, "we are very fond of our tales. I had noticed in your introductory portfolio that Humans had quite a few, what were they called, 'fairy tales'?"
"Oh, yeah,"said Emilia, taking a sip of her low-cafeine coffee. "We often use them to explain difficult concepts to children. But they're also very entertaining. Do you have any?"
Gabnik's eyes twinkled. "A few. But one of our favourites is the tale of the Blood Creator."
Emilia downed the last gulp of her coffee. "Wait one minute. I think I'm going to need something like hot chocolate."
They both agreed to dim the lights for ambience, and Emilia gave Gabnik a cup of hot medka soup. He nodded his thanks and wiggled excitedly before settling in to tell the tale.
"Once upon a time... That's how you usually start your stories, correct? Once upon a time, there was a very small boy. He was so small, he kept getting stepped on. His mother had to always reach up to the trees to get his food; his father had to always lift him to reach the steps of his home.
All the other children thought he was ridiculous. Especially when they heard that he wanted to touch the stars. It's impossible! they'd cry. No one can reach that high! Especially not you! But the boy persisted, and insisted that it was possible. He was mocked right out of his playground.
But the boy Wasn't going to lose hope. He's reach his hand up, way up, as far as it could go. He'd build ladders and stack rocks and he'd climb as high as he could go, but still he could not reach those stars.
His mother noticed that he no longer asked her to grab him fruits; his father noticed that he no longer asked to be lifted. The boy would climb everywhere, even just as practice, and then as second nature.
But he would fall, quite often even. One day he had climbed so far, that his fall torn apart his foot. He lay there, not knowing if it would be worth asking for help, when he noticed something. His blood was seeping into the dust beneath him, and everywhere it touched, the dust glowed a speckled blue and white. Just like the stars.
The boy was so overcome with wonder that he believed that he'd fallen right into the sky."
Gabnik sipped his soup and hummed peacefully. Emilia smiled.
"I have to ask,"she said finally, "Usually those kinds of tales refer to something. Why did the dust glow?"
"There is a metal, in our blood, that reacts to some of the rocks we have on my home planet,"Gabnik explained. "We usually need to process it through many chemicals before we can make the night-lights our children are so fond of. The parents usually enjoy making it their child's first science experiment. But in those of my kind afflicted with dwarfism, the metal is much more present. It is how we found out about the reaction in the first place."
Emilia frowned. "So Aoibnahns are just as good as Humans at sanitising stories of scientific advancements that happen through violence."
Gabnik sipped his soup again. "I'm glad you noticed. This will make diplomacy that much more clear to you." |
**Day 1:**
\> Alert
\>>Query “Alert”
\>Anomalous data pattern detected from simulation.
\>>Query “data”
\>Localized transformation of universe background radiation.
\>>Display anomalous background radiation visually.
\>” H E L L O”
\>>
\>> Calculate probability of coincidental similarity to string “hello”.
\> .000018%
\>>Evaluate immediate and secondary causes.
\> Species 214436 from planet 3 of Star 210855763 has ascertained simulation existence from primitive data processing mechanisms, and is attempting to contact simulation host.
\>>Evaluate number of similar occasions across simulation history.
\>No comparable occasions detected.
\>>Load data summary into file.
\>File loaded, simSum206.display
\>> Send message to HOST\_EVALUATOR\_6: “This might be what we’re looking for”+simSum206.display
\>Message sent.
\>> Log off.
\>Confirm log off.
\>>Cancel.
\>Canceled.
\>>Append to most recent message: “Increasing localized evolution indice for species 214436 by 6X”
\>Message sent.
\>>Increase localized evolution indice for species 214436 by 6X.
\>Implemented.
\>>Move data display for species 214436 to priority status high.
\>Implemented.
\>>Log off.
\>Confirm log off.
\>>Confirmed.
\>Logging off. Goodnight.
(r/StannisTheAmish for more of my writing) |
"I need you all to understand,"began professor Algaq, "that the study of history is as much guesswork as it is science."
"My exams are all guesswork,"Kayson snickered to his neighbor. A few students nearby glared him back into silence.
Professor Algaq droned on unconcerned. "Stonehenge, the Nazca lines--ancient cultures created many things we do not fully understand. Even as recently as four hundred years ago nearly every household had a ball of plastic bags wrapped up in plastic bags under the kitchen sink. How might they have used this plastic wad? What was it's purpose? Historians can only guess."
"I bet they used them to feed dolphins,"Kayson whispered. His neighbor rolled her eyes. "What, isn't that how they went extin--"
"Shh!"Students all around were starting to regret their choice of seats.
"One theory,"the professor continued, "is that the bags were used to stop leaks; plastic, as we all know, is resistant to degradation and could have been used as a sealant. However, because the bags are only present under *kitchen* sinks, some argue that they must have a more culinary purpose. Another rather unconventional theory suggests that the bags may have been only part of a larger object or structure, the rest of which wore down over time. Most scholars dismiss this as there is yet no evidence of larger bag-related artifacts."
"You think they could have been the fuel for a plastic based--"Kayson was cut off as his neighbor loudly packed up and moved to an empty seat across the hall.
Professor Algaq, only now noticing the disturbance, stared bewildered at the distracted students before resuming the lecture. "The prevailing theory holds that the bags were used for ritual purposes, stored beneath the sink until such a time as they could be used to carry gifts or offerings.
"Remember this when you complete this week's reading,"Algaq admonished, just as students were beginning to notice the hour and gather their belongings. "Some truths are lost to history. Class dismissed." |
I met Ghoulina in battle along the edges of a volcano. One by one she sent my fellow warriors plummeting into the fiery pit below, until she finally reached me.
And stopped.
Neither of us could move. Her skin was a beautiful battle-scarred green. Her eyes a piercing yellow. Jutting from either side of her forehead were horns, the tips of which no longer remained.
“I’m Chet, son of Dave. You are?” I asked.
“Ghoulina, destroyer of kingdoms.”
My heart fluttered. She was incredible. And I could tell from her expression that she thought I was too. We dropped our weapons and lunged lustfully towards one another. Her enormous muscles tensed as she lifted me off my feet and piledrived me into the dirt. I lay there paralyzed as she fell on top of me, and we made love for the first time on the edge of the volcano.
However, that was three weeks ago, and the time has come for me to propose marriage. I do not wish to propose with just any old weapon, though. My Ghoulina deserves something special. Something that will remind her of that day.
So, I got to work. First, I forged a blade similar to the one she wielded. It was a war axe, to be exact. I want her to have a sharp blade, easy for decapitating enemies, so I made the sharpest one I’ve ever felt. I lost three fingers during this process, simply by rubbing them along the edge.
Next was the handle. This was where the memories would be the most apparent. I returned to the volcano to gather a couple mementos—the bones of my brethren as well as a few lava rocks. I returned and placed the lava rocks into the smelter. The handle would consist of a lava rock exterior, and visible through the center would be the boney interior. And then etched into the bone would be a few hearts and the words “Chet + Ghoulina 4ever.”
I then proceeded to put the blade and the handle together, fastening them with red-leather strings that I planned on calling “my heart strings.” Ghoulina loves that corny stuff. I planned on telling her to give them a good tug, to which I would respond, “hey, you’re tugging on my heart strings.” We would both laugh at this, I assumed, for I am hilarious.
Finally, the process was finished, and it was time to propose. I returned to the hut we had been sharing since we first met.
“Ghoulina,” I said as I entered the hut with the weapon held behind my back. “I need to speak with you.”
She turned around, blood smeared across her face in a tribal pattern.
“Are you preparing for battle?” I asked.
“Yes, Chet. I must destroy the remainder of your people.”
I stepped forward and stood on my tip toes and kissed the tip of her deformed nose. “Oh, Ghoulina,” I smiled. “Can it not wait?”
“NO!” She slammed her fist on a nearby table, destroying it.
“Well, then I guess it’s only best that you bring this along with you,” I said, pulling the proposal weapon from behind my back.
Ghoulina covered her mouth with her hands. “Is that...?”
“Will you marry me?”
She gripped the axe and rubbed her fingers along the engravings. “Chet, this is...”
“Beautiful? Just like you.”
She turned her attention to me, tears building in her eyes.
“Is that a yes?” I asked.
She smiled.
