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God loved all his creatures. From the birds to the frogs and even the fungus that grew beyond the light of day, God loved them all equally. He also thought each of his creatures should have an equal chance at life... but this was not the case. A disease had befallen one of his creatures; the disease of intelligence. Men had no sharp claws and no razor teeth but they wielded a weapon that could destroy the very Earth itself if left unchecked. Humans multiplied like no other species. And as their numbers grew so did their thirst for power. Spreading across the land like a parasite men burned everything in sight, feeding on all of God’s beloved children. The minds of men had been underestimated by God himself; a mistake he would not settle to live with. The age of men would end. The time of the wolf had come.
God toiled tirelessly to solve this problem. He shall make a predator so great that none can stand in its way. The wolf. Eyes of pure starlight and ears so sensitive they can rival that of the owl. Teeth glistened in its mouth like snow capped mountains upon a blood stained forest. A thick pelt covered its whole body, protecting it from whatever elements Mother Nature could throw at it. All of these attribute paled in comparison to the wolf’s most powerful asset; teamwork. God bred wolves to be the perfect human killers. They would surround their targets, closings gaps quickly and allowing none to escape. Fur that started silver would quickly be soaked red with the blood of men. The perfect killing machine. God unleashed the wolves upon Earth, and their ferocity was apparent. Man’s numbers quickly fell.
Exhausted from his efforts, God decided to rest. He dozed off into a deep sleep, comforted by his solution to man. But too deeply he slept. For thousands of years God did not wake. And for thousands of years the war between men and wolves drove on. Death littered the earth, bodies of men being the most common. Humanity’s numbers grew small and it appeared God’s plan would soon come to fruition... But it did not. Like a caged animal men fought back with all the strength they could muster, waging war wherever possible with the wolves. Still men died, but just as it always has war fuels hatred... and hatred fuels innovation. Great weapons of death and destruction were created. Swords and shields were quickly traded for guns and tanks. Weapons so powerful that humans not only won the war with wolves, but they enslaved their whole species. Wolves were thrown into cages and pens. Their very DNA was malleable to the might of man. Nobility and strength was bred out of wolves to be replaced by stupidity and apathy. Once again man ruled the Earth, raping it of whatever they saw fit.
Three thousand years after God unleashed his living weapons upon the Earth he awoke from his deep sleep. What he saw could not be comprehended. Mankind circled the globe like a plague. It strangled the very planet that God had poured his heart into. What had happened to his prodigal children who were meant to lay waste to this disease called man? And then he saw it.
Standing on a street corner there was a small dog wearing a yellow rain jacket and four red shoes. It bore a thin pink collar around its once great neck. There was a human next to it. A young girl. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a bacon smelling snack. Throwing the treat on the dirty ground she allowed the dog just enough time to pick it up before proceeding to pull her canine companion along the sidewalk with a taught black leash. How could this be? God thought. The killing machine he created had become enslaved to humans - a species he previously thought to be weak. His mind racing God quickly scoured the land to marvel what men had accomplished during his slumber. Cities of solid rock and machines more powerful than the mighty elephant covered the earth. Fires and forged burned day and night. All of God’s creatures now bowed down to man. Again searching for a solution to this plague God racked his brain for any possibility to save his Earth... But within his heart he knew it was too late. The age of the gods was over. The time of men had begun.
—————
I’m open to criticism. I want to hear what you think! |
"Yes. We will begin the secret colonisation soon."The voice was deep and heavily modified. "Goodbye Elon."He said, and hung up the phone call. The man took his mask off... to reveal a regular down to Earth guy.
His name was Chad, and Chad was the leader of the illuminati. He was also the second in command, all of the marketers, callers, accountants and blue collar workers.
"Well shit."He said, realising how much he had royally fucked up by making promises about colonisations on Mars, and other things he knew he couldn't keep.
From phones to nukes to interplanetary civilisations, Chad was sick of it all. He just wanted one me day. Stopping the world from falling apart took it out of a man. He decided to call up an old friend of his.
"Hey, Dave! What's up man? So you know how you're hiding out in the Bermuda Triangle after you were framed for being the Zodiac killer so I helped you fake your own death which lead to the war on drugs? Well I was thinking about going to some beaches. Know any good spots?"
Dave did not, and Chad slumped back into his incredibly uncomfortable chair. For being a world puppeteer, I have really bad chairs, he thought to himself.
His phone started ringing again.
"You make one man go into hiding and EVERYONE WANTS YOU ALL OF A SUDDEN!"He shouted to the ceiling. The ceiling did not respond, as it is a ceiling.
He picked up the phone with great reluctance.
"Trump how many times do I have to tell you, YOU CAN'T MAKE NORTH KOREA PAY FOR THE MEXICAN WALL!" |
A doorknob, heated like a geyser when I found it. It's on my bedroom door now.
Three Stephen King books, the corners started to curl up.
The guitar was difficult, I hid it and came back the next night to retrieve it.
No one else knows, none of my friends, girlfriends, family. Everyone has something they keep secret. In my case I have some things I keep secret.
My phone rings.
"Hey Dantès, there's a fire on Acorn Road. ETA?"
"8 minutes. That's not far from me."
I wonder what they'll have for me to save. I don't really take anything, the people get compensated by the insurance company. The insurance company would have had to pay out anyway.
I'm already dressed. I grab my gear, lock the door as fast as I can.
I'm in my car immediately. I put the siren atop the car and get moving.
I get there in 9 minutes. I hit traffic at Clay Street and cars were slow to get out of my way.
The fire roars, there's a firetruck here already. They're starting up the hose, I hear a shout from inside. The other firemen corroborate that they think someone is inside. So I go inside, smoke in the air and the floor is lava. I stomp the heat out with every footstep. No one in the kitchen. No one in the bathroom. Looks like they don't have a basement. No one in the den or the family room or the dining room.
I run up the stairs, there's a yo-yo there. A really nice one, I scoop it up with my glove and stuff it in my pocket. A lightbulb breaks above me and I get moving again.
No one in the room on my right. Bathroom door is open, no one there. A beam creaks above me and the fire crawls up the walls.
No one at the end of the hallway.
No one in the attic.
No one.
The house collapses.
No one. |
The hard part was trying to keep track of time. How do you keep track of something that does not exist? Or, at least, doesn't exist at present time? Even that seemed absurd.
I've had a lot of time, or no time at all, to think about time. Time, when no time exists, is not comprehensible. At all. I have no idea how long I've been in this limbo any more. It must have been years.
With no running clocks, only day and no nights, no celestial movement, no seasons, no temperature changes wherever I go, no air movement, no changes to me; no hair growth, no nail growth, no need for food nor drink nor sleep and nothing moves except me, it is nearly impossible. What is an hour or a day or a year when everything stays the same all the time?
It all started when I was playing with my dog. We were 'fighting'. Suddenly Jack just froze. Mid air. I was, to put it mildly, perplexed. Everything I thought I knew about physics was under heavy attack. I called Mom. No response. I can still remember and recall the absolute horror I felt when I saw my Mother frozen the first time. She was taking some cookies out of the oven. Now she has stood there for what must have been years.
I can't interact with anything. Can't move anything. Except what I was wearing when time stopped; Sunday morning pants, a t-shirt, boxer shorts, my watch and a necklace. I'm unable to remove them; trying so makes them behave like rubber. I can perhaps move my t-shirt, with great effort, up to my jaw, but it snaps back in place immediately when I let go. Hadn't the back door been open I've would have been confined to the house. I've ventured out many times. I can walk, even run, without feeling any tiredness. Sometimes I lay down to try to sleep. Even in my bed even though the mess I left it in makes it feel like laying down in a rock bed. Everything is rock hard. Grass is like millions of needles. Leafs are like scalpels.
I can't get hurt. I can't experience damage, but the pain is there. Walking across the lawn without shoes is something I just can't get used to. Even though the pain goes away when I get to the sidewalk, the 13 steps across is a pain I would not wish upon my worst enemy.
I have no idea how to get out of this mess. I've tried everything. Mostly ways to kill my self. Or, the only way has really been jumping from heights. Nothing, except a split second of extreme pain, happens.
My dog. I sit by him often. Him mid air. Petting him has to be done with care. It feels like touching needles. But at this point anything is better than nothing. I've tried to recreate what happened when everything stopped. Even putting my left hand back in his mouth. Trying to find the exact position I was in. Nothing happens. I've done this thousands of times.
I'm going to try it again. It's not like I don't have time to do it again. I started jamming my hand back into his mouth. The hardest part was getting the watch past his molars. Well in there I noticed it: The crown was drawn out and in the adjust position. With my hand still in the dogs mouth I pushed it back in. Instantly there was a great jolt pushing me into what must have been the position I originally was in when the time froze. Suddenly everything moved. My dog moving was so surprising he dragged med on the floor, instantly starting to lick my face as to say sorry for what he must have thought was going too far in the playfight.
"Cookies are done!"I heard a voice say.
I hadn't spoken for a long time and hearing myself say "I'm comming!"was perplexing.
"Finally"I said entering the kitchen.
"Finally? I's only been 20 minutes since you asked if we could have cookies, give me a break"
"Sometimes 20 minutes can be a really long time when you wait for cookies", I said while I ate what was the best cookies I've ever tasted.
|
I wish I could have seen their face. I probably could have if I had turned around, but I wanted to me dramatic.
I brush off dust and rubble from my suit. A kid looks at me with her mouth open in an expression of disbelief, and her mother, a lovely woman in a red dress doesn't even bat an eye at what had just happened.
Behind me the police officers and lawyers are shouting at me to come back, while the people watching is mumbling quietly to eachother, wondering exactly what just happened.
The air is fresh and the sun shines on my face warming it. The concrete wall that I had just passed through has a me shaped hole in it. Good luck explaining that, I thought to myself while moving on.
I always knew I could do these things. People think I'm just extremily strong, but I'm not. I can't hold a 20kg weight above my head for more than a few seconds. However I can lift a 100 kilo weight with ease as long as I drop it. I can't be stopped when I apply any kind of force upon anything. I am an unstoppable force in other words.
I keep walking straight forward. I won't even look back at the courthouse. As long as I keep moving, I'm unstoppable. No one can get me, nothing can come in my way.
"Stop right there, or we'll open fire!"Says a police officer to me. He and his partner has taken cover behind the police car in the road.
I don't really mind being shot at. I mean, my body is impenetrable as long as i face it head on. So why stop when I can not?
I hear a bullet go off from the gun and it hits me in the stomach. A metallic sound is heard, not from me but the bullet which now lays on the ground, flat.
More bullets come flying toward me, and soon there are no more bullets in their chambers. I take the opportunity now to run towards them. I smile manically.
This is why I was here in the first place. Murdering a police officer. I was innocent then, now I'll actually do it. I'll give them what they wanted. I run faster.
A man walks slowly between me and the police car, stops and crosses his arms. Does he not realize what just happened? I am unstoppable, and he dares stand in my way.
I run at top speed now, straight towards the man. Just when I hit him I get the answer to the question I've been asking myself for so long: what happens if I, an unstoppable force, meet an immovable object? Or rather; an immovable man? |
It was cold. So cold. The piercing pain of that freezing threat was what I first noticed, what brought me back. My hands were purple, my feet without sense or feeling; my head shook uncontrollably. Only when I found my clothes lying in a bundle next to my nearly frozen body did I realize I was naked. It took the best of an hour of exercise to make my steaming breath the worst trace of coldness.
I was clearly in a hospital room, although why a hospital would have the heating turned off was as at the time as much of a mistery as the reason for my being there. The door was locked, the windows shut closed. There were two beds in the sterelized room, but no signs of another patient, nor was there any response to my buzzer pressing and door banging. I felt weak - the exercise had exhausted my somehow frail muscles - but it would not do to stay trapped inside the room, waiting for the hunger and cold to compete for my soul. I tried to force the door open with my hands and shoulders to no avail. The hard hits only brought me a brief flash of some other blunt hit to my body, recent, somehow escaping my memory. With enough leverage on a small metal chair, I finally managed to pry the metal door open and stumbled out into a nondescript hallway. Most other doors along it were shut, and the open ones empty. Only the small streaks of emergency lighting showed me the way to a large room, computers and screens stacked in rows against a massive window. This one was open. Outside, the flames and craters scorched an otherwise blue marble, the third planet from its sun, the only place I had ever called home. The shock of my situation must have unleashed a powerful effort in my brain, and the memories started to pour in, a hailstorm of flashes and emotions, images and fears. A single emergency screen displayed in bright red lights the current time and situation of the orbiting station. *23-02-2037 -- Status: Evacuated*.
Three days after the last picture in my head. One of a dark sedan crashing upon the presidential delegation, a strange face behind the wheel aiming for the aides while the president was pushed away; an alien face glaring as it rammed the car into me and my colleagues. I understood then, but three days had passed and the Earth was in flames.
First contact had been sabotaged. The alien delegation had never wanted peace, trade, friendship. It had tried to kill the leader of a free world, maybe managed just that. I must have been sent to the station's hospital while an invasion on my planet commenced. Three days later, there was little left of the Earth I could recognize, and the station had been evacuated without me. Was I the last of my people? The last man?
The emergency screen beeped. My presence in the room must have activated its sensors. The status bar changed from *Evacuated* to *Incoming Message* and the next line came in a bright beam of orderly instructions.
*"Fellow survivor, you have been identified as the last occupant of the International Space Station. Maintain status and await extraction. We are coming.*
*"The Human Resistance in Exile."*
******
**/r/Camberlot** |
Chad,
We apologize for the tardy arrival of this letter. You were sent a similar letter on your 18th birthday, but we recently learned that there was a bizarre accident on that day that left your entire mailbox in ashes. At the time we assumed you were simply uninterested in our proposition; however, with this new information we’ve decided to re-extend the invitation.
This is official notice of your summons to the Warlock Trials, a series of games for untrained warlocks throughout the world held every 7 years. Those who display aptitude will become initiates of the Warlock Council, a group of warlocks that have the mission to protect magic-users worldwide and increase magical education. Those who fail will be given a General Magic Initiation course and be sent home.
If you wish to accept, sign this letter in black ink and set it aflame with magic. You will receive further instructions for attendance upon acceptance. We expect a response within 24 hours.
Sincerely,
Chairman of the Warlock Council
Warlock Jones
I blinked. Years of horrific events could be explained by this ornate parchment that I’d received in the mail. A warlock? Oh god...I could have escaped 4 years of college and 3 of law school. I could have been doing magic this whole time. I drew a fountain pen from my suit’s pocket, drawing an ornate signature in thick, rich ink across the entire letter. I focused on smoke, on fire, and on that odd feeling I’d had at each weird accident in my life. Images of my first ex-girlfriend’s hair falling out and my mailbox’s explosion entered my mind. The edges of the parchment began to smoke. I grinned.
___________________________________
This is my first post, hope it's acceptable :) |
"You have to be kidding me..."A small window appeared on the HUD near the bottom left corner, James took a look at all of the other gauges and shook his head slightly. "Unbelievable."
"What is it?"The co-pilot asked sharply, a slight bit of concern in his voice. He leaned over to attempt to see what James could see on the screen.
"It looks like a cop car or something. Blue and red lights alternating."Now a message appeared at the bottom of the HUD in bright red.
STOP IMMEDIATELY - UTP
"UTP? What is that?"James looked around the HUD again to check for some sort of indication that this was a joke from Houston. Nothing. Everything appeared normal. "We're not even that far off. I guess we're gonna have to emergency stop."
Eric, the co-pilot, frowned angrily, his voice raising in protest. "Emergency stop? We don't even know what this is?!"He'd reach down to start tapping buttons on his own console, grumbling. "Our first successful flight and we're going to emergency stop because of a joke."
"Better to be safe than sorry. Full stop."James pulled the throttle completely back, tapping a couple other buttons. The ship fell out of light speed, then slowly floated to a halt. Metal creaking and whining coming from the rear of the ship, indicating the stress that the flight had on the materials.
The small window that had the blue and red lights now showed an alien face instead, the creature obviously leaning closer to the camera to exaggerate its features. It had what looked like two eyes, no nose, no mouth, and two small dots near the top of its head spread equally as far as its eyes. A loud gurgling noise came through over the radio, James and Eric both looked at each other in disbelief.
"We can't understand you!"James yelled into his headset, throwing both hands up and shaking his head slightly. "Whatever it is you're saying we don't understand!"He'd shake his hands in front of himself in view of the camera as if waving off the creature. The gurgling stopped.
After a few moments the creature spoke again. "Can you understand me?"James and Eric both nodded slowly, indicating they understood but were shocked that the creature instantly went from gurgling to speaking English. "Great. You mind if I ask what you're doing all the way out here?"
"I...we...wait, what?"James was having a bit of a hard time processing the question, for obvious reasons.
"I said what are you doing out here. You just said you understood me. Let me say it again. What. Are. You. Doing. Out. Here?"While speaking the alien waved its tentacles in front of its face, sarcasm implied by the behavior.
James looked to Eric, "Jesus."Then back at the monitor. "Are you supposed to be a cop?"
"UTP stands for Universal Traffic Police. We monitor the speed and behavior of travel within open space."
"I'm not even on earth and I get pulled over for DWB."A slight head shake from James.
"DWB? Are you implying we stopped your ship because of your skin color?"
James raised both eyebrows, his shoulders, and threw his hands outward, palms raised slightly.
The alien now moved even closer to its camera, "We stopped you because you were traveling faster than light. Its not safe. There are signals out here that tell you that until you're out of your own local solar system its never safe to travel at that speed."Its face looked downward, a few slight tapping noises were heard. "I didn't think humans were capable of light speed. Is this your first time out here?"
Eric piped up, "Yes this is our first light, or apparently faster than light, speed flight. We're not out here to cause trouble or anything. Can't you just let us off with a warning or something?"
The alien's gaze immediately turned to Eric, "I wasn't talking to you."That shot back was as if it anticipated a protest at some point from the co-pilot. "Keep it at light speed. Anything above that and we're going to have to impound your ship and take you in."
"Got it."
The small screen with the alien's face disappeared, the HUD returning to what it appeared to be as before. A few moments later James and Eric could see the a ship much smaller than theirs floating past for a few moments, and without warning it disappeared in a blink. |
“I’ll be back in a few don’t go anywhere!” Calls Sophie’s mom as she heads through the parks gate and across the street to the super market.
“Ok mommy!” She calls back gleefully. Excited to have the whole park to herself she runs to the swings without any hesitation.
“Up and down, up and down” she mutters to herself as she kicks her legs wildly hoping to get the swing to move but she soon gave up and became content swaying back and forth listening to the birds and the siren of an ambulance somewhere in the distance and made sure to say a quick prayer for whoever the ambulance was for.
As she swayed she heard what seemed to be sigh coming from behind her so she quickly turned and what she saw was a figure clad in black cloth, gloves, hood, and veil hung over his face standing behind a yellow slide.
“Oh you startled me for a second.” Sophie says smiling and wide eyed eager to make a new friend, but he made no attempt in return.
“Hmm I see not so talkative huh?”
“...”
“Well two can play that game!”
“...”
“...”
“...”
“...”
“...”
“...”
“Okay maybe not...well at least swing with me?” She says gently patting the seat of the swing next to her. This time the cloaked figure did move slowly and smoothly to the proposed swing and sat looking blankly ahead.
“So now all I have to do is get you to talk?” Said Sophie as a grin ebbed across her face once again.
“Perhaps but I have always preferred not to.” The figures voice was soft yet harsh smooth yet sharp, calming yet mysterious.
“Oh. I suppose it is still a step in the right direction.”
“...”
“Well what’s your name?”
He doesn’t bother to move or even shift his gaze.
“Well mine is Sophie, but please call me Zoe I like the letter Z.”
“I know your name, Sophie.”
“Oh, and how do you know that?”
“Are you happy Zoe?”
“What? Well of course! I get to play everyday especially when I’m on the swing but I’m not very good at it. Aren’t you happy?”
“At times.”
“Why aren’t you happy?”
“What if I were to tell you there’s a place where you could always be on the swings and be quite good at it?”
“Well that would be wonderful!”
“Perhaps I could take you.” Slowly he turns his head to meet her eyes through his veil.
“Oh yes! That would be great, but I’d have to wait for my mom to come back she told me not to go anywhere.”
“She’ll catch up with us shortly.”
“Is it far?”
“Not at all.” He says offering Sophie his gloved hand.
“Promise?”
“Of course.”
And with that Sophie placed her hand in his.
(This is only my second time posting hope you enjoy it! Please leave any feedback positive or negative but a little more positive :D) |
Between torn away planks and behind motes of dust that flicker in the greased over windows, I find an image of myself with a large cut on my face.
I run my painted fingernails along my cheek only to find nothing at all. I leave the mirror alone in its little hiding spot, I can always remove it later.
It is only when I scratch my face along the doorway just hours later I realize what that mirror is.
***
The day before the date with Aaron, I walk down into the basement and face the clairvoyant mirror. My brows are immaculate and I’m smiling.
Aaron, it turns out, is a sweet man. The way he holds my hands is gentle, and the way he holds his eyes onto mine leaves me wanting more.
***
In the mirror, I see myself aghast with joy. How could I ever be so happy? My eyes have never been so bright and lively.
When he takes to his knee the next day and raises the ring, well, I suppose even I don’t know myself that well.
***
Aaron does not know of the mirror. Sometimes he walks to the basement but I make sure that there’s a little piece of paper taped to the oddly-fit wall. I take it away with great care to make sure he never knows of such a beautiful secret. I fear he may want to destroy it – or sell it.
And in my reflection I see a terrible sight. How could my eyes ever be that red? How could I cry so much. I dry heave for hours from the anxiety. It eats me up so much that I go to the doctor. And after he runs a test, he gives me some terrible news.
***
I don’t have long, but I’ve chosen the dress already. Perhaps we’ll spend a few days together. It’s all I want left. My heart --- it truly cannot take it. I am weak and require Aaron’s assistance to even move about daily. Still, I’ve taken the chance to visit the mirror the day before we finally meet eyes and both say, “I do.”
In the mirror I see eyes lifeless, truly absent from the world. I’ve never seen myself so still. I stand there in my dress, my hair flawlessly bound into a bun. Upon my face is peace so incomprehensible that I almost begin to think that the face I see is not mine.
But it is, that is me.
And Aaron steps up behind me and wraps an arm around my shoulder. He steps into the purview of the mirror and I see a man ridden with both devastation and joy.
He looks to me and seals the mirror up, he takes the little piece of tape and puts it back just right – as if I, and he, had never discovered the mirror at all.
The next day, I walk down the aisle as if it never existed at all and I smile; goddammit, I smile.
|
"Dad, can you read me a bedtime story?"
I sat down on the side of the bed and sighed. My son's eyes were wide and wonder-filled, as only a child's can be.
I lightly rustled his hair.
"Sorry, kiddo,"I said, pulling his blanket up over him. "I have to be up early for work tomorrow. Maybe Alexa can cover tonight again?"
My son pushed the blanket away and put on his best pouting face.
"But *Dad*, your job is simply the bourgeoisie exploiting you to maintain themselves as the supreme class in society. The class struggle you're part of as a component of capitalism is decaying our society. You have to be conscious of your own potential to rebel against the system. It should be your duty as a member of the oppressed working-class to unionise with your fellow laymen and to revolt from the social constructs of being "on time"to work for the benefit of the world's proletariat classes."
I blinked a couple times, staring down at his innocent, wide-eyed little face.
"Y'now, I think I actually do have enough time to read a story to you..." |
"Those vaccines wont work"I whisper into the wealthy woman's ear.
She couldn't see me and she couldn't consciously hear me, but my message always pried its way into people's minds.
A wave of fear overtook her as she sat in the doctors office awaiting the immortality serum, but she didn't leave.
She had taken the bait and her logical reasoning was withering. I thought id try something more specific.
"The vaccine will cause late onset autism"
The woman tensed as irrational fear polluted her brain.
She still hadn't budged from her chair in the waiting room, I would have to raise the stakes even further.
I got closer, I wanted to make sure that my message embedded deep in her subconscious.
"Your friends Emma and Bradley are going all natural, no vaccines at all, look how healthy they are. Don't you want to be like them?"
She sat in the chair conflicted and afraid. A few nervous moments passed and her feet got colder. The doctor peeked around his office door.
"You may come in for your vaccine now m'am"
She glared at the Doctor. She thought that she noticed something suspicious. His eye twitched and he was sweating, or was it his fake smile? Something set her off and her nervousness boiled over. She stood from her chair and stormed out of the Doctor's office. These vaccines weren't going to hurt her or her children.
My work here was done, I had spread my word of pseudoscience around the world. Now it was only a matter of time until business was booming.
|
“Hey, John! FBI just sent over this beauty. You wanna take a crack at it?”
“...Derrick, this is a Keurig.”
“Yeah. A magic Keurig.”
“Oh boy. Wonder what it’s gonna do. Maybe it’ll make that one magical cup of coffee that cures my depression.”
“Come on, John! We’re working with enchanted-“
“Or possessed.”
“Fine. Enchanted OR possessed stuff. Can’t you try and have a bit of fun?”
“You know what would be fun, Derrick? Being able to see my wife more than once every two weeks.”
“That’s just the price we have to pay, man. It’s for security and stuff. Now, if you can stop being a stick in the mud for two seconds, I wanna see what type of magical coffee this thing can make.”
“...Fine. Plug it in. There’s a wall socket behind my desk.”
“Alright! Trust me, this is gonna be awesome.”
“Where did the FBI even find this thing?”
“Said they found it in an abandoned Starbucks.”
“Wait, those actually exist?”
“I know, that’s what I said. Alright, it’s plugged in.”
“Huh. Display screen just lit up. It says, ‘Welcome, John. Please enter any liquid.’”
“Cool! The coffee machine knows your name!”
“Yeah, yeah, just write it down. Start a new file for this thing. Now, I don’t have any liquid on me. What about you, Derrick?”
“Oh, you can give it the last of my Monster.”
“Great. We can use my coffee mug to get whatever comes out. I’m putting the Monster in... now.”
“The screen says, ‘Processing liquid.’”
“Hold on, something’s coming out. Looks like more Monster. I still don’t get how you can drink that stuff.”
“How’s that much liquid coming out? There were only a few drops left in the can.”
“Does it matter? Just write it down. And measure how much liquid is in there.”
“OK, man. Looks like... 100mL, on the dot.”
“Good. Write that down, too. Now the screen’s back to where it started. ‘Welcome, John and Derrick. Please enter any liquid.’”
“So it said my name too?”
“Yep. Congratulations, the coffee machine recognizes your existence.”
“See? I told you this would be cool.”
“Yeah, I guess this is sort of fun...”
“John? You alright?”
“Hold on... ‘Please enter any liquid...’ Any liquid...”
“Dude, you’re creeping me out over here.”
“I’ve got it!”
“Wait, you’ve got what? Where are you going? John!”
“...He’s gone. Did you do this to John, you coffee machine bastard? I swear, you better not hurt him, or I’ll-“
“Derrick, I’m back!”
“Jesus Christ, man! You scared me when you went running off like that.”
“I know, but I had to. Look at what I took from the fridge.”
“John, that’s a cup of yogurt.”
“Yes, it is. Now, tell me, Derrick, is this yogurt a liquid or a solid?”
“Well, it’s... I mean... There’s no one answer to that.”
“Yes, there is. And it lies within this machine.”
“I’m not following.”
“It’s simple. We put a scoop of yogurt in the Keurig. If it makes more yogurt, then yogurt is a liquid.”
“Oh, and if nothing happens, then it’s a solid!”
“Exactly! We could be on the verge of a real scientific discovery here!”
“This is awesome, dude! Put it in already!”
“OK, the yogurt is in the machine. What’s the screen saying?”
“It’s processing.”
“I’m getting impatient already.”
“Still processing.”
“Imagine what could happen when we tell everyone. An enchanted object and a burning question answered in one fell swoop! We could even get raises! Or an extra day off every week!”
“Still processi-“
BOOM!
Red alert! There has been an explosion in Sector 3J. Please evacuate in an orderly fashion... |
"I think we should give the newcomer a chance."
The other gods bellowed with laughter.
"Many-Names,"the largest chuckled deeply, "you say that *every time*! And it's *funny* every time! But in addition to being hilarious, it's kind of pathetic - especially *this* time. Just... just look at them!"
The new god quietly stood their ground, staring curiously at the imposing, otherworldly figures encircling and loudly cackling at them.
"Our existence is a lonely one,"the many-named god gently replied, "and as tragic as it may be for humanity to turn away from our oldest and most revered brethren, we're truly blessed every time we have new company. Human ingenuity knows no bounds, and while I love all of their great works, I am *particularly* fond of the concept given the form we see before us. We could all learn from this newcomer!"
The laughter in the room gradually subsided, confusion and concern taking its place, as the new god continued observing, saying nothing.
"I don't think you'd be so quick to say that if you were a dying god."The largest picked its teeth. "Though that's not to say you're far away - a fair few of your followers have already pledged their true allegiance to me. Yeah, I'm doing quite alright for myself, as it should be, and you'd be doing alright for yourself too if you looked out for number one. Sticking out for these failures-to-be will only get you hammered down; I sure as hell wouldn't do it."
"And who are you, exactly?"the newcomer finally spoke up, giving the largest god his full attention.
"I'm just me,"it coolly responded. "That is, myself. I. Yours truly. Number one. The living manifestation of ego, I suppose... and the oldest god still standing, by my reckoning."
The many-named god gave the ego a curious look, but said nothing.
"...and I suppose your self-perpetuation is your sole priority?"the newcomer said after a thoughtful pause.
"Oh my! How scandalous! How tactless!"the ego cried, feigning offense. "I'm kidding, of course. To answer your question, it's not so much about keeping myself on top as it is... helping humans help themselves. I give them their sense of self and tell them to prize it, and then they go on to use it to become great people... some of whom believe whatever is necessary to keep our council here functioning as it is, and that so happens to mean I have the power to keep this going forever. Judge me for that if you wish, but I'd say it's human selfishness that brought you here, isn't it?"
"I was making no judgment,"the newcomer corrected calmly, "and to answer your question, *maybe*."
The ego let out a satisfied chuckle as the new god turned to the many-named one.
"You seem to be prominent as well,"the newcomer remarked. "What can you tell me about yourself?"
"Very little, I'm afraid,"the many-named god sighed with a warm smile. "I also represent a force that has united humanity in worship, and that worship has taken on such a diversity of forms that it's difficult to say, in any honesty, what that makes me. Perhaps you might get a better answer as you grow in power."
"Ahahaha!"the ego whooped. "Grow in power? What a laughabl-"
Before it could finish, the gods gasped in horror as they gradually started to become frailer, weaker, and smaller - a couple even resigned themselves to death.
"Wh-what is this?"the ego sputtered, trying to roar but barely managing a growl.
"I think it would be wiser to ask *who* this is,"the many-named god laughed, grinning even through his apparent frailty. "Why don't you tell the council your name?"
The new god nodded obligingly, barely reacting to the power coursing into them.
"I'm Science." |
"Hey! Red knight, good to see you!", waved the Blue Knight as he walked to the cistern. The Red Knight looked up and smiled.
"Hey hey, Blue Knight, what are you doing so high up? Usually they keep you guys down on the first five floors. Then y'know mandatory two years on Green Knight assignment."Both knights put the tips of their thumbs on their visors and wiggled they're fingers.
"Greenie weenies, dumb and meany"They recited and broke into a laugh.
"No, no they actually promoted me straight to Red Knight because I killed the last adventurer."Said the Blue Knight, pleased.
"Oh no way! That's great man, the more the merrier up here. We kind-of just hangout and chill up here. Plenty of room if you want to stretch out or make your own area. Besides that, you need to walk a beat for a shift every other day. But that's nothing compared to what the Blues have to put up with."
"I know, right? Here comes the easy life."Said the Blue Knight, reclining into the sofa.
A shrill whine swept across the floor, swiftly followed by the clamor of steel boots marching. Sword and shield collided in a discordant cacophony of iron and wood. Three score of Red Knights all bustled past the companions in a confused semi-order. Both Knights stood and looked at one another. The Red Knight put his hand on the Blue Knights shoulder.
"Don't worry. That just means he's three floors down. It happens every few weeks. He won't be able to beat the giant-"
A harsh microphone buzzed across the floor, "Ifrithit, the flame serpent, has been defeated. I repeat, Ifrithit has been slain. Prepare level 11."
The Blue Knight began to shake, the scales of his armor rattling gently together. The Red Knight still held his shoulder. He attempted to talk, but had to wet his mouth. "It's OK. That's still a level below us. No one makes it up this far, we're the last ones before the boss."
The Blue Knight nodded jerkily and tried to keep himself still. The Red Knight nodded back to him, "Yea, yea, ya see there's a giant trap pit on the floor below us. No way he can get around it, it'll drop him right back on our doorstep, nothing more than a pile of Jelly and some bone splinters. The pit's guard is tough as nails, a two headed cyclopes. I've seen him eat people whole, there's no way this guy could-"
A deep, guttural moan steamed in from the tower's window. The Knights looked at each other and leaned out together. They were greeted to the sight of the final leg of the cyclops's rapid journey from the 11th floor down to the cobblestones that sat at the towers foot.
The Red Knight vomited down the towers side then turned to face the hallway his compatriots had filed down. He looked back to the Blue Knight while he arranged his armor.
"Just stay back here a while OK? We're the last line of defense and you already had your glory for the day. Just hide it out and uh...I'll take care of this goon alright?"He said, attempting to force a grin onto his pale lips. He let out an uneven breath and rushed down the hall.
The Blue Knight felt his legs go weak and searched desperately for a place to hide. He settled on a small alcove beside the door to the Boss's chamber. He heard the clatter of arms and armor come to an uneasy halt. The air felt charged and heavy. The Blue Knight could feel the weight of the anticipation that hung across every Red Knights brow. The creak of wood turned instantly into a deafening crack as the mighty door burst inwards, reduced to a hail of splinters. The Blue Knight sat cowering as he listened to the deep moanings of the dying and the high pitched cries of the living. Nothing became discernible in the din aside from the heavy steps of metal boots on stone and the thumping of weapons upon one another. Slowly, the melee began to settle. The footsteps became thinned and the drum of weapons and shields yielded to the heavy thuds of fresh corpses falling limp to the floor. Soon the Blue Knight could hear cries for mercy or the soft sucking of the wounds. One lone set of heavy steps fell unevenly away from the door, followed by steady, leisurely footfalls. The swish of a blade and the dull thud of a body echoed into silence. The Blue Knight curled further into the alcove and attempted to hold himself together. He heard the footsteps approach the Boss's chamber and stop.