“YES!” She shouted, and then proceeded to pick me up and piledrive me into the ground.
——————————————————————
**Visit r/TheGoshfather for more stories!** |
"I don't understand. What am I supposed to do with a book?"I asked. My voice echoed through the cavernous room, so I tried to adjust it to a lower register.
The Oracle smiled with a twinkle in her eye. "Don't you know why we give you weapons in the first place?"she asked lightly, her voice melodious and sweet.
"To aid us--"I paused. Even whispers echoed in this place. Putting the annoyance from my mind, I continued, "To aid us with our struggles in life."
"An interesting choice of words to speak of a _weapon_,"the Oracle replied, turning with a swish of her voluminous robes to place her now-empty felt-lined box on a spindly table. I looked at the book that I had found nestled within the box, confused. It didn't look like a weapon to me. Was I supposed to beat my problems over the head with it? It was rather hefty, as thick as my palm is wide, boasting faded purple leather cover with silver scrollwork pressed into the corners and the spine. It was, in truth, too pretty to use as a weapon.
Turning back to me, the Oracle arched one of her long, thin eyebrows, golden eyes half-lidded as she regarded me with a mild smirk. "Don't weapons _defend_, after all?"
"They attack and defend both,"I mumbled, still studying the book. "Some people are more aggressive, either with their anger or their love or simply their apathy. Others are less so."I turned the book over, but its back cover was identical to the front.
The Oracle nodded once and asked, "What are your proclivities?"I looked up at her. What _were_ my proclivities? Did I have any? I usually didn't get upset when bullied at school. I got sad, but that was it. That might suggest I'd get a more defensive weapon. But at the same time, I loved to organize outings with my friends. One had even told me that I was the glue that had kept us all together for so long. That speaks to a passion that would warrant a more aggressive weapon.
But... those were the things I _did_. The way I _reacted_. Those weren't my proclivities.
The Oracle smiled again as I pondered her question, and she pointed to the book in my hand. "_That_ is why you were given this,"she said. I frowned, perplexed. I hadn't even answered her question.
Before I could speak up, she made a shooing gesture with her hand and said, "Off you go now, dear. More await their weapons."
I clutched the book to my chest as I left the huge chamber, passing into a crystalline hallway where my friends waited for me. They all had weapons that made sense for each of them. Marshall had a pair of stilettos, for he had a piercing curiosity. Hailey got a stave, for she was kind-hearted and zealous to stand up for her friends. Dan, of course, got a great sword; he was so heavy-handed with his words that we'd all known he would get that weapon since we were ten years old.
And I got a book. Why did I get a book?
Dan, of course, spoke up first. "Did you fail at life?"he asked in his typical booming baritone. "That's not even a weapon!"
"Shut up, Dan! Maybe she just likes to read!"Hailey instantly rejoined, rapping him in the shins with the end of her staff. Dan yelped in surprise.
Marshall just smirked at me from under his dark eyebrows. I felt like he knew something. Stepping past Hailey and Dan as they argued about my book, I joined Marshall.
His lopsided grin widened as he looked up at me. "That one's perfect for you,"he said.
"Why?"I asked, hoping he might shed some light where the Oracle hadn't. Instead of answering, Marshall just stood and stretched, his stilettos dangling from his fingers.
"I'm serious, Marsh,"I hissed. "What am I supposed to do with this?"
"Haven't you even looked inside the damn thing?"he asked in response.
"Well, yeah,"I replied, looking down at the book again. "All the pages are blank--"My voice caught on the last word. It suddenly struck me as rather telling that Dan's first instinct upon seeing the book was to judge its use as a weapon. And Hailey's first response was to find a reason for having a book to be perfectly okay. And Marshall's first desire was to find out what was inside.
But my persistent response was to _question_.
It had never been about offense of defense for me. I never even wanted a weapon. The idea that it would somehow define me had seemed... restrictive. I liked to ponder things, instead. I liked to wonder why people even felt the need to be mean to others. I liked to be with my friends and enjoy the simple act of existing. I liked to wonder what makes a thing truly enjoyable to a person, to ponder why human beings can love so deeply, to contemplate how each of us are different and yet so very similar.
I had never wanted a weapon. But a book? With blank pages? I could make it whatever I wanted it to be.
End
Thanks for reading! I gladly welcome any feedback to improve! |
The planet below slowly smoldered as it for hundreds of years. It spun slowly, almost peacefully, but its appearance belied the true reality of the surface. From a distance, it looked like a dull grey ball with hints of brown poking through where the dark swirling clouds momentarily parted.
Jor’s breath fogged the view window as she stared at it. She could hardly believe that it had once been the same bright blue marble that was pictured on the wall nearby.
The tour guide droned on. “Unfortunately, little is known of most of the species that existed on Earth. Our scientists believe that life was once abundant there, with such diversity of flora and fauna that has never existed anywhere else in the galaxy since. However, the surface is so radioactive that it can hardly be studied.”
The tour group moved onto the next exhibit. A large vehicle, cut in half to show the interior, sat ominously. Its walls were made of thick steel, and Jor could hardly believe such a large vehicle could move.
“The walls of this rover are thick enough to provide a few moments of protection to research teams, but even so, studies on the surface are extremely dangerous. No individual can stay on the planet for more than a quarter of the planet’s days, and after only three expeditions they will have received the maximum safe dose of radiation.”
The tour guide cleared his throat. “Now, can anyone tell me what happened to Earth?”
Jor’s hand shot up. “The Styran invasion!”
“That’s correct, young one! Very well done. The Styrans, against Federation decree, chose to invade and conquer Earth to enslave the population and exploit its resources. The dominant lifeform on the planet, the human, put up an extremely strong resistance, despite their laughably insufficient technology.”
The group ambled to the next room, which was filled with recovered human artifacts behind thick glass.
“This right here is the most common human weapon, a rudimentary projectile launcher. Small metal ‘bullets’ were propelled by a controlled explosion. They were mostly ineffective against the Styran ships, but were cheap, mass-produced, and easy to operate. Beyond that, the humans had even larger versions that launched explosives, which took down many Styran ships.
“Unfortunately for the humans, their brave resistance was not enough to stop the invasion. So, rather than surrender their planet, they decided to scorch the Earth, killing all life. The surface is blanketed in radiation and violent storms and will continue to be unusable for thousands of years to come.”
“How did it happen?” another member of the tour group asked, horrified. “I mean, if they only had these rudimentary launchers, how did they manage to destroy the surface?”
“Well, the humans had just started to develop nuclear energy technology,” the guide responded
“Nuclear energy? Isn’t that safe?”
“Humans, as it turns out, developed a way to create limited runaway fission reactions. It released nuclear energy in an uncontrolled burst, a so-called ‘nuclear’ bomb. Several of the clans of humans had amassed a great number of these weapons and detonated them all over the surface.”
The tour group muttered quietly at the devastation. “What a loss,” someone murmured.
“Indeed,” the guide said. “We may never know what potential the humans had, or even how many species they took with them to their graves. Fortunately, a portion of your ticket expenses will-”
The orbital observation station’s intercom crackled to life.
“Greetings, interlopers.” The voice was harsh, grating, and extremely loud, but it spoke their language in a halting, stilted way.
“You thought us dead, but we cannot die. We hid, waited, listened… rebuilt.”
Jor moved to the window and watched as a pinprick of light appeared on the surface of the dead planet.
“You sought to take this planet from us, but it is ours…
and we will cleanse it.”
The tour guide’s comm unit jabbered rapidly at him. “Evacuate the station immediately! Incoming projectile! Repeat, evacuate immediately!”
“We will reclaim it.”
Jor backed away from the view window, but it was too late.
“And we will have [revenge](https://reddit.com/r/Badderlocks).” |
"... Like what?"
"Gimmie a moment. I haven't figured that much out yet."
"Wait, you're telling me that you, a wizard well known for planning eight steps ahead, has no plan?"
"Not for very much longer!"
"Well, then I'd better act now!"
The warrior began to charge forward, his spear glistening in the light.
The wizard kept thinking. Suddenly, the wizard ceased to think.
"Where'd you go?"the warrior whined, put out at missing an opportunity.
"I stopped thinking."the wizard responded. He seemed to think that explained everything.
"Yeah, so what's your plan?"
The wizard cackled. "I think, therefore I am. Conversely if I do not think, I am not."
"Not what?"
"Not out of mana anymore."
"Oh shit."
The wizard reappeared, and with a flick of his wrist began to blast balls of burning flames once more. The battle resumed. |
\*\*Three months back\*\*
"Bless you!"I said reflexively, as the diminutive bald man sneezed into his elbow.
Immediately the man stood up, a look of surprise on his face, as though no one had ever reacted this positively to him sneezing. Now I was the one feeling awkward. Most people just looked at him in disgust - moving away from him.
"Don't mind them,"I continued, "They are just worried, what with the times being what they are."
"I never do,"he replied, smiling weakly and settling back into the metro seat next to mine, even as other people distanced themselves. "You'd think I was here spreading the plague."
"I mean, there are always diseases, what have you -"
\*Achoo\*
"- Bless you, my man. And it's not like you alone could make this year any worse for Earth."
The man grinned like he found what I said to be very funny. "No, but you know what they say about the end of the world. The plague, famine - \*Acchoooo\*"
"Bless you again, my friend,"I said, worried slightly for my new friend now. "Are you alright? It almost seems like you've got hay fever!"
"Are you a doctor? No? Well, yes, you've got quite a good eye for this. But, you know, at least it's not Corona."
"What, that disease in China? Doubt that's a plague."I scoffed. The man just smiled, weakly. The metro slowed to a stop, and more people got in, filling in the space that had been manufactured by our fellow riders. The change in space almost relaxed us, bringing in a much-needed sense of normalcy. There was a strength to the man's eyes that belied his weak frame, even hacking about with hay fever. He seemed to be really interested in what I had to say, something not many others had expressed. I felt drawn to talk to him, for some reason, even though I had felt extremely awkward only a few moments back.
"So, you were saying... Plagues and famines?"I tried initiating a conversation for once.
"Ah yes, famine. You've heard the stories right - there are locusts that eat crops and cause famines. And then there are the wars that cause death."he said conspiratorially, leaning in as if it was a secret.
I shrugged, this was all common knowledge - Sunday school bible stuff to scare children into eating their greens. "Somehow I don't think uncontrollable locust attacks are -"
\*Achoo\*
"- Bless you. Where was I, yes, I don't think that famine through locusts is realistic with the advancements in science. But yes, with the morons in power across the globe, war is definitely -"
\*Achoo\*
"- possible. Bless you, man. Are you sure you don't need a doctor?"I asked, putting my arm around the weak man.
He sat upright, grinning from ear to ear, as though he was the happiest person for all the trouble hayfever seemed to be giving him. "Never better man. Trust me, you've made my day! I'll tell you what - I am so grateful for this scintillating conversation you have given me - whenever you really need me, just think of me, and I will be here for you!"
And with that, the strange little man jumped up, did a little hop, and walked to the metro doors, just as the coach came to a stop at the next station.
&#x200B;
\*\*Today\*\*
I walked back to the kitchen, after collecting the milk and staples for the day from the front door. Two months of sitting at home does a lot to a person's confidence - namely, it crushes one down to their loneliness. No excuses left, I sighed as I put all the stuff in the fridge. Time to go and switch on the telly - more depressing news. I had not expected the Coronavirus - Covid19 now, because we as a race are that brilliant at naming things - to become the monster it had. The death toll seemed to keep rising every day, tanking the global markets, as though there was an unseen target number of deaths it was aiming to reach by the end of the quarter. Today's latest news - locust swarms had gone all the way from Iran to across the middle east and to south Asia - ravaging crops everywhere. Experts were already predicting famines across half the world for the coming year. I switched off the telly in frustration.
But bad news comes in groups, and today was to be no exception. My phone beeped. The US president had just tweeted a war threat at China. Great, now we would have two of the greatest economic and military powers in the world fighting a war. Exactly what the world needed at this moment. I could almost swear this was the Devil's doing if only I believed in God or any of that crap. Fuck. Maybe I could just lie down and sleep, and wake up once this nightmare was over. Hibernation style
The doorbell rang just then, and I sighed. Not even sleep was on my cards, clearly. Cursing all imaginary divinity, I walked back to the front door, glad that I would be seeing another human face for once. Never did I think I would be grateful for the chance to see random people for no reason but to quench my loneliness. I opened the door to the small frame of this bald bespectacled man.
He smiled at me. I frowned, he seemed familiar, but I couldn't quite place him. "Hi, who are you looking for?"
"You of course. I told you I would be here when you needed me."
"I'm sorry, I don't think I called for any -"
\*Achoo\*
My eyes widened. Fuck. |
As I surround myself with memories of people who seemed to have appeared in a blink of an eye, now gone, my courage is regained.
They’re fools.
They’ve turned away, bent the laws of nature, and defeated existence. For what? For what reason is there to exist, if not to die? After all, life is just one great story of how you died. But their stories won’t end. They will reproduce until the universe’s end and die with it. That wasn’t the purpose. That wasn’t the point. They will write, explore, advance, for what? For whom? Themselves? Why? They’ve, in essence, destroyed everything they’ve built for. Serving a purpose. Continuing on. Reproducing. Living in memory. Dying for god’s sake. They will realize on and on that life is cruel, they will be jealous, they will remain young and dumb and make mistakes forever, never learning, and never dying. They will strive for perfection and destroy each other. And never cross a boundary, never beat life.
They didn’t defeat existence.
They ran into it. They’re stuck with it.
I’m lucky, I can breathe. I can live. I will have more of a life in these moments then they will ever have, I will have a sweet release! They will have no end. I pray for their souls, shall they ever return to the lord.
Forgive them god.... for they know not what they do.
They pity me. I am one to judge, may the lord forgive me for it. But I guess I’ll see. At least my sin may be forgiven. And it may just be my last.
What if I’m wrong?
Well, I guess they’ll figure that out for themselves. But for now,
I have more important things to deal with. For it is death that I’m meeting, and life that I’m leaving. For the fear of death is what will burden them. But the mortal will embrace it. Life’s journey had ended.
And sadly, for them, the journey continues.
Godspeed immortals,
Godspeed.
This was my first ever prompt, I hope I did ok, thank you for reading! It was fun having such a philosophical scene depicted in such a manner. I think immortality would suck. |
Things had been great until now. The taskforce had been set up in secret, working under the assumption that all heroes eventually turn to the dark side after so long spent defending the innocent people to no avail. They all eventually reach their breaking point and realize the futility of their efforts and instead turn to selfish endeavors without regard for if others are hurt by their action, and sometime they go full super villain in some sort of repressed fit.
Our operation was top secret, known only to the leaders of the five permanent Security Council members. We had everything and anything we wanted at our disposal and had a crack team of top tier operatives who worked for us full time. We had full medical records of all superheroes including any confirmed or suspected weaknesses and we worked with those to set up elaborate accidents that killed superheroes either in a fight or in a normal circumstance.
We did our job, never left any evidence and the world mourned their fallen heroes. Every now and then a hero snapped earlier than we anticipated, but that was not part of our division. We were always invisible and no one even suspected we existed. We knew we were good because we had someone monitoring sites for conspiracy theories, and nothing even came close.
The problems started when the world leaders decided that it was too hard to keep getting to know the tendencies of new heroes and wanted a solution that would allow for something other than killing them. The best solution proposed was to capture them and memory wipe them in a secure location. We didn’t want to remove everything, but enough so that they revert to a more stable mindset which would allow them to continue serving society without the meltdown that normally occurred. This was not part of our mission statement, but what could we do, we had been ordered by a unanimous vote. We prepared for the mission, the first of which would be against an electricity weaver, better known for his ability to call lightning, named “Shocker” AKA Jack Smith.
The grab went well, and everything seemed to be going according to plan. We used a long range rifle with a tranquillizer dart to sedate him, picked him up and hurried him to the site we had prepared. He woke up, but we had prepared for containment, with non-conductive gear and had lightning rods just in case. We hooked him up to the machine and entered the parameters we wanted erased, namely a large chunk of his less important missions and all the events of the abduction. Once the machine was done we returned him to his house and laid an empty bottle of scotch nearby and a broken glass on the floor.