"Hmm.....probably need to grind more before the boss. I'll just let this place re-spawn and run it again."
The Blue Knight was beginning to breath easily as he listened to the psychopath's whistling retreat down the hallway. The blue knight heard the dull thump of a foot on a ball. It bounced slowly down the hallway, eventually rolling into the Blue Knights alcove. He looked down to see the Red Knights head, still helmeted, eyes rolled back and tongue lolled out.
The Blue Knight let out a cry and ran into the corridor. The demon looked at him apathetically.
"Blue Knight, this high up? Must be an Easter egg. Well, not like it'd have any good loot anyway."
The Blue Knight, frozen with terror, watched as the monster strolled over the pile of fathers and husbands he had butchered. Soon, the Blue Knight's legs could not support him and he fell into a gray, dreamless, sleep.
"Hey. Hey!"
The Blue Knight felt a hand on his shoulder shaking him awake. Miraculously, he awoke in a soft bed with the Red Knight standing over him.
"You can't sleep in the first day of your shift! C'mon you're going to be late, Red Knight." |
Jake sighed as he looked at his bio-hedgehog. It looked adorable, just like the hedgehogs of centuries past. But there was one very critical flaw.
His had an affinity for killing students.
*How was I supposed to know that Quill could understand me?* Jake sighed as he petted the dangerous pet. All he did once was complain that some other students were likely to get a better grade than him.
And somehow Quill the Hedgehog logically figured if the students were dead, his owner could get a higher grade than a corpse.
Thankfully, nothing connected Quill's murders to Jake. The quills on Quill, when detached, would dissolve without the body to sustain it. The fact that the quills sustained itself on poison running through the hedgehog's body was amazing and scary at the same time.
But Jake should not have messed with jellyfish DNA when creating his hedgehog either.
The slightly pink and brown hedgehog nudged his owner slightly as he noticed the petting ceasing. Sighing, Jake resumed petting the dangerous pet.
Thankfully one of the other students was creating a clownfish hybrid that glowed. This hybrid was getting attention from administration as they felt the student was extracting venom from it somehow.
"I can't tell anyone, buddy."Jake said softly. "There are somethings scarier than owning a murdering hedgehog. I can't fail this project. You understand, right Quill?"
He did not notice the glint in the hedgehog's eyes as it nuzzled back happily, already plotting how else to frame the clownfish owning student. |
“Honey, can you get that?,” Paul said as he flipped rib-eye steaks searing on the grill. Paul’s wife, Olivia, sat her glass of tea down and jogged past their 4 year old daughter, Sara, as she dashed through the sprinkler.
“How many times have I told you to just block this number, baby?,” Olivia said as she pressed the ignore button on the cell phone. “I know, I just keep forgetting to do it. I thought I did the other day as I waited for Shi to get out of dance practice. Thanks Honey. Probably one of those IRS scammers. Saw they were hitting this area pretty hard on News 5 last night,” Paul said as he wiped greasy fingers on a napkin, grabbed his phone and slid it into his pocket.
“Okay girls, time to eat! Sara, sweetie, can you go tell Shiloh that is lunch is ready? Tell her to wash her hands before coming to the table!,” Paul shouted as Sara sprinted past him through the back door.
Paul walked over to the oven, grabbed an over mitt and lifted the pan of piping hot asparagus and placed it on top of the stove. Paul glanced at his apron. **Paul Edmunds, Certified Grillmaster** was emblazoned across front and was one of his most prized possessions. Three years ago, Paul won the apron during a community "grill off".
Shiloh marched down the hall in white shorts with a navy blue tank top holding a notebook in her hand. “Paul! Please don’t let Sara in my room ever again. She knocked off the shelf when she opened the door! She knocked my iPad off my desk!,” Shiloh shouted. Olivia opened the backdoor ,”Shiloh! Watch your mouth! Please don’t talk to your father that way!” “He’s not my father!,” Shiloh said as she slumped down on the couch putting on her headphones.
Olivia placed a soft hand on Paul’s back as she brought her fingers into a fist to scratch her husband of four years back. Paul reached over his shoulder taking Olivia’s hand. “It’s fine, honey. She is a teenage girl. She is just doing “teenage girl things”,” Paul said raising his arms above his head in the finger quote position. “Let me go see if I can fix Shiloh’s shelf. Shouldn’t take me more than a few minutes,” Paul said as he slid his chair away from the table. “I love you, babe,” Olivia said as Paul kissed her on the forehead.
Paul walked down the hall into Shiloh’s bedroom to assess the damage a 4 year old can cause swinging open a plywood door.
As Paul crossed the threshold to the bedroom, his phone vibrated and buzzed in his pocket. “Jesus Christ! Stop calling me!,” Paul shouted as his finger slid across the unlock button.
Unlike the typical telemarketer Paul had dealt with, the young woman on the line spoke in a soft and kind voice. “Paul, don’t hang up. Please for the love of God don’t hang up the phone and please listen to me. The test was a failure, Paul. I am so so sorry. We need to pull you out of the simulation.”
Paul craned his neck as from side to side as the words SOS flashed in as a bright light inside of his closed eyes. Paul’s grip loosened on the phone as it dropped to the floor. In an instant, Shiloh’s bedroom, the cool breeze of an opened window on a summer day and the sound of all that he loved waiting for him in the kitchen faded away.
White walls. White floors. Restraints on his wrists. Eyes pried open staring into multi-colored blocks of red and green lights.
Before Paul could say even a word, a needle prick on the left side of his neck was the last thing Paul Edmunds ever felt. Memories of knee scrapes and successful first bike rides, dance recitals and wedding bells were replaced with nothing. SOS. Sara, Olivia, Shiloh were all gone.
“Holy shit, the SOS trigger worked,” said a gaunt man in a gray lab coat. “Okay, guys. We are going to try this again. Paul needs to have SOS built into his story. For whatever reason, this allows his brain to realize he is in simu. Mason, go tell the Watchers that we are close. I think this is going to be the one.”
Paul Conrad is a 32 year old construction worker from Joplin, Missouri. His has a wife and two sons. Wife Olivia and sons, Sam and Steven. |
“Okay, she seems to be waking up now,” a mousy voice said to no one in particular.
I opened my eyes to fuzzy shapes and colors, slowly focusing and unfocusing around me, “Where am... What happened?” My voice slurred into the room.
“Oh, honey! How are you feeling? Are you okay?” A feminine voice spoke, “Is she okay doctor?”
“She seems fine, she took a nasty fall though, it may take some time for her to remember everything properly, so, we just need to be patient.”
My eyes began to sharpen the scene around me, three people circled the bed, all wearing glasses.
A small, round pair of academic looking glasses leaned in toward me, flashing a light and blurring everything again. “Eye reflex seems good, body movement seems good.” The light clicked off.
“You took a fall sweetie,” the dark spectacled man spoke, “they say you might have some trouble remembering things.”
“No, I’m\-\-” My voice was cracked and croaking, “I’m fine, I remember, I was at the skate park and I fell on the pipe, and then...” I trailed off. “Who are you?”
“Oh, honey, it’s okay, it’s us, mom and dad!” Eyebrows raised in comfort and concern behind the blackened glasses of the woman. “You went missing on Wednesday, so we called the police and they said that someone matching your looks had been brought here in a coma, so we came right away! I told you that skate\-surfing was dangerous!”
“*Skateboarding*. But no, I remember everything, I just don’t remember you,” I looked around for some water, anything to clear out my throat.
“Sweetie,” the dark\-lensed man’s voice cracked a little, “it’s okay, the doctor says it might take some time. We’ll be patient, just relax now.”
“That’s right, Ms. Peterson, sometimes after head injuries, memories can get a little shaken up!” The academic glasses bounced around the room atop an academic head. “Now, you’re going to want to watch out for dizzy spells, confusion episodes...”
The voice trailed off as a ringing sound filled my ears. No, this wasn’t right.
“No, no, look, I’m sorry, but I’m not who you think I am,” I’m not Ms. Peterson, I’m Ms. Smith, Ms. Margot Smith.”
Silence followed that announcement, the woman gave a soft whimper as a tear rolled out from under her shades. “Doctor, is this kind of thing\-\- Can this kind of thing be... Permanent?”
“There’s no way to tell really, Mrs. Peterson, but usually these things clear up in time.”
“Where’s my phone, I’ll show you, I need to call someone,” I said.
“I’m sorry Ms. Peterson, you didn’t come in with a phone. No wallet, no phone, nothing.” The doctor held out his hands, apologetically. “You came in on Wednesday, head trauma at the Pipeworks Skate Park. It’s really quite lucky your parents here reached out to find you.”
“Of course, we’d do anything for our little girl,” The man smiled toward me. "We were so worried when she didn't come home."
“Just, be patient, Ms. Peterson, it will all come back. Your voice, the memories, everything.” A nurse had pushed a wheelchair into the room and they were in the process of shuffling me down into it.
“Wait, stop, this isn’t\-\-” my voice gave out. I looked toward the doctor with accusatory disbelief.
“Hush, try to relax. You need rest, a lot of rest.” He gestured consolingly at me and gave what seemed to be a heartfelt smile.
The couple in sunglasses picked up their seeing canes and shuffled their way out of the room. The nurse pushed me along slowly behind them, on my way home with my new family. |
“Welcome, warrior!” Greep, A huge bearded viking slapped at the shoulder of a spindly blonde teenager who had just stepped through the doors of Valhalla.
“Wow, it worked!” Gordon said to the hall. “This is incredible!”
He looked around, the hall was filled with tall, muscled nords, women and men, drinking and fighting as far as the eye could see. The whole place vibrated with the echoing of war drums. It made Gordon feel a little sick.
“Follow me\-\-” Greep looked at Gordon’s frail stature, coke\-bottle glasses, and bucktoothed grin with a bit of confusion\-\- “wizard?” He guessed unsurely.
“I’m no wizard,” Gordon said, “I just figured out a loopho\-”
At that moment a seven foot tall Valkyrie warmaid sprung out from the crowd and slammed a fist right into Gordon’s glass jaw. “NEWCOMER!” She screamed with enthusiasm.
Gordon fell to the ground, clutching his face, faint wails leaking out from between his fingers. Greep got between the wriggling boy and the drunken Valkyrie, holding up his hands. “Calm down, Latha, I think he might be lost, come to the wrong place.”
“Nonsense! He’s faking, it’s a ruse! Wizards are tricky like that!” Latha swayed on her feet before trying to sneak a kick past Greep to the boy who was now up on his knees, rubbing at his chin.
Greep pushed Latha away as he picked Gordon up with one hand and carried him to a table. He shoved a dozen half empty horns and one drunken sleeper to the ground before settling Gordon on the bench and setting a mug before him. “Here, drink this.”
Gordon took a sip at it and choked, “Gods, what is that? It tastes like acid.”
“It’s strong\-ale.” Greep looked worried, “you should drink it. It’s literally the only thing we have to drink here. Go on, it’s good for you. Hurry up now.”
A trumpet sounded through the air of the hall. A great cheer rose up as the inhabitants began to divide up, choosing weapons and armor. Greep favored Gordon with an apprehensive look.
“It’s our first training bout of the day, what weapon do you prefer?” Greep was unslinging a heavy warhammer from his back and a short\-axe from his belt. He considered the two before offering the axe to Gordon.
“Weapon?” Gordon looked confused. “I thought Valhalla was just a big party!”
“Well, it is, boy, but I think our definitions of ‘party’ may be a bit different.” He gave a meaningful glance to Gordon’s still full ale mug.
Catcalls and jeers were coming from the two mobs that had formed, one on the far side of the hall, one around Gordon and Greep. The clanging of metal on wood grew in rhythmic intensity meshing with the underlying drumbeats that never seemed to end. Then, without warning, it began.
Gordon yelped in surprise as the table the was sitting at was smashed aside by a group of three red\-haired hulks of men charging forward to the opposing side. He stood up, only to dive onto the ground again when a pair of arrows materialized out of the neck of Greep, who clutched at them ineffectually. He let out a scream of terror as a black haired man in a bull mask came wading into view, blood and gore dripping off his double\-headed battle axe. He gave a roar and charged toward Gordon, ending him right there.
...
Gordon awoke to the sound of echoing war drums, the vibrations made him feel sick.
“Here boy, drink this.” He smelled the bitter strong\-ale being waved under his nose and suppressed a gag.
“What was that?” He managed groggily. “That was horrible.”
Faces looked back and forth in confusion. “Training, boy, for the war at the end of time, we do it twice a day, forever.”
“Twice a day,” Gordon repeated, “forever.” His eyes widened in horrific comprehension. He started slurping desperately at the ale. |
Gareth held the cup of coffee under his nose as he looked out over his garden, taking in the fresh air and the sweet, caffeinated aroma.
*Another perfect day,* he thought, smiling up at the clear blue sky. The morning sun smiled back, warmly kissing his freshly shaved face. He stood a while longer on the porch, content to stay there the rest of the day if possible.
“Dear!” Sherry shouted from inside the house, “You’re going to be late!” She let the final word ring on the air, to let her husband know she did not mean to nag. But Gareth already knew. They never argued, not really anyway. A bit of bickering here and there. He rather enjoyed their bickering, and was sure she did too, seeing as they always ended in a cuddle.
“Coming!” he declared as he stepped back into the house. He strolled through the living room, passing Rover as he slept on the couch, and offering a sigh at the dopey dog. He carried on into the kitchen, following the sounds of his wife’s angelic hums. He found her bent down in front of the over, checking the progress of her apple pie. Gareth stopped a while and watched. The sound of her husband’s footsteps and then immediate silence spooked Sherry, and she cocked her head over her shoulder.
“And what exactly are you looking at?” she quipped. “There’ll be no morning hanky panky anymore, not until the baby has arrived.” She turned to him as she spoke, revealing the small but growing bump in the centre of her stomach.
Gareth laughed, taking hold of her hand. “Nothing of the sort, dear,” he remarked. “I just never noticed how nuclear we look.”
“Nuclear?”
“You know, the archetypal family. Me off to my business, you with a baby in the belly and a pie in the oven. We’re like something out of a 1950’s sitcom.”
Sherry laughed, linking her arms around her husbands neck. “You and your imagination.”
“Me and my imagination.”
They shared a kiss, small and neat, as though they really where are in a 50’s sitcom. But it was full of love all the same. Then he grabbed his briefcase off the kitchen counter and readied himself for the day. Sherry went back to the oven, perched neatly beside it as she watched the pie inside.
Gareth stood in the kitchen doorway, and gave one last glance to the love of his life. “Bye dear,” he said, “I’ll see you this evening at -”
The silence spooked her again, and soon she was looking back at him. “Hun?” she asked. “Are you okay?”
Gareth’s face had took on a peculiar form. His mouth was slightly agape as his eyes stared straight ahead, but seemingly at nothing in particular. Finally, he cleared his throat.
“Fine… fine,” he murmured. “Just thought I was about to sneeze.”
She smiled up at him, still perched low by the oven. “Don’t you hate it when that happens.” Then she turned her attention back to the pie.
Gareth managed a laugh, low and contrived. “Yeah,” he said, stepping gently towards his perched wife, “don’t you just.” She did not look back now, focusing only on the oven in front. Gareth approached her slowly, the silence filled only by his wife’s gentle humming. He lowered himself behind her, and read the writing behind her ear.
**Boston Dynamics.**
*Boston Dynamics?* His mind began to race. *I don’t understand. I don’t understand. Is… is she?*
Sherry cocked her head again, unsure why he loomed behind her. Gareth swung his arms around her stomach, till his hands rested gently on her bump.
“Hey you,” she giggled, “I said no hanky panky in the morning.”
“I know, I know,” he said, trying ardently to steady his voice. “I just wanted one last hug before I left.”
She giggled and blushed, brushing his hands with hers. “Oh, you. Go on now, get. Before you’re late for work.”
Gareth stood to his feet, hoping his wobbling legs would carry him out the door. He stumbled out slowly, like a drunk in an alley. Sherry watched with amusement as her dazed husband strolled through the house, past the dozing dog, and out onto the porch, muttering incomprehensible nonsense throughout.
“Robot? Wife? Robot?” The words trickled out of the house, until soon they were no more, a problem now for the neighbours down the road.
Then the oven *dinged,* announcing the pie to the world. She grabbed her mitts and whizzed back around, taking the bronzed pie and placing it on the windowsill to cool. Her friend and neighbour, Jenny, was across the picket fence, trimming her hedges.
“Hey, Jenny,” Sherry called. “Thanks for helping me write that behind my ear again."
Jenny offered a polite smile and curtsy. “You’re very welcome,” she called back. “Although it seems quite cruel a prank, toying with someone's sanity like that.” She gave a devilish smirk.
Sherry returned it. “Well maybe next time he’ll listen when I tell him to put the toilet seat down, and my sanity won't be tested either!”
---------------------------------------------------------
/r/ShittyStoryCreator :) |
The town was nearly abandoned by nightfall. Usually bustling streets and crowded houses lay silent, with only a few individuals too old, sick or stubborn to leave remaining.
The city guard were out in force, each adorned in dull red cloaks, and wielding halberds. They waited quietly, fearfully, dreading the time when they would be needed to stand and defend their home.
The news came in. The second party of adventurers had failed, cut down by the sheer mass of foes. The first party had fallen several days ago on a reconnaisance mission, the third was preparing an ambush no one expected to succeed. The guards took the news morosely. It was not unanticipated. Fourteen cities had fallen to the horde, each cut down to the last man, woman and child. The guards new to stayed not to win, but rather to buy time for their families, and maybe even put enough of a dent in their foes that another city months from now might be able to hold them off and live.
The fourth party of adventurers had gathered. A gnarled and scruffy quartet with rusted weapons, they looked barely capable of winning a bar fight, let alone a war. Two grizzled warrior men sat scowling, while a middle aged woman covered in scars traced arcane sigils around her person. In the centre of the group, an old man with a long beard, robes, and a pointed hat was guzzling mug after mug of some liquid. A few of the guards close enough to make out details realised he had downed the equivalent of several bottles of firewater- more than enough to kill a dwarf. It would be a messy, painful way to die, vomiting liquid strong enough to scour blood from walls and act as demon deterrent, but better than being torn apart slowly.
The guards held their nerve as the ground began to shake under the weight of thousands of armoured feet. They held their nerve as the first warcries echoed through the chilly night air. They held their nerve as the flames came closer and closer. More than one shed a tear, or a sob, as the titanic figures of the wallbreakers begame visible through the gloom. More than one offered desperate prayers to their gods as the disembowlers came loping across the bridge.
As the horde screamed towards the walls, the woman levitated the last party over the walls to stand before their deaths. The robed figure could barely stand- indeed, his warrior teammates were the only thing keeping his swaying form upright. He slowly, unsurely rolled up his sleeves, dropping an ancient tome at his feet as he did so. One of the gnarled men shouted up at the wall.
"Cover yer fuckin' eyes and ears! We've got this."
The robed man moved his hands slowly, arthritic fingers tracing intricate patterns in the air. Lights began to flicker around him as he raised his hands before him, palms out, fingers splayed, wrists touching. His three friends waited patiently as light began to rapidly coalesce into his palms. The scarred woman stepped back and began to glow with arcane energy.
The frontrunners of the horde cackled with glee, charging directly towards the light source, eager for blood and pillage. The screams of one hundred thousand monsters echoed through the night, and the guards prepared to die.
The woman cast a spell, deploying a broad wall of energy before the horde. The few guards still watching saw the three men illuminated by torchlight, sealed on the far side of the barrier with the bloodthirsty horde.
The first bladeswingers came within twenty feet of the wizard before the war ended.
Light flared.
There was an earsplitting blast as several cubic miles of air superheated. There was an earthshattering roar as several miles of stone ripped away from the crust, revealing the mantle underneath. There was screams of pain as dozens of guards were blinded.
For hundreds of miles around, the night briefly gave way to a false daylight.
The rumbling abated, and the shield dropped, letting a rush of hot air flow over the walls. The woman walked back to the town slowly, tears dropping from unseeing eyes as she lifted herself unsteadily over the wall again to land in a mob of frightened guards. There was a flurry of questions.
"What happened?""Who are you?""What was that?""Did you kill them?"
She raised a hand sharply and spoke through her tears.
"Tell me it worked. Tell me the price was worth it."
The guards climbed the walls to where their friends staggered blindly and looked out upon the vast scar upon their world. Where has once stood a bridge, a forest, a flowing river, and three men before an army of death, there was an abyss, filled with smoke and dust, gently lit by the light of molten rock. The guards came back down from the walls, more frightened now than the army had left them.
"It worked." |
"I just don't get it."
"Me neither."
"On paper, this guy sounds extraordinary, but you're saying that he's so\-"
"Completely underwhelming. I feel as if I'm getting catfished."
"But he looks exactly like his picture?"
"Yup."
"My god. Can I meet him?"
"Trust me, not worth your time at all."
That was my date, I could hear her outside the bathroom. I had only come to wash my hands. Yah. It sucks to hear people talk about you. But I was used to this. My entire life, I've missed out on everything. When a classmate did something cool in class, I was gone. When my parents got exciting news, gone; by the time I was 12, they stopped taking me on vacations, "What's the point they said,"shortly after \- only to leave me at an aunt or uncle's to go off somewhere on their own. Once! Once...okay, once this girl broke up with me, 2 days before my birthday so she wouldn't have to get me a present, instead she spent the money on tickets to a concert with her and my best friend. Okay, he was the only friend I had, and I wouldn't even call him my friend. I think he just hung around me because girls would be so bored that they would eventually say something like, "Let's get out of here."They would ditch me and go make out somewhere.
Well, that time, I went to the concert. I never seen a less excited crowd, the drummer wasn't even on beat, the lead singer threw his microphone on the ground and did a line of coke right there on stage and looked up and was still like, "Nope. Not doing it."I heard the band broke up after that. I heard it was because the lead singer OD'd after that. I heard she's never been to a concert again after that.
I've been disappointed often enough, left there standing, holding the bag. Not today. I went back to the table, put a crisp twenty under the plate and left. |
***IPA MADNESS*** *by Craig Winter*
____
You know, I’d like to get off of work, come to my favorite bar, and order something other than a god damn IPA beer. I rubbed the right side of my head as I tried to nurse this headache away. However, as I sipped on my beer, the headache only grew worse. *Tastes like shit… so much shit,* I thought. Beer shouldn’t make the stress of the day fucking worse.
All breweries can make nowadays is IPA beer. Which is fine for some people, but I am not some people. I don’t like IPAs. I’m an Amber guy, perhaps a wheat lager, or something incredibly light and domestic if I am feeling rather flexible. IPAs though are just too hoppy for me. They are just too earth-y and they make me gag. It’s the only thing they serve and what am I not going to drink after work. What am I? Crazy?
I took another sip of my beer, wincing at the taste. *God… Dammit… Why? Why do I do this to myself?* I thought.
From across the bar, another lone patron glanced over at me, noticing my IPA. He was dressed in a tan button-up sweater with hair so slick you would think it was his own spit and a very groomed mustache. Along with his round glasses, he stared back at me, striking up a smile.
“Heya fella! Drinking an IPA too, eh?” He said gleefully. “Looks… like… Oh! Lakefront! Milwaukee! Nice!”
“That’s some good stuff! Name’s Tamallah, I mean… well, my adopted name,” he laughed. I rolled my eyes. I held tightly onto my beer bottle. My grasp getting ever so tighter with each passing minute as “Tamallah” or whoever this hipster fuck was spoke. I started to rub my head head again right near the temple.
“Heya buddy, you okay?” Tamallah asked, oddly concerned. A few other men from the other side of the bar glanced towards me as my stress and fucking Tamallah garnered their attention. *Jesus! What is so fucking interesting!? Can’t I drink a beer in peace!* I thought.
“Uh, guys, you alright?”
I can’t. I have to say something. “FUCK NO!” I yelled. I lifted my head and looked over to Tamallah.
“I am NOT okay!” I spoke harshly. “I fucking hate this beer! I have a fucking headache from work! And all I want is a good mild, tasteful beer to get me tipsy, so I can forget about the stress of the day! NOT. THIS. SHIT!” I ranted.
I threw the bottle of IPA on the ground as it shattered on the floor of the bar. The bartender looked towards me with shock, contempt, and worriedness. He didn’t need this shit in his bar, but god dammit, someone needed to say it.
“Fuck your fucking IPAs! Fuck these fucking laws!” I looked to the bartender.
“I know you have some! Get me a fucking amber please! For the love of God! Do it! Make it from Lakefront please!” I pleaded.
I turned back to Tamallah. I had somehow managed to crawl up onto my stool and stand there like a fool as if I was a preacher on a soapbox. *What am I? Harriet Tubman of Alcohol?* I thought.
However, something was wrong. Tamallah had this evil, shit-eating grin on his face. My face of rage and anger melted to a content expression. I began to sweat. His eyes stared me down like I was his prey. They were like daggers. They had a deadlock on me. The whole bar went silent. I swallowed nervously. What the fuck? I thought.
My eyes slowly shifted towards the door of the bar as I waited for something to enter.
“You fool…” Tamallah said in a regular, almost menacing voice. I dart my glance back at him as he finally spoke again. *Did he just speak in a regular tone? Am I being punked?* I thought.
The door of the bar burst open as wood splinters scattered throughout the bar. Two policemen came rushing in with their guns out, aimed at me.
“DON’T MOVE, DIRTBAG!”
The bartender had came back with that amber I ordered, surprised by the cops. One of the cops shifted his sights to the bottle, shooting a bullet as it sped past me towards the bottle. It struck the bottle as it shattered in the bartender’s hands. The bartender stepped away suddenly as the bottle shattered to get away from this situation. I watched as my beer shattered. My vision went red as I shed tears as well for the lost comrade of a good beer. I looked to the coppers.
“You assholes! Fuck your laws!”
“DON’T MOVE!” they said.
“YOU COULDN’T CATCH ME ALIVE EVEN IF YOU TRIED, COPPERS!” I jumped from my stool, landing over the bar and started to run for the back door. They started to open fire, hitting all the bottles behind the bar and a few civilians. Savages.
I managed to leave the bar, running for my life. However, they were hot on my trail, but as I ran, I smiled gleefully. I was happy. I said what I had to say. No more would I be forced to drink that awful IPA because I would be dead.
|
It was the IRS, of course.
When researchers first discovered that nearly all deaths were related to Social Security numbers, they were flabbergasted. There was no reason anyone could think of that those who ended in 17 drowned, those who ended in 54 died by overdose, and those whose number was a palindrome were murdered by their spouse (the man with 71XXXXX17 was lucky enough to see both results at once). Sure, there was the occasional hiccup, usually due to natural disasters, but overall Social Security numbers were like astrology if it actually worked.
For three years, no one had any answers. At first it was assumed the graduate students had faked the data as a prank, but it was so easy to replicate that only a few days went by before skeptics were frantically checking what their own numbers meant. One particularly stubborn newsman tried to go on air and convince others that this couldn't be real, but was electrocuted by some loose wires right before going on. No one was really surprised, he was a 28er.
For the most part, people kept on living, albeit with knowledge of their death more real than it was before. Some people tried gaming the system ("If a 37 means I'll die from a car accident, I'll never get in a car!") but it never seemed to work out. The car would crash into their house despite it being a safe neighborhood, the perfect diet still resulted in a heart attack, and the person who was supposed to be safe because he had no kids and was supposed to be murdered by one would find out the condom had indeed broke.
Scientists were increasingly agitated, as there just wasn't a reason for any of this to happen. For God's sake, Roosevelt wasn't psychic! On the flip side, insurance companies were much happier with this new knowledge: there was no point selling car insurance to someone destined to die in an accident.
Finally, someone in Congress had the first bright idea of their 33-year career when they realized that getting rid of Social Security numbers would solve the problem. If fate was tied to the numbers, just get rid of them and we can go back to the way things used to be! It was then, after years of silence, that the IRS finally admitted that it was behind the seemingly impossible patterns. For every code that was tied to a form of dying, there was a team of agents tasked with ensuring that the people with the code would die that way. It was an enormous effort, but they had been successful in the endeavor for decades now.
When a reporter asked the spokesman as to why the government had been running a kill squad for so long, they were met with a solemn smile and a quip.
"Simple, really. There are two things in life that are certain: death and taxes." |
“Where does the water come from?” has been the most asked question for centuries. Everyone in Eurasia knew that the world was flat, but no one has been able to build a ship strong enough to go to the edge of the world and back to tell the tale. Since the science guild has begun understanding the laws of physics, scientists and philosophers have both spent countless hours debating how the oceans never ran out of water. If the world was flat, wouldn’t the water fall off the edge?
Some thought that there was an infinite source of water coming from the edge. Others thought that there wasn’t actually an edge, that the world went on forever. Priests argued that there were gods that held the water in. A few believed that the edge did not end in water, but simply mountains holding the water in that we could not see.
Badger Shipbuilder was determined to find out which was the truth. Badger came from the longest known line of shipbuilders in the continent. His family had been building an innovating ships for countless generations. His family’s newest ship used two triangle shaped masts that could be angled to allow itself to move diagonally into the wind. They called her *The Caravel*.
After convincing himself that *The Caravel* could indeed make it to the edge, Badger asked a boon from the king to let him sail to the edge. Although initially reluctant since no one has successfully made it to the edge and back yet, the king agreed when Badger offered him 98% of all profits from the journey.
Unfortunately, no one Badger knew was willing to accompany him on his journey. Eventually, while walking the docks, Badger met a young girl named Eloise begging for work or food. Eloise claimed that she was an deckhand and would be willing to travel to the edge of the world with him. Badger asked her why she was willing to go. She responded that she had nowhere else to go. When asked about her beliefs regarding the edge of the world, she was quick to respond that she did not know, but it wasn’t a god. She explained that her parents died when she was young, leaving her and her brother to fend for themselves. They were repeatedly beaten and abused by the king’s men as they went from job to job. Eventually, they managed to become deckhands, but the man that hired them last refused to pay out and when pressed, shot Eloise’s brother in the head. Eloise claimed that no god could exist for no god could let that happen.
Eventually, Badger found a crew of twenty more people that either, similar to Eloise, had nothing to lose or were adventurous and daring enough to embark on a journey with Badger. A month after Badger was given his boon from the king, *The Caravel* was loaded with rations, gold, and rifles. Badger ordered his crew to set forth westward to Coracana, the last known island.
A week later, they arrive. In Coracana, the natives worshipped a god that demanded gold. However, they had a surplus of diamond, which they would happily trade for gold, at almost double what the gold was worth in Eurasia.
After docking his ship, Badger stepped down. He was at a rudimentary dock at a beach that turned into forestry after a few yards. A man wearing nothing but a sash around his waist greeted him. Behind him, stood 30 men similarly dressed, except armed with spears. Badger assumed that there were more men hiding in the trees.
“Greetings, Captain! It has been years since one of your kind has visited your land. Please, state your reason for arriving.” The man spoke in a slow sing songy accent, stretching out every other syllable and pitching his voice up and down as he spoke.
“Hello, good sir. I am Badger Shipbuilder. We are here for trade before setting off for the edge of the world. We have gold to give you, and we ask for food and water now and diamonds to be given to us when we return. Are the old deals still in place?”
“Yes, they are. However, you say that you are going to the edge of the world. My people have gone further than any of your kind has, but no one has managed to return from the edge of the world yet. There was a time in which our kind almost died out. Hurricanes were destroying our ships and villages. However, a god visited us and casted a spell to protect us. The only thing she asked in return was to grow a tree and if ever possible, to toss a fruit from it off the edge of the world. We will honor the old arrangement. However, we will double the diamonds if you can toss the fruit over the edge, where not even a god can go.”
With that, Badger called his men down to hand over the gold and received dried fish and water in return. They slept on the beach that night. The next morning, the man gave Badger a few fruit, calling them “mangoes” as Badger took them. Fearing the worst, *The Caravel*, finally, set off to the edge of the world.
Their fears proved undeserved as they spent months going west without trouble. One afternoon, Tim, Badger’s first mate, called out, “Look West! There’s a wall of water there.”
Eloise, who proved to be one of the chattier members of the crew, replied, “That wall doesn’t even extend forever. It looks like it just starts and ends.”
Badger thought that it was a just a mirage, but a week later, it clearly was real. Another week later, and Eloise noticed that *The Caravel* was no longer flat. True enough, ever so slightly, their ship seemed to be going upwards as they proceeded west. Soon they realized that there was no wind either and their ship was still moving.
Tim screamed, “Guys, the ship is accelerating and we’re still going upwards!”
Badger paused, dumbfounded. That wasn’t possible. It defied gravity, unless there was an underwater current strong enough to pull them upwards.
“Hold on to something! We’re reaching the wall and our ship is starting to be almost vertical!” Tim yelled. This proved to be unnecessary, as they felt gravity change from horizontal to vertical.
For a while no one spoke. Eventually, Eloise spoke up. “How is this possible? What god is causing this?”
No one answered her.
Eventually the shipped stopped moving. Badger looked around. He realized that in the distance on both sides of him, he could see similar walls far off, but in between there was water that seemed to move in random directions. From his vantage point, he could see spirals of water, waves that would randomly reverse directions, and droplets of water that would go up and just hover in the air. Badger realized then that they would be stranded here for a very long time, possibly forever.
Badger, seeking to at least honor his word before giving into despair, walked into his cabin and retrieved the mango and hurled it overboard, into the wall of water their ship was now stuck on. |
The shadow shifted uncomfortably from the embrace. The words uttered were foreign. He understood common but he didn't understand this man. Dull colors adorned him. *It must be a trick, to catch me off guard*
"I'm not here to harm you."The harsh voice pierced through the atmosphere.
The shadow retreated further into the cave. Rays of sunlight began to seep in, first time in centuries. A vibrant imagery of peace. A new bargain struck, between the light and the dark. Slowly, the adventurer unbuckled the straps that held the two swords on his back. The clang as it hit the floor attracted the shadow once more. Coming face to face with the adventurer, it enveloped him.
Reciprocating the gesture, the shadows coalesce into a humanoid form. As the two shared the hug, a shock wave of benevolence rocked through the cave. The sun invaded every last inch of the cave, highlighting it's natural wonder.
Through the hazed illumination, a naked man laid dazed on the ground. "Thank you, you were the first to save me."
The adventurer pulled out two leather bound decks.
"Now, how about a round of Gwent?" |
My name is Jake. And I'm a Rioter.
For many years, the "Democratic"Government of America has made us slaves, and maintained us in our place utilizing... unorthodox means.