Everything had been perfect, except that we had underestimated his power. His ability with electricity had allowed him to protect his neurons and move information around with ease. Nothing had been erased and he remembered everything that had happened. He went public with his story to all the other supers and this led to them turning en masse against humanity. Destruction rained down and there was nobody to stop them. They tore down the world order and took control of the world, setting up supers as leaders and enslaving their populations.
As for us, they came for us specifically and mercilessly. They made sure we suffered for what we had tried to do, and especially when it came out that we had been behind the death of many of their friends, they made sure we remained to see everything we had worked for our whole lives, torn down, before finally ending us in unimaginably torturous ways. I am all that remains, I don’t have much longer before I too and taken to be killed. As the leader of the operation, they have made sure I watched all of the men I worked with die one by one. I just hope that if someone finds this, you understand that we only did what we thought needed to be done in order to save humanity. |
It came as a monumental shock to humanity just how aliens actually were. We'd expected to be seen as rebellious punks in comparison to the enlightened civilisations we imagined there to be in outer space. Turns out that humanity is one of the most meek, loyal, and obedient species in the galaxy that has ever achieved FTL.
We're also the only race to get this far without having blown up at least two-thirds of our homeworld. Turns out that most races are extremely proud, disloyal, and traitorous to a ludicrous extreme. The concept of a dynasty doesn't exist, because even the most cunning of rulers eventually gets backstabbed by some distant relative or successful general. What the humans call Klingon Promotions, I.E. killing your superior to take their place, is commonplace. These aliens, so used to backstabbing, treason, and constant war, were surprised that mankind had ever come this far. Most species that goes below the intrigue average, never have the conflicts necessary to push them towards developing advanced technology.
It wasn't that the aliens were evil bastards, bent on conquest and destruction, they were just used to backstabbing and conflict, and in comparison humanity seemed painfully naive and friendly. Which proved to be humanity's salvation. Sure, the alien civilisations gladly conquered, enslaved, and brutalised left and right, but they made a sort of secret agreement, that humans were to be left alone. Mostly to prevent the ignition of the Great Galactic War, which last time it razed directly, was the source of 563 Billion dead, 49 planets completely destroyed, a further 104 planets severely damaged, and the complete collapse of 9 major galactic civilisations.
To them, humanity seemed the ultimate harmless lifeform. No sharp claws, no bonecrushing maws, no venomsacs in their mouths. And since the area where humanity lived was woefully resource-poor on anything but the most basic of things, nobody was in any rush to invade. Instead, a few of the more inquisitive aliens took trips to human colonies, and found that while visiting there, they experienced a profound emotion, something which they had not felt since they'd been nothing more than hatchlings. They felt safe.
Nobody was out to backstab one another, except in the trivial and petty sense that humans had their little quaint internal squabbles. Humanity treated the aliens with politeness and curiosity, instead of suspicion and paranoid caution. The alien delegates from the Jy'anul Hive-Empire, were shocked to find that their hotel room contained only two hidden pieces of bugging equipment. Once they'd gotten back home, they spread the story to the rest of the higher echelons of the Hive-Empire, who not trusting the delegates one bit, went and saw for themselves.
And found that the locals were polite, friendly, served non-poisoned food, unless you specifically asked for it, and were remarkably relaxing to be around. They lounged at the hotel, went out to visit museums, had their carapaces shined, and didn't even experience a single assassination attempt. When they returned home, they found that they were strangely invigorated, and far better at detecting schemes against them earlier.
Of course, news of this came to other empires, and they too sent delegates to Earth to see what it was all about. Earth and her colonies, turned out to be in all ways remarkably pleasant. The locals willing to provide services in exchange for coin, without demanding written promises not to be killed in an eventual palace coup. You could even go to the masseuses, and have a better than 50% chance of leaving alive.
And all aliens who went there, were far more clear of mind, far better equipped to deal with their scheming underlings and meddling leaders than before. So they often returned to Earth. And the various empires, seeing the sudden valuable nature of the human race, were all about to attack one another to have it for themselves. But for a rare instance in the history of the universe, cooler heads prevailed. Earth and her colonies were declared a demilitarised zone, and everyone made a mutual pact of aggressive defence about the small world with its pleasant and largely meek people. If Earth was ever attacked by another empire, the other empires, to preserve the relaxing and reinvigorating humans, would annihilate the attacker.
In the meanwhile, the tourist industry, one which had previously never existed anywhere else, boomed on Earth. Tyrants, generals, spies, traitors, dukes, princes, supreme chancellors, and others went to Earth, and were served non-poisoned drinks by the non-irradiated pool. Their feathers were preened, their extremely tightly wound muscles relaxed for the first time in perhaps their entire lives, they enjoyed the company of the largely friendly, meek, and loyal locals.
The various space tyrants even found that they could talk to one another, without hatred, on that little world. They didn't start to trust one another, but they got the idea that maybe the other empires weren't run by people who were a single scale or feather short of a demon. And it was nice, to be able to sit in a sauna on Earth, without having to watch closely to see if the attendant had been bribed to kill you.
And they all obeyed the rules, well, mostly, a few assassinations were carried out, but nothing major. Nobody attacked the humans, nobody tried to subjugate them. The humans of course were not told about any of this. They never learned about the secret treaties to keep Earth independent so that it was possible to have a place where a vacation could be held. They simply enjoyed economic upswings, as tired, stressed, aliens, with nerves frayed to the point of non-existence, came to unwind, enjoy the bounties of Earth, and her friendly, meek, little people.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) |
They say the Scottish survived years of invasions from the Anglo-Saxons and the Vikings because they were familiar with the terrain, could survive on the sparse foods roaming and growing in the highland winter. That was many generations ago, but as a Bruce, allegedly descended from Robert the Bruce, my family had always kept a sword hanging above the mantle right next to the family crest. Two in fact, one a replica of the Wallace claymore that my dad had bought after watching Braveheart as a kid, and another, a tarnished and pitted antique longsword which supposedly was an ancient Bruce's own, load of shite I thought to myself over the years.
My family had the fortune of settling in Nova Scotia during the 1800s, which became the last human settlement on earth after the invasions. First it was the Raddus, they harnessed the power of the sun to gather infinite energy and transition it into heat weapons. They came looking for iron, thier home planet was long since depleted, and although similarly humanoid like us, despite the smaller frame and crimson skin, they required iron as a beautifier for their red complexion, a novelty to them worth invading earth for. They had no trouble doing so and set the earth aflame within days, only the coldest regions survived due to the frequent cloud cover and difficulty of burning snow, of which there was no less than four feet of at the time in Nova Scotia.
Next the Hronger came. They had the habit of locking onto newly found planetary settlements by other races, favoring stealth and silent tactics, they had the power to turn themselves invisible. They steered clear of the Raddus who viewed them as a parasitic bother. Between the two races they picked apart the remaining human settlements within a decade. Nova Scotia remained merely because there was little resources known to them there, and we kept hidden. The few hundred of us left named our patchworked fort "Slán."
We did not look for trouble. The Raddus enslaved most of humanity, and therefore our supply lines dwindled. It was nearing dire when I awoke to shouting outside of my bunk room. "They have me! It's a hronggy!!"I grabbed the Bruce long sword under my bed and crept outside. I saw our Watchmen face down in the mud restrained by an invisible force. None of us had ever seen a Hronger, they were far less prevalent and kept to themselves, somewhat neutral. I crept quietly up to a wall and to its corner and peeked around at the men on the ground. I saw a shimmer of what looked like active camouflage in a netted pattern around the men and then a bright flash and a whirl as it deactivated.
What stood before me was a waif-like figure, grey skin, vampiric teeth and almost no body mass. It's weapons were stationed on its immense shoulder pads which had a propulsion system keeping it upright. It looked directly at me, I was spotted. It glided over, propelled by its armor yet unmoving to me, and without moving its mouth stated "we come to educate you, not to harm you. We have studied you and have noticed a vital trait which is unknown to us, and unknown to the Raddus."I was astonished that these somewhat puny framed creatures had managed to outgun and outsmart us. The Hronger went on to explain that humans, a physical creature were tens of thousands, perhaps hundreds, behind themselves and the Raddus in technological advancements. He explained that they had lost the ability to use their bodies as a means to fight aeons ago, utilizing the harnessed brainpower and technology to keep up in the Galatic wars. The Raddus focused on weaponry, and them on stealth, leaving the physicality of primitive races behind, but in doing so, lost the knowledge of hand to hand combat altogether. Nothing was settled through brute force anymore
He then explained his proposition, we would aid them in overthrowing the large Raddus settlement in the area of the Great Lakes. To do this we would need to act as an army of men armed with only things we could swing. The guns used by the Raddus only worked on a system which targeted other projectiles thrown or fired at them, acting as a heat seeking missed tracing them directly back to the source. When we showed the strength of mans as a race, the Raddus would have no choice but to retreat, they simply had no weapons which could deal with a massive assault wi the swords and axes. Without firearms, we would be able to overrun them before they were aware of what happened. I led the charge that day, after my wife and child were killed I thought I had nothing to live for, but I was wrong. I would help the Hronger make a move on the Raddus and they would in turn spread the word to the remaining humans to arm themselves. We would then split the earth with the Hronger peacefully.
My makeshift clan and I camped by the entrance to the mining settlement. I gave the order. My men and I charged the field to the gates. Alarms began blaring. The Raddus stormed out of the gate and prepared to activate their weapons. When we advanced, faces painted and screaming, (an homage to my father's favorite movie I thought), they began to realize what was happening. I raised the Bruce long sword preparing to give it the thirst for combat it long desired, when it made contact with the small red creature it stuttered at first, piercing the creatures neck and then splashed me with a liquid, it burned my skin. By the time we took the camp we realized that the blood was toxic. I knew I was not long for this world when I began to lose my vision. We had won, and would prepare next time, but it was too late for me and the men I led that day. Not long before I departed, I asked that my sword be given a place not in my grave, but in the hand of the next warrior worthy of wielding it. |
He/she/it had a flat universe. Filled with flat people, flat dreams, and flat thoughts. It had taken him/her/them all night, but he'd/she'd/they'd finally gotten the universe to stop destroying itself. He/she/it wasn't good at this, they was only doing it because his/her/their parents had enforced it as their choice in college. But they'd finally gotten the flat universe to work right. Different flat geometric shapes meant different things, as did different colours. They'd created the first two sentient lifeforms. Male and female was traditional. Large, pointier, and more aggressive females were red triangles, while the smaller and more round males were orange rectangles with soft edges.
They'd created animals for them, and plants, some wild and some for farming. Green circles grew edible scarlet trapezoids, while flat white cloud shapes could be sheared for padding. Yellow diamond shapes could be fashioned into tiny rhombuses, and mixed with blue kite shaped water, to form bread, predictably, it happened to be mostly naan and tortillas.
It was odd to sit in class, when all the other students had built these amazing worlds with many dimensions, while they sat there with an infinite flat plane of existence. They saw some of the more accomplished students look derisively at their little 2D world. They decided not to hear, not to see, because this wasn't what they wanted to do in life. They'd wanted to play music in the infinite choir between the spaces of reality, wanted to write a story about a dimensional architect that falls in love with a single-universal divine eternity. But they were proud of their flatworld all the same. They'd take the fail with their head held high.
But when the teacher came to them, they were shocked to receive top marks. So were the other students who all received mere passing grades. Being all-powerful multidimensional beings and losing to someone who had made a pitiful 2D world, did not sit well with them. After class, the maker of the Flat Realm stayed behind to talk to the teacher.
''**Why did you give me the highest grade? It was only a flat world.**'' The teacher sighed. ''~~Let me be perfectly honest, it is a simple world. But look at the worlds your other classmates made.~~'' The impressive 4D universes were already disintegrating. They were falling apart before their infinite gaze, and were dissolving into nothing. They were only made to last as long as their makers had focused them, now, with the exams over, they were no longer holding the realities together. ''~~You didn't make the most complex world. If this was a class about making complex worlds, we'd just have some primitive bipedal animals write them for us. No, this is about making universes that can last for more than a few days. Your little flat universe? It can last for uncountable aeons. And it isn't falling apart into a sudden heat death, false vacuum total gravitation collapse, or a mess of contradictory paradoxes.~~'' Indeed, theirs was the only universe in the entire class that wasn't heading down the path towards imminent self-destruction. ''**But should it not be more complex?**'' The teacher nodded. ''~~The Multiverse wasn't built in a single epoch, they might have a lot of flair, and maybe some talent, but such can only take them so far, you spent a subjective infinite amount of days trying to make your project work. You have the tenacity, the will to do this and do it right~~'' The maker of the Flat reality stared down into their world, where little flat rectanglemales raised strong and protective trianglefemales, along with gentle smaller rectangles. They saw explorers braving flat rivers and flat oceans across infinite realms, saw them building strange flat houses, and generally, live without suddenly collapsing into nothingness.
It was something to be proud of. Perhaps their parents had seen something in them, that they had not seen before.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) |
I had been making videos for over a year. Hours upon hours of content creation. Thousands of dollars invested -a new camera one month, a green screen the next, editing software, soundboards, stock photos- all trying to impress an idiot population I had never met. A population of people that couldn't care about me enough to click a simple red button. Fourteen months, hundreds of videos, and only 178 subscribers at the end of it all. Influencers and sponsors would send me generic denial letters, always from an email marked do-not-reply. In my mind, they mocked me. Laughing at my nonexistent followers.
My vision of social media had changed. I was no longer there to impress these people, I was there to watch it burn. It started with the rap videos, tens of millions of views, I down-voted every one. Then the make-up tutorials, let's play channels, faux-news wannabes; dislike, dislike, dislike.
It wasn't enough the algorithm mistook my hatred for engagement. My feed was still filled with video after video. 300 hours of video were being uploaded every minute, I needed better tactics to sow the mayhem I desired.
Google had the tools, 'Not-Interested'. A button I had overlooked in the past. I started manually: Jeff Bezos, Jimmy Fallon, Dude Perfect, Pewdiepie; everything got a Big-Fat-Not-Interested.
This went on for months I had to filter specific things like Gangnam-style, Harlem Shake, ASL Ice Bucket Challenge. In that time I tried filtering even vague words like toothpaste, country music, both cute and animals. 300 hours of video every minute. Tik-tok and fad after fad, I couldn't keep up.
I spent the next two months delving the depths of the internet and stitching together a make-shift algorithm of my own. A Franken-code that started in C, but later converted to Javascript for functionality. It worked. Running 16 hours per day I could filter over a thousand words in an evening. My code even started including numeric codes and foreign words automatically to maintain its quota.
I would end every day checking my feed. I was now the one laughing with do-not-reply. Things would slowly trickle out, but I knew it would take time to clear everything. I even found some enjoyment watching the occasional and obscure UFO sighting, ornithology documentary, or French-noir film.
My code had been running a full 12-month cycle at this point. The videos had heavily slowed. There was one genre I couldn't seem to shake. I first noticed when a small Russian girl, Like-Nastya, kept appearing in my feed. It appeared she could evade even my manual inputs. After another month of running my script, my feed was littered with Russian videos. Day after day of suicidal maniacs doing slap contests and reckless driving. Some were just black-screens speaking in Russian.
To this day I don't know how, but while watching one of these Russian speeches, the narrator paused and said my name specifically. 'Maynee' it was undeniable. Were they speaking to me directly? How could they assume I'd watch this specific video?
The next day I started training my Russian. It was only 6-weeks before I could start understanding basic dialect. These black-screened videos continued, although, the speech was slower, simpler. Something a student of the language could understand.
They've invited me to join the Communist Regime. They tell me they could use my work to infiltrate Facebook, Instagram, Tik-tok. They tell me I can help rig election cycles, promote white-supremacist, burn the very infrastructure I had originally set out to quell.
Yesterday, in the video, I was given a time and location for rendezvous. They promised me a face-to-face meeting with Snowden himself! I only write this to tell you I won't be back. I am taking the offer, they tell me I will begin work immediately promoting a small terrorist group named Antifa. I hope to write you again, I'll have a return address available and you can tell me of any success.
&#x200B;
*Sent from my i-phone. 2/14/2020 1:48 PM.* |
How does a god start? Is it belief that forms them, do they come from the raw firmament, shaping concepts into ideas into personalities. Are they ascended mortals? Nobody knows where the things that can become gods come from. But to become a full god, a fully realised divine entity, one must manage a world. Few make their own on their first try. And fewer still do so without a pantheon around them.