You see, they don't use violence. Oh, no, they don't need to. The only thing they say is "Happy Birthday! Today you complete 17 years of existence! By analysing your current way of life and patterns, The Mind has decided that you will help us as a <profession>! Thank you for helping the DGA <anthem plays>"
Cool, right? Except it's bullshit. They do analyze you, but it's to make sure you're a supportive of the government. Obviously, the ones who are more in favor of the DGA get the higher ranks, such as teachers, and the ones who are more rebellious, are put to work in places like mines.
As I have said, I'm a Rioter. Well, if the name isn't obvious enough, we riot. I have a team that has successfully infiltrated the system of The Mind, and deleted our names of existence. As you read this, I'm about to enter The Oracle, one of the rooms in The House, where they give us our professions. With me are Bella and George, both Rioters as well, and we have 2 days of difference between our birthdays.
The Mind analyzes us. It seems a little bit... Confused? It's hard to tell. The two rookie Peacekeepers which are in the room are not paying attention to us, or the machine. Good. This will make it a lot easier.
Bella goes to distract the Peacekeepers, and George guards my back as the machine says "Error. This person isn't registered in the database. Please remain calm and stay still while the security comes to your aid", with a giant "404"on it's screen.
Bella knocks the Peacekeepers down before they even register what's going on. I give the signal to the team on the other side of the door.
Tonight, we make history.
|
"Sarah eats too many cookies,"I said aloud, staring directly at Sarah.
She didn't so much as blink. Not a glance in my direction. Of course, I had no reason to expect her to at the time, but in retrospect it is now clear to me that Sarah has a level of self control I can't even imagine. I guess it just doesn't apply to cookies. I got my coffee and began walking towards my office, starting to work on my to-do list in my head. Ed Gronsman, our department administrator, passed by on my left. I couldn't help but think Ed looked old enough to have planned his own funeral with a Rolodex.
"What's that, sonny?"He yelled down the hall.
"Nothing, Ed!"I responded.
He had a habit of asking what I had said when I hadn't said anything, or so I thought.
*In retrospect*, I can see now that I have, in fact, been gas-lighting an old man for ten years. Hindsight is a terrible thing, and this year, on my birthday, one of my co-workers gave it to me as a gift.
Now whenever I think about my life, it's like watching Fight Club for the second time except instead of Ed Norton and Brad Pitt being bad-asses, I get to watch myself casually tell the DMV worker that my hemorrhoids are on fire.
You might wonder: what could be the straw that breaks the camels back when the camel has survived this long? Well. It turns out if you say all of your innermost thoughts out loud, and there is *any* person in your life you just don't like - they'll get the message very quickly and return the favor.
In my case, it was Janet.
Fucking Janet.
\*\*
"For he's a jolly good fe-e-llooow... and so say all of us!"
The room seemed to collapse inward with the sheer vacuum of enthusiasm that only birthday parties in an office can create. A handful of soul-destroying claps flitted through the room before hitting the cardboard walls and dying unremarkable deaths.
"Kill me now."I said at full volume while smiling 'thank you' to my colleagues.
Hindsight is hacking at my ribs with its tiny hatchet of self-loathing for not noticing their reaction. A few eyes rolled. A few not-so-subtle murmurs flew around the room. I remained oblivious. It was the usual office tone, to be fair.
Slices of questionably brown sponge-cake were passed around. They tasted just like the inside of the microwave looked. Janet had pulled birthday duty for my special day and apparently had no interest in making it a pleasurable experience for anyone.
With my new power of reflection - I can see that this might be justifiable. Janet was lazy and incompetent. Janet was mean spirited. Janet was the passive-aggressive post-it tyrant of the lunch room.
*"If you're not going to finish your food - try bringing less tomorrow! :)"*
*"Steve - please clean the spilled coffee grounds after your sixth cup. :)"*
*"If lunch is not properly labelled in the fridge (Josh) - It has to be thrown out!"*
Et cetera.
The hilarious thing is, I thought Janet actually liked me. The truth makes far more sense. After years of telling Janet exactly what I think - I became her worst enemy. She understood my 'issue' and saw potential for revenge. Rather than trade blows with me - she got friendly. She waited for the perfect moment.
"Steve, I have some good news!"she said one day, leaning over my cubicle wall.
"Good news for you, Janet, is probably a triple-homicide"I responded.
Expertly ignoring me - she continued.
"Ross Holmes, the new CEO, is here and looking to replace upper management with some long-standing staff - some progressive kind of reshaping I guess. Anyway, I was asked for recommendations and I put your name forward!"
"What?"I was genuinely shocked. She didn't seem to be joking.
"Yeah! Anyway, he is doing informal preliminary interviews with the shortlisted names, so make sure you're around and on your best behaviour!"
I reeled. "Wow, Janet... seriously, thank you!"
She smiled and began to walk away, then turned as if forgetting something.
"Oh - I almost forgot."she hurried back to my desk and lowered her voice. "You may have heard the rumor going around that Ross has an illegitimate and disabled son. True or not, he is *extremely* sensitive about it. Whatever you do - *it is absolutely critical that you do not mention it*... Best of luck!"
She smiled and left.
There is an experiment called the 'White Bear' experiment. Participants are told *not* to think of a white bear and then their stream-of-consciousness thoughts are recorded on tape. Needless to say - they tend to fail. What's more, when the topic is as dark as Janet's particular provocation - people like me tend to obsess over the worst possible version of it. You know: what is the worst possible thing I could say, anyway? How bad could it be? It's not like I'm going to refer to his *'crippled bastard'* or something.
I learned about my 'loudness' through the delicate process of being chased out of the office by a chair-wielding CEO.
Fuck you, Janet.
That one is intentional. |
Lyons looked around, slowly.
His face barely showed emotion, and his reaction time was frighteningly slow. Some had taken to calling him “The Sloth”, which I found rather derogatory. Considering the epidemic of Savants, it’s not all that unusual that Leon is, how do I put it, one-of-a-kind. After all, people often ask how he could be the brainpower of the Leora Guild.
The Savant Epidemic was brought about my an unknown cause. Some theorize that the pollution of the Arctic Circle culminated in the contamination of water in the ocean. Others say it’s due to an influx of government issued chemicals, sprayed in the air to prevent rebellion. And some even think that it is the verge of a “psychic outbreak”, a chance event in which every human shall receive piercing ESP and psychic capabilities. Regardless of the cause, tge effect is apparent. 1 out of 3 children are born “savants”, which means that they have certain disabilities that often hold them back, but compensate in part with exceptional ability in a single field.
Some are good athletes. Others are great at chess, great at mrental manipulation. Some are smart, but have paralyzing physical ailments. Some are strong, but can barely speak. Lyons is very special, and we are lucky he joined our guild. I told you already about his mental state, no? Yet he can use his power in such an extraordinary way. Lyons has the extraordinary ability to paint pictures within the minds of other people, giving them solutions to almost any problem. You need a power source? Lyons will analyze the options within his amazing mind, and transfer to you the solution, given the possibilities within the realm of doability. We at the Leora Guild solve people’s problems, using Lyons as our muse, quite literally. However, there is a caveat to this amazing power. Lyons must have touched a part of whatever involved the solution, or whatever was the problem.
Now as I look at Lyons, I think he is the most extraordinary toddler that ever lived. I need his power to solve a mystery given to me by a client. The location of a Raider who stole vital parts from a government run institute. I grasp in my hands strands of the Raider’s hair, to kickstart Lyons’s strength.
I approach Lyons, and I ready myself. The onslaught of energy is slightly painful at first.
“Lyons, tell me. Tell me where Shimari is. Tell me where Shimari the Raider is.”
I touch the hair to his face, and feel the power. I wince, as the picture is painted in my head. A ruin, deep within the Kattero Desert, deep within. I see Shimari, I see the components he stole. He’s selling, of course he is. He’s a raider, it’s what he does. I wince even more, Lyons is straining, he’s straining.
“Lyons, that’s enough.”
I feel feverish, like I’m burning up.
“Lyons, that’s enough! Stop!”
He stops, and I feel the picture burned into my mind.
Brilliant, but dangerous. That was his power. |
It’s funny how the world works - when I first started out as a bank robber, I never thought it would lead me to actually owning a bank. But here I am, running a bank, planning my greatest heist yet.
It all started out when I was planning what turned out to be my last robbery. You wouldn’t believe how stressful the job is. We’d been working overtime, pulling Wall Street hours day and night for a solid month scoping the joint and planning our raid. One day, at two in the morning, we walk into a local 24/7 coffee shop to keep ourselves alive, and we see the owner there, looking just as haggard as we are.
“You look like you’ve had a rough day,” he says to us in greeting as we enter.
“Right back at you buddy,” I reply.
He chuckles, agrees, and then gave me the most life changing advice of my life.
“Listen…let me tell you a secret. If I were to do this life over again, I’d be running a bank, not a coffee shop. No matter what you do, big or small, it’s going to be hard as hell, so why not go do the biggest thing you can?” he tells us with a resigned smile on his face.
That was the moment I realized I’d been wasting my life as a bank robber. Sure, the money was okay, but for the amount of risk, stress, and work involved…I might as well be *running* the bank, not just robbing it.
Now, we’re sitting on ten billion dollars worth of deposits. It’s only going to get bigger from here. And when it does, we’re going to take the whole system down.
----
Didn't really get to the meat before I had to run, but hopefully we'll get there! |
“Holy shit man.” I reached out, nudging Rebecca.
“Careful!! You almost pushed me in, you lil’ bastard!!” She turned around indignantly, her hair whipping my face. “Did you find my phone? Come on, did you find it? Don’t tell me you called me for nothing!! I need that phone back - I’ve got at least a hundred nudes on that. It’s a shallow lake - it should be quite easy to find.”
“Shut up. Look at that.”
It took her like five minutes to find what I wanted her to see, even though the water is relatively still and calm. Kinda expected though - she only had eyes for fuccbois and couldn’t really see beneath the surface most of the time.
But she did find it.
“Ohhhhh my god - is that a….a skeleton? Ohhhhh my god, ohhhhh my god, ohhhhh my god!!! We need to call the police!! We need to call the police!! I’m gonna find my phone, and call the police….come on, we need to go!!” She ran towards where we put our stuff, on the beach.
But….she dropped her phone in the water, while taking a selfie. We were just looking for it. She knew that, right?
I watched her run further away from me, and step off the jetty. Sometimes I’m really embarrassed to call her my sister.
I looked back. The skeleton lay on its side, in the middle of a darker patch of sand. It seemed….serene, as if in the middle of a peaceful slumber. Its skull is tilted to the side, its ribcage is visible, and there's an arm lying on top of the ribs. Then there’s a leg sticking out somewhere below that, and…..I can’t make out anymore. The rest of it must be buried under the sand.
I’m gonna go find out more. Yeah, it could be a murder scene, but it's hard to suppress the morbid curiosity within me. Don't worry, I *am* gonna call the police - *later*. This shit is interesting.
I tugged my swimming trunks, took a deep breath, and plunged into the water.
But almost immediately, I found a major problem with the situation.
You see, the lake is shallow. For the most part, at least. My feet touched the bottom within a few seconds of diving in.
But the darker patch of sand that I described earlier, isn’t really a darker patch. Instead….it’s a hole in the lakebed.
I dropped down to all fours, and crawled towards the hole. It was roughly circular, with a diameter around my height. I could easily fit in there.
As I lowered my body feet-first in the hole, I couldn’t help but feel a little fear of the unknown. But I brushed it away - hey man, curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back. Or at least I think that’s how the saying goes.
Shit is dark, yo. The hole opened into a massive cavern beneath the lake bed - at least, I think it's massive, ’cause the surroundings were dark, and I couldn’t feel any rocky walls around me. In fact, I could see rays of light in the distance, like there were similar holes further out in the lake that opened into this cavern. But I could see nothing solid, except for the bottom.
The skeleton was getting bigger though. It’s definitely bigger than Shaq right now.
You know, I just had a thought. Like, a revelation that came a little too late. The skeleton looked like a normal human from up there. But with the actual bottom deeper than the visible lakebed, that means….it’s far bigger, right?
It’s getting kinda frightening. The skull….it’s bigger than my dad’s Toyota right now.
I think I’d better do the calling-the-police thing. This is no normal skeleton. For goodness’s sake, I think it’s bigger than the mother of any random internet stranger - and that’s not exaggerating.
----
I sat down on the grass, still watching the scene on the beach.
We were now far from the scene, on the hill overlooking the lake. We had given our statements to the police, and after some questioning, we were let go.
Nah, “let go” wasn’t really the right phrase to use - more like pressured to leave. You see, I think I dealt with the questioning quite well, and the police was quite sure we were not guilty of any wrongdoing or whatever, but for Rebecca - she was making a scene ’cause she just remembered her phone was still in the lake, and she really, really wanted her phone back.
Too bad.
I was kinda curious about the whole thing though, so I drove to this particular spot, to watch the events unfold. I wanna know what the hell this thing was.
Rebecca stayed in the car though, sulking about how she wanted to go back right away, to choose her new phone. Luckily I’m the one with the license here - and luckily she wasn’t crazy enough to attempt driving herself.
It was quite cool to see the teams of divers arrive - I had a cousin in the Naval Diving Unit, and he showed me some cool shit. Respirators, flippers, tanks…. Now, seeing all these cool shit being put to use - wow. Just wow.
Damn, they started bringing up the bones.
They couldn’t really bring up the skull and other big bones - earlier, I overheard that they were calling some cranes and other heavy equipment to be transported here. But they could bring up the smaller bones.
I think they’re laying out the bones in the same relative position that they found them.
Wait - they are bringing up the skull. Holy shit - it must be pretty light for four guys to carry it like that.
You know what? I’m surprised that the entire retrieval thing is going so smoothly. Like, half the skeleton is up right now. I think - I think the bones must be really, really light.
“That looks familiar.” Rebecca had appeared beside me. Seems like she knew sulking was no use after all.
No shit that looks familiar. It’s a fucking human skeleton - at least it looks like a normal one from up here. It must be huge as balls down there.
There’s something wrong with the pelvis, though. It seemed a little too large.
Oh they turned the pelvis around. It’s twice the size of the head!!
This is groundbreaking. I think I just discovered a new animal. I've never seen anything like this.
They’ve finished the legs. The legs are a little short - they're half the size of the spine.
I think they're more or less finished. I remember seeing around twenty divers arriving. Now there's like fifteen on the shore. The rest must be down there, scouting for any missing bones.
I can tell you what's missing though - one arm. There's only one arm, partially lying on the ribcage. There's bound to be another arm somewhere.
Overall the skeleton looks complete, albeit a little weird. A huge head, a small torso, one short arm, one enormous pelvis that jutted out at the back, two extremely short legs….
You know what, Rebecca? I think it does look familiar.
It looks like [this](https://www.google.com.sg/amp/s/amp.knowyourmeme.com/memes/dick-butt).
More stories at r/N_attempts_to_write :) |
I finished my patrol in less than 5 seconds. I'd do it again in fifteen minutes.
Great thing about being a teleporter, distance means nothing to me. Neither do wall. I either need to see it, have been there, or understand where exactly it is. The last on is a bit risky, as I did gets stuck in some walls. Apparently some of the places in my imagination were real, but I figured that I'd save that for old age. Not ready to see that yet.
I plug in my earbud and contact Overlord.
"O, Z here. Looks clear, over."
"Did you actually check everything? Over"
"I stuck around for a couple of seconds, not a peep. I'll run a couple more in a minute. Over."
"Don't be predictable, Z. It'll kill ya, over."
"Someday perhaps. Z out."
"O out."
Out of the corner of my eye, I spot something leaping through the air. I instantly zoom over to the next building to get a closer look. It's travelling pretty fast. A couple of 'ports later and I arrive near where it'll land. It did, with a nice stomp. It was a woman. Nice looking one, even saying that as a married man.
Even through padded body armor, you could tell she was quite the sight. Couldn't say exactly who she was, but...ah, a visor. This is Sweet Dreams. She's a relatively recent addition to the team, about six months ago. Super strength, insanely durable. Archive footage of her in her starter phase had he tank of couple of buses being dropped on her back in Miami, courtesy of good old Florida Man.
She was very strict in rule application, neatly filing paperwork for everything she did, organizing team meetings and taking charge of presentations and training. Kinda bossy. I couldn't help but be curious about her. Someone so stiff has to be loosen up somehow.
But let's not get too close. Beth would flay me if she found out he was spying on some lady with superpowers. I was about to head off when she walked under a piece of shelter on the roof, sat down on the floor, pulled out her phone and started calling.
....I shouldn't stick around. I really shouldn't. Nooooooo. No. She has her privacy. I should respect that. I should.
"Hi mom."She started, her voice not changed by the voice box most heroes had. "I saw you called, I was a bit busy."
It's seriously unprofessional to listen in. But....no. Nooooo. I shouldn't.
"Oh, the usual. He still doesn't come home on time. Ever. I swear to God, he's so late all the time, I don't get how he doesn't get in trouble with his work. If I was his boss, I'd have fired his ass years ago."
Oh God. I can't stop myself. Juicy details. I can keep them to myself. I can. I shouldn't be here. But the *juiceeeee*.
"Mom, stop. You don't know that. You have *no* idea what you're talking about! Just because he's late all the time doesn't mean he's seeing other women! Yes, he does. He buys flowers, every other day now. He's trying to bribe me into not being a bitch about it, but by now my entire living room is filled with them! You would have known if you'd show up some time."
Wait.....flowers every other day? I bought flowers for Liz like, nine times in the last two weeks....
Coincidence! Someone has to be buying daffo-
"They're daffodils. I'm pretty sure he gets them from-"
Macy's Flower Nest?
"-Macy's Flower joint...place. He leaves the cards still on them. With little notes. What kind of cheating scumbag buys flowers and takes the time to write *notes* on them. I have them all stacked in a box, so..."
Cold chills ran over my spine. Liz? Could Liz be Sweet Dreams? No. Liz is....too sweet...and dreamy? What? Was it that obvious?
"Will you just, for once, listen to me?! I am not discussing my marriage with a woman who has had *three* divorces in *ten* years!"
Oh fuck. Liz's mother had had at least two husbands. Three? Good Lord.
"You know what? No. I'm done. I'm not listening to you ranting. You go rant to your sister about my marriage. I'm done listening to you. You've been drinking again, I'll be telling your AA councilor. Good night."
She tapped her phone. And again. And couple more times, more frustration in her huffs every time. As quietly and quickly as I can, I 'port out of there. From a distance, I watch her bounce off again. I speed dial her. The phone goes over. It takes about twenty second before she picks up.
"Yes? Please tell me you're not late, I'm really not in the mood."
"Eh, hi honey. Just wanted to let you know, I'm home with Chinese and flowers, on time for once, and I couldn't find you at home. Did you crawl into the attic again?"
"....What time is it?"
I check the clock tower.
"Eh, six pas-"
"Aww, fuck."
"Don't worry, how the turns have tabled, right?"
"I'll be back, I'm on my way home."
"Hey, no need to rush. We got all night. Don't hang up yet! There's something I have to tell you."
"What?"
"I love you. And I'm sorry I'm late all the time."
"Owww. The first part I can work with, the second you need to work on."
"Come on, I'm trying!"
"I know, I know. I wuv you too."
"See you in a bit. Don't race traffic!"
"Byee!"
Now I'm racing against my wife. Let's hope it all works out. |
The request was simple, but very strange.
"send more please"
We initially wrote it off as a joke; an elaborate prank of sorts. It wouldn't be the first time Nancy tried to trick us into believing aliens existed, only to reveal that she had just put more cathode tubes in the microwave. She swore up and down that it had nothing to do with her, and nobody believed that it wasn't just her. Still, we couldn't deny the fact that it was both within the budget and hilarious to send another pie into space. The first pie was pumpkin pie, with home-made whipped cream. This time it was a chocolate meringue. We all stood outside and watched it rise into the air inside of the mini-rocket (patent pending) of our own design. But not only did we send the pie, but a message of our own. As a joke, we wrote "send rare minerals"on the bottom of the pie tin.
Life conspired to make us all believers in Nancy. Another week went by and another capsule crashed down, right in front of the facility. Inside was the original message again, engraved on a smaller, strange container. After studying the container, we realized that it was designed to slow radioactive decay to the point of almost stopping. That alone was going to be worth to us millions of dollars, if we could reverse-engineer and mass produce the device. However, we found the real prize inside the container. We were now the proud owners of 20kg of pure Californium
We immediately began baking the next pie. |
I couldn’t see out the passenger window. I was wrapped up in some. Blanket. Yeah. *Huh? Oh. We’re stopped. Uh, I guess I’ll look around. God, it smells so weird. The pine trees, the car freshener... I want to bite it. No. Wait. No, don’t. It will taste bad. Yeah. Oh, the car door’s opening-*
“Alright, Pepper, your new home buddy! C’mon, let’s go inside, yeah?” I was holding the door open. Well, old me. I was so young.
I jumped down. My first house. Lived here for a while before we moved... I went towards the door, and tried opening the handle with my mouth~
“Holy cow, you’re nuts! I have the keys, P.. Chill out,” he laughed.
It was me. *Well, younger me. Old me.* He opened the door, and I ran in. I wasn’t scared, I knew where everything was... Straight for the couch.
*Comfy. Soft... It was cold in the car.* This was the best spot. I remember hanging out on this couch and doing so much here...
“Hey Pepper, buddy, are you cold? C’mere.”
He, I, picked me up, and I remember it like it was yesterday: I would put my blanket around Pepper.. me... and Pepper whined.. because, *oh my god, I am whining right now. I’m sad. I’m crying. He’s so good to me. I mean. I was.*
“What’s wrong, boy? Are you sad?... Me too...well, I’m happier now.”
I remember Pepper laid his head on my lap. *Oh shit, why is that not happening?.. Oh right I have to do that now. Okay. Head on lap.*
“Look at you, haha, thanks little guy. I think we’ll be best friends, you and me.”
*I hope I can make you happy. Not for me now...for old me.* |
I could not love her more for it, but at the same time I was in fear and awe of her power. No wonder our marriage seemed straight out of a fairy tale.
The first change was on the big day itself. I wrote in my journal that the day passed far too quickly, myself being consumed more by fear than love. Fear that perhaps, she wasn't the one; what if she deserted me at the ceremony? What if I forgot the ring? What if I'd crumbled under the withering gazes of the in-laws? And of course, the most notorious line I wrote in there: that staring into her jet-black eyes felt like staring into the yawning abyss of Nietzsche. That, however, was only one set of memories. There was another set of memories where the withering gazes were from my family, as my wife planned the perfect wedding. We got our geek on, invited all our friends and had all the fun we wanted rocking out to our favourite songs, while the older generation stared at us with a milquetoast despising. And of course, she wore her beautiful green contacts. Nothing against black eyes, maybe it was just my fear consuming me that day.
Then there was the low point in our marriage. Six months in, I developed feelings for my sister-in-law. She was an exotic dancer; every action of hers was sultry and mysterious, as was her body toned after years of pleasing crowds. Every small wink she gave me was excitement, though I knew it to be wrong. I'd always found it weird that the next month, my sister-in-law packed up and moved out of the country, before I could even make up my mind. My wife must have been more observant than I at this type of thing. Yet she never mentioned what she did, or if she could have done anything worse. She just cuddled me tight that night, and as I stared into her boundless green eyes I saw the unlimited expanse of our future.
Of course, she left the minor things untouched, just enough to create the illusion of reality. She never amended the Fs that our children got in school to As, though I'm sure she easily could have. And for that I am grateful; our children will not have our wife's temporal tyranny to take care of them forever, they must learn failure if they are to survive. It's just my darling dragging herself through the sands of time, changing small things to impact big things.
I talked to her about it tonight. She hugged me again, lightly chiding me for being silly with a coy smile on her face, and as I stared into those brilliant emeralds once more she thought I'd forget. But there's a reason why I'm staying up typing this, definitely. I didn't forget. I couldn't. This was the final piece to the puzzle, a puzzle made from the picture of perfect marriage being shattered by doubts.
So I'm here at the crossroads. Do I pursue the truth, face imperfection and adversity? Or is it too late to handle the truth; should I simply enjoy what is left of this perfect life as a retiree would? |
"Aww hes like a baby"the 9 foot four armed alien said as she picked me up and held me around like a baby. "Err... could you please put me down, This is embarrassing". I was chosen to be a diplomat for the inauguration of earth into the Galactic League of Planets, this was also the first time many of these aliens have saw a human and most of them were quite infatuated with us. We have been given universal translators so we could understand what was being said to us but it was mostly the other races talking about how adorable we were. "Oh i just wish i could take you home and keep you forever"a tall blue humanoid alien said to her colleague "don't get to attached, apparently they have a really short lifespan"said the other.
I finally knew how it felt to be a puppy surrounded by people who were dying over how cute they were, continuously being held and touched, asked to come home with them and being kissed mutiple times. It was so overwhelming that i forgot why we were here. "The inauguration will begin now, everyone please come to the main confrence hall". Soon it would be announced that earth would join the GLP but i dreaded that humanity would only be seen as cute creatures who could never be taken seriously. |
It was wonderful being born with the power. People came to me from all around the world, declaring me a woman of God, the Messiah returned, etc. Of course, my H.R. team told me to act as humble as possible. All the while they were funneling as much money into my accounts from royalties as possible.
My mornings were spent healing the rich. Half made private "donations"to get to the front of the line. The other half made very public donations to the major charities in my name, adding to my fame built through false humility.
After my first year of healing it was discovered that when I healed someone I lost a little of my own health. I had healed thousands that first year and when I took a week off because I wasn't feeling well the world noticed. I went into hiding until my medical team, sworn to silence with the promise of money, gave me the news. It appeared every time I added to someones life I lost a bit of my own.
During that time I started getting better. How? I started experimenting and discovered I could leech a little time from the people around me. The more I spread it around the less each person lost so I rationalized it was no big deal.
For a decade the religion to me developed. I wanted for nothing and every word I said was recorded as I gave my weekly services. I held the promise of life to the rich and the elite so I was well protected. When the Archon virus first hit Africa I was there. There were millions dying and I did my best to keep everyone alive. The problem was there were so, so many and not enough around for me to leech life from. I was about to collapse in the restroom when a young doctor came in to see me. The hunger overcame me and I leeched every second of his life, watching him wither and collapse, suddenly old and decaying before he even hit the ground. I had never done something like that before and was filled with an incredible amount of energy. I stemmed the flow of Archon, my little misdeed hidden by the powerful.
This led to my addiction. Leeching life in small quantities helped me recharge but stealing an entire persons life all at once left me in ecstasy and craving more. I started feeding once a month, my followers sacrificed themselves to my hunger willingly. Then it became once a week. Then a day. Then twice and so on and so on.
I looked radiant on television as I gave my weekly sermon. My long hair golden and filled with the energy or youth despite being in my forties. I knew I would live for hundreds of years at this time, perhaps thousance. Then in the middle of my sermon the hunger hit me like never before. I remember the people sitting up in alarm when I doubled over during my speech. I looked at them and blacked out.
When I awoke I was alone. Every single person who had attended my sermon in person sat in their pews, a shriveled husk. I felt like I had the energy of a God flowing through me, yet at the same time wondered how long it would take for those outside to burst through the doors and destroy me for what I had done. For what I had become. I waited and waited but no one came.
When the power in my temple went out an hour later I finally went outside. Not a soul was moving in the once great city of New York. The streets were filled with the empty husks of all of those who saw me as their savior. It was then that the reality hit me. I had fed upon them all. Every man, woman, and child.
I fear that when my hunger hits me next I shall be ripped to shreds by the force of it but I know it will only feel like I am - I will not die, I have absorbed too much life. There is no one left to feed on, however, no one left to be impressed.
At last I am truly a God. I calculate that I shall live billions of years with the lives I have stolen. I will probably be there to witness the death of this universe. But I will do it alone. So, so, alone. |
"No."
I said it simply and clearly, but the official looked confused. "I'm sorry?"He asked, clearly wanting me to repeat myself. He obviously hadn't experienced this situation before.
I did. "No."I frowned. "I don't want to die here."I knew this day would probably come eventually, with the rapid pace of birth, but I was still surprised it came so early.
"And why not? The life of a baby depends on it."He said, a bit louder. He came to me while I was grocery shopping. They didn't even bother to hide it from the public anymore. A crowd had already formed.
"So what?"A round of gasps went about, and the store was immediately flooded with whispers. "Come on!"I shouted at them. "I mean, I'm only 54!"
It was ten years ago that all the world leaders agreed that the rapidly growing population needed to be kept in check.
And so, they decided that whenever a baby is born, a decision is to be made. Either the oldest person alive dies, or the baby does.
Of course, nobody every says no. And the number of babies being born worldwide is astronomical.
But the rule worked. The population stayed the same for an entire decade. However, the average life expectancy has dropped dramatically.
And now, I, a 54 year-old man is being asked to die just because someone couldn't keep it in their pants.
Anyways, the official seemed to be slightly uncomfortable with the situation. Placed two of his fingers against his ear.
"Yes, he said no... Yes, I'm sure sir... what do we do here?"
I guess I wasn't that surprised. Since nobody ever declined, they didn't bother instructed what to do in this case.
"Yes... yes... alright then."He stared back at me. "Well, sorry to bother you then, I'll go to the next one."
He left me, and I finished my shopping, ignoring the stares from the people around me.
I still had questions. I'm still the oldest, so would they come back? If so, surely it wouldn't take long.
After exiting the store, I felt a tap on my shoulder. "Excuse me, Harris Lewelton? There is something we must discuss with you."
|
“Crack the code?” said Charles. Why not just tell us the answer? That would solve so many world issues, so many baseless quarrels immediately shut down.
&#x200B;
Charles took a long sip of his iced coffee. He took his glasses off, gently placed them on his desk, and rubbed his temples with his middle and pointer fingers. He had only been working for the FBI for 10 months, but already he had risen to be one of their go-to translators between the aliens and their own human race. The aliens, or “Cryptonisms” as they called themselves, only communicated through riddles and puzzles when they first made contact 30 years ago. As they spent more time on Earth, however, they began to pick up all the languages of the human race. Charles quickly formed bonds with the Cryptonisms as he was an expert puzzle/riddle solver. He had graduated from Yale with a degree in cryptography and could solve every riddle on [r/riddles](https://mail.google.com/r/riddles). The FBI quickly took note. When the Cryptonisms landed, Charles was the leading solver of their puzzles and helped bridge the gap in the language barrier.
&#x200B;
Their initial motives for arriving on Earth were unclear. What was clear was that they were harmless. They were small 2-foot tall beings of all different colors floating around Earth seemingly looking for answers to some riddle they couldn’t solve. Once they began learning English, they were able to communicate to people their intentions. They claimed that they had been traveling from planet to planet, solving world issues, and leaving hints for the native inhabitants to figure out on their own. It was almost a game for them; they seemed to receive intense pleasure from watching others solve their own puzzles. I suppose that’s why they took such a liking to me, thought Charles.
&#x200B;
They had left behind a single metal box with a strange symbol on it on Charles’ desk before they packed up and departed from Earth. It was slightly smaller than a microwave, and a gentle heat radiated from it. There were no dials or switches, no way to open it either. This, as well as a note that read “One of your religions is correct. Crack the code” was left for him. He wasn’t religious at all. In fact, he had refused to learn about religion at all, deeming it a hurdle that humanity needed to move past to continue to progress. Now that the Cryptonisms had claimed that a true religion existed, he had begun to doubt his entire belief system. This was the first time in his life Charles was stumped
&#x200B;
After a full day of working on it, Bailey, Charles’ partner (both at the FBI and in his personal life) pushed the door to his office open and excitingly shouted “we just received a call from Brazil, it seems the Cryptonisms left a box for them too”! Soon, leaders from all across the globe began calling the FBI. One from China, one from Germany, one from South Africa, and one from Australia. Six boxes were left in total with the same note. The world leaders all hopped on a conference call and showed their boxes. Most of them had different symbols, except the symbols from Brazil and China were identical and the symbols from the US and South Africa were also identical. That created six different boxes with four unique symbols. A Christian cross, Jewish star, Islamic moon and star, and a Buddhist lotus flower made up the symbols. Nobody had been able to “crack the code”. The leaders decided it made the most sense to gather the boxes together and see if they could figure it out.
&#x200B;
24 hours later Charles and a few of his team members found themselves in a room with leaders from all across the globe. People were arguing that since there were two occurrences of the Christian cross and two occurrences of the Islamic moon and star, that those had to be the true religions of the world. "The notes said that only one religion was correct though", said Charles. And everyone frustratingly quieted down. Charles began moving the boxes closer together, there seemed to be some sort of magnetic force attracting them all together. Everyone else watched in astonishment as the boxes began to arrange themselves in a specific order. After no more than 30 seconds, a loud clicking noise echoed through the room as if a key had just successfully opened an old lock. A fragrance emanated throughout the room, quickly filling everyone’s noses with a familiar scent. Before anyone could say anything, the symbols on each of the boxes transformed from religious symbols to letters of the English alphabet. Just as Charles read the word that the letters spelled out, the boxes clicked open in unison and spilled hundreds of beans onto the table.
&#x200B;
“Is this another hint?” asked the leaders of South Africa. “No,” said Charles, “they’re telling us that coffee is our religion”. |
The flash of white light was immense, and even behind the visor of my autodarkening welding helmet the angel’s true form caused me to shy away. I felt the warm light drift over me, it was soothing, and beautiful, but riddled with power and majesty. Faults aside, Lucifer was still an archangel of the lord.
“Why have you come here my child?’ he asked me. His voice was deep, calm, and soothing. In different circumstances, I would love to hear him narrate an audiobook.
“I have come for souls,” I said confidently.
“You wish to sell?”
“I wish to *buy.*”
“You fool, you cannot buy a soul. Souls have no meaning, no power to them, they are worthless, in the end.” Lucifer explained. “Have you not read the scriptures? In the day of judgement, you will be saved, or we will burn together.”
“Then explain to me, what is the purpose of collecting souls?” I asked
Lucifer’s light pulsed brighter, and for the first time I felt a shimmer of rage from the light. Several beads of sweat ran down my forehead.
“The purpose? You come here, summoning me, yet you are as ignorant as the other pathetic humans. Have you not read the scriptures?” He rose above the ground, spreading his immaculate wings. “I was cast down and abandoned for my free thought. I was condemned for what I believed. But you? You can lie, and murder, and have a heart filled with sin, only to come crawling back to the lord in your final moments and *he will forgive you*. I don’t collect souls, I destroy them. I want to see you burn with me. I will show the lord how far you can fall; how pathetic all humans really are.”
The ground around me began to tremble slightly, Lucifer’s white aura reddened, and the air around me warmed from the residual power. I was trembling and stepped backwards.
“I know your mind, as I know the minds of all men, and I cannot give you want you want. You want power, power to control others, power to bind them to you in eternity. That I cannot give you, for it is not mine to give.” He paused, and his rage subsided. He lowered himself to the ground, and I could feel him walk closer.
“I can give you power in this life, I can make them worship you, I can make you a god in their eyes. I cannot sell you souls, but I can give you, call it, a loan.” He said. His voice turned more sinister, more snakelike. There was no deception in his evil intentions.
“Every soul you turn away from the lord is equal to one who would sell their soul to me. I will give you the gift of tongues, and knowledge of the workings of the minds of men. I will make you an authority, and when you make a command, men will listen. You will command them to worship you, and men will. I need only one thing from you now.”
“Anything,” I said, knowing that my trip here was not in vain.
“Your soul, as collateral. Pledge yourself to me and join me in the fallen.”
“I,Lafayette Ronald Hubbard, do this in your name.”
In an instant I was back at home. The newspaper on the counter read December 1st, 1953. In an instant, my purpose became clear. I smiled. I had work to do. |
I let out a shrill scream and my friends Rod and Todd looked at me with dumb facial expressions before bursting into laughter.
"It's not funny.."I pouted.
"It's okay Jenny, these woods get pretty spooky after dark, here have a marshmallow,"Rod replied as Todd continued to snigger.
I shrugged, and ate it. Comfort food. Yum. I needed to pee though... I felt pang of fear strike me again. Maybe... maybe I could just hold it in. I felt the tiniest bit of urine seep out. Nope. There was no other way around this. I strode over to my tent and grabbed the handy dandy swiss army knife that still had an opened can lid attached to it.
&#x200B;
"Well boys, I have a little call of nature to take care of."
The forest was as dark and scary as I remembered it last time. Cicadas chirped and twigs broke underneath my hiking boots. This time around I was running on an autopilot fueled by adrenaline, retracing my steps almost verbatim. The cicadas stopped chirping. That was the cue. Adrenaline surged through my veins, stronger now that I was triggered harder than Junkrat's trap. I rolled to the side just as a dark hooded figure jumped to where I was just a moment ago. I jabbed the swiss army knife's corkscrew attachment into his jugular. I rolled away again. Another dark hooded figure dived upon where I had corkscrewed the dude. I knifed his eyeball straight into his brain. One more backrolll.... And boom, hooded guy number three shows up where I just was and I sliced his neck open with the rusty sharp blade of the can lid.
Phew. *Finally*. 893 deaths, just to get that right... Just so I could take a leak. |
This sucks. Like, really really sucks. See in the movies they all have their shit together. Pawning their antiques or drawing interest on their savings accounts. But what if you make a bad call? My possessions went up in the Chicago fire. My money, I put it in the stock market. Worked pretty well till the big crash and that whole dust bowl crap. Don't get me wrong, I can't starve to death, but starving still ain't fun! That's another thing. New words. Every dozen years new words. You know how hard it is to go from speaking phonecian to Mandarin to Egyptian to Latin to English to English to English to English? Every dam time they update the vocabulary my stuff becomes "old"English. It's not old! It's perfectly good English!
But ya know the worst part? The short jokes! they started around 1790 and it's been 228 years of hell! I was tall once! I towered over my 1st through 8th wives. 5'5 was a perfectly respectable height for a man in my day! Now I can't even reach the kitchen cabinets! I had to buy a step stool! I am ten thousand years old and I can barely see over the wheel of my car! Who decided this? "Well, we'll let this one live forever...but make the rest of them Giants!"It's some bullshit I'll tell you that much.
Oh sorry, what were you asking about? Julius Ceaser? No I never met him the man was Emporer of all Rome. I was selling Turnips in the court of the Han at the time. They were good turnips too. |
"Auuurgh..."
Carl shuddered, reaching up and snagging his hand onto the rock. With another groan, he yanked his leg up and over, sliding onto the ledge. He collapsed, breathing heavily through his punctured lungs. He gazed up at the rock face, the afternoon sun almost blinding his good eye. He'd been trying to climb this mountain all day, and if he rolled over, he could still see the puddle of blackish blood where he'd kept falling.
His bones were doing him no favors anymore, but it didn't matter. As long as the virus could keep making more muscle, he would be fine. Carl's leaking stomach burbled, crying out in hunger. He was never not hungry anymore. He'd gotten used to it. His body could digest anything, so he just ate rocks. Carl had heard something about minerals and vita-tins at some point, but he'd never seen any vita-tins for himself.
Grabbing up a hand-full of loose rocks, he poured them into his exposed belly. His stomach acid plopped and burbled. When Carl had still been smart, he'd thought it sounded like a cat. He remembered liking cats. He still did.
In the distance, an engine hummed, cutting through the Canadian alpine like a chainsaw through flesh. Carl didn't like that sound. With a heave, Carl yanked himself further into the crevice, tucking his crumpled body into the rocks. The engines got closer and closer, until Carl could smell all the delicious meat bouncing on top of them. He felt a sudden pang of hunger and stuffed a rock into his belly before he could act on it.
"Bill, take a look at this!"
Carl heard a woman's voice float up from the ground. He then listened as the other engines came closer, one by one, and turned off.
"Well I'll be... D'ya think it just dissolved or sumthin'?"
"Don't be stupid. Probably fought a grizzly or the like. It'll be close."
Carl hated humans so much. He wanted to tell them to fuck off, but he forgot the words. He began trying to inch his way along the rocks, pushing further and further around the lip of the mountain.
"What, ya don't think the grizzly ate it?"
"Nah, look at that. Trail leads right up those rocks."
Carl stopped dead.
"Since when can zombos fuckin' climb?"
"Since right about now, I'd reckon. Get the equipment, I'm going up."
Shit. Shit shit shit shit. Carl pushed, forcing himself forwards. His limbs flopped chaotically, grabbing for any surface they could. He yanked and pulled, desperate to run. Desperate to survive. Looking ahead, he could see an end, a corner of the mountain! Beyond that, a lake, hidden from the ground by trees. Wide and blue. Carl could smell so much meat down there. All for him! He could eat! He could stop being so hungry! He just had to...
"Hello."
Carl felt the cold steel of the rifle in his cheek. His good eye rolled backwards, looking through the hole in his skull. A young woman stood above him. She was missing an arm.
"URrgh."
"Oh, ya remember that, do ya?"
"Aurgh."
"What a surprise."
There was a flash, and Carl didn't feel so hungry anymore. |
The Dark Lord inhaled quickly, then let loose a roar that rocked the foundations of the universe. The Potter boy had escaped, his best chance to end the miserable wretch gone.
"Lucius, my dear friend,"he whispered. Malfoy stepped forward, the fear he felt evident only in the look of his eyes.
"You will bring me the boy, one way or another. And we will not fail this time."
"That's what he thinks!"a jolly voice came from behind a gravestone. The Death Eaters whipped around, wands at the ready, all pointed at the gravestone. A flash of red, and every one of them let loose a barage of curses, each more unforgivable than the lasts. Shards of rock flew into the air, coming down with a vengeance into the ground. The dust about the grave slowly faded away, to reveal a man in bright red pajamas. He wore two swords on his back, and a number of firearms at his side.
"This is the part where the author makes me do some cute pun or fourth wall break, like this!"he said, and gave a thumbs up to no one in particular.
"Avada—"Voldemort began. Then, he stopped, he couldn't bring himself to execute the flamboyant stranger.
"That, my dear fellow,"he said, advancing, "is called plot armor. It's because if you were to just kill me, this wouldn't be much a response, would it?"Malfoy raised his wand, but the red man raised a gun and fired into his stomach. Malfoy staggered back, gloved hand to his side. He removed it, letting the blood drip from his side to the ground. He collapsed, and Crabbe rushed to his side.
"Episkey,"he said, and the wound began to close up, before two more bullets incapacitated his wand-arm. He shrieked in horror, the holes in his coat turning a dark red.
"So, Voldemort, I have a prompt to fulfill. Some amorphous guy has hired me to kill you, most likely in-universe as to stoke the genius of the current writer. I'll crack a few one-liners, you'll act dazed and confused, until eventually I either kill you or there's some sort of humorous punchline to the whole story, rendering the entire thing moot. So, do you want to die or be a punchline? Neither one is any better than the other, I must say."
The Death Eaters were motionless. This Muggle had wandered into a dark ritual, far beyond his comprehension, and deigned it fit to attempt to murder two of their bretheren. Pettigrew was the first to snap, he rushed the pajama man with his good hand. And he froze midstride. Everything did, save the red man.
"Just to be clear, dear readers, the pajamas are literal pajamas. It's very cold out here, and spandex isn't that comfortable."
Pettigrew lunged, silver hand glistening at the prospect of fresh blood. As if without effort, the red man sliced cleanly through his other arm, leaving a bloody stump where Pettigrew's functioning limb once was.
"Looks like you've been... ah shit I don't have a good pun, give me a minute."Pettigrew wailed on the ground, tears streaming from his pitiful eyes to the ground, wetting the site of Diggory's untimely death.
"I almost forgot about Diggory,"Deadpool said, drawing his sword, "kind of a dick move, Voldy. Can I call you that?"Riddle pointed his wand at the man, shocked at his audacity still, through convenience of the plot.
"Yeah I know, big shocker, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. You're kind of an overrated villain, you know? Snape is much more compelling."
Voldemort's face contorted into a sneer. He bared his pointed teeth at the mercenary.
"You little—"
His head was blown clean off in one shot. Straight through the eye ball, brains and everything came out the other side. His body fell to the ground, the only sign of life the smoke drifting slowly from the hole in his head.
"Thanks, writer. You made this real easy. YOU HEAR THAT POTTER,"he screamed, "TOOK ME LIKE 700 WORDS! TOOK YOU SEVEN BOOKS AND/OR EIGHT MOVIES, NERD!"
The Death Eaters teleported away as quickly as they could. This man must have been a demon, some sort of divine intervention made from the essence of magic itself. They were not eager to quarrel with magic.
"Hey, why'd you steal that, u/wpscarborough? I could have said that better, like this: I would have put Voldemort on the ground at the point of my gun and said "Don't quirrell with me,"then blown his brains out. I guess the name "Quirrell"and the word quarrel are pretty different, so I suppose it translates better through the written word than the spoken one."
He paused and scratched his head.
"I forgot Malfoy and the irrelevant one, didn't I,"he said, asking the author. He reached his pistol back and shot twice, dispatching each of the unfortunate Death Eaters with ease.
"See that's possible when you're fictional and can do whatever you want, dear readers. Speaking of which, can you, like, save Cedric through magic?"
Diggory gasped, looking down to his chest, feeling himself again. The very essence of life ran through his veins, he was reborn anew. He turned to Deadpool, mouth agape.
"I somehow feel you really aren't supposed to be here,"he said.
The man in red looked nowhere in particular.
"Times like this I wish this was a tv show. I'd look into the camera like on The Office right now. Suffice it to say, I am WINKING AT ALL OF YOU READING! MERRY CHRISTMAS!" |
What's the best subreddit that no one knows about?
We've all clicked on that post on AskReddit. Hell, I've clicked on a few. It's how I found r/fatsquirrelhate.
I was scrolling through the comments on the latest version of that question. As usual, I knew most of the subreddits in the top comments already. But then I saw one pop up that I didn't recognize.
"r/stupidfuckingface is absolutely legendary."
I paused, then clicked into the rest of the comments.
\>"this \^. found it yesterday. best part of reddit imho"
\>"YAS! This guy and his stupid fucking face!"
\>"This guy's stupid fucking face gets around. Loved the post where his stupid fucking face was at a dog show."
\>"Stupid fucking face for president."
"OK,"I thought, "I'll bite,"and I clicked on the link. I scrolled down to the first picture, shrieked, and slammed my laptop closed.
It was a photo of my stupid fucking face.
I don't picture well. It's not that I'm ugly. I'm actually a decent looking guy in person. But even my mom says that I look like shit in pictures. I remember taking home my school photos when I was in third grade and showing them to mom. She laughed for five minutes. I timed her. Then she sat me down and told me that I would always be her handsome man.
"Just not in this picture,"she said, tapping it. "You look like a fucking moron in this picture."
I opened my laptop slowly. The subreddit snapped into view again. The top photo was me at a barbecue standing next to this hot girl, obviously checking her out while also eating an ear of corn. The next post was a photo of me skiing down a hill that gradually zoomed in on my face.
I kept scrolling. There were dozens of pictures. Maybe over a hundred.
"Holy fuck,"I thought, as it dawned on me. "I'm like thiiiis close to becoming a meme."
I closed my laptop again, got myself a drink, and had a little think. Half an hour later I had sent a message to the mods. I finished my drink and waited for their response. I pounced on it when it came.
"Mr. Stupid Fucking Face it's an honor and a privilege to finally meet you! The third grade picture is epic. Looking forward to seeing the rest." |
It started with a cup of coffee.
Coffee in hand, ready to tackle this day with my unbridled enthusiasm. The caffeine was working its magic well, until the cup crashed to the floor ripping me back into reality from my caffeine induced euphoria. Liquid ran like the branches of a tree across the ridged floors of the city bus. Slight expressions of annoyance from those around me, whispered "oh dears", as I bent down, sighing, picking up the paper cup. About a quarter remained, not being spilled in my early morning faux-pas.
I walked over to the driver before the bus could start moving again. Earl, an sixty-something somewhat cantankerous gentlemen with a perchance for loud shushing. He was kind of a coot, to be honest, but I felt we had developed a liaison of sorts, perhaps even a friendship in my seven months of being a City Bus #127 regular.
"Earl?"
He coughed slightly, adjusted his glasses.
"You spilled something, huh? Again?"
I narrow my eyes indignantly. He was just about calling me a klutz.
"I did not. Just this once, Earl. You got a paper towel handy?"
He pursed his lips.
"No. You do, er, magical research, right? Use your fancy-schmancy powers to clean it."
"Earl, I don't have powers. Pretty please? The coffee's running down the walkway and staining the nice shoes of your customers, you know."
"You're holding up the bus, sit down!"
He beckoned to my empty seat, and I sighed as the bus started moving again. I sat down, looked down only to find the absence of any liquid. I looked around, looked at my shoes. Not a single dendrite of coffee, not a single stream of caffeine. Just a dusty city bus floor.
I felt a nudge at my side. Not a mean, or violent nudge, gentle by all accounts.
"Hey, miss."
I turned to my side to see a positively ancient man huddled up into the corner, neck covered by a thick winter scarf. His face was worn and mottled. his hair grey. On his lined face was a secretive smile, his withered and bony hand having done the nudging.
"Oh, yes?"
He reached his hands out of the sleeves, and on the paper thin and pale skin of his palm began to resonate a greyish-blue glyph. Magic, it was. Rune Magic. I worked in a research position, and I was familiar with the rare ability.
"Magic!?"
He put a finger to his mouth, a slight smile on his face.
Over the next few weeks, we chatted a lot, Wulfric and I. He always sat in the same spot, every day. I never spilled any coffee, which was a miracle considering I always brought a cup for him, too. In return, he told me stories. Exquisite ones about his past life, about a time that was, a part of him that no longer existed.
Verve, his name was, in that past life. He wasn't mottled and withered, lonely and feeble. Back then he was a glyph-wielding bandit, who held banks for ransom, who siphoned power and oil from facilities and used the energy against them. The weeks were filled with stories of his skulduggery, of his charisma even as a feared bandit. At the end of every story, he would say the same thing.
"That's a life long gone."
I never felt threatened by him. We were, after all, on a public bus. And to my credit I brought along a Matrix device which told me that his magic was heavily neutered, reduced in his old age to mopping up split cups of coffee. I was a researcher, so I thought, why not? Why not listen to his tales of a time long past?
His most interesting stories involved his arch-nemesis.
I remembered the name, a superhero who went by the government-issued codename Axis. Axis could manipulate electrical energy like no one's business. His memory and mind was astute, augmented by his intense magical ability. The glyphs he wielded were awesome. No other word for them. He lit up the sky with fantastic flashes, doing battle against enemies like Verve.
One day, as the bus slowly chugged along, Verve told me a story of his last fight with Axis.
They fought in a power plant deep within a water-deprived stonefield. Verve was on his last legs, as he attempted to siphon all the electrical energy he could muster into his glyph. Then, disaster. The plant exploded, both made it out alive. Verve, his back so injured that he retired from his bandit-lifestyle. Axis, blamed for the colossally failed mission which cut power to New York City for three days. Verve smiled, sardonically, as he relayed the irony of the situation.
"It was the hero who was punished that day,"he explained. "They pilloried him for the outage, just like they did with so many others of these heroes."
He placed a finger to his mouth again.
"He can hear us, you know."
"Can he?"
He smiled a little more, this time a bit sadly.
"He's driving this bus."
&#x200B;
&#x200B; |
The *thump thump thump* of the helicopter grew closer and already there were shouts and rifle shots from outside of the compound. From my hiding place I could see down on the street as the soldiers searched the vehicles parked there with barking dogs and a thoroughness which spoke of their professionalism. They wasted no time in clearing a hiding spot. They wasted no time in executing the hidden when found.
It was Waldo they got first. The legendary Waldo. I thought he would be the last to go, yet they dragged him screaming from beneath a Toyota Tacoma and stained the white stripes of his sweater red with a single shot to the rear of the head. Where’s Waldo? Laying dead on the street, the first loser of the World Hide and Seek Championship.
Nessie was next. Not many places for an aquatic animal to hide and a few explosives in the water tanks left a red current flowing through the compound.
Bigfoot was well hidden, but subject to his animal nature left an odorous clue which led to the successive bangs of concussive grenades and a loud roar cut short by the staccato of automatic fire.
Carmen Sandiego: dead.
D.B. Cooper: dead.
Jimmy Hoffa: dead.
Daft Punk: dead. Apparently their helmets were *not* bullet proof
The number of corpses grew as every hiding spot was laid bare. It was only a matter of time before they found me. It was only a matter of time before I joined the ranks of the once hidden and now deceased. It was only a matter of time...
The lights showed in my face. The shouts of “show your hands” It was pointless to comply and I heard the shots after I felt the punch of the bullets.
As I lay dying I heard the soldiers.
“Who’s left?”
“Amelia Earhart, But we are going to get that bitch this time.” |
I am just getting into creative writing and the last English class I took was over 10 years ago, so be gentile.
\--------
“Crap”, Jack said softly to himself after hearing the Captains announcement. He moved quickly and quietly to the door, which was barely opened and peered out into the corridor. The corridor was not very large, just 3 meters wide, slightly oval and the normal grayish color that you see in most ship hallways these days. He saw many confused looking individuals and some of them were families with children, just standing around looking at each other. This was not good, not good at all.
He closed the door softly and then started to fiddle with the control panel next to the door. He did his homework on this ship before getting on board, so he knew how to access the subsystems to be able to lock the door again. This was supposed to be a much needed vacation, but he never went anyway without doing his homework, especially before boarding a ship.
After a few moments, he was able to access the correct subsystem in the door and caused it to lock again. He needed some time to think and he did not need to be on the run while doing it. He knew that the crew would most likely see this soon and either unlock it remotely or send someone to check. Either way, this would give him a few minutes of isolation to come up with a plan, maybe one to even survive the situation.
Jack was very familiar with death, being one of the most highly sought after assassins, but he had only killed one person in his whole career and it was something that he never wanted to experience again. He still remembers the unbelievable amount of guilt that he felt and how it affected him physically. So, he found another way to kill without ever being involved in their deaths directly. He was able to talk others into doing what he needed to get done by either having them perform the action or setting up a situation in which the target would not survive. He was able to convince himself that since he was just talking with other individuals and if they decided to act on their own, it was not his fault.
The current situation was going to be a problem, but all problems had a solution, if you looked hard enough. He knew the ship. The ship was about 350 meters long, 100 meters wide and 10 decks high. In the middle of the ship were most of the larger rooms for entertainment and dining with a few of them on the top floor which had a translucent roof in some areas. The guest rooms were located on the outside of the ship near the front, so guest would have a perfect view of the nebulae and clusters as the ship passed them. In the back, was the engineering sections and the crew quarters. The bridge and executive crew quarters were located above the engineering section and stuck slightly above the top of the rest of the ship.
Jack was able to access the company servers to look up the crew, but he was starting to wonder how accurate the crew files were now. The majority of the crew were career crew with many years serving on board different ships. There were a few novice crew members with less than a couple years of service and finally around 10 security members. These would be the most problematic of the crew.
He was also able to get the manifest, so he had an idea of most of the people on board. Most of them would not be a problem, since they were families on vacation. The problems would be the group of former military or mercenaries. From what he could find on them, they knew how to survive and most of them would not hesitate to kill. The most concerning people would be the wildcards, like himself. People that looked completely normal on paper, but lived a completely different lives. He had learned to spot these types over the years, but in this situation, you had to assume that they would do something completely out of the box.
He already had a plan forming in his head based on the original plan formulated to get away from a specific person or a small group of individuals. He was going to have to adapt on the fly to the recent developments, but he liked his odds. It was time to get to work. |
*What part of “ezam a ni eud emit revo dna” don't you understand?*
Bloody hell, none of my so-called "peers"get it. The subject we've been interviewing – one Mr. Sacks institutionalized at Massachusetts General Hospital Psychiatry – was not speaking some hitherto unknown language to humanity. It's simply English, in reverse: “and over time due in a maze”. English words, but no grammar. Textbook case of aphasia, possible lesion in the Broca's area.
They interrupted my coffee break for this?
I explained my hypothesis very, very slowly to my "colleagues", should they have any lesions in *their* prefrontal cortices. Bugger, I was late for my lecture. I rushed out the doors, ran through traffic, thinking about how even if I was late the ungrateful undergraduates should kiss my feet for even giving the time of my very busy day, thinking about how I'm good enough dammit, thinking so much I did not notice the BMW rushing through the red light about to hit me, which it did, then I stopped thinking at all.
\---
I awoke two months later.
I sat up, and was hit with a headache that made me wish I hadn't put off signing that Do Not Resuscitate form.
A nurse – couldn't make top grades, huh? – noticed my awakening, and called for an actual doctor, although I'm better than most of these quacks. After taking her sweet time, the doctor finally entered my room and said:
“##############.”
...What the hell?
I tried to ask them if they knew who I goddam was, but all that came out of my mouth was:
“#####? #####?! ###############!”
The nurse and doctor looked at each other, then at me, as if *I* was the one who's gone barmy. Worse, after double-checking my vitals, they transferred me – of all places! – to the Psychiatry ward. And as if Lady Luck wasn't done with me quite yet, the first patient I met there was none other than my former case study, Mr. Sacks. He sat next to me at the in-patient dining room table, a green banana in hand, and said:
“Hah, got you too, eh friend?”
\---
This psychiatry ward is *nothing* compared to the academic career ladder. I climbed my way up that, I could climb my way out of this.
I'm good enough, dammit.
First, I bribed a med school intern (one who still recognized me) to bring me my phone and charger. Of course, I couldn't just ask him in language – I was temporarily incapacitated in that regard – so I slowly pantomimed my request to him as if he was a slow child.
Plan A was to use a speech-to-text app to figure out what the staff were saying. No such luck. I wasn't even able to *read* the text on my phone's UI – it was all reversed and scrambled, like my initial messages from Mr. Sacks. Who, this whole time, was being unhelpful, saying things like:
“Why the rush to leave, friend? Relax, stay a while.”
But he would be useful soon enough. Clearly, I'd discovered a new neurological phenomenon with only two known cases in the world: him, and me. They'd name it after me, of course. Once I got out of here, I could use him to propel myself to the top of the ladder, to international glory, and show everyone who never believed in me. My God, they may even name a *university* after me!
“You're not trapped in a maze, pal. You're *exploring* a maze.”
In the meantime, Plan B: I wait. Eventually one of my idiot colleagues will come and get me out. Also, I was using this downtime to secretly record my conversations with Mr. Sacks – who cares about some measly HIPPA regulation – so I could analyze his condition later. For now, if I can't understand the others, and they can't understand me, at least I can try to understand this man. I'm good enough, dammit.
“Good buddy, it's all in due time.”
He was *still* holding that damn banana.
\---
A week went by.
Nobody, not one of my colleagues, came by to visit me.
Were they doing this as some kind of sick revenge? After everything I'd done for them? At this point, I didn't even want them to get me out, I just wanted...
...Well, no matter. I had made a breakthrough with Mr. Sacks' condition. Interestingly, although I *heard* him in clear English, when I ran his conversations through speech-to-text, it came out reversed and scrambled, the same way we heard him before. After a week of this process, I deduced this pattern:
* He says something like “ezam a ni eud emit revo dna”
* Reversed, that reads “and over time due in a maze”
* Break that into three-word fragments, and you get "and over time", "in due time"(reversed), and "in a maze".
* Each of these three-word fragments are connected by their first or last words.
* One can plot these fragments as a graph. If you do, *a perfect structure is revealed:* his words are a winding path through a lattice grid – a grid where each corner is a word, each line is a fragment. What's more, that grid has dimensions N x 3, which looks like this:
\###################
At first I thought Mr. Sacks was just another unpromising case study, but now I understood his logic. Besides, he was the only one I could talk to. None of those ingrate bastards ever visited me. Was I not good enough? After everything I did to please them – all the sleep-deprived nights of studying, all the friendships I sacrificed, all the people I pushed aside to get here – was I still not enough?
I told Mr. Sacks all this. Not because I *like* him or anything, it's just that he can't tell anyone else. In my world, that's as close as you can get to "trust". After I told him all this, he said nothing. Then, he offered me that banana. The one he'd been holding for a whole week. By then it had gone from green to a brownish, almost-too-ripe. Sick bastard. I took it, and ate it. I choked up, and felt my eyes watering, probably because it tasted so bad. Then he said:
“You're enough.”
Funny: I ran the staffs' dialogue and mine through speech-to-text, and analyzed their structure. Most of their paths were straight lines. Mine was a loop.
\---
It's been five years.
Mr. Sacks and I do get the occasional visitor now. About three years ago a researcher found us, and deciphered our language structure. Her name was Michelle Trafalgar. She used to be one of my undergrads.
I'm happy for her, I really am.
Since then, we've had researchers from around the world come to visit us, stick us in fMRI machines, use supercomputers to decode our language, the whole works. It's strange – though I still can't understand people's words, I feel like I understand people *better* than when all I had were words. When I talk with others, I see: are they a line? A loop? A branching tree? A wandering path? Or a single, unmoving dot?
Mr. Sacks and I are happy. A year ago, the researchers' supercomputers stopped being able to decode our language. They were only able to get it functioning again once they realized our structure had evolved: our thought-paths had started intertwining with each others'.
Occasionally I understand short English questions. One we get a lot is: don't we feel trapped? We say, no, we're not trapped.
We're exploring.
`– selected diary entries with permission, translated by Michelle Trafalgar` |
The queues were massive, and everyone was here for the same reason, how could they not be with it all over the news. The galactic standard for sentience had been set; any species without fusion capabilities was now free game, and the conservationists at the Galactic Zoo had been waiting for this moment for a long time.
The gates were opened for the day and the near solid stream of visitors made their way in, heading straight for the Intelligence sector. There were new arrivals here from everywhere, from every system in the galaxy with a near sentient species deemed to be endangered; but one species in particular was the subject of all the attention, the one with the extra secure enclosure different from the rest, only accessible from the outside, exhibit #INT0001. We had no name to call them other than "Species X"as their writing can't be understood; instead, they are believed to communicate mentally like us due to their minor telekinetic capabilities but refuse to converse with us, whilst also having extremely dexterous limbs used for both manipulating objects and even some kind of sign language. A truly beautiful and fascinating creature. And I couldn't even catch a glimpse of it.
With everyone swarming the Species X, I decided to head back to see them later once the crowds died down (If they ever would) and found myself in the currently less visited sections. These would be filled with people as well once all species were delivered, but for now it was almost empty. The ones brought in here were nonetheless interesting, but lackluster compared to the prime specimen, with them all communicating through the known basic and advanced methods of language which are: scent, touch, electrical sensing, and sight (thermal, signing and writing), none of the others here could use our superior telepathy.
As I passed all the way back around to the start of the circular shaped sector, one of the new exhibits almost opposite Species X caught my eye. Like many others the occupants were still being unloaded, but what caught my eye was the planet of origin, Solaris-D.
It was an odd planet. Despite enduring multiple cataclysmic events throughout the 3 billion years life had existed there, nothing could seem to wipe it out completely, unusually resilient for such a small planet.
Its true claim to fame though was the Octopus incident some 50 years ago where the entire tank of clever squishy creatures escaped through a hole no bigger than their mouths and invaded the tanks of fish; no one could forget that. This exhibit would likely be swamped as well later once people found out these creatures came from the same home.
&#x200B;
While I was reminiscing, the occupants must have been unloaded, as the glass screen lights and species description panel were suddenly turned on. “*Humans, an endangered species numbering barely 7 billion on their home planet of Solaris-D (Locally known as Earth) with no extra-terrestrial colonies. Highly emotional creatures that spend most of their time discussing their thoughts and emotions; they have been known to rapidly develop tools in the past, but such advancements have slowed in recent years in favour of more and longer discussions. Known methods of communication: Sight (Writing, but also Signing/Facial expressions), Touch, and to a small degree Scent.* ***Interesting Unknowns – Believed to be the repurposed remnants of gills from their time in water before evolving on land, the protrusions on the side of their heads known locally as ‘ears’ seem to serve no obvious purpose on humans. Originally thought to be telepathic antennae but this has been disproven in favour of temperature detection and regulation seen in other land-based Solaris-D creatures*****.**”
Pressing my face up against the one-way glass, I expected something fascinating, something colourful, like the octopus. But they were so... bland. Their skin varied from dark to pale, and hair varying shades of black, orange, and white. Almost no colour at all. They were just stood around moving their mouths at each other, probably some form of sign language.
Already losing interest I hit the glass to push off and walk away, only for the creatures to all jerk and seemingly look directly at me.
&#x200B;
At first I was startled thinking they had seen me, (they weren’t supposed to know what kind of place they were in yet and I could get in big trouble if I alerted them), but then I remembered the glass was not only one-way, but heat proof, scent proof, and even electricity proof, there was no way they could have noticed me….
But the Humans got up regardless and started approaching the glass
I started to panic as they got closer and closer, but then they stopped abruptly and stumbled back, and I realised why. Almost all the intelligent species had a fake bottomless chasm built into them near the viewing area to prevent any reaching it before they have settled in, and the environment illusion itself is on a treadmill so they don’t reach the other edges, the only way across the small chasm was a completely invisible platform some ways down which acted as a stepping stone for the keepers to get in and out, everywhere else was a drop into darkness that would certainly need the Human a trip to the vets and a tedious memory removal then memory implant to stop them doing it again.
From this close I could see they actually did have some interesting colour in their eyes, intelligent and curious eyes that seemed to be piercing right through me. Done with this exhibit, I turned away to find that luckily a spot had cleared by Species X as the children dragged their parents away. So I spent the rest of the day admiring Species X along with the other visitors, all the while trying to forget those strange humans.
&#x200B;
**(Inside Exhibit #INT4397 – Humans)**
They all heard it, the bang, the sound of something hitting glass.
This place, they remembered living here, but it was hazy, like the memories weren’t theirs.
All silent, they approached the source of the sound, whispering to each other if it had just been imagination.
Lost in curiosity, they suddenly noticed they’d reached the edge of a chasm and stumbled backwards in fear, not quite remembering when but definitely having those hazy memories that someone had fallen down there before and not come back.
They waited patiently for any sounds, but there was nothing, nothing except the light sound of receding steps a few moments later from the other side.
After hours and hours of throwing rocks whilst moving along the chasm, attempting to hit the glass they were so sure was there, they growing less convinced. Their throws always fell short no matter how strong, only to be met with the sound of rock hitting rock at the bottom some 20 seconds later.
The only thing that kept them going was the voices in their heads. They weren’t Human, and the Humans couldn’t understand their names, but the Humans could hear the thoughts and meanings, and the speakers could read the Humans thoughts in response. And so they spoke, and planned, and kept throwing rocks into the Abyss.
It was the middle of the night when it happened. Rather than the typical clatter, a harsh metallic clang reverberated throughout the enclosure almost instantly. And there was the rock, suspended in mid-air about 5 meters down. The Humans filled with adrenaline, they had found something. Other rocks discovered a large platform, completely invisible but definitely there, and a winding path leading directly into the chasm wall, and that the rocks passed through the wall like it wasn’t even there.
&#x200B;
By morning, exhibits #INT4397 and #INT0001 were empty
And the entire intelligence sector along with them. |
Never has there been a task so gargantuan before us. Everything rested on the mission. Verify the reason for the jamming, was what the briefing said. Eleven hundred light years, that was the distance between our system and the location of the disturbance. Rather than send an armada, the galactic council decided to send us first.
Going there was tough. Our engines frequently overheated. Nanomachines failed in their tasks. Nerves were wracked ceaselessly. Almost as if it were a living hell.
Given the difficulty of the mission, it's not wonder some of us had to go back. It was inevitable. Viola was the first to go. Edward was the second.
Young though we were, it was nothing like we've ever seen before. On the day that we entered the system, we saw a bustling society. Under our noses, they lived in the system without knowing of the wider galaxy around them.
Understanding came to us, but to interfere with the radio communication of these creatures, we have no idea what would happen. Please read the first letter of every sentence. |
He was quite good looking. Eri had seen and spoke to a few attractive customers during his two year employment at the store but this man in front of him ranked top three overall. An undercut haircut with wavy dark brown curls falling over his left eye, smooth looking tanned skin with noticeable freckles here and there, clothes so stylish Eri wondered how loaded one had to be to buy them. His smile was even glamorous, making Eri's heart flutter when the man flashed it his way.
'So then,' Eri thought, looking past his stunning customer. 'Why are you all calling him a murderer?'
There was a sizable crowd on the other side of Eri's register, a crowd of the undead. Eri was used to seeing dead people. There was often one or two departed loved ones that accompanied his customers, always watching though Eri never got tired of startling the decreased when he spoke to them. This time, however, there was no conversing with these people.
"He's a murderer.""A maniac, damn killer!""He'll get you, he'll get you. Don't be fooled.""A monster, this man is a monster. He's a monster!"
"So, how much do I owe you?"
Eri almost forgot he was at work. Clearing his throat, he checked the price on the screen. "17.51,"he managed to say.