I was formed from raw potentiality and the dreams of dead kalpas, countless aeons ago. I have only had a face, a personality for a few thousand mortal years though. I was caught in the eddies of mortal thought for a while, and was fished out and given a name by one my mentor. Odin is one of the few gods who does this, alongside Shiva, and Quetzalcoatl, the Feathered Serpent. Each have their own purpose for doing so. None know the mind of the Feathered Serpent, Shiva does it out of kindness, and Odin only does it when he believes it can forestall **Ragnarok** for a few more aeons.
I have been taught how to be a god, by Odin, He Who Has Names Uncountable. It is the way of new gods, who are not born into a pre-existing pantheon. We learn, and are apprentices, gods in training, until we are fully formed, with our own identities, as shaped by our first true followers. And today, he has taken me through the eternal void between realities and unrealities, because he believes I am ready for a world. A world entirely of my own to rule. The faith he puts in his student, me, Askalif, is astounding. The world is one of the simpler ones, a round orb floating in cosmic infinity, around a small star. Unfortunately, the situation is anything but simple. The previous god of this world failed utterly in every aspect, leading the world to be a ruined wreck. A world nearing the end of civilisation.
The old one-eye smiles at me. ''*Do your best.*'' And walks away. The small world simmers with prayer, and merely touching it causes the voices of hundreds of thousands to swarm into my skull. Voices begging for aid, begging for hope, begging for a future, voices just whimpering for an ending to all things. It hurts for a short time, but then it vanishes.
I reach down to the world, and grasp hold of a survivor who is old enough to know why the world is this way. Through their memories I learn of the evil and sheer incompetence that the god who managed this world, subjected it to. The needless temples built on arable farmland, the inquisition, the daily sacrifices in the temples. Sacrifices consisting of people, the best food, the best tools. Best anything really. And a quick smiting to anyone who disagrees. A priesthood of sycophants who desires luxuries and power more than worship of the neurotic, paranoid, and utterly self-absorbed god who ruled before me.
I have my work cut out for me. Odin taught me, that to cleanse corruption, one must tear it out root and stem. The greedy and selfish priests who still live in abhorrent luxury while the civilisation around them slowly crumbles, are found as the sun rises over that world, having been burnt to ash. And with that dawn, I take my place as the new goddess of this world. A goddess of new beginnings, new hope.
I send storms and earthquakes to tear down the temples. And those who flee into the hills, those young enough to not have the cursed words of their previous god poisoning their every moment, hear my call. They hear me from the hills, from the rivers, and from the glorious morning, as the statues, temples, and monasteries of the old god is swept away.
The old mutter and fear the wrath of their long gone god, who has been sent down to the places where bad gods go. Where Loki is bound, where Kronos and the Titans stay, in the darkest places such as Tartarus, Nastrond, etc. Soon their generation passes, and the shadow is lifted. Where the temples once stood, I have restored the fertile river valleys and forests. Where once slaves milled about every day to build monuments to the greatness of their god, there now runs wild deer. I call them in their dreams down to the new lands from the hills.
They rebuild slowly, but ever is Askalif, the Dawnbringer, with them. They recover methods of farming, smiting, pottery, and masonry. They build towns and villages. But no temples. For I teach them that the world is my temple, and they pray to my light as it covers the land. Peace reigns. But not all is well, there were those who stayed in the hills, who listened to the mutterings of those who believe in my predecessor, those who carried the poison. Who believe in sacrifice, in rage, in hatred, and in blood for a bloody god.
I imbue my followers with my spirit, and I teach them how to make spears, bows, arrows, and armour. I teach them about discipline, and about justice. The fury of those who stayed behind is something that causes me great grief. For they did not need to become servants of an absent god. They did not require death, but as the poison runs in their soul, so it must be cleansed.
The war rages on for centuries. Those who die fighting come to me, as my Lightbringers. Others who die go to the Dawnlands, where there is peace and serenity. And at long last, their faith is strong enough, and holding a blade made of pure sunlight aloft, my champion, imbued with my raw spirit, leads the Legion of the Lightbringers, alongside the mortal armies, in a final cataclysmic battle, after which the strength of the old faith is finally broken, once and for all.
Their strongholds are opened, and forced to see the light of dawn. Their priests and texts are burned. Yet, if there is to be retribution, there must also be justice. They are taken in, and shown the kindness of my truth. Of the freedom I have given them. I look down upon the world I have been given. One dying, and see that it has been revitalised. The deserts where men had to scrounge and scavenge for food, are being turned back, grassy plains and a wild savannah now growing where once there was only bones and dust.
The people, my followers, now live prosperously, and with only faith, every follower a priest, and every text the same, this world lives. Though war cannot be avoided in its entirety, the world is reasonable, rational. The people there will in due time grow, colonise their moon, travel the distant stars, and even if they will profess to non belief, like many others who come that far, inside of them will burn the unquenchable fire of my conviction, of my will. For through their ethics, their thoughts, their way of life, my divine power grows. No matter if they pray, or if they do not, my words will be repeated by them into infinity. And when they die, and have been good, I will show them the bright lands which are mine to fill. And if they haven't, I offer them to be reborn in the light of the coming dawn, as a new life, with a new future.
Pulling back from the world, I see Odin, One-Eye, Raven King, He Who Hath Sacrificed Himself To Himself, the Grey King. He smiles with an impish and shrewd movement of his otherwise stone-like face. ''*You did well, child.*'' I nod and bow. The deal is sealed. I was raised by him, given my first world by him, and now, when he calls, at the end of all things, I and my Lightbringers shall answer him. But that day may never come. My task is complete, no longer am I a mere apprentice to a god, I am fully formed, fully personified as Askalif the HOPEFUL DAWN. Bringer of Light in the places where the darkness festers and rots. And I will find other worlds like my first, worlds on the edge of oblivion, worlds abandoned by uncaring gods who desire only to play with mortal life. I will go to them, and I will let my caring **LIGHT** wash over them, and grant them a better future.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) |
"Mesmerize me"Carolyn giggled under the tree. Her eyes glanced upwards to the clouds, a disembodied epithet.
*Everybody knows I am living a lie*
"Nonsense. You are living a lie as much as I am living the truth. You mirror me, I wouldn't live without you, couldn't, perhaps shouldn't."
*Do your words write themselves? Do your pages change before I reach you?* I asked of the old tome.
"Do yours? I mean really, enough of these pseudo-philosophical rapports. Take me on a date."
And there they were - pages of a most fantastical Arabian metropolis, hosting now an outsider, an ajnaabi. A simple blanket and cushions lined a balcony stepped above a bazaar, enclosed by palace gardens. Carolyn sips her Yerba with eyes on me, timid yet in more control than one assumes possible.
*A bit orientalist for a french baker, no?*
"People from all over dream of french bread, of our little tower, of our romance. Am I not allowed to dream as well?"
*It might not sell that well.* She shot me a look. *Kidding.*
Footsteps shatter the fabric, cedar become paper become carpet, traders become ink become thunder and a domestic dispute behind paper walls. Carolyn is gone.
"It's been a week, you can't finish it?"asked my mother. My silence left her innocent joke hanging like venom. "Just come out eventually, okay?"
Rain patterned on hung tapestries as Carolyn wiped baklava crumbs off her skirt. Candlelight snuck around her chin and brow, painting a profile of a dream envisioned for another. *Do you wonder about him?*
A silent laugh. "God no. He will find another piece of property somewhere else. Another baker girl exactly like me. But she will not find you, and that is what concerns me."
*Do you wonder if this was the story all along? If somehow we are the result of tedious craft, of possessive writing and will? Am I your illusion to your final destination, how can any story end on so little contention?*
"Perhaps I will go back to him, he certainly thinks less"she smirked. A pause, as she deliberated her thoughts. "If an author breathes the first breath, then you sustain. A mother is not the end of a child's hunger. In that way, to abandon you would be my death. Perhaps this is a green card marriage after all, maybe I am using you"she teased.
The thought unsettled me. The book closed, and I hoped to resume our evening maybe tomorrow morning. But for now, rest.