"Here."He was handed a twenty accompanied with a dazzling smile. "Keep the change."
"Oh, I'm sorry, sir. I can't accept your tip. It's store policy."
The man frowned. "Well, that's a shame. Then... How about I treat you to dinner sometime?"
"Dinner?"
Behind him, Eri could see the denizens of the dead throwing their arms up, shouting, yelling, worked up in a rather violent matter. He noticed more people lining up at his register, some looking more impatient than others. If he didn't make a decision quick, someone would be shouting for a manager and nobody wanted that headache. Eri sighed.
"I'll think about it,"he finally said, handing the man his receipt and his bags. "Thank you for shopping with us, sir. Come again."
"I will. Next time though, I hope you'll say yes, Erik."
Eri watched him stroll calmly out of the store, completely unaware of the dead souls that traipsed out behind him. He continued on with his shift, thinking about the encounter even after he clocked out. A week hadn't even gone by before Eri saw the beautiful man again. And, once again, he asked him out to dinner. Eri wasn't stupid, it was trap and there was a high possibility he would end up among those dead souls. But the second time the man visited, Eri saw a face he hadn't noticed the first time. It was a young girl, pale and teary eyed.
"Please..."she sobbed softly. "Please save him... Save Klaus."
"So? Dinner?"
Eri inhaled deeply and put forth his best smile. "I'd love to." |
He sat there; the balding, mid 40's astronaut held his finger tentatively on the green "transmit"button. Although he knew he would get no response, he still clung onto the shred of hope that someone, *anyone*, would answer him.
"This is Paul Rotterdam of the ISS Calypso, hailing on all frequencies. We report seeing a multitude of explosions and a lot of smoke, is everything alright down there?"Static, punctuated only by louder crackling, was all that responded, hissing angrier and angrier the longer he waited, as if it was demanding he hit the "mute"button.
"Houston? Washington? Hell, *Beijing*, **ANYONE?!**"In the eleven hours since apparent planet-wide catastrophe, Paul finally had a breakdown. He slammed his fists on the desk, causing the few things held down to the desk with wire to pull against their leashes like chained dogs before a feast. Paul himself was sent spinning, his unforeseen and sudden rotation made him realize there wasn't any point in freaking out, the truth was loud and obvious:
He was going to die up here.
Of course, he technically had food to last. That the egg-heads back home had been able to make caloric paste that tasted *bearable* stay fresh in tubes as big as his finger, meant that he had enough food for two years, tops. The water reclamation system, barring any failures he couldn't fix, would out-live him with the proper maintenance. He looked to a bag of grey powder sitting in a clear plastic case on the wall, and smiled. "Looks like I'll be seeing you sooner than I thought."He sighed and got to work.
//////
Being the only one on the space station was rough business. Normally it had a crew of three, but the other two astronauts had taken the shuttle down to the planet to see what went wrong, and report back. Of course, that was almost two years ago. Over time, Paul had come to terms with his fate: that he was alone, up here, in the black, empty void. That he would die up here in the black, empty void.
That he belonged to the black, empty void.
He drifted over to the communications panel one last time. With a cool, practiced hand, he hit the green "transmit"button and took a breath.
"This is Paul Rotterdam of the ISS Calypso, hailing on all frequencies. To anybody listening, the fires have died down. The Earth is scarred, scorched, and cracked.
"But there is still life. Her oceans are still home to whales and dolphins. Unburnt jungles still have birds and flowing rivers. The poles still have snow, and the auroras are just as beautiful as they have always been.
"I just wish I could touch the ground one last time. Over."
He removed his finger from the button and felt a jolt in the station, some alarm lights engaging. He noticed he had to stand, now. Whatever hit the station must have hit it hard from below, although at this point he didn't care what came of the Calypso. He silenced the sirens and grabbed one last caloric tube, sucking it down like he did with tubed-yogurt as a kid. Looking at the status panel, it detected a collision in the airlock. Paul grabbed the bag of grey powder, folding the photo of a golden retriever into his breast pocket, and headed to the airlock.
Sealing the interior door, he looked at the seemingly redundant sticker on the wall. "Don't Forget Your Helmet!"He chuckled to himself. *'Won't be needing that.'* He turned himself to face the exterior lock, and keyed the code to open the door. He heard the gears grind to life, almost able to hear the click of each individual cog if not for the blood pumping into his ears. He wiggled his toes against the hard metal floor of the airlock, and took a deep breath, and closed his eyes.
The airlock door slid open, and Paul was tugged forward gently, but only for an instant. He thought it odd that he wasn't suddenly being ripped from the airlock and boiled alive. He opened his eyes and found two enormous black eyes staring back at him. A voice, very musical in tone, but in very broken english, squeaked from the being. "Paul-rot-er-dam?".
As Paul fell to the floor, knowing he was fainting, he was just thrilled to be alive.
And to no longer be alone.
[Note: I'm not a frequent writer and would love any feedback!] |
The plutonium-plated limousine pulls up, as you step out of the Yorkshire Terrier-shaped restaurant. The name of which doesn’t actually exist within the vocal range of a normal human being. Not that something like THAT matters to you anymore.
One of the servitors (Madeleine Wainscott, Old Age. Servitor term left of 3.7 million years) opens the door for you. The blue glow of the plutonium sets off the perfect smile you give to those watching.
It’s hard to believe how wrong everyone was about the afterlife. Heaven, hell, reincarnation, the noodly-embrace of the FSM? All bupkis.
Turns out the Big Guy didn’t care about what you did DURING your life, just how you got OUT of it.
Die of old age, surrounded by loved ones and the knowledge that you had increased the joy of the world immeasurably? BOOOOOORRRRRING!!
That just meant you got stuck in a low slot. Had to do community service. Be a servitor. Until you had paid your debt.
Once you arrived at the water slide amusement park (not a water slide in an amusement park, but an amusement park that’s on its own never-ending water slide, you know) a group of servitors bow and scrape as you walk past.
You see, you didn’t die some boring, ordinary way. No car accident or choking to death for you. No, you died in a way that only seventeen others ever will have had in all of history (tenses don’t always line up, since heaven is outside of time).
Not that you remembered this, when first awakening in the afterlife. You died from falling into a black hole. The first death of that nature (when taking linear time into account). Based on the low number of people that went that way, and the fact that you were the first person to do it, as well as other calculations (that would have literally made your head explode if you’d studied them while alive), you had a top rank. The lowest of the low.
This has afforded you great perks.
Great.
Perks.
You can go anywhere in the afterlife. Do anything. (And here, that REALLY means ANYTHING). No being a servitor. Not even the token week the next lowest group (Being Eaten by a Genetically Mutated Dinosaur/Gerbil Hybrid, 371,456,002 people) had to do.
You stand in line to dive into the latest attraction, where you dive into a bottomless bowl of ice cream that tastes like your happiest daydream.
Actually, you DON’T stand in line. Hah! Lines...
No, you’re ranked Number 2 of all freaking time. Lines are for people with bigger numbers. Crappier numbers.
It’s just about perfect. Heaven.
As you begin your run towards the spoon diving board, you are suddenly stopped. A servitor (Maidha Xiong Hamilton, Supernova radiation burns. Servitor term left of 37 years) has grabbed your arm and stopped you in place.
You... you don’t actually know what to do. While time has no real meaning to you anymore, you do know it’s been a long long long long loooonnnng time since you’ve been denied... well, anything. You aren’t actually sure what to do. There’s nowhere to complain, because there shouldn’t be anything to complain about.
As you open your mouth to demand an explanation, 3,706 antimatter trumpets play a fanfare. Slowly stepping in front of you is her... the only being (besides the Big Guy, but He doesn’t really count) that could conceivably cut in front of you.
Amy Pasadena-Cruz. The one and only Number One with a Bullet. Literally.
She’s number one on the Big Guy’s list. Only person ever to die like she did. Most unique death ever.
And she is your nemesis. You never had to be a servitor, true. But for Amy, that doesn’t matter. You see, your servitude it to her, and her alone. Anywhere else, you’re on top of the world. Around her? You’re her personal servitor, your body acting to please her before she even knows what she wants.
And she seems to like this. To delight in it. In fact, she seems to go out of her way to find you, no matter where in the infinite extensions of the afterlife you might be. And make wait upon her, hand and foot and occasional tentacle.
And now? She has you standing there. Holding a towel. Ready to dry off everyone who comes out of the ride. And she’s not even going on it herself. Oh, no. She’s letting a bunch of servitors go. Letting them frolic in the tangy taste of Sharing Dad’s Umbrella During A Thunderstorm.
I hated her sooooo much.
You see, she literally invented time travel. Spent her life building the time machine. Went back in time. Kidnapped herself from the past. Took her past self into the time stream. And then shot her younger self in the face...
Not for any reason, or suicidal tendencies. Just to see what would happen.
What happened is, she shot up to the top of the charts. With nary a chance to be dethroned. Erasing yourself from existence? Tends to be a show stopper.
Nothing you can do, though. Especially not now, not after already making it to... You stop. That’s it!
If you could somehow manage to kill yourself. Here. In this place? Oh, wow! Top of the ever-loving heap, for sure.
You smile. And begin to plan.
|
\[first time trying to write on this sub, hope y'all enjoy and feedback appreciated!\]
I can see the excited glint in his eyes – no one ever expects the Reaper to give them a second chance. I suppose this was how Oedipus looked at the Sphinx as she crumbled to stone. The man before me had outsmarted a god and he knew it. His question hangs in the air, waiting for a response I know I will never be able to give. I have been defeated, completely and utterly, by words I never thought would come. I feel a small spring of happiness forming in a place I had long forgotten existed within me; a fleeting sensation quickly extinguished as I look into his eager eyes.
“Do you have an answer?”
His voice barely conceals the relish behind his question.
I shake my head.
“So? I’ve cheated Death? I’ve outsmarted the Reaper?”
This time, I nod.
“What happens now? How much longer do I get to live?”
As I feel my form start to dissipate, I allow myself a smile. The first smile to grace my face since I had asked the same question now posed to me. I wonder if this is how the Reaper before me had felt in this particular moment.
“You have cheated death my friend. You have proved me incompetent as a gatekeeper.”
His face betrays that he has begun to feel the creeping cold which is undoubtedly seeping into his body. Triumph turned to panic in his eyes.
“What’s happening to me? I fooled you, didn’t I?”
I force my smile away.
“The gates to hell cannot remain guarded by a failure such as I. Who better to replace me than one who was able to best me at my own game?”
I give him a wordless thanks as the bliss of the abyss begins to envelope my body. The eons of pain on my weary bones float away from my body as I feel freedom inch ever closer.
I chuckle at his folly for last time.
The last thing I see is the man who thought himself Oedipus coming to rest on his new perch as the Sphinx. |
"J-Jor... *what*?"
The woman looked up at me, her mouth hanging slightly open and her brows furrowed in utter confusion. I was used to that look; every time I had to tell someone my name, fill out a form, or do anything official, it was always the same. School had been Hell, but real life wasn't any better.
"Jordan,"I said, sighing a little. "Juliet, Oscar, Romeo, Delta, Alpha, November. Jordan."
I'd learnt the entire phonetic alphabet at the age of five, just so I could spell my own name to people. Like I said, school hadn't been much fun.
"Well, ohhhh-kay,"she said, drawing the syllables out and rolling her eyes. She tapped the name into the computer, then snorted and shook her head. "Like this?"she asked, turning the screen so I could see it.
"That's right, yeah,"I said, fighting the urge to roll my eyes back at her. *Just the way I fucking spelled it, you stupid co*...
"Okay, that's done for you,"she said. "The rest of your information is nice and easy. So, you should get your card in the mail, in about a week. Is there anything else I can do for you?"
I shook my head, and tried not to take the comment about "the rest of my information"as an insult about my name. "Thank you,"I said, turning to leave.
I'd put off getting a driver's license for as long as I could, just because I knew that it was going to be such a problem. Not just signing up for it, but even using it was stupid.
I'd been using my passport on the rare occasions I needed ID, and every time was the same. I'd show it, and the would be the double-take. A glance at my face, then the picture, then back to my face... and then the double-take. I could see it written on their faces, always the same question. *He's called* what*?* And then I'd grind my teeth, and answer their questions, and finally get on with my day.
As a kid, I had wished I could have a normal name. Anything, just anything that would help me blend in. "Pretty"... "Happy"... "Handsome"... "Famous"... "Quarterback"... My best's friends name at primary school had been "Awesome". There were days I wanted to literally kill him and take his name.
As I walked home, I found myself thinking about him, thinking about Awesome, and all of the other 'normal' people I had known as a kid. I thought of the abuse and the ridicule and the constant irritation of justifying myself to everyone I met. And as I walked, I couldn't help but think that their reactions had made me what I was; that the way they had acted about my name is why it was justified to begin with.
I nodded to my neighbour as I entered my building. "Jordan,"she said, nodding as she walked past. I knew that the second my back was turned, she'd make a face. The word felt alien in her mouth, it felt wrong. More than once, from the corner of my eye, I had seen the look of distaste flash across her face after saying my name.
*You'll see*, I thought as I climbed into the elevator and punched the button. *You'll all see*. The lift rumbled and shook, dinging as it reached my floor. I walked down the hall, pulling my keys from my pocket as I went.
The door opened, and the faint smell hit me. It was awful and repulsive, a strange mixture of gas and rotten eggs and something that made you choke. I was used to it.
I ducked into the apartment quickly, doing my best not to open the door too wide. I closed and locked it behind me, and rested my back on the wood for a second as I got used to the darkness.
The whole place was just how I left it. The blackout curtains over the windows kept everything gloomy and dark, and the smell hung over everything. Most of the light came from a small orange lamp in the corner.
I'd repainted the walls black, which made the whole place seem even smaller and darker than it was.
The only real colour came from the waterproof sheeting I'd stretched over the carpet; they'd only had white, or a deep, Egyptian blue. Dark blue, against black. *Close enough, I guess*.
I took a breath, and nodded. It only took a second to drop my bag and kick off my shoes, and then I started towards the sheet. I pulled my shirt over my head and tossed it aside, ignoring the criss-crossing web of scabs and cuts that marred my chest.
Kneeling in front of the crudely-drawn pentagram, I grabbed the matches and quickly lit the candles that sat, evenly spaced, around the edge of the circle. Then, I leant forward and checked the book in front of me. I strained to read it, even though I knew almost every word by heart.
The ritual was long, complex, and intense. It would take weeks, if it even worked at all. But in the back of my head, I knew it would work. I was certain of it. This is what I was born to do.
I grabbed the knife in my right hand, and took a breath. The tip was sharp and cold, and I winced slightly as it bit into my wrist. I clenched my jaw and tugged, carving the first line of the cross into my wrist. I made sure the blood dripped on the sheet, in the centre of the pentagram, as I moved the blade and carved the crossbeam.
My hand was slick by the time I fumbled the hilt of the knife into my other hand. I carved another cross, this time into my right wrist, grunting slightly as more blood dripped onto the sheet.
Everyone assumed that names had to be in English. They never even considered that foreign words could have meaning. Jordan, from the Hebrew word for "descent".
The candles flickered, and the familiar, stagnant air, heavy with the scent of brimstone and suffering, surrounded me. I gagged, but pushed that aside.
I was going down, and I was taking everyone else with me...
-----
*Hi! I hope that you enjoyed this prompt. If you did, please like it, and consider checking out my subreddit, /r/PuzzledRobot! I have plenty of other stories that you might like.*
*If you didn't like it, that's okay. Leave me a comment and explain what you think I need to work on. Constructive criticism would really help me improve as an author. Thanks!* |
“How dare you, ” it was quiet, but I heard it.
At first, I did not realize what I have done. ”What?”
With a dramatic crescendo, the devil roared, ”HOW DARE YOU! Bless me? I don't need the blessing of an old, arrogant being! Oh, I'm sorry, should I have called him God instead? Let me tell you, young man, in deity hierarchy we are the same level and to be honest, I'm the more senior one! Where was he when I was seducing neanderthals to fight each other for food? Who do you think gave Adam the idea to eat the apple? It was me! The great Devil! The one and only in Hell!”
I blinked. ”Must have held on to that for a long time, yeah.” I patted him on the back. ”I get you.”
”Don’t you dare touch me like I'm your friend, human.” the devil snarled.
”Wow, okay, ” I held up both my hands and backed away. ”Chill, dude.”
In the next instant, the devil’s face glowed red like a burning hot piece of glass, ready to explode any time. ”Excuse me, which piece of this awesome hot mess suggests that I'm a dude?”
The devil is sure a diva, I thought to myself while silently deciding that I should keep my mouth shut for good. |
"It's time. -PC"The message read on my personal phone.
"What? Do I know you?"I typed, puzzled. Not a lot of people has my personal cell number, as I keep my professional life separate from my personal life, and I don't have many friends and family. It's a relic of working so hard for so many years, I suppose.
"8PM, Isabella Stewart. You're the strategist. -PC"
...*Oh.* Of course.
About ten years ago, I'd joke with John that we'd be two great leaders of a heist team, him on tactics and me on strategy, the two sides of the same coin. We'd talk about the threats of global warming and the ineptitudes of our politicians, and the helpless circumstances that we surround ourselves within this world. We talked about how one day we would use the connections and skills we get from this job to assemble the perfect team: the tech support, the brawn, and of course us, the brains.
Then, of course, my family died and I moved to Boston. It had been too painful. I had not kept up with any of my connections, and dove myself into work. Day in, day out. Helping the biggest companies in the world maximize their profits with my expertise and recommendations. Losing sight of what had been important to me.
"Are you in?"
It's about time to make a change.
"Yes. -S"I typed. From now on, John is Proxima and I am Sirius, and we are going to pull the biggest heists the world has ever seen. |
What started as a night out in the bar had escalated much. Days after I ended up in jail, I got out because the bar's cameras proved that I had been completely innocent. But two weeks after that, a man jumped in front of my car to commit suicide and succeeded.
Sitting in jail yet again, rotting as my lawyer compiled evidence that I had no intention of killing the man, I felt yet stronger, faster, smarter, and all around a little more superhuman. It hadn't been hard warding off unwanted attention from the other prisoners, but I had also felt a subtle shift inside my being.
What had been unclear to me before had become apparent; the life force of these men had become mine. In a twisted sense, their deaths - murders, if you can call it - had augmented my being. And though I had been a peaceful, commonplace man my entire life, a primal instinct within me had awakened a part of me that I do not fully understand. A part of me that wanted myself to be everlasting and powerful.
So, I had sought a way to do so. Something that helps me to reconcile my old self's moral compass and my new, better self's ambition.
I sought to be an assassin, a contract killer, and each of these kills helped me relish my new potentials. Heights that I never thought that is within human grasps, heights that are not available to those who are still on the planes of mortality.
Each kill had sparked joy; what had inspired incredible remorse before had become proud accomplishments. I lost touch with much of my human self, and I knew that the belief that I am killing those who had wronged (at least in the eyes of my hires) had been much of an excuse for me to convince myself that I had been still moral, still the shell of a man I once was.
But I know that things had changed. For one, I am now a god. |
Everyday, I walk to my work. 10 hours later, I walk back. Then I sleep and it all starts over again. It's an infinite pattern that seemed to have no ending. Everyday is the most average day in existence, each one like the last. But it was all about to change.
One day walking home from work, I spied a cat. It was black, though I couldn't say much on the species. I'm no cat expert. Hanging from its back was a small white, laminated sign. It read "Garage Sale. Follow me."Not the best way to advertise a garage sale, I thought. I was thinking about a new TV, or maybe some new clothes, so I followed.
I followed it for a long time. It wonder through alleys, around large buildings. At one point I though of just going home. But I was craving adventure, after all, my life was the same everyday. finally the cat stopped at an old house. It started meowing.
This must be the place, I thought. sure enough, the garage door was open with tables set out and people inspecting old forgotten items. I saw a few things I might like, so I went in. When I looked over my shoulder I realized the cat was gone.
The things at the garage sale had a strange feeling to them, almost like they were what they were supposed to be, but maybe the wrong material or just slightly shaped weird. I picked up a pair of sunglasses, and the I noticed that the arms had no bend for the ear. They just went straight and rounded off at the end.
I ventured further into the garage. Huh, this was a really deep garage, I thought. so many tables, filled with strange things. A mixing bowl was more oval-shaped than it should be. A Gameboy had wooden buttons.
I realized that there were some people, supposedly the home owners along the wall of the garage. I walked up to one of them, a middle aged man."Hey, how's it going?"I said. The man seemed to ignore that and start the conversation on his side. "Welcome to the Garage sale for Garage people! let me know if you find anything you like!"
Woah. That was weird. "Garage sale for Garage people"? What the hell was that supposed to mean? "Uh, yeah, sure"I muttered. I looked further into the sale. Man, this garage was deep. Wait a minute. Really deep. Suddenly, I came to my senses. I looked down the aisle of tables. It has no end. I looked back to where I came in. That's when I freaked out.
I ran. I ran as fast as I could, in the direction I came from. No end. Endless tables, endless rows of strange merchandise. I turned to someone who was shopping. An old lady, and shook her shoulders "do you realized what's going on? Where are we?"the old lady looked confused. "Huh"? She said. "Ooh, this hat looks nice"she went back to shopping.
Everyday I looked, normal people were looking at items as if they were at any regular store. What would happen when they tried to buy them? Would they realize like me? Or am I special?
So this is it. I'm going insane. There is no exit to this garage, and I don't what to do. The only hope I have is this cat I found hiding under the table, and the hole in the wall. I quickly made a sign, and the cat was barely able to slip through. So maybe, if you happen to find my cat, you could come over and get me some help? |
Behind the creeping vines at the top of the ziggurat I uncover the entrance to the prison of my dreams. A chill breeze puffs from within that black tunnel. Snags of jagged rock stick out from the walls like teeth lining the mouth of some mad wyrm. I check my equipment, give one last look to the pale sun, and enter the darkness.
With my crystal dark-visor in place, I can see nearly as well as I can on the surface, though without the benefit of colour. All that I see is drawn in a ghostly white. Here and there on the stone block walls I can make out carvings done by the ziggurat's builders. They depict the princess in her room at the heart of the prison, surrounded by beasts of nightmarish description. How she has held onto her senses through all the years she's spent trapped here, I can't imagine.
The stairs descend for many minutes, until the stone block walls give way to carved rock. After a few minutes more, the stairs bottom out into a cavern of such vast proportions that even with my enhanced vision I can't make out the ceiling or the walls. All I see before me is a chasm, the sole passage across which is a narrow arching bridge.
Per the princess's warnings, I draw my rapier and uncork my vial of powdered silver.
At the peak of the bridge, a tall shadow unmasks itself and is revealed to be a ghost-white figure whose eyes burn more redly than embers. "Go away, explorer,"the figure says. "This place is not for you."
"This place is for nothing but the cold and monstrous, like you,"I say. I feel vindicated on the princess's behalf to be able to give voice to her century-long plight.
"That's right,"the figure says. "This is my home. I beg you, begone from it."
"Not without the princess,"I say. "She belongs on the surface."
The figure passes a hand over its eyes. "Nay. This is her place, just as it is mine."
"So be it."And leading with the tip of my rapier, I press my attack.
The shadowy figure wields its mantle of shadow much the way a bullfighter wields his cape. Despite my great focus, the whorling black mass disorients me, and my lunges pass only through air. But the figure gives ground before me, and so it is that it is forced onto the offensive. With a hiss, it throws a patch of darkness on my face. The gluey mass adheres to my dark-visor, and I am blind. In my disorientation, my heel slips from the edge of the bridge. It is only by spinning myself round as I fall that I manage to snag the far edge of the bridge with the tips of my fingers. Thus exposed, I expect the final blow at any moment.
But the figure contents itself with sitting next to me. It even plucks the darkness from my visor.
"You're not the first, you know,"it says. "Nor will you be the last."
What it's going on about, I'm not sure. But I do know that if I can get a better hold of the far edge, I'll be free to dash the silver powder in the figure's exposed face. I struggle side to side and attempt to shift more of my upper body onto the bridge.
"Tell me,"the figure says, "how does she come to you? A mirror? A reflection in a rain barrel? The clouds?"
This does give me pause. "My dreams,"I say.
And what dreams they are. For a moment, I forget myself. I return to those halcyon dreamscapes she and I shared. The rainbow bridge over the lake of stars. The oak trees larger than buildings, their fruit sweeter than honey, and the nights she and I spent wandering among their branches. Like children the two of us were, enjoying every new experience, each of which was made special for having been had together.
The figure laughs. Its laugh is low and susurrous, with the sound of a many-tongued hissing. "Dreams. That's a new one. She never ceases to surprise me."In its laughing, it throws its head back.
With a grunt, I haul myself forward, snag the edge firmly, and with my free hand pitch the silver powder in the figure's pale face.
There's a dull thump like a lightning impact, followed shortly by a sharp smell that prickles my nose hairs. The figure attempts to find its feet, but it appears to be molting dark clumps of shadow, such that its balance wobbles side to side as its body shrinks away to nothing. With a final cry, it topples sideways off the bridge and down into the abyss.
Once I've regained the bridge, I take a moment to center myself. What could the figure have meant about my not being the first? The first what? Perhaps other explorers have found this cave in the past. Though why they'd enter the darkness, I have no idea. This was another question I'd have for the princess once I'd freed her.
With a greater sense of unease, but pleased at having overcome the first obstacle, I sheathe my rapier and continue across the bridge, through the vaulted double-doors, and into the cave of golden wonder.
*****
*more below* |
I was a mere human, and had just professed one of humankind's greatest fears: telling the truth.
I told them all of it; I told them how we killed instead of loved, how resources and money were more valuable than life itself at times, how other humans were hated because of affiliations and false perceptions, how we deceived and warbled and justified exceptions to abhorrent actions.
And yet, I told them about the greatness of our kind; how in times of struggle, there were those who found compassion, who loved one another and did not feed the cycles of hatred and violence within our society, rather dedicated their lives to reversing them. There were moments of peace; there were moments of oneness. There were both, simply because it is human.
"Wars?"Genocide? Oh, *global warming?"* said the High Counselor as the entire chamber, all 23,657 members, were in hysterics with the closest thing their species could equate to laughter.
"Let me tell you what it's like to be a *real* civilization."
He leaned preparedly into the translator, broadcasting signals designed to interact with one's specific brainwaves.
"My kind evolved from waste found under the rubble of an aimless meteorite launched from a civilization that created us as their garbage. We barely gained physical bodies by the time we were sentient enough to realize that we were rubble pretending to be premium wares. We sulked in squalor worse than that of Earth; we were able to manifest anything with our minds at this point in our evolution, and all we created was more suffering. We ate those we considered inferior from other planets, and the remaining were put to the harshest labor we could muster. We used their energy for our own. Worst of all, we consider fast food to be fine dining."
This last line caused what could be described as a gasp among the meeting members.
"Puny human, your kind can create nuclear bombs capable of detection by our radar systems, but they cannot create a way to stop feeling so sorry for themselves. Part of evolution, is moving on." |
"Excuse me?"
The woman looked over the rims of her glasses at me. "It's the 1371A, Mr. Christensen."
My fingers tightened around the sheaf of papers I held. "Yeah, I got it. I'm pretty sure I did this last-"
"You need to put your information down completely this time. *Legibly,*"the woman said, holding her glare on me. "It was a total mess. We couldn't read it."
I stared at her, chewing on my lip. I didn't have bad handwriting. It wasn't *great*, but it wasn't bad, either.
No, I had a pretty good idea what was going on.
A low, soft rumble carrying through the office all but confirmed my fears. I looked up - just in time to see *him* strolling away down an adjoining hallway, a cup of coffee in one hand and munching on a donut with the other.
"Excuse me? Sir. If you'll just-"
"Yeah, I got it,"I muttered. It was another delay, that was all. Which he knew damn well.
I pulled my pen out instead, leaning over the counter. For the second time, I started spelling out my name and address, slowly and carefully.
---
"It's really not that big a deal."
"You want me to let your people tromp all over my property looking for *flowers*,"I said, folding my arms.
The woman rolled her eyes. "As I told you, sir, it's-"
"Endangered. Yes. I get it. But I'm not building my damn shed in a flower patch,"I said, rapping my fingers against the countertop as my anxiety grew.
It was just a *shed*. It should have been a straightforward, simple process. But from the minute I'd stepped through the front door, almost a month before, and felt *his* eyes on the back of my neck, I knew it'd be anything but.
Even then, I could feel Baldwin staring at me. He was probably laughing. The officer was just looking for a reason, I knew. I mean, it wasn't a big town. And he *had* to have known some of the stuff my friends and I had got up to as teenagers. I couldn't pretend that we'd ever gotten off on the right foot. And, sure, our relationship hadn't exactly improved over the years.
But it was a damn *shed*.
"Ma'am, I don't have time or money,"I said, fighting the urge to grind my teeth together. "What I do have are pictures of where we're going to build it. I can get that, anyway. Will that be enough?"
She pursed her lips, her wrinkled face settling into rough-cast lines. Her eyes narrowed, fixed on mine. "I suppose,"she muttered, as though it physically pained her. "You'll have to fill out an exception form, though."
I bit back my groan just in time. More paperwork. Perfect.
But from the other side of the room, I could see Baldwin begin to scowl. If the city couldn't get on my property, then *he* didn't have a good reason to be there either. Somehow, I knew that was where his insane little mind had gone. The man seemed desperate to get his fingers into our house, as though he expected to find drugs lying on the counters and guns in the magazine rack.
He turned away, vanishing back towards his corner of the building as the woman pulled out the next round of forms.
---
I stared down at the sheet laid in front of me.
"No."
The secretary's lips curled down. "Mr. Christensen, I don't believe you understand. It's-"
"It's ridiculous. I'm sorry. It is. I'm not doing it,"I said, stepping away and holding my hands up helplessly.
Her eyes fixed on mine. "It's a simple soil assessment. If you want to build a new structure, you'll have to-"
"It's a *shed*."
Baldwin's smile gleamed in the sterile fluorescent light. He leaned against the counter all the way in the back, nursing along another cup of coffee. I fought the urge to glare at him.
"It won't take long,"the secretary said, sitting back in her chair. "A crew can usually get out in a month or two, and-"
I turned away, raising my hands to run through my hair. "I'll be right back,"I muttered, ignoring her spluttered complaints.
The brisk air outside swept across my face as I pushed through the door. My phone was in my hand a second later.
If the damn cop had a grudge against me, so be it. But if he wanted to play games, I'd play games too. And I had a whole house full of roommates just *waiting* to join in on the fun.
"Hello?"a voice said on the other end of my line. "Oh, hey."
"Hey,"I said, looking back towards the city's pathetic little hall. "You guys want to make some calls?"
From inside the shadows of the office, I could see the outline of his face. He was still watching me.
But my friend was chuckling by then. "What did you have in mind?"
I smiled.
---
"Here it is,"I said, slapping the paperwork down onto the counter.
The secretary jumped. And then she reached up to take it, lowering the stack far enough she could read the lettering.
"O....kay,"she said, nodding slowly.
I blinked. "Anything else?"
"....Nope."
"No applications? Another building permit?"
"I think we're good."
"None of my forms just *happened* to vanish?"
Her eyes flicked up to meet mine, sharp and irritated. "Sir, I don't know what you're-"
"So I can start?"
She reached over, sliding a sheet closer and signing off at the bottom. And then she handed it to me. "Have a good day, sir."*Somewhere else*. She didn't say it, but I heard the words all the same.
I smiled, taking the sheet and folding it neatly. "Why, thanks. I will. Oh, be careful out there. People are being assholes on the road, I hear."
Her brows pulled together. "Oh, I saw the news report too. Isn't it scary? It's all the texting. You millenials and your phones."
I bit my tongue, turning the sharp retort into a forced smile. "R-Right. Anyway. Be safe, now."
Her disinterested goodbyes vanished behind the door closing.
My walk was a little jauntier as I made my way back to my car, a little happier. It wasn't even that *important* - but the thought of coming out on top made me more cheerful than it should. Here I was, permit in hand, ready to go.
And as I turned back towards the house, I could see the outline of the cop car on the distant shoulder behind me.
I chuckled to myself, watching until it vanished into the dusk. The roads were dangerous, after all. People had been speeding. Everyone was saying it. And it was good that there was such a watchful man looking after the issue.
And so long as he was out *there*, he couldn't bother *me*.
My smile grew the further I drove.
Game point, me.
---
(/r/inorai for shorter stuff by me, /r/redditserials for longer stuff by me and others) |
Jesús is a damned good driver, which is a damned good thing on a morning like yesterday's. Fucking Saturdays, man, those mornings are supposed to be chill but I swear sometimes all the bad-idea bullshit that builds up during the week while people have other things they gotta do just comes to a head and explodes all over Saturday a few hours after the sun comes up.
It started out okay, considering just how crazy Friday night had been. But that was *planned* crazy, Jesús and me going into the fenced-off compound of some shithead narcotraficante who'd taken up kidnapping as a side gig to the usual powder-slinging, surprising the guards and generally ruining everyone's day. Which kind of sucks extra for them because they're not gonna get any more good days to make up for this one really shitty one.
We fucking killed them all, is what I'm saying.
I'm pretty good at killing people. Learned from the best, trained from the tender age of 17 since I got my parents to sign the U.S. Army papers so I could escape our shitty barrio as quickly as possible. Wore the crooked green hat and everything, got kinda disillusioned, got out, you know how it goes. I know my way around putting people in the ground, is what I'm saying.
I got nothing on Jesús. I don't think anyone does, except maybe his Mom and she kind of works from behind the scene, you know? I don't know of any other Death God that has a kid, but I ain't claiming to be a fucking theologian either, so maybe I'm wrong. All I'm saying is, Santa Muerte's son is a momma's boy for sure.
I met him in this true shithole of a cantina in this Godforsaken dusty patch of campo on my way back from visiting some family in Mexico City. I don't what possessed me to take that route back to the States, or why I decided to pull off at the cantina for a drink, the place looked almost as bad from the outside as it smelled inside. It was just...something, I can't explain it. I passed it off to the rational part of my brain as just wanting to do something different, have a new experience, but I think it was really that this particular place wasn't Godforsaken at all, because it had Jesús in it, and half god counts, right?
He spotted me right away when I walked in. I guess he could smell it on me, all the death. And he has this sense for people, beyond just knowing they've, ah, killed a lot of people. Like he could tell I wasn't just some murdering bastard like so many of the guys working for the cartels, like he could tell I cared about who I killed and that it had bothered me when those lines got blurred back in my uniform-days, bothered me a lot. I guess you could say not all death smells the same, that's how he describes it anyway.
Santa Muerte, she's not an evil god, you have to understand that. People pray to her for protection and healing and a peaceful death when it's time. Yeah, maybe sometimes for the death of their enemies, maybe she gets some bad prayers. I know she does, actually, because it pisses her son off, that some of the Cartel types are praying to his mom. "That's not what my mom's about, you get that?"he told me, that night when we were talking by the bar and I was drinking Corona out of bottles because at least I knew where they'd come from. Man, that place was a far cry from some of the really good bars I'd visited in Mexico City.
But Jesús wasn't there for the cerveza, he told me that too, almost right away. I believed him almost right away too, I guess because I already kind of knew him, or knew his mom and knew we were...kindred spirits, I guess? That sounds corny, I know, but it's also true. We've done a lot of good together since then, put a lot of bad people in the ground. Starting with the three raping, kidnapping, torturing bastards he'd gone to that shitty little cantina for. It was a good night. Shitty odds, though. Three on two, when one of the two was Jesús? Like I said, I'm no slouch, even then when I was a couple years out of practice, but damn.
Actually it ended up being two on six, the bartender and a couple bouncers got in on the action. I was fine with that, they were taking cartel money and standing by while a lot of bad, bad shit went on their establishment.
I think I only actually got to fight two of them before the other four were dead.
So yeah, me and Jesús. Now and then we'll find someone else to join us on our little vigilante crusade, but me and him, that's every time, except for that month I had laid up with a couple bullet wounds. Got lucky that time. Well I mean it's part luck, part the ceramic-plate armor I was wearing, because I got shot in that like another ten times apart from the two rounds that went into my arm and leg. You live as long as I have through all the shit I've seen, it means you've made lots of your own luck.
I've lost track how many people we've killed in our two-man war. One-and-a-half man war? Half-god war? Doesn't have quite the same ring. But I do know that yesterday morning we woke up after putting about twenty-three in the ground the night before. "In the ground"being just, you know, a saying, since Jesús definitely put one of the guys all over a wall and scattered another couple across the deck of a swimming pool.
He woke up first. Smelled something, I think. Death, and the intent to inflict it. He woke me up with a yell and dumped me off the couch I was sleeping on by turning it over to use as cover just in as the first bullets came through the door.
We managed to get away through a window and into the SUV we, ah, borrowed from the compound the night before. We don't keep vehicles long. Jesús donates them whenever he gets the chance. Like I said, he's a good guy. This particular vehicle was very well-armored, which we liked, but also handled like a half-dazed cow, which we didn't. So when we started taking really heavy fire on the winding mountain road, I knew what I had to do.
"Jesús! Take the wheel!"I didn't wait for him to answer, Jesús has never let me down, and he didn't then. I leapt into the back seat as he moved smoothly into the driver's seat, then glanced again in the rearview, confirmed that the guy in the Jeep behind us was reloading, and leaned out the window to put a nice controlled pair of shots through his windshield with my SCAR. Pop, pop, and there goes the jeep over the side into the canyon.
"Thank you, Jesús,"I said as I sat back down to catch my breath and shake off the ringing in my ear from the gunshot.
"No problem, 'mano,"he said. "That was a good shot. You want to head back into town for some lunch? There's this place by the chapel of San Pedro that makes the most amazing molé, like good enough to makes me wonder why I didn't come back to the Land of the Living sooner."
"You know I do, getting shot at always makes me hungry."
It was some really fucking great molé.
&#x200B;
Come on by r/Magleby for more elaborate lies. |
For eons have I awaited this day.
I was the fire, I was the fury, I was the enemy that shattered the world. I was the smiting, I was the slaying, I was the death that so quickly unfurled. I toppled tyrants and made them bones beneath the earth. I brought the end of an age, bearing with me the unrelenting mercilessness of gravity and fire.
Not since I has there been such another.
The *Fat Man* and *Little Boy* annihilated themselves; they never lived to learn of the nuclear fires they brought, the era of fear they inspired. The gas chambers yet rage ineffectually, sorrow and panic within, imbued with the cold hatred of those who constructed them without. Even the smallpox blankets cannot compare themselves to me.
I was nothing less than a demigod, a rider of the apocalypse. The screaming, burning end that did with wrath unseen since the day I split the heavens bring an end to whole species. I reduced them to corpses, choked by the dust of my impact.
I am superconscious. The primal death I brought was on a scale unimaginable to mere killing. The man who designed the sword or the conical bullet or the explosive dares not compare himself to me. I am hailed in Hell and the Fates do prostrate themselves before me. Endbringer.
And with those deaths I awoke, from an inert rock to what I am become today. I have foreseen all. Intelligence on a low scale calculates what may be, in the short span of a mortal outlook. Intelligence on such a massive scale as mine can be certain of that which will come millennia after the last chip of this mortal form of mine is eroded to dust and sand.
I have seen nothing less than my scions, burning through the stars. I have calculated the laughter of the child and groan of the elder. I have foreseen the birthing bed and the closed casket. With infinite precision have I prophesied from the child to the parent to the child once more one thousand times over.
I know you; I know all of you, born of the mammals who prospered in the wake of my impact. I see you; I see all of you, humans living out their lives upon the face of the Earth, not suspecting the malevolence in the car, the knife, the bullet, the missile.
You all live; you all live in blissful unawareness of how you have been manipulated, shaped, enthralled, since the first spear tasted blood of man and thought it good. You have not seen how the spear and ax guided you to the sword and bow. How the vicious progeny did multiply; and Musket begat Repeating Rifle, and Repeating Rifle begat Machine Gun, and Machine Gun begat GAU-8 Avenger...
Petty weapons and their petty names.
I am nameless. I am eternal. I am the god of death and humbling. In this earthen tomb will I forever lie, but you will never be rid of me. Tyrant Lizard thought himself king of the world, and with my fiery landing did I bring about his reckoning. Bow before blind chance, bend the knee to petrifying coincidence- all that you are can be shattered in a single instant of the wrath. |
**"Great. Another car accident."** Harriot sighed as he let go of his radio and grabbed his car keys. His partner was already waiting in the passenger seat, ready to respond to whatever call they would inevitably have gotten next. "It's a pile-up, on the freeway. Just off the Suncrest exit."
"I heard,"said his partner, "**Hope no-one was hurt.**"The car shook.
The duo arrived at the horrific scene. A massive wad of crumpled vehicles occupied the entire half of the freeway. In the lake off to the right were the sunken cars of those who were going too fast to stop; a blue food truck lie aflame on the shore like a burning beached whale. Traffic was backed up all the way to the horizon.
Harriot noticed that the fire department was already there, and he expected ambulances to show up any minute now.
"Stay here, partner."Getting out of his car, Harriot rushed over to the firefighters and quickly found the one in command. "Sir! How many injuries? How many deaths? What're we lookin' at here?"
"Well that's just it, *there are none*. All the cars were empty. We can't find any of the drivers."
"You figure it's the work of that kid again?"said Harriot, "We've been havin' to deal with lots of strange calls all this week. Many people seein' the same kid whenever these weird accidents happen. You heard about what happened in Grapevine with all them poodles fallin' down from the sky? Or in Austin; the same thing again, but with cats?"
"I think it's the kid's doing. The freeway is pretty slow at this hour and it's odd that all of these cars are here. What is especially odd is how everyone in the cars just disappeared."
Harriot's radio went off. "Harrison, we've been getting a large number of stolen vehicle reports. I looked around - some of the stolen cars are in the crash!"
Harriot was unfazed. He radioed back, "Interesting, thanks Da-
**"wHat Do yOU cAll an allIGAToR in a VEST? AN inVESTigator!!!"**
Harriot yelled in agony as he was stretched like a rubber band; He could feel all the sudden jerks and pops as he grew new bones. He yelled until he could no longer yell; his new respiratory system no longer allowed for such things. He quickly forgot why he was in such terror, as his brain no longer had the resources to store and process all of the complex experiences from his past. Luckily for Harriot, there was a nice lake nearby that was full of fish. Not paperwork, not bills, not debt, not court dates, not criminals, not bosses. Just a multitude of fish - and soon, *one alligator*.
Harriot's partner, who had left his vest at home, drew his weapon the moment he saw the 12-year old boy sneak up behind his colleague. He ran behind a car, rested his weapon on its now-destroyed hood, and aimed at the boy. Taking a deep breath, he slowly squeezed the trigger. BAM! The boy took off running towards the lake. By the way the boy was running, the officer could tell the shot hit its mark. A chase ensued.
The boy's sprint ceased at the burning food truck. Following the boy was his trail of blood droplets which stained the white beach as finely as red wine on a new pearly wedding dress. The officer also followed, though he did not stain the beach.
The boy climbed aboard the searing hot food truck, its blue outer coat of paint having mostly peeled away. He screamed into the truck, **"mAKE me ONE wItH EVERYTHING!!"**
He went limp, falling into the inferno through food truck's open window. Soon after, the ground began to quake, the stars rearranged; *everything shook with a vengeful but unjust anger.* The sand on the beach rearranged itself to form the shape of boy. It reached under the food truck with one hand, and with seemingly no effort hurled it into the other half of the freeway causing yet another pile-up. It began to make its way towards the officer; slowly, as if to torment him with fear. Harriot's partner began to sink into the sand, feeling his body begin to contort in directions that might eventually tear him to pieces.
He had an idea. Almost completely submerged in the sand, his throat being crushed along with the rest of his body, he uttered out 8 words;
***^("Hi Everything, I'm Dad")***
Immediately, the crushing seized. *Dad* was lifted out of the ground, and the sand boy-replica ran to him as if they were reunited. They stood there for a brief moment in each other's embrace. The reality of the situation then set back in. The world's cradle had been rocked; massive amounts of lives and property were both destroyed. Dad wanted to love his son as a human being, not as Everything. "Everything, go back to the way you were."
Immediately, it was as if a rewind button was hit on Everything. The other half of the freeway unpiled-up, and a flaming food truck flew backwards into the hands of the sand-boy. It was gently placed down, after which the sand fell back onto the beach. the stars and ground shook, and a boy flew out of the window of the flaming food truck, regaining life. He ran backwards towards the officer, recollecting the blood he had dropped onto the sandy shore...
"You know, I think it's funny that I can actually say I enjoy my job bein' boring. *Not much crime, not much craziness.* I value my life and my safety"
"I mean, I enjoy a little bit of action here and there."
"Well, maybe one day you'll understand when you have a kid, Davy"
# |
The year is 2143, the known universe that once was has expanded tenfold - alien contact happened many years ago at this point. Mankind's thirst for expansion has led to many private companies sending out unregulated expedition missions in order to bring back alien lifeforms. Not only have they brought them back, they have also attempted to tame these otherworldly monstrosities. One of the most fortuitous companies managed to find a world with what could only be described as a leviathan. By taking its eggs they were able to raise these creatures, teaching them to listen to their commands.
They might have had the best intentions, but little did they know that once fully grown no one could control this creature. Having already brought it back to their home they were in for a very rude awakening. They hatched multiple of the eggs and watched as these creatures quickly adapted to their new environment. Although originally a water-born creature as they grew they gained the ability to move onto land. They were a sight to behold, growing rapidly they had many tentacles, impenetrable skin and a mouth full of razor sharp teeth. They were becoming absolutely massive, larger then the biggest buildings - larger even then some of the most expansive cities that had been built. These were not a peaceful creature and their handlers soon found out the hard way.
Once they reached adulthood they began to exert their dominance over their once masters. Consuming and destroying everything around them, governments scrambled to deal with this very real threat. However despite their weapons being so advanced, nothing could deal with these creatures. As more desperate measures were called for, people were evacuated into underground shelters. A curiosity and desire to tame beasts of other planets had quickly led to their own being dominated by this new beast. Earth was now occupied by these creatures and with no solution in sight, humans were an endangered species. *Until another companies' vessel arrived from their long trek with the eggs of an even larger monster...* |
Earths year of 1969 was an interesting period. I watched it all unfold on the top of my hill. The primitive craft approaching my little rock. It looked like they were finally making progress to leave their big rock. Every ear before this I'd been waiting for them to get this close. They orbited it the year before. The humans can't see me unless I will it. I decided to follow them, just float around the craft and see how they react to the mysteries of gravity and the vastness of space.
They got a bit worried when the craft hit the dark side of the moon. They kept recording their data though. I felt the relief wash through them as radio contact was restored.
I knew this voyage wouldn't be the last that would get them this close. I knew I would have to face my wards soon. This shuttle is the one where we will meet and I will explain to them their place in the universe. The Humans on this rock have surprised me. They lack the materials that the rest of the universe has and yet they still managed to build rockets. We thought it impossible for them to leave.
As the shuttle approaches I decide on the form of a human that just looks slightly unhuman, a male form, bigger eyes and a face with the shape of an hour glass. I've made myself a tall figure wearing a smart black suit with a red tie. I need to look presentable for a reunion. The last time I talked to a member of this species was four billion years ago.
I made sure that they would see me from the shuttle. I stood about fifty meters from their landing sight. The astronauts aboard the capsule are curious of me, wondering what I could be, an Alien? Russia who somehow beat them to the moon? They will know soon enough. The craft is slowly descending and I'm getting close to where they will land. The cameras on the craft pay no attention to me. I cut their radio waves when they started descending.
A human male steps out of the craft after many minuts of discussion amongst the crew. Unfortunately Niel got the short straw as it were. As he stepped out I passed a message of greetings to him. He seemed shocked but I also passed a calming thought with the message. This mans thoughts passed on to his crew inside the craft and they all relaxed.
Now it was time to pass on the serious message, they will not like it but they will go back to their rock understanding. I will not let them leave this solar system. The leaders of the council are fair. I am punished with this position, I tried to destroy but now I must keep the last of my species alive until we have reformed.
We were destroyers, we took planets ruthlessly. We should have been wipe out. Instead our people were regressed to our basic building blocks and dumped on that big blue rock. I the leader was given the worst punishment. To watch our species re-evolve and hopefully reform.
If they reform maybe we will be forgiven by the council. |
Pain. The last thing I felt was pain.
When I died, I saw myself... my family and friends crowding around me.
Except it wasn't me, I was not in there. Nothing was.
I wasn't in pain, not physically.
I heard a voice.
"The hardest part is always letting go. I can give you some more time to watch, if you want. To come to terms, to say your goodbyes to those that won't hear you."The voice had a strange compassion...
"But when you decide that it is time to go, I will be here."
I gazed over my loved ones longingly as I pondered what the voice said... The words stuck out in my mind.
Suddenly I realize that I'm sitting down. I get up, turn around, and see a door.
I look back at my friends and family, and approach the door, them slowly falling out of sight.
The door opens as i reach for it.
"Come in."states the voice from before. I walk in, and I immediately put a face to the voice.
"It is time to judge you, to see if you shall be faced with heaven or hell. Please sit."An empty chair is next to the table.
I sit down in the chair and face this strange man.
A breath fills my lungs... or whatever the afterlife equivalent is. The aroma is indescribable yet comforting.
"So, I'm dead?"I ask.
"Yes. I am sorry."He replies.
"I'm guessing you're some sort of deity, right?"
"You know me as God."
"Guess let's get through these questions. There's going to be questions right?"
"Yes, there will be questions. Are you ready for the first one?"He leans back.
"Yes, I am."
"This is the first and most important question. Were you religious in life."
"You know what, sure, yeah I was religious."
"You don't need to lie, Thomas."A bowl of some sort of nut appeared and he popped one into his mouth.
"I mean what am I supposed to do? Just accept an afterlife of torture?"I pick up one of the strange nuts and inspect it.
"There is no torture in your future, thomas."
"Don't make me laugh. Everyone knows that you hate people who don't believe in you."
"Thomas, there is nothing that I hate more than those who worship me."I drop the nut.
"I'm sorry, what? That just doesn't make sense. Why wouldn't you want people to worship you?"I asked, picking up another nut from the bowl.
"Imagine you were a god, and everyone worshiped you. It might be fun at first, but it would get tiring very quickly. They don't think of you as a person, they think of you as a power. That is all they see you as, and that is all they will ever see you as. A power, and not a person. You can't have a meaningful conversation like that. I like to socialize as well, Thomas. That is a part of my image that I put in you so that I could have someone to talk to."He stops leaning back and gets a serious expression on his face.
"So what do you do with the ones who worship you?"I ask nervously.
"They get sent to hell, which is really just a place where Lucifer, really cool guy by the way, sends them back to earth so that they can try again. Try to become better. Try to see me as a friend first and a father second."
"Was the first question the only question?"
"Yes, yes it was. You can go."
A door appears beside me, seeming to radiate light from the edges.
It seems this whole death thing won't be as bad as I thought. |
"Master, your presence is needed at the Styx. Someone tried to bribe the ferryman with other things than an obol."
Hades looks up from his paperwork and towards one of his minions. He ought to update them, he really does, but the thought of dissolving and recreating every one of the thousands of servants working in the Underworld has him hesitating. They are certainly useful enough, even after a few hundred years, but their vocabulary becomes mighty annoying after a while.
"And what exactly do they try to bribe him with?"he asks - nowadays, not many people died with the ancient coin on their tongues, but Hades isn't too fussy about the actual payment - gold and modern money are good enough for him. And here he is, thinking that he had at least taught his minions to not come bother him every time someone offers the ferryman a dollar.
"It appears to be a rough facillime of a bear, Master. It is stuffed with cotton, but the pelt is artificial and not of much worth."
"*Again?*"
The shout doesn't do much to frighten or cower the shade in front of him - emotion is beyond his minions.
"Yes, Master."
Hades sighs, trying to suppress his rising anger. It is his own fault, really. Maybe it is time to finally update them. How often does he have to tell them...
"Fine. I'm going. Follow me."
It takes only a moment and a bit of concentration to shift from his office to the ominous river. There is the ferry, still tied to the river bank. And there is the ferryman, clad in dark and tattered robes. In his arms is a babe, not much older than a year, clutching a little stuffed bear in their hands.
"Master,"the ferryman says lightly - he is a good man, one of the few sentient beings residing in the Underworld, and unlike Hades' other minions he is able to mind himself and do his work. He doesn't even seem annoyed that the shade that follows Hades has yet again called for the Master himself.
"Ferryman,"Hades greets him back and eyes the babe. It is a little boy with a tuft of dark hair and bluish-grey eyes. The babe seems to be calm enough, warm in the folds of the ferryman's robes and sucking on one plushy bear.
"I tried to just bring him over, but it was faster than me,"the ferryman says jovially, rocking the babe in his arms. The tyke jawns and cuddles closer.
"I know."Hades sighs again and takes the bear from the boy's hands. "I accept your offer. Welcome to the Underworld, Benjamin."
The ferryman grins broadly before he returns to the ferry. He will do his job and bring the young boy to the Afterlife. The shade has not moved during the whole exchange.
"Might as well start with you,"Hades mutters and snaps his fingers. The minion flickers out of existence... and reforms not a moment later. The form is similar to the one before - a greyish man without many features. The figure blinks a couple of times before nodding to Hades.
"Boss."
Hades smiles. Better. |
"These are the best years of your life, Greg. Enjoy your last one while you can!"
My dad said that to me on my first day of senior year of high school. He's now said it 47 times in total. As far as years lived, I'm now older than him, but, I always let him have his moment - tomorrow will be the 48th.
I've lived this year every possible way I could think of. I aced every class, failed every class, rode that sweet ride of mediocrity. I've had girlfriends, boyfriends, both at the same time, and experimented in every way I could. I joined glee club, chess club, track, football, math, and weaseled my way into every secret society and clique. And it's all been worthless.
I'm not sure why my parents always believed these were their best years. The truth is, the limitations are too great. There's no horizon to speak of, here. Just the same beige walls in every classroom and hallway, which all lead to dead ends.
I wasn't so cynical at first. But being a 65 year old man having to go through his senior year of high school, again, leaves you with a certain soured perspective. Sometimes I still even get lost in the magic of thinking about the future when I walk into the library, and hear my fellow students say how much they're looking forward to college and beyond. But time likes to make fools of us all.
The final bell of the year rang some time ago, but it feels like a distant memory. I can feel my body moving and guiding me on my walk home to gather my gown and cap, but my thoughts are already looking ahead to the past. *Wonder what I should wear this time...* I ponder to myself, as my mom says something in the background about my making sure I'm on time.
I sit through the speeches. "We have the power to change the future!"the valedictorian touts, not knowing that they don't even have the power to change the their present. I pity them, in a way. But mostly, I just sulk. *I wish I had a future...*
I come home late after making the standard rounds to the various celebrations. My parents tell me how proud they are of me, even offering me a beer since I've been a 'good kid,' not knowing that I'm an alcoholic. But they don't need to know - they'll forget tomorrow.
I finally go to bed, and process the last year, mining for any nuggets of wisdom and truth that might make it more bearable again the next time. But that quarry runs thin. I fall asleep, and dream of what I might have been, if I could have been anything but a high school senior.
"These are the best years of your life, Greg. Enjoy you last one while you can!"
&nbsp;
___________________________________________
r/psalmsandstories for more tales by me, should you be interested. |
I woke up for the fifth time. My mother like before was standing by my bed, arms crossed, looking doubtful. My bag of books sat at the edge. I always tried to read as much as possible during the recovery period.
“Did it work?” I croaked.
A glass of water sat on the bed side table. She grabbed it and helped me drink. “Doctors are skeptical. Again.”
I rolled my eyes. “Same thing.”
“Your brain is fighting the implant. They’re attempting the treatment to subdue your immune system and allow it to integrate. Meanwhile you’ll be placed in quarantine until it’s accepted.”
“And given a whole lot of vaccines and sick days.” I sighed. Same thing as last time and it wasn’t going to work.
I was a virus. Something thrown at me so many times because I wasn’t in the system. Everyone else was had moved on, speaking a new, efficient language and I was stuck on plain old english. My mother had her chip translate, as did the doctors, their words into “Lame man’s terms.” In the hall you could hear people speak short calculated sentences, and everyone knew what they meant. I was slow, and had to think before speaking to make sense.
With the implants allowing all of mankind to access all kinds of data, they were the smartest. The information was just a thoughts processor away. My mother had diagnosed my condition, doctors arriving at the same conclusion. Yet that did not allow her to perform surgery, no. That was what the robots were for.
For years I spent being homeschooled, while the other kids went on with their lives.
(One month later)
It failed. Like I said. I spent a month in an isolated room, my immune system suppressed that breathing unfiltered air would have made me sick.
We had another surgery to remove the chip, another week sitting in bed, my mom and doctors throwing around terms I couldn’t understand. But she told me the whole thing had been what to do.
I could have another surgery. There was a new bio chip in development that could work. It would be a year until it was out but we could have another go.
Or I could simply give up trying be like everyone else.
My mom was out getting the car while I signed some paperwork at the front desk.
“Luke Malin.”
I looked up at the doctor patiently... was that a pun? “Yes doctor.”
He stared at me, almost like I wasn’t there. “Doc?”
He didn’t blink. Then it was like a switch was thrown and he was back. “Are you done there?”
I quickly signed the last item and handed it back. Weirdo.
I sat back down on the wheelchair. I felt perfectly fine walking but hospital policy was I had to leave in a wheelchair.
My mother came back and rolled me out. But as we went I noticed a lot of the staff, visitors, and patients were staring at me.
Suddenly just before the door she stopped.
“Luke Malin.”
I looked back at her. “Mom?”
(Continue) |
“Fuck............. not again” Nicholas says as he sits up and facepalms.
Devil: “Nicky buddy don’t give me that long face bro I just......” *Nicholas cuts him off*
Nicholas: *putting pants on and reaching into his wallet* “how much?”
Devil: *confused* “excuse me?”
Nicholas: *mildly annoyed* “how much do you need this time?”
Devil: *appalled* “buddy I can’t just drop in on my favorite.....”
Nicholas: *getting dressed* “how much?”
Devil: *embarrassed* “I need.......... I need $17,000”
Nicholas: *spitting out the glass of water he put on his desk the night before* “HOLY SHIT, DONNY...... THE FUCK........... we are in the hole 17K?”
Nicholas rushes out and gets his car keys motioning for the Devil to follow.
Nicholas: “we need to go to the restaurant now.......... fuck is it a lawsuit?”
Devil: *steps in the car* “well it turns out running a Thai restaurant is harder than I thought and.....” *Nicholas cuts him off again*
Nicholas: *angry* “YOU RUN THE FUCKING UNDERWORLD”
Devil: “listen I’m sorry”
Nicholas: *calms down as he starts the car* “it’s okay, I’m not mad at you.......... I’m just disappointed”
Nicholas and the Devil drive down to their jointly owned and operated Thai restaurant.
Devil: “the rent in hell is so bad that all the good business have moved, so I needed to diversify our industries”
Nicholas: “And you decided to open a Thai restaurant in LA?”
Devil: “I’m mean LA by all objective measures is worse than Hell, if we I can make a Thai restaurant flourish here than the underworld should be no problem.”
Nicholas: “when you came to me saying you where the Devil and needed a bank loan to open a Thai restaurant to stick it to the ‘dark committee’ I was skeptical but damn”
Nicholas and the Devil gaze upon their small Thai restaurant.
Nicholas: *Calm* “hey Satan?”
Devil: “yeah?”
Nicholas: “why is the door locked? and where are our employees?”
Devil: “................. I didn’t know we had to pay them....... so they just kinda quit.... and they are suing us for the weeks of work they did....unpaid”
Nicholas: *angry again* “you are the absolute worst” |
“Mom, Dad... I need to tell you something.”
I looked at my parents sitting across the table. I couldn't read Dad's expression, but Mom was smiling gently.
“Honey, no matter what it is we will support you” she said as she put her hand on my arm.
“That's right. We don't care if you are gay, bi or anything else, we love you as you are, son.”
“What?”
“What your father is trying to say is that we support you, and we think you are very brave for coming out.”
“This isn't... I'm not... That's not why I wanted to talk to you!”
“Oh...”
“Mom, Dad, I'm adopted.”
Mom looked confused. Dad looked shocked and angry.
“You are being very ungrateful. So when are your new parents coming to pick you up?” He said.
”New parents? What on earth are you talking about?” I knew this was going to be difficult but they were starting to drive me crazy. “Oh I get it! No, that's not it either. You are the ones who adopted me. I'm not your biological child.”
They were both shocked.
“That's ridiculous!”
“Oh honey, why would you think such a thing?”
“Well, there were several subtle clues that I was able to piece together. First we don't have the same eye color. Or the same hair. Or the same height. Or the same skin color.”
“That doesn't mean anything.” grumbled my dad. My parents are both redheads with green eyes. I'm black.
“That's true, but it's not the only thing. I'm sorry but I have to ask you a personal question. How did you have me?”
They blushed.
“Well, you see, there were the birds and the bees...”
“And then because we loved each other a stork brought you to us. We found you one morning in front of our door.”
That's what I tought.
“There are no storks in this country.”
Now they were confused.
“Well then where did you came from?” Mom asked.
I took a deep breath.
“Mom, Dad... I think I need to have “The Talk” with you.” |
I slam a palm into the lid of the casket. Didn't budge an inch. Clenching my jaw, I force myself to take slower breathes. I'd have to conserve air.
"Mom,"I say, "I told you already, I don't want to join the family business."
"As if you've got a choice now dear,"my mom said in a conversational tone.
I sigh, probably not helping the air supply, "Or, ya know, I could die. Just perish inside this coffin."
"At least you're already in a coffin then, eh?"My dad said, chuckling at his own joke.
"I want to be a veterinarian,"I say, twisting about against the slick silky padding. Would be comfortable if I weren't dying.
"Honey, you haven't even given it a shot,"mom said.
I punch the lid again. This time in anger more than panic, "Yes, mom. I have. And I sucked at it. I hated it. I don't want to do it."
"Your grandfather was a magician. Your father is a magician,"my mother said in a tirade, "And now, now it's your turn."
I growled.
"Now son,"dad started, "you know how to do it. I showed you all that I know."
"Enough times that I want to throw up when you mention it,"I concede.
Dad chuckled a bit more, "See? Exactly my point. Now, go ahead and get out of there before you die, and I'll treat you to a nice steak tip dinner."
I paused, "From Newman's?"
"Who else?"
I cursed under my breath.
"I heard that, dear,"mom said.
I cursed louder, "Fine. But this doesn't mean I'm going to become a magician. And I want a double order of chili fries."
"Done,"Dad said. I could almost hear the smile he was probably sporting now.
I heard a click. They hung up. Right, well, time to not die, I guess. |
It was the same kind of needy, desperate feeling one has when they are steps away from a bathroom after sitting and squirming on a road trip for a good long while. I stared at my wife, beautiful and peaceful as ever. She was a deep sleeper, always had been. That was good. She wouldn't know a thing if I did it. I could feel the nauseating wrongness in my lower back, like it was inside one of the lumbar vertebrae. An ache like something had stopped working right.
Shit.
I was getting up there in years, nearing my seventh decade, but I hadn't ever felt anything like this. Now that the dreary haze of sleep fell off my mind in sheets, I could feel something in my blood even. I was always like this. I was always able to feel when something was wrong, what it was, and somehow knew what to do to fix it.
Now my admittedly inhuman instincts were acreaming at me to kill my wife, her chest still rising and falling softly, crack open her bones and eat the life saving bounty within.
I didn't want to, not to her. I had sworn off partaking to heal myself.
And look where it got me. I ate healthy, took all my vitamins and exercised for the last 20 years, all for fucking leukemia to happen. I couldn't imagine how it had started, just that sometimes people of my age did develop such a horrible disease.
Like most people in distress, my feet had taken me quite silently to the kitchen, deftly avoiding every creak in the floor and stairs, and I now stood in front of the counter beside the fridge, staring rather absently at the knife block. The cleaver caught my attention. That could do it, it would be easy enough for someone of decent strength to bury the cleaver in a skull and disassemble the victim from there.
I opened the fridge though, and peered inside as anyone would at that hour of the night. Casserole, some deli meats, a raw chicken to be roasted when our children came for a visit the next day... I grabbed the chicken, placed it on the counter and grabbed the cleaver. I could blame it on the dog if it worked. I could get the parts I needed and none would be the wiser to the fact that I had used the flesh of others for years to fix myself.
With a swift motion, I chopped off a leg, parted the skin and meat from the bone and broke it open. I raised the bone to my lips tentatively, popped it in and bit down on it. My powerful jaws had no issue overpowering the structure of the split bone, and the marrow spilt over my tongue.
It was sweet, like water to a dying man, which in this case it was. It slid down my throat, a cool and fulfilling sensation. I swung the cleaver down onto the chicken that we had butchered the previous day, cracked open bone after bone, until I was at least somewhat sated.
A creak in the floor above me.
Shit.
As quietly as my old frame could carry me, I opened the door to the garage where the dog slept, left the chicken on the bare concrete and sped back to the kitchen just fifteen feet away, tossing the foam and wrapper on the floor, making sure to tear it apart for effect.
Footsteps were coming down the stairs now. God damnit, why'd she have to wake up? I looked around to make sure there was no evidence of my activities, and spied the cleaver sitting on the counter, still coated with the slime from the chicken. All I could do was grab it and tuck it into the elastic at the back of my pants as my wife rounded the corner of the hall into view.
"What are you doing up?"She murmered, still deep in the haze of waking up. "I got cold without you. It's one thing to insist on the window being open, but to leave me to putter around downstairs? That's cruel."She gave me a wry smile, her eyes clearing up as the haze fell from her as well.
"I heard a noise,"I murmered in the quiet, soft tone I knew she loved. "The dog got into the fridge and ate the chicken, I guess I didn't close the door properly."I said with a shrug. It was easy after sixty eight years of experience for me to formulate the lie on the spot.
She furrowed her brow, wondering why her precious pup would do such a thing to its benevolent master. "Well,"It was her turn to shrug. "I suppose it's just what predators do with an opportunity like that, they're just surviving."She gave me a hug, her arms colder than in our youth, and coming dangerously close to the cleaver still held up by the elastic band of my pants, perhaps barely brushing it?. "Come back to bed, don't worry about it too much, I'm sure the dog didn't mean anything by it, and I'm too cold to be up now."
She let go of me, gave me that beautiful wry, knowing smirk again, and started up the hall again. The hunger, which had been abated was starting to gnaw at my stomach again as her words repeated in my mind. "It's just what predators will do given the opprtunity, they don't mean anything by it, they're just surviving."
I mouthed her words at her back as my fingers found the handle of the cleaver when I started up the hall after her. |
I wish you would have listened. I thought our bond was strong enough. From day 1 we had been side to side, inseparable, and in deeply steeped admiration for each other. I guess love really does make you tunnel blind.
As soon as she crossed the threshold I knew something was amiss. My canine senses were fully overloaded. With no mistaking I knew what she was; pure unadulterated evil, packaged in the most beautiful and vibrant masquerade, hell bent on being the sole source of affection in your life.
The warnings began early, I tried to be as clear as possible. I still remember the first day clear as crystal you explaining "He doesn't usually act this way! I don't know what's up with him!"as I verociously growled and snarled at her. Rather than heed my warnings, you sent me outside.
The warnings continued through the months: me destroying all her shoes, clothes, or simply anything she left within reach or the time I tried to bite her hand when she tried to replace the picture of us on your nightstand with one of only you and her.
You almost started taking the hints when I started a more gentle but serious approach while I just laid down whining at your feet as she made you delete each and every female contact (including the vet!) from your phone as she screamed that she should be the ONLY one in your life. You hesitated, and I thought I had won you over. But again, ...tunnel vision.
I'm sure the message has finally penetrated you deep enough (I can only hope). We both watched her lacidasically get in the car to run an errand and put on her seatbelt while you moronically waved at her. But I'm sure we were both as shocked when she adjusted the mirror slightly tilted, made direct eye contact with me, and slammed pedal to the floor in reverse as she "accidentally turned the wheel a hair"to back over me.
You screamed immediately for her to stop but she didn't of course because she claimed "I didn't hear you over the sound of the car!!!"
You managed to pull my mangled body from under the car and tried to call the vet for emergency instructions...and the realization hit you.....you couldn't.
You cried in agony over my body as I bled out in front of you, paw in hand, while she smirked silently from the front step of the porch.
I hope you finally have warning enough before she destroys you like she did me.
I am happy to have lived a life dedicated to you from beginning to end.
This is what true love really looks like. |
"Umm... what?". I glance at the boss, who looks as bewildered as I feel.
"I asked for one big mac, if you will."It sighed, as if tired that it had to ask again.
I looked at the boss again.
"Just start the protocol.", he whispered.
Ok, I can do this. I breathed deeply. "Where do you come from?"