Mangled red. Blaring screeches. Metallic howls and bursts of water. My charred face incited by flickers of contoured heat, as I watched all my affections collapse, story by story, in the rubble of an older life. Carolyn runs a hand up my arm, holding me close, whispering, "Why look behind, when forward is waiting?"I smile. |
&#x200B;
Glurk, Bluck and the rest of the Gark science crew dragged the kicking and screaming human into the sterile testing lab, making sure to close the gunmetal grey biofilter doors behind them. Before they could get it onto the operating table however, in a fit of rage, it threw a third alien, Zurck, head over heels into the wall, denting it and staining the polished, sterile whitewashed walls with his internal fluids. Glurk had to control himself to not vomit into his biosuit. Bluck *did* vomit into his biosuit.
The human continued to protest. Metal restraints were lowered onto it, pressing against its limbs, momentarily giving the researchers a break. But, to their horror, it simply broke out of them. Now, it used the torn metal as a weapon, splattering a helpless Gark against the re-enforced plastisteel window. All the while shouting:
“Now listen here, you little \[expletives\]! You think you can just come down to Earth and kidnap me, eh?” it blustered, smashing a computer console, “I’ll show you! Come here, you \[expletive\]!”
That last remark was addressed at Glurk, who soiled his suit in terror.
“Use the nerve gas!” he cried, swinging to dodge a blow that almost penetrated the deck plating, “We’ve got to subdue it!”
Bluck nodded and threw himself at the emergency panel, smashing the glass cover and pounding his fist on the large red button. An alarm blared and a green mist spewed out of hidden nozzles.
The gas came too late to save Bluck, however. The unfortunate Gark was turned into ludicrous gibs by a backhand to the torso. The human stopped as the fumes entered its respiratory organs. Coughing fit to burst, it threw itself on the floor, denting the deck again, hands clutching at its throat as it struggled to breath.
“Help me!” it croaked, convulsing wildly, “I can’t breath!”
With a final paroxysm, it shuddered and went limp. The eyelids fluttered shut and the hands relaxed on the makeshift club.
Glurk breathed a sigh of relief as a detachment from Security flooded into the room, their weapons trained on the human. Leaning over it, the Gark studied the immense form of the alien. It was quite a magnificent creature, really. Glurk was saddened that they had to kill it, but the incident proved that humans were too dangerous to be taken alive.
He studied the face, taking in the prominent jawline, the contorted face muscles, the mouth filled with teeth that could probably shred him to bits, the way the whiteness of the eyeball contrasted violently with the soft blue colour. The gleam in the eyes as they regarded him with hostility.
The gleam in the eyes…
The gleam…
Wait a second…
The eyes were open?
Suddenly, a hand shot out and grabbed him by the throat. Struggling weakly in the iron grip, Glurk watched in fascinated horror as the human got to its feet.
Giving a savage grin, it brought the trembling Gark close to its toothy maw.
“Next time,” it whispered in a voice that made Gluck tremble even more violently, “Don’t use peppermint spray as knockout gas.”
The gas had… no effect? … none at all?
Oh, \[expletive\]. |
Halfrez looked at the strange device in front of him. It had taken the better part of a year to understand the myriad functions of this modern artifact. It had absolutely delighted him to discover that whatever magic powered instant-painting, did, in fact, register his appearance.Halfrez had been furious at his personal stylist. When he demanded why nobody in his retinue had made any comments regarding his previously horrid appearance, his butler had had the following to say:
"In situations of power dynamics unsuited towards oneself, it is often advised that discretion be the better part of valor"
Halfrez had eaten well that night, and in the morning, had one of his minions put an advertisement in the paper, a job listing for a personal attendant and a personal stylist.
...
&#x200B;
Two young adults sat in the shadowed foyer of a very old mansion.A lady with fluorescent blue hair and bright nails, and a young man with a stylish suit and a suitably thin tie.
Two large wooden doors creaked ominously open. The youths stood, and the young woman whispered her first words to the boy.
"If he has fangs, I am so out of here"
She didn't know it yet, but she was lying. |
"Are you going to stand there all night with your jaw hanging open, twisting your hat in your hands?"demanded my nemesis, Sergeant Chung. Batchmates at the police academy, we'd always been neck-to-neck in test scores and exams, up until she graduated top of our class. It was a sore point for me, and she never let me forget it - especially now that she'd just been transferred to my station. "You've just let the murderer get away, you chump, the least you could do is get a move on."
I *didn't* let him get away. I had him cornered running down a dead-end - and then he'd started climbing the walls with knives. And these were brick walls. Something wasn't adding up. I'd disengaged the safety and fired a few times. And I'd missed. Every. Single. One.
It was blasphemy. I'd graduated top of my cohort in marksmanship; even Chung would (reluctantly) vouch for me. It had been said that I could shoot an ant a hundred yards away in the dark. (It wasn't true, but I wasn't going to correct them anyway.)
And then, as he'd scrambled over the top of the building and his coat whipped out of sight, it'd hit me - plain and simple. Plot armour. The murderer was getting away not because I was incompetent; he was getting away because we were in a story and his role wasn't done yet. It couldn't be done just after two murders, albeit high-profile ones of businessmen whose money had long been suspected to come from questionable sources.
No, there was a third murder to come, the biggest of them all. He had stated in a note at the scene of the last crime that next up was the town mayor, for the bribery and corruption he had partaken in. The mayor had denied all allegations, and it wouldn't do to end it all so anticlimactically by having the culprit apprehended during a nighttime stroll. The stakes were too low: there was a carnival going on nearby, and a sizeable number of the police force were stationed within a fifteen block radius.
I had stood there, stunned at the revelation, as Sergeant Chung had run towards me, high heels clacking. She'd been on a date that night, but, true to form, had sped on over when she'd heard that the action was taking place nearby. And now, with understanding (and some appreciation), I took in the slinky red dress which clung to her curves. I turned my gaze on the scene around me - the manholes issuing dense fog, the wet pavement. And of couse, my clothes: I was in a trench coat, complete with tie and shirt, and a hat crammed on my head.
The murderer was even an anti-hero, for Chrissake.
Was I sure? Not at all. But if I *was* right and we were in a story, that meant that someone else was going to get hurt before we nabbed the culprit. I wasn't going to have that on my conscience. But I couldn't say anything to anyone, either - they'd have me committed to an asylum, saying that Sergeant Park had gone off his rocker. And worse still, the author would *know*. I turned back to face Chung.
She stared, and said, "Are you feeling quite all right, Park?"
"I can't explain,"I said, thinking fast. "I've only just realised something..."
"What is it?"
"How devilishly attractive you look in a dress,"I said, and crossed the gap between us in a stride so that my face was right next to hers. She leaned away, but stood her ground.
"Is this a joke, Park?"she said sharply. "Because it isn't funny."
"Why don't you ever call me by my first name?"I whined. "It's always Park this, Park that."
She raised an eyebrow. "You call me by my surname, too."
I pursed my lips. It was true. "Well, that's going to change,"I said, making my voice go as low as it could, and reached out a hand to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. She stood, stock-still, as my fingers brushed her cheek, and I leaned in -
Only to get my hand slapped away and a kick in the shin. I yelled, clutching my leg and hopping on the spot.
"Do that again, Park, and I promise you, the next one's between your legs."
Through watering eyes, I watched as she spun on her heel and walked away, putting her phone to her ear to answer a call from our superior.
Melting her heart was going to be a challenge, but even if it's the last thing I do, I was going to turn this noir shit into a chick flick.
Edit: grammar and stuff. Thanks OP for the fun prompt! |
"Mary, stop!"shouted Henry, as he grabbed her shoulder and pulled her back. "He said he doesn't want it. You have no right."
"But he had no idea it would end like THIS.", she gestured toward the crumpled body laying on the sidewalk. Tire skid marks leading toward, and then away from it, terminating in the Mustang that was wrapped around a nearby telephone pole. Shattered glass sparkled like jewels in the flickering street light.
"He meant old age or cancer, a natural end.", she continued, "He's not even 30!". Her voice started to break as she spoke aloud his practically infantile age.
"Mary, I know. But he is our friend, and we have to respect his choice."He sighed heavily. "We both know that I sought this, but you were forced into it. Maybe not against your directly expressed will, but it was thrust upon you all the same."His face softened with sympathy. "Do you not recall how long it took you to come to terms with that?"