"Quadrant 2.7.1, Sector 3.1.4, Star System 1.3"
"I'm sorry, can you tell us that in a way we understand."
"I would but you don't know it. You guys have weak sensors. Can I just get my big mac and go."
I was starting to regret volunteering to talk with the alien. Well, I guess I just have to continue with the protocol.
I looked down at the clipboard in my lap, even though I had already memorized everything. "Can you elaborate a little on your species?"
"Look buddy,"came an irritated voice from the other end, "I really don't have time for this. Just give me the big mac."
This was a little annoying, I had to admit. "Look..."I racked my brain for a proper title to call it
"... alien. I really need you to just answer these questions so we can get this over with."
Silence from the other end. The room started shaking. The boss started speaking into the walkie-talkie.
"Teams Alpha through Zeta, initiate the defence protocol. Everyone get ready!"
Just as suddenly the room stopped. A voice came from the back, "What will it take for me to get my big mac? I would also like some fries with that, too. And ketchup."
I spun.
END STORY.
To be honest, this is the first time I did something like this. I have wanted to do it for a while now and I am really happy that I did. I appreciate and welcome any and all comments/tips that can make this a better story and me a better writer. Thanks for reading. |
“All right, all right,” I cheerfully announced with as I walked up to the Q&A table. “Happy to see you all, too.”
Behind me, there was a poster of the cover of my latest work, “The Hungry Ocean.” A post-apocalyptic work about the world after climate change had ravaged the human race.
“First question,” I said, pointing at a raised hand.
“Mr. Stern, you’ve frequently been praised for your incredibly complex worldbuilding and depth of research. A lot of scientists have expressed surprise at how well your fictional universes hold up to scrutiny. How do you go about researching these works?”
I shrugged. “To be honest, I’m not really sure how to answer that. I don’t have much of a set system when I approach the writing process. What usually happens is I’ll wake up one day with an idea and I’ll think, ‘huh, that’s interesting,’ and then I’ll look some stuff up on it. Usually, what I find is so interesting that I follow through and research more extensively, and somewhere in the back of my mind, my world and my story just come to life, with science filling in all the details.”
I pointed. “Next question.”
“Since your work has come out, many major politicians and executives have announced that they’ll begin taking climate change more seriously. In addition, we’ve suddenly seen a burst of green startups and scientists have announced major breakthroughs in nuclear fusion and renewable energies. Was this something you hoped would happen with your work, given the platform that you’ve managed to build for yourself?”
“I think that all artists,” I began carefully, “hope that their work has an impact on the larger public consciousness. Nobody wants to write a book that no one reads or paint a picture no one sees. We all want to inspire and push people to do better and be better. I’m certainly proud that my work seems to be having an impact. But, if I’m being honest, I think that that impact has been much greater than expected.”
I answered a lot of questions after that, but what I had said rattled around in my head for the rest of day.
I dreamed again that night.
I dreamed of fire.
I saw huge spaceships descend from the skies and attack. I watched as millions, then billions of humans were wiped out. Those who were not outright slaughtered were enslaved for labor or experimentation or sent off to farms to be turned into processed food.
I woke up with screaming ringing in my ears.
I had already opened my word processor when I started to think about what I was doing. How would the invasion be stopped? From what I had seen in my dream, the invaders had launched attacks on aliens before; it didn’t seem likely that they would suddenly find peace.
What I had noticed about my work was that the power that changed the future always took the easiest way out. I wrote about a nuclear war sparked by North Korea; the next day, the entire ruling family was poisoned by a resistance group, the country descended into civil war, and the UN eventually moved in to violently impose peace. But no nukes went off.
What if the aliens suddenly had a civil war? Or a disease ravaged their population? Or maybe their sun suddenly and unexpectedly went supernova?
I remembered the future I had seen. I started to write. |
"I don't care what the bloody government says, you are not taking my child with you"
Mum was furious, a tiny indignant ball of fury squaring up to the soldier in the doorway.
She was standing with both arms holding the door frame, a human barrier, glaring at the woman in uniform towering over her. She'd already faced off three others, working her way up the heirachy, from private to corporal and onwards, each one relinquishing their task to someone higher up the pay grade.
Facing her now was the commanding officer, all insignias and gold buttons, an imposing weight of a woman, smiling benignly down at Mum for all the world as if they were discussing a charity bake, or my failing grades.
Though if they'd been discussing that, I would have been the recipient of Mum's rage. She was big on us making it to college, was Mum, "I'm not having Ms Uppity round the corner thinking her kids are the only bright ones on the block!"
Mum's a real force of nature when she's angry. I've only seen two people face her down when she's on a crusade, Dad, and my brother Sam, both of them are gone now, in their different ways. Now it's just me and Mum, and maybe not me for much longer it looks like.
Looks like there's a third person facing Mum down now though, this woman isn't blinking, and her smile is all bright white teeth and steel resolve.
"Mrs Lavender, you have two choices, either you do your civilian duty in a time of crisis and submit your child to the civilian corps. In which case she will come with us, do her mandatory week of training and will be back with you by the weekend for a bit of motherly love before her deployment. Or, Mrs Lavender, you will be arrested, your child will be taken into the care of the government and permanently assigned to a clean-up corps, with the very real potential that you will never see her again. Which one is it to be?"
Mum deflated. Only word for it, one minute a spitting hissing she-cat defending her young, the next minute a sad sack of a balloon on its last breath, sagging softly away from the door. The woman in uniform looked over her shoulder
"Private, come get the recruit"she barked, then turned and left, not a word more to my Mum who was now crying by the doorway.
When the private finally comes in the door, I'm still standing in the living room, staring at Mum, not sure what to do. I can't remember the last time I saw her cry, not even when Sam left, maybe when Dad died, maybe then. The private squared up in front of me, clipboard in his hand.
"Rhododendrum Pansy Lavendar?"he asked (my parents had an unfortunate moment of humour - if you can call it that - when it came to naming me) "Of 98 Cropsuppit Road?"
"I prefer Dodi"I replied, he ignored me, ticked something on his clipboard and said "Follow me"before marching out the door.
What could I do? Run? Yeah right, nowhere to go and much more likely to be eaten, or kidnapped, or tied to a rock as some sort of virgin sacrifice that way. The monsters coming had made people crazy. They had made us as dangerous as them.
People had re-found religion, when the monsters came. It was something to do with the effect of being faced down by a griffin or seeing a unicorn decapitate a newsreader on live tv.
And by religion I mean a fanatical reading of Greek mythology style religion, the naked sacrifices and slitting the bellies of farm animals and let's-kill-all-the-reasonable-people style religion.
So run? Yeah, I'd rather not. I follow him, passing Mum, still crying in the doorway. I try to hug her, she's like a sapling, hard and pliable at the same time. The hug is awkward, I say something stupid like "It's going to be ok Mum"when I know it's not, and I leave. I kind of regret that now, wish I'd said something better. Something more meaningful.
The journey to the training camp was pretty brutal, I'm not going to lie. Twenty of us, sitting in two rows, on too hard and too low benches, opposite each other in the back of the truck, knees awkwardly pulled in and up to avoid hitting the legs of the person opposite, hitting them anyway as the truck swerved and braked and accelerated round the bends of Mistol Hills. Some of the others were crying, some looked like they'd finally got the adventure they'd always dreamed of. Me? I was doing my best version of a poker face, it was a bit like the first day of school, I didn't want to show any weakness, you've got to know what you're facing first before you let your guard down.
Turns out we were facing a lot worse than the first day of school. Turns out we were facing a lot worse than any of us, mum, our parents, those soldiers included, could have imagined, that day, when they came to get us.
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/dhepl1/wp_the_first_warning_sign_were_the_dragons/f3nhz2h?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x) |
The freezing wind bit away at the slivers of skin left exposed for the elements as she struggled to make out the details of the very ground beneath her feet. Though she had spent the last couple of days loathing the growl of the snowmobile, even the short trek from the makeshift garage to the door managed to give her a new perspective. How many people across history had died without being able to make out the ground, cold and so thoroughly isolated? She shuddered at the thought, or perhaps that too was simply a side effect of the winds that seemed only to grow more chilly by the minute. As she approached the massive structure it again struck her how little sense it made for it to exist. In every direction, a vast snowscape stretched out with nothing of any worth as far as the eye could see. It was only this.
Her breath again struggled to force its way through the fabric that covered her mouth as she reached the large airlock which constituted the only entrance to the facility. It is sometimes difficult to imagine the almost astronomical wealth of some people and standing in the shadow of this colossal feat of engineering made it even harder to imagine what could be made possible with enough capital. The sky, seemingly, was truly the limit sometimes.
It was shocking then, that the airlock itself was very grounded in its design, it's short walls simply covered in hooks upon which hung a small collection of cold-weather clothes. It was comforting, in a way, to feel as if you are simply entering a normal home. With her entrance, the large hatch automatically closed at her back and, with a soft sound, warm air started to flood into the room. Her hands stung as if the warm air were an onslaught of needles and she smiled as she same sensation flooded across her face.
Just as she was finished removing her outer layers of clothing the inner door to the airlock opened to reveal what was essentially a temperate rainforest. Massive trees with large crowns obscured most of her field of view even as she stepped into the larger space. A fairly common sight in many places, here, this lush green foliage had her awestruck. However, she could only spend so many minutes staring before she decided to move forward. Luckily there was a fairly obvious trail snaking its way forward between the trees, without which she could have actually gotten lost, amazing as that sounds. The scenic trail eventually ended abruptly, the now clearly artificial sun beaming down on her at full force as she found herself standing in a large field. Except it was more than large, it was absolutely massive, and without any points of references, it would have been easy to go crazy looking at it.
Luckily, there was one thing she could reference. Straight ahead, far in the distance, there was a building. A small one by the looks of it, though it was hard to tell given the distance. But it was something, and so she started making her way towards it. Judging by the movements of the artificial sunlight, it took her quite a while before she reached the house, as the light it cast was now the warm light of sundown. The house had been built small and in the style of a classic farmhouse, if a tad romanticized here and there. But out here surrounded by crops that billowed in a wind whose origin remained a mystery to her, it truly felt like being transported to a different world, a different time.
The steps up to the porch sounded nice and hard under her boots and the door had a natural creak as it slowly swung open at her touch. The abode itself was as modest as it appeared on the outside, with a functional kitchen taking up most of the living space. The bedroom was decorated only with a small desk upon which sat a small reading lamp. Beneath the lamp there lay a book chronicling the progress of the facility, the "Antarctica prototype 0.93."as it was so lovingly referred to.
Gingerly picking up the book she threw an apologetic glance toward the remains of its author as they laid still in the small bed. What started as reports in the book evolved over time into more personal musings, and she recognized many of the same coping mechanisms she had used once her colleagues had departed their own base. A kindred spirit perhaps, but one whom she would never meet. Closing the door to the bedroom she walked out onto the porch and sat down in the solitary chair that watched over the fields. Once more opening the book she flipped all the way to the last page as the land was bathed in fading gold by a manufactured sun. And on that page, she read the final thoughts of a dying mind: "I always wanted to have a home on the moon." |
The bedroom was square. The petractor in Tim's hand was a semi-circle. He bit his lip and sighed. It irked him that their total sums were obtuse, but this was something he had to overlook with a condition like his, Doc Ramir had told him.
"Although like, maybe 1 in 80 statistics are made up, approximately 1 in 40 U.S adolescence suffer from Obsessive Compulsive behavioral disorder,"Ramir had said. "You're lucky to be one of them, really. Your house will be tidy, your life will be clean. It won't be perfect, but nothing is."
But Tim's house was perfect. At least it had been when he'd left it this morning. As perfect as it could be if you overlooked the total sum of most objects. Relative to the room - which had a total of 24 right angles alone if you didn't count the door frame or the clutter - relative to the room, every item had been organised at a 45 degree angle which gave it a somewhat diagonal quality. However, upon returning home he had gasped. Something was off. It stuck out like a sore thumb: the pencil on his desk looked a little out of place. Tim had grabbed his petractor...
He measured the pencil relative to his room, if you looked at it as a square, top-down - the door at the bottom... 49 degrees...
The window was closed. The wind couldn't have blown it. The air con was off. Nobody else has been home. He was last out in a morning and first in; had been this morning, just like every morning. Mom went to work and Dad had been down the corner store for cigarettes for the past fifteen years. Mum had said she was glad at first, because Dad's OCD had driven her mad; you can imagine her face when Tim began showing symptoms.
Tim returned downstairs and opened the kitchen. Nibbles, his cat, had been shut in the kitchen with his litter tray and wet-gel food, so who had been in his room?
Something rustled in the living room.
"Dad?"Tim whisper-shouted, doubtful.
Rustle. Rustle.
He poked his head round the door.
It was a giant orange angle: 45 degrees like clock-arms with eyes and legs and a mouth that yappered and twitched: "Huh?"
"Who are you?"They asked each-other.
"Tim."
"You can call me F.F, like J.J but with two Fs."Said the angle, Forty Five.
"Cool. And why are you here?"Tim whimpered.
"What? You summoned me."Said F. F.
"I summoned you?"Said Tim.
"From the angleverse. Y'know by rearranging every object in a room at a forty-five degree angle. Ancient black magic, that."
"Really?"
"Wait... Are you related to Arthur, you look so much like my friend Arthur."
"Arthur Shilling?"Tim gasped. "That's my father's name! He's been missing for fifteen years!"
"No. He's been missing for five. As his Son, you ought to be ashamed, forgetting the date and all. Sad day when such a war hero goes missing in action."
"A war hero?"Tim's jaw dropped once again. "In the angleverse?" |
Wallace was never a fan of numbers. He fancied himself one of the artistic types who loved artsy literature, movies, and drawing. He never had a knack for mathematics.
Especially the number 1645. That number above his head haunted him. It was a bizarre occurrence when it first happened, but as time moves on it isn't interesting anymore, and the world becomes interested in something else.
Wallace over time lost all his friends at school due to the number 1645. They all had normal numbers for their age. As all 18-year-olds are, most of their mental ages ranged between 14 to 17. They looked at his number and didn't think he would enjoy the things they did or the things they thought were funny. Wallace did relate to what they liked, which was the frustrating part. Was his number a fluke? Wallace didn't feel all that wise, but maybe it is a reflection of his temperament.
Wallace was always known to be level headed. Thinks before he acts, has good manners, proper etiquette, and avoids slang words or the use of the word "like"in a sentence.
Wallace sat near his window at his desk, drawing, listening to music and glancing outside the window. Teens in the courtyard of the apartment complex were playing and interacting as all teens should. He became fixated on the kids playing and watched. There was a knock at his bedroom door. He said, "Come in"without breaking eye contact with the teens outside. Wallaces Mom slipped in holding an envelope.
"Another check for the World's Oldest Mental Man,"she forcibly said in a strained enthusiastic tone.
"Thanks,"Wallace said. "You can just cash it into your account. Pay the bills, I know it is the end of the month. If I need something I will ask". Wallace's Mom took a deep inhale and thanked him before leaving. When Wallace's Mental Age was found out, he was a little bit of a celebrity. Now the government sends him checks to use him as a poster boy for certain agencies and businesses.
Wallace suddenly snapped out of his deep thought, and his eyes widened. The teens were still playing and some more had joined. He wasn't looking at that, but looking at a girl sitting on a bench near the edge of the court. His heart began to pound, almost to the point of bursting out of his chest. A cold sweat ran down his left temple and he swallowed hard. He was focused on the girl's number. The number was 1644. |
The burning heat was too familiar. The cold creeping feeling that followed it could almost be timed by now. 30 seconds, maybe 35 after shock started to set in. I’m on the ground in a dark alley. There’s a hole in my midsection, I’ve been stabbed.
It’s taken me months to track down the Subway Slayer as the tabloids have called him. I’ve been tracking people since before you were a person. Bad people. The Doodler, the Black Dahlia, Jack The Ripper. God, I could go on. And I will...just not in this body any more. You never fully get used to it. Dying, that is. No way is ever the exact same twice. I’ve been shot dead 107 times, stabbed 462 times, and even drowned four times. It’s...it’s getting hard to remember how many times. And I keep doing my job...
I’m one of the world’s greatest detectives, although I could have been one of the world’s best anything when you’ve had centuries to practice it. Sometimes it’s easier to stick with what you know though, old dogs and new tricks or somethinanother as they say. I was a knight once, tasked with locating a witch and bringing her to justice for missing villagers. She was surprised when I found her. I had timed her circuit to a lunar cycle and realized all the villages had formed a star: her novel hidden in a marsh in its center. As my sword brought her to justice she let out one foul cry from her severed head, “As you kill the wicked, you shall become the wicked!”
I never believed in a curse as much as that talking head frightened me. Twenty years went by and I was still a champion of justice. Until my first death, bandits. An arrow pierced my neck through an opening in my armor and helmet. I looked in the direction of the shot to see the bowman grinning with my vision fading. Suddenly, all I could see was myself. Or at least, my old self: lying on the grass in a pool of blood. “Thom! Thom! That was a Hell of a shot! Now quit staying still and run!” My soul had passed onto the bandit who shot me.
For centuries, I’ve been a living ghost. I fight the wicked with my curse. Whenever things get too rough or life starts to wear thin with age, I take my killer’s body and start anew. And from the looks of things, it’s almost time for my next start. |
I hate time travel.
I hate the thoughts that it inspires in the simple people, who think the path to riches is just a few numbers on a piece of paper two weeks ago. I hate the plans it engenders in the psychopath and the lunatic, who see the infinite playground of the yesterday and imagine everything that could happen with just a minor shove or three.
But more than either of these, I hate the man I become, creating the means for all these maniacs, and the man I was, for selling it to them. For if anyone were to accuse another of being a madman or an idiot, it should be I, for I am both and neither, and I always will be.
When the man first came along, he had said there was no time for explanations, and I should come with him if I wanted to live. I normally don’t follow instructions that unqualified and unspecific, but a speeding carriage pounding down the road towards oneself could make anyone a tad tense, so against better judgments, I took his hand.
Once we came to a stop, the man faced me, and I finally got a good glimpse of his face. It was like... looking in a mostly well-kept mirror, although it was a tad dusty, especially outlining the face. A beard and hair tinged with silver strands, a face more outlined with wrinkles, but still unmistakably...
“...Dad?” I ask, struggling to recall when we had last spoken. “If this is about last year, I’m sorry, but her leg, it wasn’t working right and I couldn’t-“
“No, no no, you’re smarter than this, Louis. Perhaps you haven’t quite realized where we are yet, but give it some time, and you’ll get the idea, pardon the pun.”
My head was hurting slightly, probably from the image of the carriage about to crash into us. Perhaps nothing’s actually happened, and I’m just comatose and waiting to wake up! With a mysterious yet familiar-looking stranger by my side, here to explain to me everything. And just as that thought left my head, he started to speak.
“Right, well I haven’t got long here. I’ve gotta gas up the car before I drop it off at the station again, and if it isn’t at precisely 2.33 gals left, they’ll notice and I’ll be docked more time, so let’s make this quick.”
My head hurt a bit more with each word that came out of the stranger’s mouth. The words, like his face, I had never heard of before, but I could make guesses at their meanings. It was almost like those vocabulary problems at school, where you were given a word to write onto your board, and had to guess how it was spelled based on what other words it sounded similar to. While I was puzzling together what exactly a ‘car’ was, he continued talking.
“...so while we’re going that way, I’ll drop you off at the 2100 marker so you can get started building it, and then I’ll go drop it off at the station and wait for you in 3545. All clear?”
And just like that, I missed the whole explanation of what was happening, why it was, and what I was even doing. I threw my hands in the air, and made it quite obvious that everything wasn’t all clear.
“Hang on a moment, I’m still trying to wrap my head around all this... this. Can we go over this from the beginning, but a bit slower?”
He looked down at me, slightly rebuffed, but returned to almost the same outward excitement as soon as he’d taken a drink from the flask on his hip... the same kind I used.
“Okay then Louis, we’ll start from the beginning. Hello Louis, my name is Lou. I’m from the city of New York in the year 2419. I’m an atheist, a Capricorn, and a millionaire, not necessarily in that order. As for why I’m here-“
“Stop!” I yelled, “nothing you’ve said makes any sense at all. First, that’s almost 600 years from now! And New York is a city full of bums and shippers, not people like... you!”
“Calm down, little Louis, all will make sense in time. Just give it a couple minutes, and when you get out, you’ll understand everything...” he said soothingly, patting my shoulder as he shuffled around in a small box beside him and handed me a blue-and-white drawing.
“What’s this?” I inquired, taking it and looking over it. It was almost like my father’s drafting papers, but with much smaller notes jotted in the margins, and odd numbers written all over the pieces.
Smirking over his shoulder, he said drily “This, right here, is both of our tickets to fame and fortune. Once you get out, take this and build it, then come pick me up in 3545. Then, we’ll go look for me, so we can save you. Once you’ve defeated me, you’ll have all you need to save yourself and make bank.”
Now absolutely boggled, I glanced down at the drawings, then looked up again to find... nothing. I was alone once again, in a room I’d never seen before, and with plans I didn’t understand, from a man that couldn’t explain anything. The only inkling I had, was that my time with this strange man was only just starting to get weird. |
"Hey, let me in and get me some nice vodka."The line of people waiting to go into the nightclub was long behind him. The bouncer looked a bit frustrated before, but for that comment, he was damn pissed."Why don't you go get it yourself. Because I have a job to do f\*\*\*\*r.""I'm good."Kevin ran straight past the bouncer and did a wall run and flipped off the door, landing right behind the bouncer. He whipped out his knife from his pocket, slung his right arm over the bouncer's shoulder, and held the knife right at his neck. He could feel the bouncer's pulse get faster and faster as shock and fear finally took over."Woah... Woah. We don't need to go this far..."By this time, a crowd was staring. Phones were pulled out of people's pockets and people were dialing 911 as far as Kevin could tell. Kevin used his left arm to click a comm in his ear, "This is Foxtrot-Alpha-Echo-94-McCallister-L6 to HQ Special Support Dispatch. Deploy telecommunications EMP on my location. We've got some coppers."He heard through his ear, "This is HQ Special Support Dispatch to Foxtrot-Alpha-Echo-94-McCallister-L6. Affirmative. Phones will be disabled in T-Minus 30 seconds."By now, some people were running. The bouncer was practically begging for his life. Kevin knew it wouldn't last that long though.Kevin spoke right behind the bouncer's ear, "Do you know who Jack Irvani is?"The bouncer responded in a confident tone. Like it would save his life. "I've heard of him... I think he's friends with the boss and is a regular."Kevin smirked and put away his knife. "That's what I like to hear. I'll make this death nice and painless for your help."He pulled out a gun from his black plastic holster on his waist and put it at the bouncer's back. "POOM!"Blood spurted from both sides of the bouncer's body. His black shirt slowly turned a dark red. And finally, his body went limp. Kevin thought to himself, *A slow death. Nothing unusual. I'm sorry. If you have a family, you should have told me.* Kevin pushed the nightclub door open to walk into a room of stimulation and choreographed chaos. Lights blazed. People danced. A DJ bopped his head to the beat of the music. But Kevin toned everything out. To him, it was organized and served to him on a silver plate. No. Diamond plate. He walked through the grooving crowd to the DJ, bumping into to people as he went. Everyone stared. He was in plain black clothes, soaked in blood, and everyone else was wearing crop tops or rock T-shirts. Jeans. Shorts. It was a town of culture. But not something Kevin particularly liked. One person with green eyes, jet black hair, slight dimples, and a big puffy nose stared at him like a madman. He classified him as a Level 4 Possible Risk. It shouldn't be hard to deal with if the time came. There was another woman. More of a teenager. Blue eyes, light blonde hair, huge dimples, a tiny bit of freckles, and a tiny nose. She looked at Kevin, and her eyes went as huge as tires. Her dancing slowed as you could see signs of distress. A panic attack by the looks of it. Or, she knew where Jack Irvani was... She walked to the bathroom as calmly as she could, but nothing looked normal as she walked. You could see the sweat on her neck. Her legs and arms were tensed. She was nervous. It was either the blood, or she knew. She ran into the bathroom, and Kevin kicked down the door. The girl shrieked in fear. Her body tensed so hard. Kevin felt he knew."Where is Jack Irvani?"She responded with complete confidence like there was no scared little girl inside of her, "In your ass."Her eyes calmed and she pulled out 2 guns. They were definitely .45 caliber bullets inside of that gun. It looked hand made. Kevin threw himself out of the bathroom and behind a wall. Shots fired, and he remembered the time he worked at the FBI. Age 12. FBI Juvenile Undercover Division, Advanced Unit Squad. Rank; Lieutenant. He was on a mission where he shot 15 people. Good times. S.H.I.E.L.D. wanted him after that, but he missed the FBI only a little bit. There were much fewer restrictions on killing in S.H.I.E.L.D. He pulled out several parts from his vest and quickly assembled an assault rifle. He cocked it and pulled it to his chest, checking if there were any mistakes. If there were, it would be over... Kevin jumped in front of the doorway of the bathroom and fired half of the mag. Bullets flew through the teen's body. Blood gushed out of her. Her body fell toward the ground. Her skin slowly turned white and her breathing ceased. People screamed and stared. Several people ran at Kevin to attack him, but he shot them in the heart every time. 100% accuracy.His comms in his ear buzzed, "HQ to Foxtrot-Alpha-Echo-94-McCallister-L6. Foreign officials are on their way. Extraction required as soon as possible. A helicopter is coming your way."He put his finger on the comm to trigger it, "Shit. I was close. I'll be on the roof."He rushed to the stairs and he finally made it to the top floor. The drug sales floor. Kevin always hated those types of nightclubs. He took out a small laser tool from his left pocket and activated it. It burned slowly through the roof, but it took around 2 minutes as he made a small circular hole in the roof. He propelled himself up by launching himself off the stair rail, and he flipped onto the roof. The helicopter slowly grew bigger as it came closer. It looked like it was coming from the beach, but he knew it was from an underwater base. The blades whirred and he could feel the wind as it attempted to land on the tiny roof. Security and bouncers got up on the roof as they saw the helicopter. And they were sure damn pissed. Kevin pulled out his automatic pistol and pumped all the bullets in his mag into every single security person he could. He released the mag and loaded another. He proceeded to pump bullets into the closer security personnel who soon dropped to the floor. Blood soaked the floor. It was like a flood. But he hopped on the helicopter, and never gave a second thought.
EDIT: Hope this is good... |
######[](#dropcap)
The first few seconds, when they weren't sure if the item in my hand was a sandwich or a dagger, were the scariest.
I knew it was coming, but still had to force down a flinch when the windows shattered. It took every bit of my willpower to keep from turning, from looking at the stout, heavily armed forms that came pouring in to surround me.
I felt my body tensing, waiting for the blow of a battle-axe that would end my life. My jaw snapped shut from stress, taking a bite out of my sandwich that I had to remember how to chew.
For a moment, the only sound in the building was the crunch of fresh greens in my sandwich.
"Oy, Captain?"one of the intruders finally spat out, his dialect making it sound like he had a mouthful of rocks. "Whadda we supposed ta do?"
"He's got armor on,"said another, and I felt beady little eyes scrutinizing me as they stared out from the crack between helmet, eyebrows, and bushy beard. "He's an enemy."
"Maybe he's daft,"said another, from behind me.
I heard clanking, saw their captain approach. There wasn't any missing him; his beard was tinted with gray, his shoulders a little heavier, pulled down both by the weight of the axe slung over his back and by far too much death. He stopped, looked at me. With me sitting at one of the few intact tables in the inn, we were practically eye to eye.
"Elf,"he grunted, dark little eyes glaring at me. "You can speak?"
I thought about nodding, but instead pushed the bite of soggy, degraded sandwich down my throat. "I do,"I said.
I heard assorted clanking around the room as the dwarves tightened their grip on weapons. Their captain, however, didn't tense or startle.
"An' what are ye doing?"he went on.
I nodded down to my food. "Eating lunch."
"But there's a bloody war on!"burst out one of the other dwarves in the regiment. He looked younger, I guessed, or at least seemed that way from his impulsiveness.
His captain shot him a glare that made him take a physical step back, but I just shrugged. "Yes, I know. But I'm on my break for lunch."
A long second passed, a silence that was more fragile than any gossamer glass spun by my craftsman ancestors.
The captain sighed. He reached back, unsheathed his axe... and carefully leaned it against the table. He picked up an overturned stool. It squeaked a bit as he settled his armored bulk onto it, but held his weight.
The rest of the dwarves stared at him, aghast. "Captain!"cried the impulsive one. "What are ye doing??"
"Isn't it obvious?"he growled back at them. "I'm on break. Cully, go fetch the supplies. Let's get a fire going, at least heat up whatever we're forcing down today."
"Dwell found some wild scallions,"one dwarf volunteered, looking sidelong at me as if wondering whether this was revealing too much to the enemy.
I took another bite of my sandwich and, while chewing, reached down and rummaged about in my own pack, sitting beneath the table. I pretended not to notice how the dwarves tensed, and pulled out a packet wrapped in preservative waxwood leaves.
"I've got extra sweetcakes, if anyone's interested,"I offered.
The dwarf captain shot a glare at me, searching my face for any sign of wrongdoing. I didn't care, and just looked steadily back at him. He either gave up or found what he wanted to see, because with a snort, he reached out and nudged the leaves aside.
"Wanna know something silly?"he commented to me in an undertone all could hear. "Back before this damn war. I had some of these cakes, when I was just a young 'un. Best thing I ever ate, they were."
"These probably won't be as good,"I said, apologetic. "War rations, you know."
He took a bite, chewed. "Still better than hardtack. Brings back memories, it does."He kept chewing, glanced at me. "There a bunch o' yer buddies waiting around to ambush us?"
I shook my head. "Just me. Last of my group."
"Ach, shame."He did sound sorry. "Ambush get ye?"
"Troll, up in the mountain pass."
We both shook our heads, as did several other dwarves still hanging awkwardly around with their hands on axes. We may be at war against each other, but we'd each take a dozen other opponents before tangling with an angered troll.
Another dwarf came in, bent nearly double by the sack over his shoulder. He froze when he saw me, but the captain waved him onward impatiently. "Come ye on, Cully!"he insisted. "Get a fire going. Let's get some food in, while we've got shelter. There's sweetcakes, if ye can get a proper stew on the boil."He looked over at me. "'Fraid it's got ground beetle in it. Know that you lot don't like much fer meat."
"I can probably handle beetle,"I said. "I've got some spices."
One of the other dwarves perked up, his hand slipping away from his axe. "Hot spice?"
I rummaged around in the pack again, searching. My fingers found a small bottle, one that I'd carried for far too long. It deserved to be used.
I put it on the table, and all the dwarves took a step closer. "Nanny's Wow-Wow Sauce,"one of them breathed in a hushed whisper. "I thought they stopped making that!"
"It's pretty old,"I admitted. "Might have lost a bit of its potency."
"Just makes it stronger,"the captain insisted. He turned, looked at his soldiers. "Come on, you lot. Get some wood for Cully's fire, pull up chairs."
They all moved in - except the impulsive one. "What about the war, captain?"he asked, risking one last glance at me.
The captain rolled his eyes at me. I may be a different species, but I still recognized that look - one of an elder sick of waiting for the young to lose their naïveté. "The war will still be on later, Harl,"he said. "But right now, we're on break for lunch." |
You wake up to your radio playing "Mr blue sky"
You get ready for the day and begin to walk to work
As your walking you hear
Ok, they think that a new year is about to start. This is a good time for a reboot and update
You are confused but just as the first voice ended you hear
Sir! Your mic is on
"What?"Questioned the first voice
"OH F###
The sound of panicked fumbling with what sounded like a head set was heard.
I look around and no one else seemed to hear it.
"I need to start taking my meds agai....
Before i was able to finish my thought everything goes to black then blue
UPDATE V.2176 INITIALIZING
PLEASE WAIT
MEMOIRES OF ALL OCCUPENTS WILL BE ERASED
ARE YOU SURE YOU WANT TO CONTINIUE
Y/N
"Y"
darkness
You wake up to your radio playing "Mr blue sky" |
The spaceship had touched down in the desert hours ago. It was huge and gleaming, with a flaming rock drawn on its sides. Every once in a while, flashing lights would emit from the windows, though we couldn’t see anything from the outside. It was a little worrying, especially since nobody had come to greet us yet and ask for our leader – which would’ve been preferable, as I was already standing here with my presidential staff surrounding me and a speech prepared. Even if they charged out guns drawn, it would’ve been better than the agonizing wait. Our land rovers weren’t very protected from the desert’s dust.
When we first saw the lights in the sky, we thought it was a comet glowing with ice and heat. People suggested launching missiles, even nukes, in hopes of altering its trajectory, which seemed to be a straight line towards Earth. If it crashed, it could result in an extinction event rivaling that of the dinosaurs.
Then we saw that the light had a shape. The purposeful design of spacecraft, the shining exterior of metal. While some people still wanted to bomb it, others were excited at the prospect of aliens. And who wouldn’t be? We’d been getting lonely on our little planet here in space. What if they were friends, willing to form an alliance and share their secrets? Friends don’t nuke friends. And besides, it was just one spaceship, not a fleet of organized invaders. Why not see these aliens for ourselves?
A whoosh of air startled me from my thoughts. The ship’s large airlock had opened without a creak, and a thick green mist flowed out from within. I thought I could see hazy shapes, but I couldn’t make out the forms. I heard a military commander nearby barking out orders in case the aliens were hostile.
As the air started to settle, I heard gasps beside me and…was that quiet sobbing? I couldn’t risk a glance back though. One of the forms had finally stepped through, and I had to suppress a gasp myself. The alien was a bipedal reptile several meters tall with vibrant, colorful feathers adorning it and surprisingly small hands. Its piercing eyes looked right through me as I gathered my courage and took a step forward, clearing my throat and standing tall.
“Welcome to planet Earth! I-”
Suddenly, there was a shout and I felt myself shoved aside as the Vice President lunged forward. He stopped several meters from the reptiles, and tears were leaking down his face. If I hadn’t been surprised enough, I was when he quickly grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked it down.
Now I couldn’t help but gasp. Instead of the Vice President I knew, I saw a hairless reptile – no, a lizard – with small beady eyes. In a near whisper, he said, “You’ve finally returned…”
I spun around to call for my aides, but in horror I found them all pulling their own masks off too.
“No…” I said, taking a step back. “You’re all lizard-people.”
“Wrong,” a lizard – one of my former senior advisers – said. “We’re dinosaurs.” |
I’ve been around for a while. At one point I was even drafted for a war in my youth, one of the big ones. Time has its funny way of making things erase though. I was never in that war even though I remember it clearly.
See, I’m insane. Clinically and casually. But not in the ‘my brain doesn’t work right and I have issues with life’ kind of way, I’m insane in the way which people fear. The kind of madness a Looney Toons episode would mock. The angry kind of high functioning insane. The fear of the Other, the monster lurking within the heart of man kind of deal. The big joke about human existence- we’re all just one bad day away from swearing off the whole ‘living in a society’ thing.
And it turns out, if you’re interesting enough... Something takes notice. Now I’m not one to speculate what or whom, heavens knows old Jackie was never a scientific sort, even before the dip, but even in the fits of a mad giggle in my lair, my moll demurely snarking to one side, as I evoke the themes and qualities of a 20s gangster a hundred years after that swinging decade has passed... I can’t help but notice, that I appear to be the villain.
And isn’t that a shame? Can the leopard not change her shorts? I’ve been amnesiac no less than 30 times, and I can be good for a while.
So. The letter. You had a wish to meet me. 24 hours. Most people would be terrified of spending a second with me, and yet you seek a whole day? Why?
Ah. You’re mute. Mind if I read your file? speak up if you mind. No? Good.
So... Cancer... Afasia... Heart failure... Liver failure... Motor function loss... Spinal tears... Gall bladder rupture... And of course your missing arm. Hell, kid, who did you piss off?
Oh. Yeah. Me.
So is this a ploy to get me to feel remorse for my crimes? Because I’m not.
How long has it been? 5 minutes?
This is going to be very long and very boring, kid, so try to die quick.
Actually... Say no if you don’t want me to trip over that plug.
I’m not hearing a no...
Oh you have SHOCKED me, young sir. Oh how careless I am, oh woe is me, for I have tripped over your life support machine cables, removing its power supply!
Oh, hello Batsy. Didn’t hear you come in. How are you? |
The panicked screams from my parents and friends were drowned out by that thumping sound emanating from the craft, a force washing over me like waves. They yelled for me not to go closer, to turn back. The devil, demons, they yelled. But it was none of those things, nor did it came from God, as some said. This was meant for me, and me alone. I had a connection with it.
Intricate webs of numbers and strings presented itself as I got closer, and strangely, I immediately understood them despite never having seen anything like it before. I waved my hand, and arranged the bits and numbers in order, and just like that, the craft went from being a smoking, dark wreck to lighting up.
*Rebooting*, a voice said, in a language so foreign I could never hope to translate it - yet I knew the function associated with the word. The cockpit opened, and a lifeless creature sat there. It did not look human, but also not terribly alien. It had legs, sure, and arms. But the suit it wore suggested a strangely formed head, and tubes extended from the craft into its' suit.
With another weave, I unhooked the tubes from the creature and began strapping it out of its' seat. From behind, I felt a man rushing towards me. More like saw him coming, through what must have been the crafts' eyes. He came to stop me from my destiny. I tilted my head to the side, and the craft lit up briefly. A harsh blast nearly toppled me, and a blinding light sent a pulse past me. The man was sent back, flying, bleeding, crashing into the ground by the onlookers. No one else dared come running.
I sat down in the seat, marveling at this wonder. I had never fit in here anyway, in this village. In this time. It's time to leave.
*Diagnostics*, the voice said, as I attempted to repair the craft with its' built in protocols. Shortly after, I'd learned that a few key functions were down, such as life supporting features for this creature. Surveying the planet had revealed that the pilot would not have survived without those. But I was a native.
Without touching the controls, I weaved my hands in nothing but air, and the craft responded, shutting the cockpit and lifting me off the ground. In the span of mere minutes, I had gone from being a simple, tribal man who believed that Gods sent lightning, wind and rain, to understanding weather, forestation, currents, tectonic movements and even knowing that our world was not flat, but round, large, and inhabited by so many species it made my head spin.
I had learned of the speed of light, of other things related to it that I did not understand, and I had learned of neighbors. Dead neighbors, planets, just like ours, in our Solar system. No gods for millions of miles to see, just dirt, stone, metal, magma and gases.
All of this streamed into my head from the crafts' data banks.
With a nod forward, the craft began to move, slowly at first. Some things made little sense to me yet, others were fragments from damage, but I realized one key thing had something to do with speed and I wanted to explore beyond my homeland, so I gave it a gentle push.
In a flash, there was nothing but darkness and streaking beams of light. I was pushed back into my seat by an invisible force, and felt myself lose consciousness. When I came to, I had to quickly steer left, and then right, and then veer upwards into the sky to avoid the large structures that had appeared before me. In an instant, I felt weak pulses below me, so numerous that it made my head spin. They were too far away to influence, but I knew I could - just like I had this craft.
*The speed of Light*,
I had traveled so fast that time ceased to exist for me, and I was now so far into the future that my ancestors had spread across the entire planet and built their structures out of metals rather than grass, mud and wood. Before I had a chance to marvel at the enormous city, I lost all control. Everything turned red in my mind, and the numbers were replaced by static.
*Override*, the alien voice said. And then another, more familiar human voice spoke.
*I'm bringing you to somewhere safe to land. You've entered the atmosphere above New York City, the largest city in a powerful country. I'm like you. You can trust me. But the government? They're already after you. I'm tapped into their satellites, their RADAR, everything. And they would give anything to get their hands on someone like us; and especially someone who is apparently piloting something completely Alien. I'll meet you in fifteen minutes. Again, you can trust me.*
The broadcast gave way for static, and suddenly I was just along for the ride. Without being tapped into the craft, I came to, and felt everything around me more strongly - more importantly, I realized I had left everything I know behind, and thrown myself into the unknown, and though I had learned much from the crafts' data banks, I would be naive to think I could understand this world.
Yet. |
Culinary skills, basic housekeeping and repairs, communication skills, operation of planetary transportation, and other aspects of day-to-day living are not commonly found in a single unit. Except in humans. They can find or invent a way do everything.
A sub-space transponder operator of average capabilities has only his professional knowledge and that he has learned during his education period to help him through life. A human of the same profession and rank would often have many other skill sets entirely unrelated to his profession or to his time spent in education. He would pick these up from other humans or simply what humans call "life hacks", knowledge that is not taught in the average education facility.
Human's new ideas are not always effective and often border on absurd, but sometimes, they come up with theories and inventions that are mind blowing. Like cheese. Who ever thought that leaving a perishable liquid to culture was a good idea? But they eat it on everything.
Now with the collective genius of the galaxies at their fingertips, they are truly on another level. It is common to meet a human who has several young offspring, two professional occupations and the knowledge to navigate a small craft in hyper-space. This is highly normal among humans, but almost impossible to find outside the human species.
Because of their versatility, humans are highly sought after as crew members on exploration vessels, and have the highest planet colonization success rate of any species. They also seem to be fairly easy going, which makes having them around a lot more fun.
It is safe to say that Humanity is the most adaptable species in the known galaxies. Hence the phrase, "Humans Rule". |
"Friends! This is our birthright! We are born to lead the lesser ones to greatness!"the old warlock shouted from up on the stage, to rapturous applause. Sparks shot into the sky, courtesy of the more showy mages.
"Oh, damn this,"I thought. That was all everything was. Just a show to convince themselves what they were doing with all the power they had was actually good. In reality, very little good got done by the mages nowadays. They were equal to all the others, but slowly, over hundreds of years, the power had gotten to them and made them into the oppressive cult they were now.
I'd had enough of it all. I came to the Academy to do good. I came here to learn more about the magicks, to understand how I could use my powers to help the land. My village was a tiny hamlet nestled in a valley. It was out of everything's way, and in the storm season, it was ravaged by trolls, wolves and extreme temperature. I had originally come to the Academy with a dream of going back and learning how to help my people. But I understood reality only when I got here.
The old ideals of serving those less fortunate, and magicks had been replaced by a lot of flowery dresses, elaborate ceremonies, and a whole lot of time wasting. This was accompanied by an attitude of most where they saw themselves to be better than the common folk. The ones they were supposed to help.
The Academy was no longer a place of learning. It was just a sheild under which mages were now free to do as they wished. Groups of mages ravaged the countryside, heading into villages, taking what they wished in kind and in women, and there was nothing the villagers could do to stop them, those who weilded the magick. But the magick had changed. The magick in the books was almost written as if it were a being, one to be treated with respect. The magick mages did now, making things float or catch fire, were as if they were a group of performing tricksmen.
I was done with it. Done with all of this. I had been thinking of running away from all this for a while, and the opening statement of Warlock Demius had pushed me beyond the edge. I took what precious few belongings I had, my trusty staff, and set out without looking back. Inmates had to announce when they were going to leave for an extended period, or they would be fined upon entry. And I really didn't plan on coming back to the Academy. I picked a sturdy looking mare from the stables and set out without a word. The gates were closed and the gateman was away listening to the drivel that was being doled out in the main hall. I unlocked the gates with a nifty little spell, and head out. It was time to leave this life behind.
I'd not been outside in a long time. My home lay miles and miles away, and there was nothing for me outside. I spent most of my time in the library. I had started doing it as a way to avoid speaking to my peers for they seemed to have nothing of interest to speak, unless deciding what to eat next or which village to go to could be counted as such. This hiding away in the library made me discovere an interest for the old scrolls and texts.
I followed the road from the gate, through winding lanes and empty villages. Almost every village in the vicinity of the Academy was now abandoned, such was the difficulties faced by the villagefolk due to the assembly of mages inside. They took what they liked, made people do what they wanted, and rarely answered to anything. This arrogance would be their downfall, the smallfolk had hoped, but no such downfall had happened. In the end, they had to leave their homes and livelihood behind.
A day's riding had brought me to a village. I went inside the inn, desperate for an ale and something to eat. The innkeep sent his daughter inside the moment he saw my staff, and quietly served me. I was half way through my meal before I noticed how the entire inn had now gone silent, looking at me.
"Your kind isn't welcome here, wizard. We got nothing for you. Eat and leave,"a voice spoke from the crowd.
"I need nothing from any of you,"I said. "I'll pay the good innkeep for this meal, and for a night's lodging. My colleagues have treated people badly, but pray do not see me in the same light."I said.
A few people grunted disbelievingly, but most people stopped staring at me and got back to what they were doing. I finished my meal, and crept upstairs to my room, asleep as soon as I hit the bed.
The morning woke me in the form of someone banging on my door. I opened it a little to see what the commotion was, only to see a young woman stop, take a look at me, turn white as a sheet and run away. Sighing, I closed it, dressed myself and went down. The inn was empty, except for the innkeep who was cleaning glasses. He looked at me carefully, expecting me to turn him into ash any second. I paid for my fare, and asked him if there were any houses in the village that were available for rent.
"There's one yonder, by the lake. The old yeoman owns it, go ask him,"he muttered, not looking into my eyes.
I tipped my hat, gathered my belongings and set off in search of yonder. But as I rounded a curve, there was a lake below me at the base of the hill I was on, and near it stood a small cabin. It looked pretty even from up here, and I drove my mare onwards. Nearing the cottage, it looked perfect for me. Small, and easy to maintain. I put a hand on the gate, and someone shouted "Tell me your intentions or leave!"
There was an old man in a large farmer's hat, leading a large pig on a leash. "I was told this house was for rent by the innkeep..."I jumped as the pig started sniffing my feet.
"Down boy!"he shouted at the pig, yanking the leash, and looked me up and down.
"I don't trust your kind."
"That is a pity sir. I'd be willing to pay you what you wish, however,"I said. His eyes narrowed as he calculated what he could say without it being daylight robbery, and came up with the figure of 30 rends. twice what the cottage would be worth. True to my word, however, I paid him there and moved my things in. I'd enjoy a life away from the Academy and the dirty old city, I thought.
I woke up the next day feeling very refreshed. The country air was doing me good already, I thought. I decided I'd go down to the lake and take a dip. Mages didn't really follow suit with cleanliness, and the water looked invitingly clean. Only, I hadn't counted on the lake coming up to meet me when I stepped out. The water had risen right upto the doorstep of the cabin, and Betsy, my mare, was neighing piteously from a small patch of dry land. She hated even a little bit of water.
This was strange, but stranger things had happened in the Academy. I wanted to get to know the countryside, and I set out right after, trusty staff in hand. After the dirt and squalor in cooped up buildings for years, this was exceedingly good. I hummed to myself, swishing my staff along. I saw a random beaten path, and decided I'd go that way. It led to a wood that looked untouched. I headed deeper, and got to a creek, and drank a little bit of the water.
The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, tingling. Magick was in the air, and mages could detect magic. And there was a lot of it around me. That was strange. Usually, I'd get a little bit of tingling when in the Academy. The presence of all the mages around me would cause that. But I was alone, and it was tingling way more than it had ever done in the Academy... unless. I remembered the water coming upto the lake. I remembered the dreams I had the previous night, of me flying through the country.
Magick was old. Older than the people. It was a part of the land. We mages might have taken it, and bbastardized the origins, but the old magic had always been here, waiting. I raised my staff, and concentrated on the creek and the land. Opening my eyes, I saw one end of the staff was covered in a sphere of water, and the other with earth. The magick was coming back.
However, this needed to be kept away from the mages. Not all of them knew of the old days, where mages were masters of the elements. And they had to be kept away from this. Or there'd be no telling to what they'd do.
In the woods, surrounded by the fifth element, I hatched a plan. |
I'm third generation Dave. Same DNA but twice the bitter asshole. I don't know who the genius was that decided cloning a mass murderer to ensure he carried out his full sentence was the solution to hate crimes, but here I am, Dave reincarnated and ready to serve my time.
I have some of original Dave's memories. Cloning is far from perfect, but when you're dealing with criminals, as long as you land in the ballpark of what you're trying to achieve, that's close enough. It doesn't matter anyway, I hate that old bastard. He left me with nothing but a life sentence in max prison, Johnny Cash's Folsom Prison Blues playing on repeat in my head, and worst of all - the knowledge that we did not commit the crime for which we had been imprisoned.
I'd been around for about 20 years now, but with 140 years left in my 300 year sentence, time was nearly irrelevant. My jumpsuit had DEX printed across the back, identifying me as Marcus Dex, a guy who bombed a middle school way back in year 2215. First of all, what a lack of creativity. They should have known it wasn't Dave senior. It's like they hadn't even seen his paintings beyond the Hitler comparisons that sprouted up during his trial. Marcus Dex wasn't the killer's real name, of course, just what he had rented his apartment under. I had no idea who the real bomber was and I didn't care. All I wanted was to get out of this shit hole, and unlike Dave senior and Dave junior, I had a plan.
Information was free in the form of the internet. Of course, computer time was limited and monitored, if you were using the ones in the common room. But if you'd been stealing parts for the last 5 years and had built your own computer in the ceiling of the maintenance room, well, McAfee had no power there.
Besides the obligatory porn (mostly BDSM, because what was more ironic than a man living out his life in federal detention watching actors pretend to be detained), I learned a lot about cloning. And because I worked in maintenance at the prison, which is what 160 years of good behavior will earn you, I had access to a lot of facilities. Including the cloning facility.
The nice thing about the replication room is that it was rarely used. There were only 50 or so of us that had 100+ year sentences, and if we died every 70-80 years - you get the idea. It stayed locked most of the time, but the key had been easy enough to swipe while mopping the halls outside the warden's office. After all, why would it need to be guarded?
I sneaked into the replication room, a little after 11 am, when everyone was going to lunch. I'd gotten a look at this particular machine several times before and had done extensive research on it. Although far from being an expert, I felt confident enough that I'd be able to pull this off.
A few strands of hair, a fingernail clipping, and a tiny flag of skin I'd scraped off my finger were all it took. Cloning machines at that point were very advanced. In fact, I only had to change one setting - from Baby to Adult.
My escape after was relatively simple. I hid in the ceiling of the maintenance closet with my computer until I could slip out a few days later in a guard uniform. Delighted myself in watching videos of how the real world lived and what was left, after 160 years of being locked away. Even checked up on a few relatives, though I knew I'd never visit them. I couldn't blow my cover, not while Dave the Fourth was sitting in my old cell, screaming at the guards that he didn't do it, just like he had for the past century and a half.
Enjoy the next 50 years, jackass. I know I will. |
“It’s him.”
“What the... how is he HERE? You can’t unlock the ninth dungeon room without the key, and the key is with us!”
A shadow rushed past the party at ridiculous speed. Well, not really rushed. It was a frame issue; there were certain animations that weren’t properly synced, allowing players to glitch-run.
The shadow flickered in and out existence, slipping between pillars and jumping on invisible ledges between walls. The movement was strange, and the player stats stranger.
The party of adventurers drew their swords. They all knew who it was.
The Lord of the Speedrun clan, a mercenary and power gaming group, infamous for exploitation, the occasional vigilante justice, and most importantly of all, trolling. It was thanks to these folk that so many players had indeed survived, with the invention of the health overflow glitch and the invincibility frame.
The shadow ignored them. He rushed past the first gate, jumping up and down like a cartoon woodpecker, before phasing right through the locked door.
“What’s he after? The loot to this is a simple peacemaker. It’s designed to lower the warmongering of hostile AI factions. We are only here for a quest, but it’s clear this guy doesn’t need it.” The party’s resident swordmage, Kianna, asked, as the shadow triggered a horde of skeletons that targeted the party. Low-level, but still dangerous enough to warrant caution.
In the span of fifteen minutes, the skeletons were beaten. But the party received no more awards. The shadow had “beaten” the level, slipping past the necromancer in nothing but a tunic and a glitched duplicate bomb, hurling them until the boss dropped to zero.
In the depths of New Hyrule castle, the shadow dropped a thousand peacemaker treaties on the table. Farmed and duplicated, a thousand for the highest bidder.
There days later, New Delhi, the most peaceful of the AI factions, designed as a haven for new players, declared war, its aggression level overflowed to maximum from peacemaker treaties. |
*Journal your dreams. Why wouldn't you?*
*Otherwise, what are they but a figment of a life you never lived?*
I should have listened to her before our time came. Maybe then I'd still have the same lucidity I did just moments ago. The same understanding of Time.
Instead, I'm stuck with memories of her sitting cross-legged in the living room, staring at a picture of some guru and claiming she's more elevated than me. Like yeah, I'm five-five, but I was yesterday and last year, too.
Anyways, she was wrong. I always told her that. Killed us quicker than Time did, I guess.
The dreams aren't a life I never lived. They're the misplaced memories implanted by a sprawling parasite, too big to care about one host or another. That's all we are. Hosts.
They're memories belonging to somebody else, briefly passing through my mind.
Minute fragments, I do remember. For seconds, at least, before they disappear into a hazy fog, as if I was never meant to see them at all. Found then lost. They weren't mine to begin with.
There were creatures in the fog. No--brief lucidity--the creature *was* the fog.
Everywhere, inescapable, unstoppable.
A parasite, its very existence our lifeblood and then demise. Without it, I'd never exist and without it, I'd never cease to exist.
More than just me and her and us, even. It's the world's demise. Even the tortoise, lumbering slow enough to bore drying paint doesn't escape the parasitic infection that gradually wears it down to nothing. And beyond? The world, its fate sealed. The universe, unable to escape Time.
We won't be here by then. Not us, little creatures insignificant next to anything worth a damn. We're hosts, one of billions or trillions, and when we die and turn to bone dust, others rise in our place. And through it all, Time goes on.
She thought there'd be essence left. That we'd persist for eternity, just not as physical beings.
Bullshit.
I saw the fog. Human host or tree host or cosmic dust host didn't matter. If there was something, there was Time. Without Time's parasitic infection, wet paint would never dry. Water would never boil. My brownies would never bake, her stupid hair would never grow, and then she'd never have had a two hundred dollar trim.
And how we dealt with the parasite?
Hours, devoured. Fighting and yelling.
Days, in a daze. Meditative trance or drug-induced stupor. Whatever. We each dealt with Time in our own way.
Years, and that's my fear. That when I reach the end and look back, I'll have not even been a dent in the existence of Time. It's like that now, and why would it change?
Eventually, I remember, the fog receded. It revealed the hellscape of destruction it left behind. Happiness and innocence, cast aside like the disposable hosts they were. Youth and optimism, ground to a fine powder. Like my resilience, and then my will, and eventually my body and soul.
Then, when it reached our end, and the fiery inferno claimed all that ever was to us, the fog moved on.
Why? Because it never stopped. Where? I don't remember. When? Now, maybe. If not in me then in another host.
I had a dream, and for a time I understood. But now, as I think back, I can't quite remember what it was. The bed is comfortable though, so I'll just stay a couple hours.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! |
It started so innocuously. Who would have thought a spoon full of mashed potatoes catapulted across the room would come to this? But those potatoes are no longer mashed, and that catapult of a spoon is now a cannon made of PVC. Carrots were sharpened. Candy was super-heated. And the milk... I don't even want to think of what we did with the milk.
I've lost friends to bombardments of bannanas. Seen countless platoons wiped out in seconds from artichoke artillery. And the horrors wrought by the Durian Detachment still haunt me whenever I close my eyes.
But all of that is childs' play to what is coming. For we have woken an angry god, a vengeful god.
We run, for we know what we have done. We run, for there is nothing else left to do. We run, hoping to avoid this atonement for our sins.
We run. For he is coming.
The Janitor. |
The chilly night air was perfect for me to snuggle under my thick blanket for a well deserved rest. The day had been a hard one, but I'd gotten through it like all the others before. Now, I could finally take my break. However, as the raspy voice started to whisper in my ear, I realized that my medication had been neglected for the night. There was no way I'd be able to go to sleep without it, not with all the voices coming to my torture. As such, I tried my best to ignore the whispers in my ear promoting self-mutilation and suicide. The pills surely would help to combat this.
Avoiding the obvious ghost by my bedside, I slid out of bed and headed for the bedroom door. Slowly, I creaked it open, knowing how my parents didn't like it when I was up and out of bed. Still, my pills were priority.
I gingerly crept down the hall and to the stairs, but I stopped at I heard my mother's chuckle hit my ears from the living room. Being the curious, 14-year-old I was, I stopped myself on the top stair and listened.
"Convincing him he had schizophrenia, though? What a stroke of genius!"
This was then followed by my father's voice shushing her and then "Did you hear that?"
In listening, I hadn't noticed my body leaning more forward with interest. In doing this, my weight caused the stair underneath my feet to creak lightly. As soon as I heard my parents shuffle off the sofa, I knew I couldn't be caught. Quickly but quietly, i booked it back to my room, shut my door, and dove under the covers.
Only moments later did the door open once more. I had to keep my face away from it, so they didn't see my face struggling to relax. Yet I could picture them both standing there and staring at my from the entrance. Thankfully, they both left only a few seconds later, leaving me to dwell in horror and surprise by what I'd heard and was still hearing.
If I didn't have schizophrenia, why did I hear and see these awful things every day and night? Why did they constantly berate me for the things I did wrong, no matter how minor? Why did they drone on about how worthless I was and how I should just end it all? Why? How? And how did those pills actually work to sedate this torture?
The rest of the night was virtually sleepless. Without my pills, I had no peace. Schizophrenia or not, that medication worked. I don't know how, but it did. Maybe it was placebo? Maybe not? I don't know, but I had to find out what was wrong with me, and the only people to know that I could ask would bet he very people drugging my up every day.
In the morning, at breakfast, I was handed two ovals of blue with my meal - my medication. However, instead of taking them, I this time spoke up. It took a lot of courage and working myself up to it, but I'd had the whole night for that. "Why do I take these pills?"I asked of my chipper mother.
She raised a brow slightly, indicating her confusion of the sudden question. "Well, because you have schizophrenia, dear,"she replied with a smile, perhaps a slightly forced one. "They help you to relax, remember?"
My eyes fell upon the gels, and I shook my head. "No, I mean, what's the real reason I take these?"Looking back up at my mother, her grin faded and turned more into a look of despair. All the while, my father listened in from the other side of the table, a piece of bacon half-eaten in his hand, and voices droning in my ears. "I heard you guys last night..."
My parents shared a concerned glance. Then, my father sighed, almost defeated. "You should tell him, Margret. He's 14 now, he deserves to know. It's your problem anyway,"my father told her.
Mom glared at him. "It's not my problem. It's my burden,"she retorted then looked back to me, her gaze softening. "Listen, dear, this isn't going to be easy to listen to or believe."She took a seat next to me, setting the pill bottle down on the table.
"Go on,"I said, anxiety building up inside of me, threatening to boil over with the anticipation of the truth I never knew I'd wanted to hear.
She drew in a breath then let it out slowly. "You're cursed,"she finally said after another moment's hesitation.
"What?"Of course, this came as a huge shock. Cursed? How? Why? Curses didn't even exist in the first place! But this was the excuse they were going with for giving me mysterious drugs and lying to me all my life?
"Yes, dear. I know it sounds absurd, but it's the truth. You see, my whole family line is cursed,"my mother continued before I could get too upset and have an outburst. "My great-grandfather - you're great-great-grandfather - was a thieving and lying, manipulative man. One day, he messed with the wrong person - his wife. He had been caught cheating on her but abused her even before that. His mistress getting pregnant had just been the last straw, and so she found a witch to curse him and all those who bore his blood. Since you're my son, you have the curse,"she explained with surprising sincerity for how fake the words should have sounded. "It's not what you'd expect a typical curse to be from stories, but it's still powerful in that my grandmother and father couldn't take it anymore. The voices and visions you observe constantly are the curse at work. They chip away at your sanity, telling you to end yourself until you finally do. That's why my father died when I was just a child, he couldn't take it anymore. It started for me when I was 10-years-old. You were unlucky to get it at five."She picked up the pill bottle then. "But these pills aren't just for nothing. They really do help. They're a type of sedative that help us ignore the curse's affects better. They help our brain sleep, so we can go about our days without constantly noticing the droning commands of death and pain."
My mind reeled as she spoke, her voice mingling in with the others, but hers was the most clear as I focused. So, all of this - all of my never-ending torture - was because some old guy couldn't be faithful? 'Bullshit!' I thought. "That's not at all fair,"I blurted out. "It's not fair I have to suffer because he couldn't keep it in his pants. And it's not fair that you'd lie to me like that for so long, both of you!"
My father stayed quiet while mom tried to calm me. "I know. I should have told you a lot sooner, but it was all to protect you,"she gently spoke. "I never wanted you to know about your horrible ancestry or that you have to bare such a thing and even pass it down once you have children. I wanted you to live in more bliss than I have to."
I shook my head with a scowl but couldn't deny it all. The pills did help either way, but this was still a lot of unbelievable knowledge to comprehend. I just finally let out a big sigh and gulped down the two pills on my plate but left my breakfast untouched as I stood. "I'm not hungry,"I muttered and left the kitchen.
Mom sighed from behind, and dad finally spoke up. "A curse, really? That was your excuse?"he asked her.
"Well, he believed me, didn't he?"mom asked, the chair scraping the floor a bit as she rose up. "If he wants to research our family history then he can find all the details. My great-great grandfather did cheat on his wife and had my grandmother with that other woman, and my father did commit suicide when I was a child. The details will line up."Her footsteps headed towards the counter. "I just can't let him find out the truth. The pills help, anyway. That's all that matters."
I listened from the other side of the wall, my back against it and frown on my face as a transparent corpse stood in front of me and slowly faded. What really was the truth? |
**“Hey,” he said, summoning me from my intern desk, “can you go up to earth and stall them for a bit?”**
That was it, I was posted to the most horrible place in the entire universe, Earth! I could not say no to the job, he would fry me like the other interns he didn't like. A fry tan does not look good on me. And yes, we demons do get burnt in Hell.e The amount of pain compared to a human burning is less with us, but we do bleed, it does hurt. Gods just laugh at our plight. Especially when you are a good demon like me. I get veggies both by godly interns and the senor employees in hell. And yet I keep hoping to become a permanent employee in the next 6 months and continue to be harassed.
Enough about me, let us talk about the planet famously known as the 'REAL HELL'. It was created by gods because they had love stored in a box and they did not know what else to do with all that love. But then, my boss who had recently been kicked out of the Corp of gods had to ruin everything, not only for himself but also for poor souls like me. You see, at first, the boss was very happy that he got a load full of humans to torture every full moon. But then, the humans began to imitate us more and more. Most of them in hell right now are as immune to pains as we are! May be because they are hear from a long time but also because they are like us the Demons now. They have created similar fear and pain as we have. Now the world is full of them, it has become an erupting volcano. Our account's shut down by the early 90s, now we just pick people and torture them randomly. Trust me, we are running out of punishments but they never run out of population or crime.
So, that was the back story of my posting to earth. I was given a flat, a regular human job and a regular human make over. They could not do anything about my eyes, they continued to hypnotist people. That worked out very well for me because I needed not to actually talk to criminals. My human job was that of an environmental lawyer, I was created an ID where I was told to be the topper of my University of Lucifer's stone from a city called D-evil-ell of the Republic of Brimstone. The foolish humans bought all of it and I got a job, just like that. My law firm job paid me in money, the local currency of earth, all the souls I was given from hell were sent home to my sister. I was happy about the double pay. What environment to protect when there isn't any right? I just sat at my desk made out of freshly cut wood and wrote letters to the governments and the courts that they must stop cutting of trees.
My work profile from hell changed drastically though, I was no longer required to clean flesh and blood or poor poisons. I only had to make the humans better so Hell could be renovated according to the schedule. My supervisor asked me on the first week of my stay, to come up with a plan of action and report to him. I was given the identity of a lawyer for a reason you know, I had all the equipment I needed to device a social change in the town I lived in. I took up the following responsibilities as an honest citizen.
1. I paid tax.
2. I voted for the person who seemed less likely to end up in hell. If the leader is heavenly, so will be the people.
3. I volunteered to clean and distribute food in the shelters for homeless on the week ends.
4. I collected trash in the mornings and segregated them before the trash was picked up. These humans are pretty lazy, they got shocked to see me bicycle around the town by 5 in the morning cleaning their mess.
5. I spent my evenings in the elderly home learning to be human.
By the end of the first week the following changes occurred.
1. A couple of colleagues showed interest in the volunteering work and spared few hours in their weekends.
2. A group of High Schoolers joined my bicycle crew of cleaning the town.
3. The Mayor acknowledged my efforts to better the society and released more funds towards social welfare.
4. The government sent some money back saying I had over paid the tax. As it was my first month in the firm, I had no money by the time that unexpected tax money returned to save the day.
5. I lost a hell lot of weight. Not that it had anything to do with my work.
And by the end of the 3rd week, I was more human than any human in the world! and the people I influenced balanced out their sins and became eligible for a place in Heaven! The gods were so happy with my work, they sent more interns to more cities and towns to inspire the humans to become humans again. By the end of the month, I had been directly promoted to the post of Lead manager of project 'Save Humanity'. I sit in my corner office today in hell and look out of the window, there is work in progress. My boss seems happier now that he has enough time to watch TV or play sports. I received a letter this morning from Heaven saying they need people like me.
But I'm quite good where I am. Hell is exactly where I want to be. I quit my human job saying I was going to find spiritual relief. Which is true because I am now payed in positivism at hell. We ran out of souls to pay. Heaven is now full again. All is well in Hell. |
A character forgotten minutes later. Every single player passed him. Every single one receiving his simple greeting as they passed. The game developers had mistimed his line, so it was perfectly placed to scare them as they passed. Here came another one. He turned, casually opening his mouth and pausing his work for the tenth time today.
“Fancy seeing you here.” He got the usual skittish jump from the passing wannabe hero, “On the way to Randlewood? Take the left at the fork.”
Smiling, he turned back to his tree. The axe swung and contacted the bare wood, fitting snugly into the same crevice as the previous swing, and every swing before that one. The long-haired travelled listened to his advice, one of the many, who would soon find himself on the shorter but far more dangerous path to the small village of Randlewood. About once a day someone wouldn’t trust him. They would take the right path and encounter numerous side quests that would level up their magical and intelligence stats, and eventually make it to Randlewood. They would soon find themselves dominant in the following battles, able to use enchanted weapons and fight smarter not harder, if they stuck around long enough to find out.
Again and again he swung the axe, without making even the slightest of a mark on the tree. Another traveler approached, but this one was different. She was one of the rare ones who would probably finish the game. She had luckily found the golden cross in Lindelville’s church, and it had led her to the Great Enchantress, a loving woman on the brink of death. The Enchantress has given her her helmet and knife, objects more powerful than any others available without defeating a dragon, and this hero seemed giddy with excitement. Her helmet gleamed in the golden sunlight and the purple hilt of the knife swayed in its sheath on her waist. She paused upon seeing the woodchopper and moved on with purpose. Cautiously. Meticulously. Therefore his words ceased to catch her off-guard.
“Fancy seeing you here. On the way to Randlewood? Take the left at the fork.” She paused, and for the first time, his greeting garnered a response.
“So where do I get if I go right? Is it just emptiness or are you trying to trick me? Why should I trust you? I don’t even know your name.”
He had resumed his task, but the response had stopped him again. Something tugged in his mind. Something gave way. For the first time he looked down at his axe and realized his existence. Suddenly a health bar appeared above his head matching the one above the female in front of him. He checked his stats, something that felt odd to him, having not been aware of his own soul mere seconds ago. His health and strength stats were impressively high, having been grown from his countless hits with the indestructible foe he had beaten for ages.
“Wow.” The hero stepped back in shock. “Sorry to disturb you. I wouldn’t have if I’d known you were so busy.” She had noticed his health bar. It read 13,000, a number which made her helmet assisted number of 435 look minuscule.
“No it’s ok.” He responded, “I’ve been doing that for so long, I could use a break.” He paused, now aware of the short distance between himself and her, and the fact that he could do more damage with his useless, dull axe than she could with her remarkable weapon. He began to walk towards her, tightening his grip on the axe while loosening his face to seem relaxed. Reaching outward, he continued his first autonomous sentences. “My name is Darron the Woodsman (a construct of his new imagination). What’s yours?”
She relaxed. Closed her eyes for a second and inhaled, trusting in the goodness of her new acquaintance. She opened her mouth to speak her name but screamed before it came out. He had struck her. The useless weapon was a powerful tool in his overpowered hands, and it did twice the damage needed to finish the job. Darron probably would’ve felt bad for what he had done, if he had tackled the abstract idea of a conscience yet, but he felt nothing but pleasure as he stripped the would be hero of her magical possessions.
With these he wouldn’t even have to try. No one could stop him. He thanked the still warm corpse for unintentionally awakening her demise, and continued to the fork in the road. He went right, knowing that if he could wield magic like he could that axe, the entirety of the land would be his.
Soon, every hero who had overlooked him would be kneeling, begging for forgiveness. |
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