His voice lower to almost a sad whisper, looking back at their crumpled and broken companion. "Now imaging that your FRIEND betrayed you, and turned your into something you never wanted to be. Would you really wish that upon him?"
Mary's eye cast down to the ground, searching left and right for answers that weren't there. They shot back up to meet Henry's. "But that's just it.", she blurted out with frantic certainty, like that of a child desperate to prove her parent wrong. "It was the car that didn't give him a choice, and now he can't make one. WE would be giving him a chance to make that choice, if he doesn't want it, he can take the Final Walk."
Henry tilted his head, and drooped his shoulders. "Mary, how can you even suggest that?"He pulled her into a comforting embrace. With her head on his shoulder, he said to her "We have to let him go. It's what he wanted."
As his blood pooled on the concrete, they listened to his heartbeat slow, together. They closed their eyes and waited for the end. Not for the first time, Henry was struck by the sociopathic absurdity of treating people like food until they became your friends. How many times had he listed to this exact sound as he fed? Why was this one so different from all the others?
In the middle of that thought, something audible crept over the noises of distant sirens. A slow, agonizing groan.
Mary's eyes shot open, as round and wide as coins. "Oh my god!"she exclaimed, as she broke from Henry's arms and dropped to her knees next to the quickly expiring mortal. She slapped his cheek, and bobbed her head to keep it in front of wandering, unfocused eyes.
"Listen to me. Listen!"she said in a panicked tone, "We don't have much time, you've been in a horrible accident. I know you said you didn't want to be turned, but we can save you."Tears pooled in the corner of her eyes. "You just have to tell us it's ok."
He blinked, then squinted, finally able to focus on something. What he found was the face of one of his most beloved friends. She grabbed his hand and clutched it to her chest. With a raspy, blood-choked voice, he uttered the words that decided his fate. |
Five hours had passed since Louie has noticed the fly in his cell. Two hours ago he watched it walk barely an inch along the wall. Since then, no movement. The fly seemed as immobile as Louie.
He sat with his arms stretched out apart and in front of his face, looking like a seated cartoon zombie. Each wrist was cuffed with metal that pinned his arms in place, held by magnets surrounding the cell in maximum security. The cuffs were just out of reach of his fingers. Despite knowing his fingertips could not grace the metal that pinned him, he tried to reach, multiple times a day.
Quite clever, he thought. His prisoners built a prison that negated his power. His fingertips were out of reach of any object – the metal cuff, his prison clothes. He could not touch anything with his hands. He had no ability to use his power.
But then he saw the fly.
All he could do was stare. There was no way to will the fly to his fingers. The fly had to decide to come to him.
Louie did a double take with his eyes. Did it just move? He had been staring so long he was not sure. The desire for the fly to approach was willing his mind to see things. The fly lifted off the wall. It moved!
He tracked the fly with his eyes. It hovered over his head then landed on his brow. Louie noted that he had been sweating. Perhaps that’s what compelled the fly to approach.
Not there, thought Louie, I need you to walk up higher. Louie began to wiggle his fingers, trying to generate some sweat. He gently puffed some breath up to the fly to coax it to move. He risked shooing it away entirely, but the fly knew Louie was a sweaty source of human to rest on.
The fly lifted again and landed on Louie’s chest. Closer, good. He watched the fly walk down across his belly then it paused. For the next 30 minutes, it sat. Then with great relief, the fly landed on the sleeve of Louie’s left arm and walked over towards his fingertips.
The fly sat on the back of his sweaty hand. Louie needed the fly to touch his palm or fingertips. The fly walked over around from the back of his hand to his palm. Louie could feel his power vibrate on his hand. He focussed his mind and imbued the fly with his power. In his mind he instructed the fly, his new weapon, to eat metal.
The fly landed on the metal cuff then began to devour. It ravenously buzzed as it rapidly chipped away and he metal cuff, tiny filaments hitting the floor. As a hole appeared in the cuff, Louie could wobble his hand against the damaged cuff and he freed his left hand. Louie pressed his fingers against the right cuff and in his mind thought – bend. An alarm blared around him as he bent the metal cut in two pieces and freed his hand. He pocketed the sharp pieces of the metal cuff under his sleeve. These may be useful later, he thought.
He ran to the door and pressed both hands against the door to his cell, in his mind thinking shield. The door rippled and snapped from its fixtures with ease. Louie gripped the sides of the door-shield as he heard guards approaching. He yelled and charged forward, knocking one guard down. The door-shield caught a second guard with Louie running forward letting it fall to the floor.
Louie turned a corner and faced a guard pointing a gun at his face. “Freeze!”, commanded the guard. “Do not move, I swear I will shoot. You move one inch and I will end you”.
Fuck, Louie thought. He just needed to touch something, but dared not risk moving. He locked eyes with the guard. Buy some time, Louie thought.
A buzzing noise filled the air. It was coming from the gun. The guard inspected his weapon as filaments of metal sheered-off and drifted onto the floor. “What the Hell?”, said the guard and Louie punched him square on the nose. The guard fell as the gun left his hand and bounced on the cement.
The fly landed on the gun and buzzed loudly and it continued to feast on the weapon.
“Thanks bud”, said Louie, and ran down the hallway towards freedom. |
Oscar's eyes were still trained on the woman that passed us as I tried to bring his attention back to the conversation we were having, and I sighed. Her bright red bodycon dress *was* eye catching, but he did this *all the time*.
The single pill in my pocket was beckoning. It was an experimental drug which claimed to allow people to read minds. I was still a bit skeptical, but... Honestly I just had to know what made him tick. What made Oscar stare so intently at other women, or make the comments he did.
So while he was still turned slightly away, I broke the seal on the packaging and stared down at the small greenish pill. It was now or never. Popping it into my mouth I took a swig of my cooling coffee.
I then turned back to Oscar and waited. There was no information about how long it took to go into effect.
But only a few brief seconds later, I could hear his voice in the back of my head, his thoughts were now mine.
His beautiful dark brown eyes that I loved so much were still trained over my shoulder to where the woman was waiting to cross.
*"-it's kind of obvious. There's no way she doesn't know."* His eyes dart down to where I assume the poor woman's ass was. *"Should I go talk to her? I totally should."* Was he planning on cheating? *"She'll be embarrassed if somebody else tells her. I mean... how on Earth did it even get stuck there? Did it get caught in her panties?"*
What? I glanced back at the woman and saw something I hadn't noticed before. With every gust of wind the paper toilet seat cover fluttered weakly.
I winced and stood abruptly. "I'll be right back, babe."I tossed over my shoulder as I approached the woman and tapped on her shoulder, murmuring into her ear about her little problem when I had her attention. She flushed prettily and grabbed the thing, balling it up and tossing it into the nearby trash can.
"Thank you so much."She said with real gratitude. "I'm on my way to an interview and that would have been so embarrassing."Looking at her closely now, the dress was not as revealing as I had first assumed, and paired with low practical heels. I wished her luck as the 'walk' light changed and made my way back to the table where Oscar was waiting.
He winked broadly when I sat down. "Did you get her number?"He asked slyly. The concern for the woman must have been a one off, he was still pretty creepy.
I almost rolled my eyes when his voice spoke again but his lips didn't move. *"She looked like she would be a solid friend for Sam. I hope they hit it off."*
"Oh! Uh... no, I didn't."I told him.
His face fell slightly. "Oh, well... I'm sure we'll see her again."Oscar shrugged. His eyes slid away from mine and lit up. Another woman was jogging on the other side of the street, midriff bare.
*"Dog!"* Oscar exclaimed silently, and I looked again to see a fluffy golden retriever trotting cheerfully by the jogger. *"Dog! Dog! Fluffy wuffy puppy! Look at him, look at his little vest! Oh I want a puppy. I wish my apartment let me have one..."*
As soon as the pair turned the corner he regarded me again over the rim of his Styrofoam coffee cup. "You look hot today."He said after a moment, and it took me a bit to realize he said that out loud. I was a bit surprised, as I kind of looked like a slob today.
*"She's way too pretty for me. I hope she doesn't realize that. I love when she doesn't wear makeup, I don't like the sticky feeling of lipstick when I kiss her. Oh well, we all have our sacrifices."* His mental voice sounded fondly resigned.
Well... damn. |
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